Gotta write it down when I can. I feel great. Despite the fact that I have to take an HIV test later, to process my visa application for Russia. Oh yes, Russia. I'm getting more excited by the day. This is my summer plan:
1. Chill the fuck out in NYC in May (I need to find a place to stay too, anyone leasing for the summer?)
2. St Petersburg for June
3. Home, bitches, for July and August
Three of the best places in the world. How lucky am I? How do I have friends when I have such an awesome life, really. Don't you all hate me?
But I do feel great. Better, I feel free. There's no better feeling than to be liberated. I think it's a yardstick for how awesome your life is. Take writing, for example, and I am totally stealing this quote from a professor I heard at a lecture. She said that it's after getting a rejection letter from the publisher, and knowing that you still wanna write, that's when you know you're truly free.
Same with debate.
Same with men.
It's when you know that you can be hurt and broken and defeated by men, but that you'll survive, that's when true liberation comes. When nothing can touch you, and you're invincible. I used to be like that. Fuck Eduardo. Fuck Alex. I brushed them off and went on with my life. Sure, I fell for them hard, and sure, I wish I had a life with them, like the two girls with them are probably doing right now. But nothing can compensate for the relationship I have with myself - the greatest one of them all. We are both very much in agreement with each other. Sure, we argue sometimes, and we name-call, but we sincerely love each other at the end of the day. We also possess the Hitachi Magic Wand HV-250R, otherwise known as the best creation on earth. We're good.
But yeah, HIV testing in 45 minutes. I hate needles.
"What is this blog about?"
"Absolutely nothing."
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Highway to hell.
I totally should be writing a paper on how writers and artistic freedom is affirmed in the face of an oppressive regime, but I digress. I want to talk about this conversation I just had that both infuriated and delighted me. Gotta love it when something arouses feelings on both ends at the same time. The line between pain and pleasure is a fine one, and I enjoy walking that line.
Anyway, so this person I was talking to goes on and on about my immaturity, both in person and in my modes of thinking. If he read this now he'd totally disagree with that sentence, and say that I am completely telling it wrong. To which I will say, suck it.
I am writing about this now because I feel like this is a problem I've encountered my whole life, except now people have more legit reasons than "MZ u r a slut" and their motivation for bringing me down is not just jealousy and spite. Now I am encountering people who genuinely have a problem with what I say, the way I think and the way I behave, because I don't conform to what is "mature" or "acceptable" or "normal" by their standards ... which is really to be depressing and boring. Funny thing is when I become depressing and boring they all think I'm trying to commit suicide. Silly Americans.
Let me start with the infuriating part first. I was miffed, of course, because I don't believe this person - or anyone else who is trying to unload their bullshit on me, as a matter of fact - has known me well enough to make any sort of assessments of me. There's a difference between saying "she is a dumb bitch" and saying "she is a dumb bitch who has serious problems with her foundations of thinking and the way she behaves as a human being in society".
Because saying that just dismisses so much about me. Maybe, just maybe, if we had spent a little more time talking and getting to know each other, outside of the few barely lucid moments we have before and after sex, then maybe you'd know more about where I came from, how my society functioned, how that shaped who I was, how hard it was for me to finally find my calling in a society that cared so little, my thoughts on literature and history, social causes I feel passionate about and why. Then maybe you'd see that what you perceive as my "apathy" will not seem so useless after all, and you'll see I'm capable of doing good for this world, in my own way. Maybe, you would.
I know now I sound like I'm being horribly specific to one person, but I have many others in mind as I write this post. I just haven't slept with any of them, so obviously they don't matter, ha. I can say with assurance that except for a handful, no one I have met in America thus far has spent enough time with me, or seen me in my element, to know even half of the person that I am. I had a friend - whom I have known the whole year long - tell me that he really only knew me a week ago when we sat down one dinner and talked about life. Not the stupid fucking debate community, or who won the fucking NDT, or how this argument clashes with the other argument, but life. You know what that means? Yeah.
But say these people claim that they do know enough about me to make such assessments, to pass such judgments, then sir, I give you my finger. Now comes the part that pleases me. For all people have to say about me, my maturity and way of life, I know that I've accomplished much more in my life than they have or ever will, just because of the sheer will and determination I know I'm capable of. These are the things that no one can take away from me. I know that I have at the age of 13 developed an interest in writing, and have stuck to it for eight years now. I know that at the age of 15, I had painstakingly written, edited, proofread and laid out a book, behind my parents' back, because I couldn't get their consent. I know I did it again at the age of 17. I know I've been on on national television and radio, interviewed by numerous publications, stood before crowds, and spoke about my passion for writing and where it all started. I know that by doing so I have inspired many to do the same. I know that people write to me, telling me they want to be like me (big mistake, fyi).
I know that I finally found sexual liberation after I ended my four-year relationship, and I can get any guy I want in my palm, just because I believe that I can. I know that I have never given a shit about what people think about me, and for that I am also truly and completely liberated as a person. I know that I have never repressed who I really was, or changed myself in any way when I meet new people, and for that I have found the greatest friends on earth who accept me for who I am (and absolutely hated my guts when they first met me, of course) while these people can continue to have phony friends whom they have to always censor themselves around. I know that there is nothing I love more in this world than to see me be myself and fuck everything up, while these people who see this as "immature" will never, ever know the feeling of being able to laugh at yourself whole-heartedly.
Because, really, chill the fuck out. It's not like I'm going to turn all Hitler and kill like six million Jews because I am so utterly liberated and enjoying my life. I'm just a person who remains happy in the face of a shitty society, because I know I'm too awesome not to. I'm sorry you don't feel that way about yourself, I really do.
I know that I will continue to do great things with my life, and I have ideas that I will bring to fruition, while all of you can just sit on your asses, philosophizing about life, and how to be normal, and how best to chastise those who are not.
And all the above is only a small percentage of who I am, so I guess in a way I can't blame people for not seeing it all. Because it's just impossible. That's the ultimate problem with people, I suppose. You can never know someone in their entirety. And not everyone is as easy to read (or pretend to be. Yeah some of us actually don't like pretending). Some people have numerous and thick layers that you have to get pass before you get to know who a person really is, and not many people have the patience nor the desire to get there. So we're forced to stop at a point, and if you've arrived at that point by just sleeping with the person for six months with no real attempt to know the person well but choose to pass judgments on them anyway, then that is the point both parties will have to deal with.
But it's a sad, sad indicator of who a person is, really. I do it too, of course, where I am forced to decide if I like a person or not just by face value. But because I know the complexity in knowing a person like me, I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. But it can only get you so far.
The good thing though, is when people actually get pass those layers. And it's not impossible. It doesn't even take long, really. I did it with someone in a day. A month's possible too. Sometimes it just takes that right moment, for you to see someone in their element, or a side of them that just makes or breaks their character. The good thing is when you get there, then you make friends for life. Friends who know your flaws, but know you're too good to not be in their lives.
But of course, what do I know. I'm just talking garbage here. I'm a stupid, immature teenager who doesn't know anything about life, despite the fact that I have probably met and interacted with people far more different and diverse than they have in their homogeneous society and the fact that I have done more things than these people have just because I'm willing to put myself out there.
Lesson of the day: if you wanna discredit me as a person, at least delve into my history, and learned where I came from, and what I've seen and done. Spend more time with me, and see what I like to do in my time, or at least wish I could do (but can never, because of my busy schedule). Or at least, tell me about yourself, so I can understand you more and where you came from too. Understanding is not just a one way thing. It takes two. Maybe if we could actually sit down for more than 15 minutes and not try to undress the other person (totally my fault, by the way) this wouldn't happen.
But well, what do I know. I'm juvenile anyway, and I have a 6-paged essay to write, but instead I sat down and wrote all my thoughts down. So I should go do that now. Good luck with your lives, peeps. Live and let live. If I die, please be sure to play ACDC's Highway to Hell in my funeral. Is that not normal? Well go fuck yourselves then.
Anyway, so this person I was talking to goes on and on about my immaturity, both in person and in my modes of thinking. If he read this now he'd totally disagree with that sentence, and say that I am completely telling it wrong. To which I will say, suck it.
I am writing about this now because I feel like this is a problem I've encountered my whole life, except now people have more legit reasons than "MZ u r a slut" and their motivation for bringing me down is not just jealousy and spite. Now I am encountering people who genuinely have a problem with what I say, the way I think and the way I behave, because I don't conform to what is "mature" or "acceptable" or "normal" by their standards ... which is really to be depressing and boring. Funny thing is when I become depressing and boring they all think I'm trying to commit suicide. Silly Americans.
Let me start with the infuriating part first. I was miffed, of course, because I don't believe this person - or anyone else who is trying to unload their bullshit on me, as a matter of fact - has known me well enough to make any sort of assessments of me. There's a difference between saying "she is a dumb bitch" and saying "she is a dumb bitch who has serious problems with her foundations of thinking and the way she behaves as a human being in society".
Because saying that just dismisses so much about me. Maybe, just maybe, if we had spent a little more time talking and getting to know each other, outside of the few barely lucid moments we have before and after sex, then maybe you'd know more about where I came from, how my society functioned, how that shaped who I was, how hard it was for me to finally find my calling in a society that cared so little, my thoughts on literature and history, social causes I feel passionate about and why. Then maybe you'd see that what you perceive as my "apathy" will not seem so useless after all, and you'll see I'm capable of doing good for this world, in my own way. Maybe, you would.
I know now I sound like I'm being horribly specific to one person, but I have many others in mind as I write this post. I just haven't slept with any of them, so obviously they don't matter, ha. I can say with assurance that except for a handful, no one I have met in America thus far has spent enough time with me, or seen me in my element, to know even half of the person that I am. I had a friend - whom I have known the whole year long - tell me that he really only knew me a week ago when we sat down one dinner and talked about life. Not the stupid fucking debate community, or who won the fucking NDT, or how this argument clashes with the other argument, but life. You know what that means? Yeah.
But say these people claim that they do know enough about me to make such assessments, to pass such judgments, then sir, I give you my finger. Now comes the part that pleases me. For all people have to say about me, my maturity and way of life, I know that I've accomplished much more in my life than they have or ever will, just because of the sheer will and determination I know I'm capable of. These are the things that no one can take away from me. I know that I have at the age of 13 developed an interest in writing, and have stuck to it for eight years now. I know that at the age of 15, I had painstakingly written, edited, proofread and laid out a book, behind my parents' back, because I couldn't get their consent. I know I did it again at the age of 17. I know I've been on on national television and radio, interviewed by numerous publications, stood before crowds, and spoke about my passion for writing and where it all started. I know that by doing so I have inspired many to do the same. I know that people write to me, telling me they want to be like me (big mistake, fyi).
I know that I finally found sexual liberation after I ended my four-year relationship, and I can get any guy I want in my palm, just because I believe that I can. I know that I have never given a shit about what people think about me, and for that I am also truly and completely liberated as a person. I know that I have never repressed who I really was, or changed myself in any way when I meet new people, and for that I have found the greatest friends on earth who accept me for who I am (and absolutely hated my guts when they first met me, of course) while these people can continue to have phony friends whom they have to always censor themselves around. I know that there is nothing I love more in this world than to see me be myself and fuck everything up, while these people who see this as "immature" will never, ever know the feeling of being able to laugh at yourself whole-heartedly.
Because, really, chill the fuck out. It's not like I'm going to turn all Hitler and kill like six million Jews because I am so utterly liberated and enjoying my life. I'm just a person who remains happy in the face of a shitty society, because I know I'm too awesome not to. I'm sorry you don't feel that way about yourself, I really do.
I know that I will continue to do great things with my life, and I have ideas that I will bring to fruition, while all of you can just sit on your asses, philosophizing about life, and how to be normal, and how best to chastise those who are not.
Now isn't it sad that the person you think is "immature" has done so much more than you, and feels so much better about herself than you will ever be with yourself? Yeah. I know that for a fact, because everyone has a child in them or a crazy, nonsensical side to them, and they're not afraid to show it around me since I am infinitely worse and do not judge. They're not afraid to yell at the top of their lungs to me, or say fucked up things to me, or tell me their innermost desires, or break into a song when they feel like it. It is sad then, that I am the only one who will see that side to them, and they will forever have to keep it in check around people.
But it's a sad, sad indicator of who a person is, really. I do it too, of course, where I am forced to decide if I like a person or not just by face value. But because I know the complexity in knowing a person like me, I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. But it can only get you so far.
The good thing though, is when people actually get pass those layers. And it's not impossible. It doesn't even take long, really. I did it with someone in a day. A month's possible too. Sometimes it just takes that right moment, for you to see someone in their element, or a side of them that just makes or breaks their character. The good thing is when you get there, then you make friends for life. Friends who know your flaws, but know you're too good to not be in their lives.
But of course, what do I know. I'm just talking garbage here. I'm a stupid, immature teenager who doesn't know anything about life, despite the fact that I have probably met and interacted with people far more different and diverse than they have in their homogeneous society and the fact that I have done more things than these people have just because I'm willing to put myself out there.
Lesson of the day: if you wanna discredit me as a person, at least delve into my history, and learned where I came from, and what I've seen and done. Spend more time with me, and see what I like to do in my time, or at least wish I could do (but can never, because of my busy schedule). Or at least, tell me about yourself, so I can understand you more and where you came from too. Understanding is not just a one way thing. It takes two. Maybe if we could actually sit down for more than 15 minutes and not try to undress the other person (totally my fault, by the way) this wouldn't happen.
But well, what do I know. I'm juvenile anyway, and I have a 6-paged essay to write, but instead I sat down and wrote all my thoughts down. So I should go do that now. Good luck with your lives, peeps. Live and let live. If I die, please be sure to play ACDC's Highway to Hell in my funeral. Is that not normal? Well go fuck yourselves then.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Violet Hill.
I don't want to be a soldier
Who the captain of some sinking ship
Would stow, far below
If you love me, won't you let me know?
If you love me, won't you let me go?
I fucking love Coldplay.
Who the captain of some sinking ship
Would stow, far below
If you love me, won't you let me know?
If you love me, won't you let me go?
I fucking love Coldplay.
I just can't do titles anymore.
Okay, I suck again. I've become such a failure at updating my blog.
But it's 9 in the morning, I'm all showered and dressed, I look good and I smell good, I'm ready to go out into the world, so I feel good about myself. I actually feel the best about myself in the morning, unless of course I spent the night before hammered and my "day" starts at 4 in the afternoon. As fun as that is, it is also not.
So let's see, what has been going on. I was turned down for sex again last night, oh joy. I don't see the point of having a fuckbuddy if I can't even get so much as someone to hold me when I feel like it. So sexually frustrated. Then again I don't see why I'd get so worked up if it really was just a fuckbuddy thing, and I don't see why if it was really just a fuckbuddy thing I'd turn down the numerous men - guys, not men, they're all guys here - whom I could have easily slept with to satisfy my sexual needs. This is sexual frustration, right there. This is how it looks like, and it's staring me in the face. Just passing guy after guy whom you know would sleep with you in a heartbeat, but not caring enough anymore to do anything about it, yet wanting that intimacy so much.
Bottomline is I'm dumb, and I have some figuring out to do. No surprises there.
No one told me it'd be this hard, and I guess if people did I wouldn't have believed them anyway. Adjusting on the outside is easy enough, but there's just so many things on the inside that I need to figure out. It's not homesickness, it's a self-crisis.
Okay so I only decided to blog because I thought it was early, and I'd be happy, so I'd blog happy stuff, but I launched into some background information, which was apparently depressing. So let's do more of the superficial happy stuff now.
I wish I can remain as happy and carefree as I am at the start of the day throughout it. But as the day goes on, shit happens, I have to interact with people, and external feelings, and all that stupid shit, and then my refreshed happiness becomes co-opted by real life, and everything sucks again.
But right now it really feels like I can do anything. Maybe even homework. Definitely should be doing homework. I just appreciate the things I have in life a lot more now, I'm very sure of what I want and what I have to do to get it, and I just feel like I can do it all. Alas, these things never last, in fact I'm starting to feel it subside already, and in place come the doubts, the insecurities, the fear, the hesitance.
Okay, I definitely should be doing homework. I bid you all a goodbye for now, and hopefully the next update won't come too much later.
But it's 9 in the morning, I'm all showered and dressed, I look good and I smell good, I'm ready to go out into the world, so I feel good about myself. I actually feel the best about myself in the morning, unless of course I spent the night before hammered and my "day" starts at 4 in the afternoon. As fun as that is, it is also not.
So let's see, what has been going on. I was turned down for sex again last night, oh joy. I don't see the point of having a fuckbuddy if I can't even get so much as someone to hold me when I feel like it. So sexually frustrated. Then again I don't see why I'd get so worked up if it really was just a fuckbuddy thing, and I don't see why if it was really just a fuckbuddy thing I'd turn down the numerous men - guys, not men, they're all guys here - whom I could have easily slept with to satisfy my sexual needs. This is sexual frustration, right there. This is how it looks like, and it's staring me in the face. Just passing guy after guy whom you know would sleep with you in a heartbeat, but not caring enough anymore to do anything about it, yet wanting that intimacy so much.
Bottomline is I'm dumb, and I have some figuring out to do. No surprises there.
No one told me it'd be this hard, and I guess if people did I wouldn't have believed them anyway. Adjusting on the outside is easy enough, but there's just so many things on the inside that I need to figure out. It's not homesickness, it's a self-crisis.
Okay so I only decided to blog because I thought it was early, and I'd be happy, so I'd blog happy stuff, but I launched into some background information, which was apparently depressing. So let's do more of the superficial happy stuff now.
I wish I can remain as happy and carefree as I am at the start of the day throughout it. But as the day goes on, shit happens, I have to interact with people, and external feelings, and all that stupid shit, and then my refreshed happiness becomes co-opted by real life, and everything sucks again.
But right now it really feels like I can do anything. Maybe even homework. Definitely should be doing homework. I just appreciate the things I have in life a lot more now, I'm very sure of what I want and what I have to do to get it, and I just feel like I can do it all. Alas, these things never last, in fact I'm starting to feel it subside already, and in place come the doubts, the insecurities, the fear, the hesitance.
Okay, I definitely should be doing homework. I bid you all a goodbye for now, and hopefully the next update won't come too much later.
Sunday, March 13, 2011
I will do my paper, and go to the gym.
I feel fat, and disgusting, and fat. Literally all I've done today was wake up (that is an achievement), heat up Chinese leftovers (I overdosed when ordering so I had leftovers to last me FOREVER ... or two days), ate said Chinese leftovers, read a chapter of my book (which gave me Stalinist nightmares, damnit), went back to bed (and had said Stalinist nightmares), then now I'm up to read another chapter or so.
I feel fat and disgusting.
After CEDA (my last debate tournament EVER ... or for this semester) I am hereby making two resolutions:
a) To go to the gym
b) Be more involved in all my other activities, which have been sidelined to the fringes this whole time. I gotta work this out soon.
This semester I made some very wrong decisions, and put way too much on my plate. Like the case of my Chinese order-in. It has resulted in me not being able to be there for a lot of other things, which I didn't like at all.
Let me go on whining about how fat and disgusting I feel, and how I should go to the gym. Urgh I feel so fat and disgusting, I should go to the gym sometime.
I'm going to have such busy four days ahead of me. I've got some interviews lined up, a paper to write and miscellaneous homework to do, some Renaissance events to help out with and I only say four because on Friday I'm leaving for Binghamton for a (almost) week-long debate tournament, which is just going to kill me off in terms of workload. I wish I could just say, fuck this paper I don't give a fuck I'm gonna do things MY WAY now but truth is I do give much of a fuck but an even sadder truth is I end up doing it my way anyway ... which is to hand my papers in waaaay later than given. I don't know how I get away with this. I have to stop.
Anyway, on to my paper, and then a meeting later at 9.30.
I feel fat and disgusting.
After CEDA (my last debate tournament EVER ... or for this semester) I am hereby making two resolutions:
a) To go to the gym
b) Be more involved in all my other activities, which have been sidelined to the fringes this whole time. I gotta work this out soon.
This semester I made some very wrong decisions, and put way too much on my plate. Like the case of my Chinese order-in. It has resulted in me not being able to be there for a lot of other things, which I didn't like at all.
Let me go on whining about how fat and disgusting I feel, and how I should go to the gym. Urgh I feel so fat and disgusting, I should go to the gym sometime.
I'm going to have such busy four days ahead of me. I've got some interviews lined up, a paper to write and miscellaneous homework to do, some Renaissance events to help out with and I only say four because on Friday I'm leaving for Binghamton for a (almost) week-long debate tournament, which is just going to kill me off in terms of workload. I wish I could just say, fuck this paper I don't give a fuck I'm gonna do things MY WAY now but truth is I do give much of a fuck but an even sadder truth is I end up doing it my way anyway ... which is to hand my papers in waaaay later than given. I don't know how I get away with this. I have to stop.
Anyway, on to my paper, and then a meeting later at 9.30.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Work in progress.
Not gonna lie, this is going to be my like hundredth attempt at trying to rebuild my life here in the States. But it's an attempt nonetheless, and like all attempts, they should be ... attempted. God I'm so eloquent. So I know my blog has been depressing, I'm sorry I only feel like writing when I'm depressed, and I'm sorry you have to tell your friends that you frequent this blog which is suicidal at best, and repetitive at worst.
Went there, saw NYC for a bit...
Missed the Thanksgiving parade by just that bit...
Then got on a bus to DC, and jumped into a car right at this juncture...
Me after some 6-hour train ride and 4-hour bus ride, decided the night before.
Met up with true love...
Camwhored, a lot...
Had awesome Chinese food...
Made the hugest mistake of taking the 5-hour energy boost with her, but a great mistake it was...
Went back to NYC after two days...
Why yes, Italian food was good...
Saw the Guggenheim alone, loved every second of it...
And then went back to Rochester a happy person, and told myself I'd set things right. And so yeah that failed, time and again, all my attempts to set things right failed. But I'm gonna keep trying, and this is me trying. I'm gonna be honest, I don't know how to. I don't know how I'm going to go about doing this, or where I'm going to start. Same old story everyday. I'm lost, and confused, and stupid. I walk into walls, I walk into STOP signs, I walk into traps and holes and then I fall down. And then I just have to pick myself up everytime. I am being broken down and defeated everyday, but the important thing is I tell myself I have to pick myself up everytime.
In Malaysia, I had my family and friends, my writing and the city. Here, I have a different version of the things I had. I don't know how to piece them together, or if they can even be pieced together.
I can only keep going, put myself out there, fail and try again, fail and try again ... one day, something's bound to work. And when that day comes, all of you can go fuck yourselves. Because I will be back, bitches.
I'll try to do less of that - the whole sounding like I'm gonna kill myself thing - and maybe more of life, or at least the less depressing bits. I could tell you about the time I bought a ticket the night before for NYC...
Went there, saw NYC for a bit...
Missed the Thanksgiving parade by just that bit...
Then got on a bus to DC, and jumped into a car right at this juncture...
Me after some 6-hour train ride and 4-hour bus ride, decided the night before.
Met up with true love...
Camwhored, a lot...
Had awesome Chinese food...
Made the hugest mistake of taking the 5-hour energy boost with her, but a great mistake it was...
Went back to NYC after two days...
Why yes, Italian food was good...
Saw the Guggenheim alone, loved every second of it...
And then went back to Rochester a happy person, and told myself I'd set things right. And so yeah that failed, time and again, all my attempts to set things right failed. But I'm gonna keep trying, and this is me trying. I'm gonna be honest, I don't know how to. I don't know how I'm going to go about doing this, or where I'm going to start. Same old story everyday. I'm lost, and confused, and stupid. I walk into walls, I walk into STOP signs, I walk into traps and holes and then I fall down. And then I just have to pick myself up everytime. I am being broken down and defeated everyday, but the important thing is I tell myself I have to pick myself up everytime.
In Malaysia, I had my family and friends, my writing and the city. Here, I have a different version of the things I had. I don't know how to piece them together, or if they can even be pieced together.
I can only keep going, put myself out there, fail and try again, fail and try again ... one day, something's bound to work. And when that day comes, all of you can go fuck yourselves. Because I will be back, bitches.
Friday, March 11, 2011
Not enough.
Why is it never enough? Why is it never enough that we've had a good 20 years, 2 months and 11 days if right now life this second sucks? Why is it never enough to know you don't want a relationship deep down, when right now it's being denied to you? Why are words and intentions never enough, as much as you want them to be, if words and intentions don't materialize into something?
I really do wanna know. Why sometimes, some things are just not enough. What about us that drives this sick need to want more even if we know that what we have is enough? It's no use telling us children in Africa are starving when at the same time Taylor Swift songs tell you that it's hard to be something your boyfriend misses. (I know. I know. How did my life become so revolved around Taylor Swift. Fuck America.)
My ego is defeated. Truly. I have never seen it so frail and weak, all shriveled up in the corner of my brain, or wherever egos are supposed to go to die. Do the past two years mean nothing to me? What about my ability to get anything I want, because of my looks and brains (it's true, so shut up)? Why can't the mere thought of having all these be enough? It used to be, now it's not. I've said before that history is weak, the past is stupid, but now I see that without access to it, all I'm left to work with is this whiny, confused child. I gave up. I've stopped trying to calm her down, to make her stop crying, to tell her she's worth something. All it took was one photo to shatter her self-confidence and throw her into a state of uncertainty about herself. Funny how her own past does nothing for her, but the past of others impinge upon her, almost destroying her in one moment. Fuck America.
Why is it never enough to just know? Why is it never enough if a bold gesture was made in one moment in time, when something out of the ordinary is done, which sweeps you off your feet in that one moment, but in the next, just as quickly as it came, this bold gesture that proclaims of words and intentions, sinks away into oblivion, reduced to just another event in the past?
I wish it was enough. I really did. I wish it was enough to wish that the whiny child in me would stop crying. I wish it was enough to know that everything is fleeting, so fuck taking anything seriously, but in the end, it's assurance that we want, that something that hurt us won't happen again. That's why it's never enough. Because once we're hurt, we think it's going to continue. And we preempt it, make life decisions around it and all that's left to suffer is the whiny, confused child in us.
I wish words were enough. But then again, there will never be enough trust in the world to make me believe his words.
I really do wanna know. Why sometimes, some things are just not enough. What about us that drives this sick need to want more even if we know that what we have is enough? It's no use telling us children in Africa are starving when at the same time Taylor Swift songs tell you that it's hard to be something your boyfriend misses. (I know. I know. How did my life become so revolved around Taylor Swift. Fuck America.)
My ego is defeated. Truly. I have never seen it so frail and weak, all shriveled up in the corner of my brain, or wherever egos are supposed to go to die. Do the past two years mean nothing to me? What about my ability to get anything I want, because of my looks and brains (it's true, so shut up)? Why can't the mere thought of having all these be enough? It used to be, now it's not. I've said before that history is weak, the past is stupid, but now I see that without access to it, all I'm left to work with is this whiny, confused child. I gave up. I've stopped trying to calm her down, to make her stop crying, to tell her she's worth something. All it took was one photo to shatter her self-confidence and throw her into a state of uncertainty about herself. Funny how her own past does nothing for her, but the past of others impinge upon her, almost destroying her in one moment. Fuck America.
Why is it never enough to just know? Why is it never enough if a bold gesture was made in one moment in time, when something out of the ordinary is done, which sweeps you off your feet in that one moment, but in the next, just as quickly as it came, this bold gesture that proclaims of words and intentions, sinks away into oblivion, reduced to just another event in the past?
I wish it was enough. I really did. I wish it was enough to wish that the whiny child in me would stop crying. I wish it was enough to know that everything is fleeting, so fuck taking anything seriously, but in the end, it's assurance that we want, that something that hurt us won't happen again. That's why it's never enough. Because once we're hurt, we think it's going to continue. And we preempt it, make life decisions around it and all that's left to suffer is the whiny, confused child in us.
I wish words were enough. But then again, there will never be enough trust in the world to make me believe his words.
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