We're watching stars tonight, you and me

and?

Questionably yours,

I want to grasp something concrete, is that so much to ask? I want something I can hold that can hold me back when I need it most. I'm stretching and reaching without knowing my limits or yours, is that too much to ask? What is enough, and beyond that?

I'm sleeping with a blankie I used to sleep with in preschool. I used to sleep with you.

And I'm not just talking about love. It's life. It's just that. It's moving on when it's time or when you're not ready. I don't know what else there is to do because I don't trust myself with you. Nor with rhyme. There is just too much and too little.

I'm wondering if a part of me is lost. I feel like a different person. Sometimes, it's as if I'm a spectator of my own life. I see the choices I'm making, but do nothing to stop myself. I'm laughing and seeing myself laughing simultaneously. I'm not going to school. Maybe I'm wrong? Or right? Right. Everyone's leaving. So should I? How can I smile it all off, wave goodbye? How can I question? I'm smiling, after all. Shouldn't that be enough? Enough is enough. But I'm crying sometimes, too. And just lying awake at other times. What about then? What does it all mean to me, and the rest of the world?

That's not a good note on which to end. How questionable the world is! (Even without my typed question mark!) And the future! What of that? It's not all flying cars and layered earth, despite what the makers of Dippin' Dots have told you. Real problems and solutions await us. As if we don't have enough already. Enough already!

I want to care about more than just you. For mere seconds, I can escape and replace thoughts of you with those of more wear and worry.


Our pizza experience:
For mere seconds, I can't get it off my fingertips. It's pitiful thoughts I can't shake or forget. I'm trying to, turning the silver handle more and more to the right, but I can't even feel the cold as it continually pounds me, my body. Knowing that I'm standing here, while they're all out there. I can remember. She said they found a place out by the creek. She said you hope that no one will find where you sleep. She said this all as she bit bite after bite into my meaningful gesture. It's a funny thing what I did. I won't pretend handing out pizza slices bound for the bins makes me a good person. If I knew what could do it for me, I would? Well, it's just a funny thing, having to judge complete strangers. How can one, how could I deem who appeared homeless, who was hungry and worthy enough of charity? And we're back to that question, What is enough? Certainly, I'm not doing enough. There is no enough. No matter how much I intend to do or even try or even do, it will never be enough. There will still be strangers out with nowhere to claim as their own, and here I am trying to find meaning in a life that's satisfactory enough without more questions? I wonder if they even have the desire to live. Is that too much, too little to ask? Really though, what keeps them living? The belief in the existence of good in the world? Of God? Of the warm-heartedness of the empathetic, like myself? Oh, please! Like everything else on my agenda, I find myself wanting more out of this kind gesture. I want to know, question, feel more. I want to find meaning. Maybe, in that way, we're all the same. Aren't we all just trying to find ourselves, our pizza?



currently listening to: Beirut's Elephant Gun on repeat because it makes me want to cry and because I would like to cry, to make my feelings sound.

A thought

I wanna get rid of this feeling
I wanna be a part of everything
Like the way it all should be

Summer school's a drag

But hopefully I won't be dragging for long?

The sky's for the stars

I wish I could feel as I felt.

Looking over what I've written in the past depresses me.

I used to love so much.

...I sit for hours at a time,

mocked by the blinking cursor,

wishing my thoughts were typed out for me and

listening to leaves rustle, nature’s own way of crumpling paper.

Every time I set out to write, I am provoked,

pushed to surrender my every thought and feeling.

At the same time, the sensation scares

me and completes me.

I write to be challenged, and when I

thrive, I feel content...

This is the first thing I will attempt to write in quite a while. I don’t know why, but I’ve been hiding from my own writing, unable to face what I have to say. What do I have to say, that’s so important, so intimidating?

I don't know how to feel right now. All I know is that I'm running out of time and excuses and emotions and warmth. I've spent the day in basically the same spot. I've spent high school in basically the same spot. If anything, I've moved down and downer. It seems to be the only direction I know. With no one to blame myself, I do.

I’ve failed. I have failed in so many ways. I do not want to think about it. I do not want to count the disappointment. How would I even begin? The number of tears I’ve made my mother cry? The number of tears I’ve cried? There is no end. And yet, here I am, almost at the end of my high school career, with a smile plastered to my face, pretending life’s okay. Isn’t it?

I know it’s not the end of anything besides my Westmoor experience. But it’s not ending as I anticipated it would. I’m not who I thought I would be after four years of intense schooling. Maybe that is because it has not been nearly as meaningful as I would have hoped. My fault. Sincerely, my fault. I know I could’ve done so much more and better here at Westmoor, and now I’ve run out of time to prove myself. To myself. Because I know life’s not about impressing others. Praise is a fleeting incentive, after all. I’ve, thankfully, come to that realization: ....not until I stop trying to impress people will I truly find solace in the simplicity of life.

I look at my peers, at the top of the class, and I wonder where all their accomplishments will lead them. If driven by their own determination, I envy them, for they will go “far”.
I envy them for that fire that strengthens and motivates them. Because really, that is all it takes, not this cutthroat aggression that plagues others. If, on the other hand, all high school has been for people is a place to compete and outdo those around them, I can’t help but feel pity.

Maybe I’m being too optimistic, but life seems to me to mean more than one’s successes, if measured in dollars a year, cars in the driveway, people intimidated by you. I want to laugh and cry, struggle and learn, for the rest of my days. At the end of my life, I want to feel as if I could’ve done so much more but be content in knowing the things I have done because they will have been great, scattered, and many.

Is that you whistling?

I want to hold onto this good feeling, the touch that comes only at night.

Yeah i'm fine

Having just discovered the wireless switch on my laptop, I'm on a slightly distasteful, nostalgic downloading frenzy... What am I missing??

currently listening to a WHOLE lot. But here's some of that jazz:

--Nouvelle Vague's "Blue Monday"
--Feist's "One Two Three Four"
--Skye's "What's Wrong with Me (Nouvelle Vague Remix)"
--Stars' "Driveby"
--Cold War Kid's "Hospital Beds"
--Amos Lee's "Keep it Loose, Keep it Tight"
--Damien Rice's "The Blowers Daughter"
--Aqualung's "Left Behind"
--Elliott Smith's "Twilight"
--Coldplay's "Fix You"
--Jaymay's "Letter"
--Amy Winehouse's "To Know Him is to Love Him"
--KT Tunstall's "Heal Over"
--Jack Johnson's "Banana Pancakes" brings me back
--Kings of Convenience's "Know How"
--Lupe Fiasco's "Daydreamin' (feat. Jill Scott)"
--Noise for Pretend's "Due to Lamplooking"
--Sondre Lerche's "Minor Detail"
--Andrew Bird's "Armchairs"
--The Cinematic Orchestra's "All Things to All Men (feat. Roots Manuva)"

..I can answer that. Thailand! School! Family! A boyfriend! Good times.

It seems like onlyyyyy yesterday that I was leaning against the Hyatt's walls as the beat went on without me. But really, it's been three days. Already. My, how time flies when you haven't had fun.

I can't say I had a good time at prom, and I also can't really say why.

But in other news, I'm not having a good time with respect to other aspects of my life. I think that is why, in a way, I created this blog. To have a place to complain without feeling too bad about it. Because here, no one has to listen to me. And that's okay.




So this is how I feel.

I guess I'm going to school

But it's much too late to be going on about that now.

currently listening to: songs that bring back memories i'd rather forget. and i thought i could by now.

Left Behind

currently listening to: Julie Delpy's An Ocean Apart because I love Before Sunset and because I'm in a sleepy mood

It's too hard to keep up with school and music and the news and friends. It's worth it, sure. But still. But, but, nothing.

I haven't even finished the wonderful Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close. Where are my priorities, if not enraptured in the spine of a book?

Tomorrow--or today, rather--we're going to see the house. (On a side note, I hate how I've picked up that habit from him. Hate it. ) I can't believe I'm moving in less than a month, if things go as planned. Doesn't that affect me, as an infectious, popular disease would? Doesn't it matter?

Lolo

He would've been seventy-nine today, but he's not.

Do I, can I stop at that? I'm afraid if I say more, I'll say too much or worse, I'll say much too little. The words to describe him don't exist. He was such an extraordinary person and yet, that's not how I see him.

He was just there, and I hate how I appreciate him more now that's he's gone, but that's life, I guess. I also hate how the same tears that fall for petty things -- when yawning, over cheesy movies, out of self-pity -- are the ones I cry whenever I think of him.

I remember crying and not really knowing why. I remember seeing him, lifeless. I wonder if I was too young to feel then. I wonder if I'm old enough to understand now.

At times, it all seems to make sense. But mostly, it hurts. It makes me sad. I can't grasp happiness or that sense of closure that everyone around me seems to have captured. Why does it seem like I hurt more? Why can't I let go when everyone else has?

Maybe I'm approaching it all wrong. I know they haven't forgotten. I act as if I'm the only one who remembers him! Everyone misses him, his 711 cab, his jean jacket, his Burger King deliveries, his dollar bills, his hamburger and steak. I'm not alone. Right?

I was thinking about all of this about a half hour ago in the car on the way to the Killers concert to pick up Lola. Yes, my grandmother frequents music concerts of that sort. But it's not what you think, unless you're Stephie, my only reader, who knows Lola as well as I. Okay, I'll come to my senses. You are Stephie.

She, Lola, is so strong. Such a strong woman for all she's been through. I don't even know what that all is. I would love to just sit in a dark room, empty except for me and red cushioned chairs, and watch my grandparents' lives pass me by on a reel. I would spend my life watching theirs.

(And that includes my other grandfather, Lolo Mike. Let me use this as a reminder: I would also love to listen to him and turn those Burmese memories, experiences, thoughts, feelings, words, songs into something solid and good. Allow me the chance--while I still have it.)

I have many regrets, many wishes.

currently listening to amy winehouse's tears dry on their own and the lovely norah jones

I don't feel like blogging

currently listening to I Don't Feel Like Dancin' by the Scissor Sisters.

That is all.

Update:
Actually, there is something I wanted to say. I was watching Before Sunset the other day -- for the first time in forever -- and it was wonderful, better than I remembered. And it's all because it inspired me. Me! Imagine that!

Julie Delpy's character went on about the way her life has unfolded for her:
"So I decided, what I really wanted to do, was to find things that could be fixed, and try to fix them, you know?... the reality of it is that the true work of improving things is in the little achievements of the day... Well, for example, I was working for this organization that helped villages in Mexico. And their concerns was how to get the pencils sent to the kids in these little country schools. It was not about big revolutionary ideas, it was about pencils!"

With those words, I unearthed the inner me that's been hidden, the part of me that knows that's exactly what I want to do with my life. What that is exactly, I have no idea. But is it just me, or does that sound wonderful?! My stomach jumped, squiggled, and squirmed to the sound of her voice. I know, I know, she's a fictional character, but it's actually possible to do something like that. They're always in demand of uber eager workers willing to work small miracles for slim-to-none. I want to be one of those poor saps!

I've always thought that.. you know what, I don't what I've always thought. I don't think I've always thought anything.

Well, lately, I've been trying to find a set path. Why, though? That's so wrong of me! A scarier thing would be if I did know what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Not if I didn't. Everyone around me seems so set on becoming nurses and biologists, competing with supposed friends, declaring the Undeclared. What about living? What about enjoying yourself these last few months of.. young adulthood?

I have plenty of years and seconds to think about what I should do. And even then, I shouldn't torture myself with the thought. I worry too much, worry to the point where it's all that consumes me. I have nothing left to give because I devote all my time and brainpower to thinking and not doing. What a problem! To have so many things to do, time enough to do it, but to use up all energy preemptively.

The End. One hell of an update, I'd say.

Yesterday was a good one

currently listening to an interesting Palomar song entitled Work is a State Function. I'm loving the rubber-ducky-sounding effect at the very beginning. Did I spell ducky/ie incorrectly?

Hey, you know what I love? I love seeing s/he.. it means we're one step closer.

Okay, so I could be very general, very nostalgic about all this.

But I won't.

So, yesterday was a good one. Sure, I went to school at 11, but I think that helped my mood rather than hindered it. The day was just so laid back, and that's just how I like it. I have Sheree Cruz and my film group and N64 and music to thank. They made it all better somehow.

In other news, I NEED a prom date. Or not really. It would just be nice. You know, for the laughs and slow dances.

An emotional blowjob

Sorry if that's crude. Am I crude?

I'm currently war-tossed. And, and, what does that even mean? I think the more I think, the more confused I get and go and come and away and up.

Tequila

What am I doing up at this late hour?

Certainly, I'm mentally preparing myself for school today! And tomorrow, and the next, and you get the picture. But do I?

When I woke up this morning, I had a post all planned out. Serious! But all my thoughts have floated away from me (the tree) and into the world (the river) since then. That's a paraphrase-al from Jonathan Safran Foer whose novel Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close promises to be a wonderful read. I've already nearly-cried twice! If it wasn't for the mother in the room, I would have burst.

I try my best to do it in the comfort of my own world, but it's hard with the 6-7-8 billion out there and the five or so who actually care/matter. Sometimes it's hard to resist the plea for help, being the attention-grabbing creature I am. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm all for it. It's a great release. It just feels good, you know? It's just one of things better left alone, like moldy fruits and breads and tequila in water bottles and the like.

Do you know what I'm saying??

The Most Dangerous Game, at least

It seems fitting that for my first post ever, I should begin where it all began, at least for me.

That would be the San Francisco Children's Hospital. But, speeding up a considerable amount of time to years and memories remembered, we land in filipino-infested Daly City. I grew up at 359 Willits Street, so that would make my stripper-friendly name Bugsy Willits... am i right?

I think there was a point to all of this. There was! This is! It is this:
I dedicate this to the city/town/suburb/metropolis/Annapolis I call home. Normally, I bash Daly City for all its worth. I sniffle at the thought of 101,500 packed into all-the-same-looking houses, I quiver to the sound of Asian accents I could never achieve, I cringe, I whimper, I hop on muni every chance I get. But this is my hometown, and it always will be. Daly City is the blood relative I can never dissociate myself from, try as I might.

Yes, I continually pray that I'll be up and atom this time next year and before. (College, here I come??) But fond memories have indeed been made while living here, and they are the stuff of this blog, at least for now.