cloudwrapdcity

This Halloween, I'm going to be Indian. Not Native American Indian, but India-subcontinent Indian.


I'm excited! I'll have to find out from my Indian buddies where to get a sari, and get really really tanned. I'll take pictures if I do. I've always had a fascination with India.

I don't feel an attachment to this journal.

Actually, I haven't been in the habit of journaling in a while now -- and I plan to start, but not here. As much as I despise the handwritten form of, well, anything, because I can't write fast enough to keep up with my thoughts, I have found that online journaling has become more of a burden more than anything. It feels like an intrusion on my personal thoughts -- knowing that these are out in the open and anyone has the right to form an opinion about my personal thoughts or about me because of these thoughts. I despise that I have to limit what I have to say just because someone else might be reading this.


In a way, I suppose Victor brought my attention to it. He revises his entries until he is completely satisfied with the final results, for others. It's admiring that he views his xanga as an artwork, but I don't hold the same opinion about online journals as him. I find myself stopping often to examine whether I've made a grammatical or spelling error in this journal, rephrasing and revising. It's pointless and almost silly. I don't feel as if that is the most direct way to the actual feelings of a person. I need a journal for me. This is much serious than any of the past mentionings of a hiatus. This is also different from the past discontinuations of journals (because most were due to that I outgrew the names like a shell). So, bye folks. See you later.

-edit-

One last entry just to complain....



Once again they managed to screw up my school picture. It's not noticeable here, but the left side of my face (or right in the picture, the part in the light) looks extremely weird in the actual picture. The eye looks significantly smaller because of the crazy flash. And my clip slipped right before the pictures so that can be accounted for for the random hair on my forehead.

Better than last year, so I guess I can't complain too much.

School is nauseating. The original concept is appealing -- that of gaining knowledge, but when realized, the actual object is.... abhorrent. I refuse to go back there. Maybe I'll be home-schooled from now on.

I'm done with feeling sorry for myself

It is one thing when you are presented with the choices and you choose academics over a social life. It is quite another when you are forced to focus academically.

I miss Shanghai... Moreover, I miss private schools...

I wish I look better, am smarter, have a better personality...

Gah, my low self-esteemed teenage self is kicking in. Don't mind me, carry on.


(I am so INVISIBLE!)


Yeah, I'm sort of bored at the moment, but may I recommend you The Ballad of Peckham Rye. No matter if you're having the best year of your life or dying of cancer, pick it up... Although if you are dying of cancer, there's chemotherapy and stuff, ya know... Alright folks, I should get to sleep before I type any more embarrassing things I will regret once tomorrow hits.

I get to see Tiffy!

I need to see Monique and Michelle..... Plans, plans, plans, then school on Wednesday. =[

They wouldn't hire me. I guess I'll apply somewhere else =] At uh, the pretzel place? I'll probably eat away my wage, but hey, free pretzels.

I hate initiating shit.

I attended the first full wedding since I was six. It was a strange combination of nervousness and boredom. I met this guy named John (?I'm not sure) and I can't stop thinking about the conversations I held with him. This is not because of anything even relatively romantic (he was almost thirty), but just how I had behaved through the whole thing.

It was the nice introduction. I mentioned how there would be dancing later on -- or maybe he did, I don't remember. Then I asked what music they would be playing and he said old ones, eighties and ninties, making a face all the while. So I mentioned that I like eighties and ninties music, but I did not mention the fact that I do not know a lot about them. I enjoy listening to them but I never bothered myself to find out the names of bands, songs, because it was no jazz.

A couple minutes later, we started talking about US. Then it just popped out casually from my mouth, "It makes me really wonder sometimes how US gets so ahead, what is involved?" He looks at me almost condescendingly, but I let that pass, and he continues to talk in a voice that he might as well have added a pat to my head and would not have made me feel any more kiddish. He continued onto China and blah blah blah until I just bursted out with this semi-speech about China's decline and Rome's decadence and how US is following the same path. I was a rambling maniac, I had no idea what I was saying but I wanted him to shut up about facts about the Chinese history that I was already aware of. This was not the worst part.

Then he said something that I cannot forget. "Yeah, you know when you first said that you were into eighties music, I thought you were just saying it." Which surprised me as well as... Well, it was mildly insulting in a way because he is implying plainly that I would impose random facts on myself to appeal to someone. -- And then, I did that exact same. No, not insult him back, but pretend that I was a huge eighties fan. I went on to mentioning every fact about the eighties that I can rake my brains for. I even told him that Michael Jackson was my secret pleasure -- which is only partly true because I only liked one of his songs and know like... two. I thought I had stopped this habit since... I don't remember when. It was awful. I was so ashamed of myself, but I couldn't stop myself. It was this pride thing, this low self-esteem, I guess I just don't like myself enough.

What's worse? What's worse is that he has my email, which means we might somehow still have some distant weird acquaintance thing going on, which is awful because then I have to cover up for whatever mistakes I had made before. I'm going to have download Michael Jackson songs and... I just hope I never do anything of the sort again.

It makes me wonder whether or not it is hypocracy at work when I preach one course of action while carry out another. I wonder if it is because I don't really believe in what I am saying or something else that makes it hard to act according to the way I advice others. Is it hypocracy when you are aware of the right course of action, and might have even counselled others in the same situation to follow the course, while acting a different way when you are confronted? You always hate whatever characteristic in others that you can find in yourself.

I talked to Cye yesterday and it made me realized something, I've kept in contact with two types of people here:

a) the few I really considered friends and
b) those who made an effort.

It makes me wonder if those two types are on the same level of intimacy now and I realized that many are. I think I was too judgemental in eighth grade that I immediately ruled out most people that could have been on the list of friends. It's almost like that suspension period during school that had made me also realize that the opinions I had hold before of people weren't true. I wonder if these thoughts are really making a difference in my daily actions or are they just thoughts that occur and pass. I certainly hope the former.

While we are committing an action, no matter how wrong it might appear to an outsider, we are always under the belief that we are correct.

Is this true? We might come to a different conclusion later of the same action, but at that exact moment while committing it, it will always appear to be right. Even when we know we are committing an action that is considered "wrong" when compared to our own morals, there must be a reason for the action that outweighs the consequences or the level of wrong this action is, a motivation force that must be much stronger and beyond our moral concerns (at least in the case of whatever the action is) in order to drive us to the action. Because of the priority of the reason, the action is considered appropriate and therefore, right. Is the statement justified then?

I think in a way, that statement, or the idea it expresses, sums up what history is.

Is there a senior's home close to American, btw? And a job opening somewhere close to Washington High? I'm looking for a volunteer job.

Man, the more I think about it, the more I miss Shanghai night life....

We're settling down here. It feels so strange and alien, I wonder if I'll be used to it. I haven't been going to a lot of places because a) I have no one to call b) we didn't get a car until today and c) there are no taxis here! China has gotten deeper into me than I had thought. It doesn't feel like I belong here. It feels like I have three eyes where they have two - I don't feel as if I can connect or communicate with any of them. I wonder how something like that can happen subconsciously, where is the line? When can you see this definite line between conscious change and subconscious? When does it surpass your conscious? I don't think I felt this way last year when I came back.

I'm going to be looking for a new job soon. I'm excited about this part. My mom's forcing me to learn to drive, but remembering global warming, I'm trying to put this off as long as possible. In addition, I'd be insane before I trust car wheels in my hands. I might kill myself, and hurt someone in the process.

Fine, I'll ask the question on everyone's mind...

Will Castro never die?!

guess where i am!

Packing makes me realize how materialistic I am.

I don't think I'm ready. When I was six, I didn't want to grow up, but somehow, I was still unacknowledgedly caught up in the swirl. Now I'm spat back out, and I'm sixteen, I still don't want to grow up. But I can't change what time has already done and time will continue to do. This subject has caught my attention for quite some time now. I don't want much. I really only want to be a kid.

C.K. Williams -- This Happened

A student, a young woman, in a fourth floor hallway of her lycee,
perched on the ledge of an open window chatting with friends between classes;
a teacher passes and chides her, Be careful, you might fall,
almost banteringly chides her, You might fall,
and the young woman, eighteen,a girl really, though she wouldn't think that,
as brilliant as she is, first in her class, and beautiful, too, she's often told,
smiles back, and leans into the open window, which wouldn't even be open if it were winter,
if it were winter someone would have closed it (Close it!)
leans into the window, farther, still smiling, farther and farther,
though it takes less time than this, really an instant, and lets herself fall. Herself fall.

A casual impulse, a fancy, never thought of until now, hardly thought of even now...
No, more than impulse or fancy, the girl knows what she's doing,
the girl means something, the girl means to mean,
because, it occurs to her in that instant, that beautiful or not, bright yes or no,
she's not who she is, she's not the person she is, and the reason, she suddenly knows,
is that there's been so much premeditation where she is, so much plotting and planning,
there's hardly a person where she is, or if there is, it's not her, or not wholly her,
it's a self inhabited, lived in by her, and seemingly even as she thinks it
she knows what's been missing: grace, not premeditation but grace,
a kind of being in the world spontaneously, with grace.

Weightfully upon me was the world.
Weightfully this self which graced the world yet never wholly itself.
Weightfully this self which weighed upon me,
the release from which is what I desire and what I achieve.
And the girl remembers, in this infinite instant already so many times divided,
the grief she felt once, hardly knowing she felt it, to merely inhabit herself.
Yes, the girl falls, absurd to fall, even the earth with its compulsion to take unto itself all that falls
must know that falling is absurd, yet the girl falling isn't myself,
or she is myself, but a self I took of my own volition unto myself.
Forever. With grace. This happened.

It's not the best poem, but it's the best to describe the moment.

Time to ball my eyes out to some nice soap operas. I think somehow I've failed my sixth grade self. According to her, I'd have accomplished so much by now. On a whole another subject, I think this guy is incredibly good looking:

On the train trip back to Shanghai, it hit me for the first time that time is slowly stealing from me. Grandma and grandpa aren't the same anymore. Time stole much more from them than from me. It is the first time that I realized that they're not going to be there forever. I can't just go back to Wengzhou and expect them to be there always, cooking for me and playing card games with me. I don't think I can handle the thought of not being able to hear their voices, even if they were just rambling on about how I didn't do this and that right. I guess it must be some twisted form of selfishness -- I want to be able to die before any of them have to. I don't think I'm strong enough to handle the thought of anyone around me dying before me.

I love my grandparents. There aren't much that we have in common or talk about, but they have always been there, caring for me. Ever since I was a kid, I spent a large portion of my day at their house. Such is the way of small towns, families gather and meet every day. I miss that. My cousins and I. There was a bee hive outside of the window one day. I don't think I remember my grandparents aging, but I can definitely see it. I don't want to put a time limit on our relationship.

What if they were to die? What would I do?

I can't believe I'm leaving Shanghai. God knows how long it would be if I were to return again. And even if I do, everything would be so drastically different, I doubt I'll be seeing the same Shanghai as now.

Shanghai is more than just neon lights to me now. It isn't the same victorian buildings lining up the Bund and the flashings of the Pearl Tower that define Shanghai for tourists as for me. Instead, it's a city made of memories and people. I've met so many wonderful people here.

I remember the private lunches with Alice in the little room that the teachers were determined to chase us out of. I remember feeling scared about what would happen when Alice graduates and leaves me. Then it happened, and I made new friends.

I remember talking to Mrs. Henderson on Wednesdays. Through her, I saw myself, and it helped me with my problems even though I didn't speak of any of them specifically. I remember sleeping at nine the day before my first SAT and have Vicki wake me up and tell me that she couldn't get any winterball tickets to the SAS winterball. (so we ended up going to the Concordia one the next day) I remember feeling angry, because we had spent so long planning for it, even calling ourselves "Sparky" and "Anne Louis."

I remember Fridays spent with Kat. I remember Tuesdays and Wednesdays, then Mondays and Thursdays spent tutoring the twins. I remember Justine throwing an earthquake tantrum. I remember slacking off and playing Hasee Bounce on neopets. I remember trying to keep my eyes open at three in the morning so I can finish the damned essay. I remember English classes spent, answering questions aloud while playing games. I remember giving presentations in front of classes and feeling antsy.

I remember the train trip from Jin De Zhen, how the six of us cramped into a room and talked and laughed. I remember Yunnan and Taiwan. I remember giggling myself silly with Vicki on the bus, laughing about our finger mafia. I remember sliding around in mud on the school's roof top with Alisa. I remember the awkward lunch with Joe and the good-bye party with Michael, Ryo, Joe, Kat, Vicki, and I. I remember the trip at Shangrila. I remember Kat and I laying back on the hotel bed, watching soccer players' butts, and laughing about Krabby McGrabby. I remember the taxi trip from People's Square with Kat and Tasha, laughing about "maternity" and "fake showers." I remember the pool party. I remember winterball and prom. I remember the video tape of me fake driving on kat's bed and crashing.

I remember the blue tick. I remember dancing in the gym with Kat. I remember spending time with Kangda. I remember Speed with Jessica. I remember Fiddler on the Roof with Shu-Lin. I remember sitting in a circle with Vicki and Genevive in the dark, laughing about stories about farts and shit. I remember crying during Yunnan, because I had missed Victor and Sandy so much. I remember the Rolling Stones concert. I remember looking about myself in the middle of it and thinking distinctively, "this is exactly how I will remember them," looking at the wild lights flashing across Lily and Kat's face. I remember making the shirts. It was such an amazing night.

I remember being late for Prom. I remember Vicki and I making weird faces. I remember sticking straws up our lips and telling random people to take pictures of us looking like hamsters. I remember wandering around the streets of Taiwan with Kanika, Alisa, and Vicki, and meeting that guy with the "you sexy" shirt. Then taking pictures with him. I remember the "suicidal tendencies" caps. I remember waking up and seeing the "Mao is watching" scraped across the mirror in shaving cream on the Taiwan trip. I remember talking late with Hank. I remember being in the basement with Vicki and that weird guy who went bathroom for twenty minutes and came out to ask what song we were playing.

I remember taking the practice test with Mrs. Chandler. I remember the pride I felt when Mr. Luedtke complimented my story. I remember asking him for criticisms on the long poem I was working on so I can make it better. I remember him telling my mom that I have an "unique obsession with excellence."

I remember talking to Anu until three in the morning. I remember being on the phone with Valentina till four. I remember watching Ji-Yeon drunk. I remember Tasha drunk and Lily tipsy. I remember the "ka-ching" story. I remember talking to Luke till three, three nights in a row, during final exams. I remember the many shopping trips with so many people. I remember the call at three of clock from Sandy because she doesn't know how to convert times.

I remember crying and laughing. I remember Kat crying when she had to give away Cleo. I remember the belly piercing and how scared I had been. I remember Vicki, telling me she was going to pierce again after her third time. I remember times out clubbing. I remember reading. I remember discussing poems with Shu-Lin. I remember the trip on the roof with her. I remember lying there by myself and enjoying the sun. It was such a nice day. I remember playing shadow tag and that one time when Acamis was held at Concordia. I remember running into the tree.

I remember the inside jokes with Kat and Vicki: gym lights turning on when Tolvar walks in, the shorts, weird laugh association (WLA)... I remember meeting Jorge. I remember the last day with Kat, a strange kind of content with melancholy, both of us afraid of admiting that we might never see each other again. I remember the dinner afterwards with Jorge, Alice, and her friend. I remember all the service works I had done. I remember the fatigue after a day of digging dirt. I remember visiting and carrying the retarded kids at the orphanage and shopping for a present for them. I remember running about trying to kick start the recycling club. I remember speaking with the people from the company and presenting my project to the head. I remember the big guy approving it and saying that he wants to see a complete plan. Man, that's gotta be my biggest regret -- not finishing getting the recycling program started at Concordia. I remember decorating the room for Sunrise and how wonderful it had looked. I remember folding clothes to be shipped off for the underpriviledged kids. I remember how adorable the kids had looked the day I helped out with the first graders, how one of them told me she wanted me as a sister. She was the sweetest thing. I remember her fingers clenching my index. I remember Joe inviting me to the Turkish bong place.

It has been two most amazing years.

wtf is this. is this some sort of cruel joke? I'm comparable to a fucking hen when in water, and my mom signed me up for swimming lessons?