I think I have a nasty disease. It's called Homework Robot Syndrome. All day today, I have been chained to one textbook or another, copying out pointless excersises.
A sneak peek into my head: dimensional analysis. fml. density. wtf. chirstopher columbus. what a dick. mission indians. i need a nap. corn. i'm hungry. the spanish. oh crap i have spanish homework too. fmlfmlfml!!!!!!!!!!!!
Seriously, I can feel myself wasting away. The fun and creative and alive parts of my brain are turning to dust from suppression and disuse. The parts of me being used are the dull dead memorization and the mindless copying. Flesh slowly hardens into metal. Brains melt into textbook puree. Arm becomes an extension of pen, keyboard, and mouse. Legs shrivel away. Voice becomes a forgotten implement. Expressions withdraw into the face until there are only two large, vacant eyes, staring endlessly at the page or screen.
There were two instances today in which I felt alive at all:
1. When I went to go fly a kite for 10 minutes in my backyard (it was SO FUN until I had to go back inside)
2. When I chased my sister around the house for mocking me (that was fun until I realized I still had 50 more problems to do if I wanted to have a chance at not failing the chem test)
It really sucks. I hate not being able to talk to people. Not being able to create. Not being able to live.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Nell-Goodnight
Nell-Goodnight
This band beats pretty-boy dance groups who can only dance and look cute for the masses.
This band beats pretty-boy dance groups who can only dance and look cute for the masses.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Adrenaline Rush
There's something very refreshing about posting an entry on a blog. Not like my first entry was anything to rave about, but when I clicked that PUBLISH button, it was like a rush of adrenaline electrified me with it's deadly pulse. I immediately wanted to post another entry, progressively turning into one of those all day, all the time bloggers. However I restrained myself, holding myself back from the infectious blogging disease. "A post a day, keeps the Psychoblogger Syndrome away." I told myself.
However, I still think I'm on a bad path, toward blogging about every little detail that no one cares about. Take now for instance. I just woke up about an hour ago. It's not like anything interesting has happened. I'm posting solely for the chance to feel that exciting adrenaline again. Like a drug, no?
Location: Somewhere in the neighborhood
Photographer: Me. (www.lookingglasschariots.deviantart.com)
Camera: Sony Cybershot DSC-H50
Editing: Piknik ;D
Friday, September 25, 2009
On Education
Where has all of our taxpayer money gone to? Instead of building a new theater and a swimming pool, that huge chunk of
money should have been used to build walls in grimy, old High School South. However, I am not here to discuss the fiscal decisions of our Board of Ed., nor rant about the shabby structures of our school.
Education fails in our school district, if not the entire country. The only reason why students at WWP HSS succeed is due to the painstaking effort that they put into their academic work and activities. I have yet to meet a teacher who greatly inspired me to pursue learning to the fullest extent.
From the way our teachers teach us how to "learn" the subject, I have to say that either they don't know how to teach very well or they just don't enjoy their job. Because of this, the learning process becomes a drudgery instead of an incentive to develop intellectually.
How does staring at a powerpoint for 45 minutes straight evoke a passionate desire to fully grasp the fundamentals of a social studies topic? How does being placed in classes supervised by spaced-out and irresponsible teachers inspire students to develop good work ethics and time management? Unless the student applies himself with more intensity, it is rather difficult to learn in such circumstances.
The way we are taught to learn is highly counterproductive. We are forced to analyze and analyze and analyze some more. This is evident especially when it comes to writing essays. Our creative freedom is crushed with equivocating prompts. We no longer can enjoy a book properly because of that essay due next week. Furthermore, no one is properly taught how to write an essay. Our language arts teachers never go fully into detail on how to craft a legitimate essay nor do they concentrate on our grammar and comprehension skills. It's always an essay and then another essay and then another one. To add some more bad news, the feedbacks that we receive from our teachers are flimsy and ambiguous. But we students are at fault too. We tend to be passive instead of being proactive. We lounge lazily in our rooms when we could dig in deeper into the course material and discover new possibilities in scoring better on the next test. Hence forth, we end up blaming our teachers for everything.
I also believe that we students perform poorly academically because our schools try to cram too many subjects into our heads in one sitting. Consequentially, we are forced to regurgitate that mishmash of reluctantly acquired information through tests and quizzes.
Passive learning fails to enrich as much as active learning. Take a look at Finland. That country has the best educational system in the world. There are several reasons for this.
1) Interactive learning is highly encouraged.
2) The best teachers are hired.
3) Classes are fun. Therefore, the students actually enjoy the workload even if completing it means sacrificing free time.
4) All this is possible because the money is utilized for appropriate purposes.
The reason why the United States cannot compete with Finland on education is because the United States is a militaristic nation. Too much of our taxpayer money has been allocated towards manufacturing arms and waging unnecessary wars.
If we students want to experience a whole new educational process that is more enriching and dynamic than ever before, our nation must first go through a paradigm shift.
The United States must dismantle all of its military posts from the world. These establishments are a waste of money and resources. Second, the United States economy must significantly reduce its dependence on war factories. I cannot tell you just how perplexed I am at how much money our nation puts into and makes from generating killing machines and apocalypse-inducing man-of-war's. Why should we spend all that money to blow up innocent citizens and destroy homes? Why can't we use that money to renovate schools, aid students with learning disabilities, and help foreign students adjust to their new environments? Why must we always solve everything with violence? Is this really what we want to leave in this chapter of American history, that the United States is willing to blow everyone up and that we Americans are bellicose, gun-loving, racists? We must not repeat history. Remember Vietnam. Remember Iraq.
We should no longer enroll in jam-packed high schools and memorize pointlessly from textbooks and forget everything after an exam. The maximum number of students per school should be limited to 300. It is better to learn in a quiet space than in a hectic, wall-less environment.
Interactive learning must be asserted strongly in kindergartens and primary schools. This will motivate children to learn at a young age and succeed in their future academic careers. Writing and economics should be taught intensively in middle schools. If students firmly grasp the fundamentals of those two subjects, they will be set to pursue lucrative careers in their adulthood. Once they finish middle school, specialized high schools shall be available to accommodate each student's respective interests in a certain subject. Finally, the concept of "Ivy League" or "elite" universities should be abolished. Every college and university must be equally prestigious and not be ranked above or below one another.
Changing the American educational system would be equivalent to ameliorating the current American image. With a newly improved schooling system, our nation shall conceive more critical thinking individuals. We shall in turn, appoint future leaders that will guide our country alongside the morals that we have been fighting for since 1776. We will no longer be a gun-loving people. We will no longer be accused of supporting a system that takes innocent lives and segregates races. We shall be progressive. We shall prosper. We shall lead with peace and freedom.
My wishful thinking is that this change will take place soon. However, I do not see that in the forecast. Any sort of reform takes time. For now, we must endure and make do with what we have. Good luck to you all, fellow students. I wish you luck at surpassing the banalities of our high school's educating methods and hope that one day, all this will change forever.
The United States must dismantle all of its military posts from the world. These establishments are a waste of money and resources. Second, the United States economy must significantly reduce its dependence on war factories. I cannot tell you just how perplexed I am at how much money our nation puts into and makes from generating killing machines and apocalypse-inducing man-of-war's. Why should we spend all that money to blow up innocent citizens and destroy homes? Why can't we use that money to renovate schools, aid students with learning disabilities, and help foreign students adjust to their new environments? Why must we always solve everything with violence? Is this really what we want to leave in this chapter of American history, that the United States is willing to blow everyone up and that we Americans are bellicose, gun-loving, racists? We must not repeat history. Remember Vietnam. Remember Iraq.
We should no longer enroll in jam-packed high schools and memorize pointlessly from textbooks and forget everything after an exam. The maximum number of students per school should be limited to 300. It is better to learn in a quiet space than in a hectic, wall-less environment.
Interactive learning must be asserted strongly in kindergartens and primary schools. This will motivate children to learn at a young age and succeed in their future academic careers. Writing and economics should be taught intensively in middle schools. If students firmly grasp the fundamentals of those two subjects, they will be set to pursue lucrative careers in their adulthood. Once they finish middle school, specialized high schools shall be available to accommodate each student's respective interests in a certain subject. Finally, the concept of "Ivy League" or "elite" universities should be abolished. Every college and university must be equally prestigious and not be ranked above or below one another.
Changing the American educational system would be equivalent to ameliorating the current American image. With a newly improved schooling system, our nation shall conceive more critical thinking individuals. We shall in turn, appoint future leaders that will guide our country alongside the morals that we have been fighting for since 1776. We will no longer be a gun-loving people. We will no longer be accused of supporting a system that takes innocent lives and segregates races. We shall be progressive. We shall prosper. We shall lead with peace and freedom.
My wishful thinking is that this change will take place soon. However, I do not see that in the forecast. Any sort of reform takes time. For now, we must endure and make do with what we have. Good luck to you all, fellow students. I wish you luck at surpassing the banalities of our high school's educating methods and hope that one day, all this will change forever.
Contradiction
It seems like all anybody wants to be anymore is different. To "fight the system". To "stand out". And for some reason, that includes having the iPod with the most bands that no one has ever heard of. This has become such a fad that it has developed it's own little stereotype. The "nonconformity" stereotype.
Unfortunately, I must admit that I have fallen into this little group of people. If everyone wants this one, I want that. It's a nasty little habit, I must admit. Picking for the sake of it being the least picked, I mean. But I guess that's who I am after a point. Someone whose trying too hard to stand out. Like most teenagers.
Didn't we all feel so darn great when we were the only ones who new about "3OH!3" and "Death Cab for Cutie", bands that are very popular now. And all of a sudden, it isn't cool anymore to listen to them...because everybody does.
I actually thought this comically fit into the topic.
Skinnies, dirty converse, vintage setting. You know the drill.
Location: Bathroom at my mom's office. ._.
Photographer: Me. www.lookingglasschariots.deviantart.com
Camera: Sony Cybershot DSC-H50
Editing: Picnik (LOL)
And..those feet belong to me :D
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
PassionFruitJuice
This is so cool. I've never written on a blog before so thank you for this experience, Minjeh.
Due to the somewhat emo (or at least deep and profound) nature of all previous posts, I am not going to write the usual completely bs-ed random fairy tales that I usually write. I'm going to tell the slightly emo story behind my favorite random story that I've ever written: PassionFruitJuice.
The story started one random day in math when I was in seventh grade. But although many of my friends have read parts of it or know the storyline, I've never told the story behind why it was written. It was more than just a way to kill time and produce giggles. It was the way I expressed the deep and intense love I had felt for the boy who became PassionFruitJuice.
When I was in sixth grade, I fell in love with PassionFruitJuice. You may think that a sixth grader knows nothing about love, but I definitely believed I was in true, deep love. And since I am a person of extremes, I threw my complete existence into loving him. Every song I heard spoke volumes to me about him. Every romantic book I read was the story of him and me in an alternate dimension. Anything he asked for, I gave him. Every word he said to me was like a golden drop of nectar and ambrosia. Every night, I dreamed of him, I fell asleep thinking of him, wishing with every fiber of my soul that he would care about me too.
Because that was the problem. He didn't care about me. He didn't give a shit about me. I could have been run over by a bus, stabbed to pieces by a ferocious bloodsucking monster, and he would not even have blinked. You see, he liked pretty girls. And that obviously does not describe me. So despite my nauseating dedication, he treated me like moldy underwear or something nasty like that.
Every night, I would go home and cry. I would cry because he didn't like me. Because I wasn't good enough for him. Because my life was a faliure. Because I had nothing better to do. Because I truly believed with my heart and soul that I was completely and irrevocably in love with him.
This story, PassionFruitJuice, is the only good thing that came out of those 3 years of love and dedication. For three years, I loved him. For three years, I cried. The only time being in love with PassionFruitJuice brought me joy was when I was writing the story.
In the story, AnyaRose (that's what I called myself) is the one with the power. She's like a super-me. PassionFruitJuice needs her. He depends on her. He cares about her. And it's predictable from page one (well actually page 5) that she and PassionFruitJuice are destined to be together. What's more, PassionFruitJuice is going to change his ways and become a better person in realizing this love for her. WHY ISN'T THE UNIVERSE LIKE THIS!?
Actually, I know why. It's because PassionFruitJuice was and still is a total dick. I was just so blinded by being in love with him that it didn't matter what he did, I would always put the blame on myself.
How's that for a deep, profound, take on what everyone thought was the funnest, randomest, non-deep/profoundest thing ever???
Due to the somewhat emo (or at least deep and profound) nature of all previous posts, I am not going to write the usual completely bs-ed random fairy tales that I usually write. I'm going to tell the slightly emo story behind my favorite random story that I've ever written: PassionFruitJuice.
The story started one random day in math when I was in seventh grade. But although many of my friends have read parts of it or know the storyline, I've never told the story behind why it was written. It was more than just a way to kill time and produce giggles. It was the way I expressed the deep and intense love I had felt for the boy who became PassionFruitJuice.
When I was in sixth grade, I fell in love with PassionFruitJuice. You may think that a sixth grader knows nothing about love, but I definitely believed I was in true, deep love. And since I am a person of extremes, I threw my complete existence into loving him. Every song I heard spoke volumes to me about him. Every romantic book I read was the story of him and me in an alternate dimension. Anything he asked for, I gave him. Every word he said to me was like a golden drop of nectar and ambrosia. Every night, I dreamed of him, I fell asleep thinking of him, wishing with every fiber of my soul that he would care about me too.
Because that was the problem. He didn't care about me. He didn't give a shit about me. I could have been run over by a bus, stabbed to pieces by a ferocious bloodsucking monster, and he would not even have blinked. You see, he liked pretty girls. And that obviously does not describe me. So despite my nauseating dedication, he treated me like moldy underwear or something nasty like that.
Every night, I would go home and cry. I would cry because he didn't like me. Because I wasn't good enough for him. Because my life was a faliure. Because I had nothing better to do. Because I truly believed with my heart and soul that I was completely and irrevocably in love with him.
This story, PassionFruitJuice, is the only good thing that came out of those 3 years of love and dedication. For three years, I loved him. For three years, I cried. The only time being in love with PassionFruitJuice brought me joy was when I was writing the story.
In the story, AnyaRose (that's what I called myself) is the one with the power. She's like a super-me. PassionFruitJuice needs her. He depends on her. He cares about her. And it's predictable from page one (well actually page 5) that she and PassionFruitJuice are destined to be together. What's more, PassionFruitJuice is going to change his ways and become a better person in realizing this love for her. WHY ISN'T THE UNIVERSE LIKE THIS!?
Actually, I know why. It's because PassionFruitJuice was and still is a total dick. I was just so blinded by being in love with him that it didn't matter what he did, I would always put the blame on myself.
How's that for a deep, profound, take on what everyone thought was the funnest, randomest, non-deep/profoundest thing ever???
Yo Mama Is So Lovin' that She Will Give Birth to You
I am an advocate of hard work. That's pretty funny because I am one of the laziest human beings you will ever meet. I never pick up my room. I always have to be informed to take out the trash. I fail to keep my promises on time. Yet, I support hard work.
I guess it's because watching other people work hard to their fullest potential inspires me to the point that my all-time low self-esteem experiences a slight lift. Hardworking people awe me more than prodigies. Genius is overrated folks. Even Mozart put in 10,000 hours of practicing before initiating his musical career.
Many of us ask ourselves, "Ok, they work hard, but what's in it for me?" And I just can't help but shake my head sadly at how brutally selfish and narrow-minded us adolescents are. I sadly admit that I am one of the most selfish people that I know. I find myself indulging in trivial matters when I can be devoting my time honing my intellectual capacities and musical abilities.
The lazy student does not, cannot, and will not understand why he has to put in the workload for his subjects at school. All that matters is that, that one extra honors class is going to cost him a weekend of loafing around or that one book to read is going to reduce an hour of his usual 3-hour long TV marathon. He does not bring into mind that by succeeding academically, he is doing not only himself a big favor, but also to the people who love and treasure him the most: his parents.
Our parents are very under-appreciated. We fail to realize that they are sagacious people. Through our hormone-induced vision, we view them as grouchy pricks. This is wrong. They were the ones who conceived us in the first place. Think of your mother. Can you imagine how much pain she must have been through just to give birth to you? Why, she could have decided she didn't want a baby at all. Yet, she endured all that pain just so you could experience this world.
Our parents are the only ones who love us unconditionally. They feed us, they shelter us, they shower us with their undying support. True, some other parents may show these qualities in questionable ways but no matter how "Asian" or anal the parent may be, their sole purpose is to guarantee that their child will have a good life in the future.
If we do not work hard, we have no right whatsoever to demand favors from our parents. If we do not work hard, our parents will no longer be obligated to feed us and guide us. Many of you parent-haters and individualists may rail against my argument, but hear me out. Your parents love you, and they will love you forever no matter what.
Don't belittle studious asian kids. They are merely repaying the tremendous deed their parents have bestowed upon them. Try to refrain from talking back to your mom next time. She means well. Listen to your dad's advice for a change. He means well. I have failed to do these things many times and I regret them to the core of my bone.
I love my mom and dad. They deserve so much more than what they are getting from me now. I long to repay them one day. The least I can do right now is to apply myself and work hard. As corny as it may sound, that is the only way I can make myself and them happy.
I guess it's because watching other people work hard to their fullest potential inspires me to the point that my all-time low self-esteem experiences a slight lift. Hardworking people awe me more than prodigies. Genius is overrated folks. Even Mozart put in 10,000 hours of practicing before initiating his musical career.
Many of us ask ourselves, "Ok, they work hard, but what's in it for me?" And I just can't help but shake my head sadly at how brutally selfish and narrow-minded us adolescents are. I sadly admit that I am one of the most selfish people that I know. I find myself indulging in trivial matters when I can be devoting my time honing my intellectual capacities and musical abilities.
The lazy student does not, cannot, and will not understand why he has to put in the workload for his subjects at school. All that matters is that, that one extra honors class is going to cost him a weekend of loafing around or that one book to read is going to reduce an hour of his usual 3-hour long TV marathon. He does not bring into mind that by succeeding academically, he is doing not only himself a big favor, but also to the people who love and treasure him the most: his parents.
Our parents are very under-appreciated. We fail to realize that they are sagacious people. Through our hormone-induced vision, we view them as grouchy pricks. This is wrong. They were the ones who conceived us in the first place. Think of your mother. Can you imagine how much pain she must have been through just to give birth to you? Why, she could have decided she didn't want a baby at all. Yet, she endured all that pain just so you could experience this world.
Our parents are the only ones who love us unconditionally. They feed us, they shelter us, they shower us with their undying support. True, some other parents may show these qualities in questionable ways but no matter how "Asian" or anal the parent may be, their sole purpose is to guarantee that their child will have a good life in the future.
If we do not work hard, we have no right whatsoever to demand favors from our parents. If we do not work hard, our parents will no longer be obligated to feed us and guide us. Many of you parent-haters and individualists may rail against my argument, but hear me out. Your parents love you, and they will love you forever no matter what.
Don't belittle studious asian kids. They are merely repaying the tremendous deed their parents have bestowed upon them. Try to refrain from talking back to your mom next time. She means well. Listen to your dad's advice for a change. He means well. I have failed to do these things many times and I regret them to the core of my bone.
I love my mom and dad. They deserve so much more than what they are getting from me now. I long to repay them one day. The least I can do right now is to apply myself and work hard. As corny as it may sound, that is the only way I can make myself and them happy.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Murder
Forgive me reader, for I have sinned. I have taken the life of another individual. Yes, I am a murderer, a despicable, selfish killer. The other day, I was waiting for my dad to pick me up from school. Like a ruminating cow, I gazed lazily at the ground and shuffled my feet this way and that on the grainy pavement. I must've cut a comical figure, sporting a beret and a checkered green sweater complete with black Converse high-tops. As I was staring blankly at the ground, a spider trailed across the tiny crevice that separated two wedges of pavement from each other. Skittle, skittle, skittle, it frantically made its way to its unknown destination. My peripheral vision caught sight of this poor creature, and with one solid movement I squashed it flat.
I removed my foot and stared at the spider's gruesome transformation. At first I felt lightheaded for having done something that was slightly exciting. Then I was overwhelmed with guilt and remorse. I had committed murder. I had butchered an innocent living being for no good reason.
I am not overreacting. I do not believe that this situation should be taken lightly. We fail to realize that even spiders have a place in society. Why had I squished the spider? It hadn't done anything to me. Moreover, it was probably more afraid of me than I of it. Why had I squished the spider? What justifies this cruel decision?
Nothing. Nothing justifies it. All the spider did was exist within my vicinity. And I had ended its innocent existence.
I can't help but wonder what the spider must've seen before its death. A huge sole descending swiftly upon its tiny head...and then darkness. How awful.
Picture a monster movie. Does the monster give a flying shit about the humans that it destroys and devours and rips apart? Hell no. A monster is what we become when we squish insects and spiders for no good reason. Why did he squish that moth? Because it was on the bathroom wall. Did it do anything remotely detrimental to your health or well being? No. Why did she kill that beetle? Because it looked ugly and disgusting and ew ew ew.... But did it try to attack you? No.
You may argue and defend your stance on killing insects by setting examples such as "Well, mosquitoes sting and cockroaches are a nuisance". And that is exactly why we have to keep their population in check. The activities of mosquitoes and cockroaches are detrimental to our health. They carry disease, they carry filth, and they spread it all across our homes. They spread pestilence that are capable of wiping out societies. If these pests get out of control, who knows what will happen. Hence forth, when one kills a mosquito or a cockroach, it is not murder. It is an execution of a dangerous convict.
Why did I squish that poor spider? There was plenty of room for both of us out in the open. It just happened to be there. Why did I kill it? Are we really that selfish? Have we not learned how to value lives after countless life lessons drilled into our brains?
I find the hypocrisy of humans fascinating. We berate the Holocaust and the genocide of Darfur, yet we do equally treacherous things to organisms that deserve a place in this world. If a giant monster were to appear and destroy everything in sight, we'd finally understand how insects and spiders view us through their eyes.
Why should we feel sorry for ourselves when disasters strike? If there was such thing as a God, would he even care that his own creations were dying by the millions? Probably not, for God is too divine beyond our comprehension and to him, we are nothing but little insects.
Monday, September 21, 2009
How It Ends
I heard the instrumental version of this song in the "Little Miss Sunshine" soundtrack. It was so beautiful and poignant, I cried. I finally found the original on Youtube, and I have to say it's one of the most beautiful songs that I have ever heard.
How It Ends- Devotchka
Gonna put it to the test
You wanted it to be blessed
And in your heart
You know it to be true
You know what you gotta do
They all depend on you
And you already know
Yet you already know
How this will end
There is no escape
From the slave catcher's songs
For all of the loved ones gone
Forever's not so long
And in your soul
They poked a million holes
But you never let them show
Come on its time to go
And you already know
Yet you already know
How this will end
Now you've seen his face
And you know that there's a place in the sun
For all that you've done
For you and your children
No longer shall you need
You always wanted to believe
Just ask and you'll receive
Beyond your wildest dreams
And you already know
Yet you already know
How this will end
You already know (You already know)
You already know (You already know)
You already know
How this will end
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Listen to Your Heart
I fell asleep reading "Selected Writings by Ralph Waldo Emerson" last night. Though I only managed to get halfway through the preface, something stuck with me from what I read. Emerson said that when writing down thoughts, one should plunge deeply into his heart and write down what the heart says. Listen to your heart.
I do that too. I listen to my heart when times seem rough. Sometimes, what my heart tells me is not necessarily uplifting. It speaks the brutal truth and sharpens the painful reality. I get scared of myself because of this. Because not everything in this life turns out efficaciously, because nothing is ever perfect, and nothing is ever permanent.
I wish I could comprehend the perspective of the 4th dimension. I wish I could become unstuck in time like Billy Pilgrim and watch my life play before my own eyes like a home video. But then, that would mean life is predestined, and I am not a passionate adherent to that theory.
What my heart tells me shows who I really am. At certain times, it equivocates my judgement and I end up acting on impulse. Just like the time when I saw her I didn't know what to do. My heart screamed out "GO TELL HER YOU LOVE HER" and I did. Didn't expect much. She politely rejected my advance. And I cried.
Not in front of her of course. That would have been embarrassing. But I did cry. I've never cried so much in my life. And it was only over this girl that I knew and loved. I thoroughly berate myself for having allocated all my passions to this girl instead to my parents who love me unconditionally and my ambitions.
Obsession comes from the heart. I guess I write and talk a lot about my personal obsessions. But things are getting better. I've been embraced by fellow crying rabbits and am just in the grueling process of waiting for the Marshmallow Sundown to take us home.
Who are my friends? I cannot tell. Who are my enemies? I cannot tell that either. I do know who I am though. And I do know what my heart tells me. My heart is my true best friend because it doesn't tell lies, it doesn't keep secrets, and it never fails to espouse my personal beliefs and ambitions. However, if my heart physically manifested itself into this world, I would imagine a beautiful girl with long, cascading hair,warm eyes and a smile to die for.
Call me a romantic. I admit I am one. There's nothing wrong with that though. I'm just a lonely high school kid who's just trying to find his way through. I will survive this though. I'm optimistic. Nothing can stop me from achieving what I desire the most. Not even myself.
A Day In the Life of a Procrastinating Teenager or the Truth of Truth
Today was an uneventful day. All I did was curl up into an insignificant little ball and read "Slaughterhouse Five" by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. An interesting read, I highly recommend it. But that's aside the main point of this here writing that I'm probably going to spend a good twenty minutes typing away like a half-crazed Albert Camus bent over his typewriter.
Should've done my homework this morning. My phone read 6:15 AM when I woke up. Really should've gotten the hell up and made breakfast and ate it and brushed my teeth and carried out the ever-so banal morning routine that is prevalent in everyone's lives. Instead, I stayed in bed.
10 hrs and 30 minutes later, I am seated in front of a white computer. 10 hrs and 30 minutes later, I am here now, writing this note on facebook like a half-crazed Albert Camus bent over his typewriter. There's a stack of old newspapers to my right and a myriad books stacked like bricks behind me. This is my fortress, ladies and gents. This is my home, my happy place.
Didn't take a shower either. I should. I'm expecting visitors soon...well if you could call them visitors. More like my inner demons manifesting themselves through my frail body. And those demons were the same exact forces that incarcerated me in the comfort zone of my blanket. Damn them, I could have been productive today.
But if I blame those demons then I will be primarily blaming myself, because those demons are from within me, and if I blame my own attributes I will be placing the blame on myself. Sometimes I imagine that I'm a starving artist of some sort, living in a shithole of an apartment, my lungs riddled with holes from chain-smoking, my vision blurred from countless shots of scotch and vodka. Another Camus, another Yeats, another Orwell. My prose and imagination are inferior compared to these masters but at least I have my ambitions.
You may think I'm crazy. Well, aren't we all. It's futile to deny that no one in this world is a 100% mentally stable. You may ask yourself, "Why the hell am I reading this? All this guy's saying is some bottled-up shit!" Final verdict: I am full of shit. That's why I have to excrete it through words. That way I may be able to breathe more freely and regain my senses. Currently, my once trenchant mind is unable to fully perform to its potential, therefore I am expelling all gunk within my system that I've imbibed over the years.
I can't explain why but I'm having great trouble with refraining from implementing profanity to this note. These impulses come and go all the time for no apparent reason. Profanities are convenient. You express frustration, anger, jealousy, joy, hatred, sadness all with one or two words. In many ways, words are more powerful than atomic weapons.
No one knows why you act in a certain way except for yourself. You are the only one you can trust. I am the only one I can trust. God is the only one that he can trust. He cannot trust us humans to do things the way he created us to do so. It's irrational. That's why it is better that people do not believe in God. They only have to believe in themselves.
Believe in yourself. Trust yourself. Love yourself. No one else can emphasize those things besides you. You have to do everything for yourself. And so do I.
I'm going to leave you now. It is 4:45 pm and I am no longer a half-crazed Albert Camus bent over his typewriter. I am Minjeh Lee, 16 years-old, and this much I know is true.
Should've done my homework this morning. My phone read 6:15 AM when I woke up. Really should've gotten the hell up and made breakfast and ate it and brushed my teeth and carried out the ever-so banal morning routine that is prevalent in everyone's lives. Instead, I stayed in bed.
10 hrs and 30 minutes later, I am seated in front of a white computer. 10 hrs and 30 minutes later, I am here now, writing this note on facebook like a half-crazed Albert Camus bent over his typewriter. There's a stack of old newspapers to my right and a myriad books stacked like bricks behind me. This is my fortress, ladies and gents. This is my home, my happy place.
Didn't take a shower either. I should. I'm expecting visitors soon...well if you could call them visitors. More like my inner demons manifesting themselves through my frail body. And those demons were the same exact forces that incarcerated me in the comfort zone of my blanket. Damn them, I could have been productive today.
But if I blame those demons then I will be primarily blaming myself, because those demons are from within me, and if I blame my own attributes I will be placing the blame on myself. Sometimes I imagine that I'm a starving artist of some sort, living in a shithole of an apartment, my lungs riddled with holes from chain-smoking, my vision blurred from countless shots of scotch and vodka. Another Camus, another Yeats, another Orwell. My prose and imagination are inferior compared to these masters but at least I have my ambitions.
You may think I'm crazy. Well, aren't we all. It's futile to deny that no one in this world is a 100% mentally stable. You may ask yourself, "Why the hell am I reading this? All this guy's saying is some bottled-up shit!" Final verdict: I am full of shit. That's why I have to excrete it through words. That way I may be able to breathe more freely and regain my senses. Currently, my once trenchant mind is unable to fully perform to its potential, therefore I am expelling all gunk within my system that I've imbibed over the years.
I can't explain why but I'm having great trouble with refraining from implementing profanity to this note. These impulses come and go all the time for no apparent reason. Profanities are convenient. You express frustration, anger, jealousy, joy, hatred, sadness all with one or two words. In many ways, words are more powerful than atomic weapons.
No one knows why you act in a certain way except for yourself. You are the only one you can trust. I am the only one I can trust. God is the only one that he can trust. He cannot trust us humans to do things the way he created us to do so. It's irrational. That's why it is better that people do not believe in God. They only have to believe in themselves.
Believe in yourself. Trust yourself. Love yourself. No one else can emphasize those things besides you. You have to do everything for yourself. And so do I.
I'm going to leave you now. It is 4:45 pm and I am no longer a half-crazed Albert Camus bent over his typewriter. I am Minjeh Lee, 16 years-old, and this much I know is true.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Marshmallow Sundown for Crying Rabbits
A dead rabbit lay on the road this morning. Funny, it looked as if it were only asleep. Not a single fly nor a maggot had soiled through its velvety fur. You couldn't call it a carcass. It was living, yet dead, and dead, yet living.
Perhaps this rabbit is a divine paradox. Maybe it conveys that all living things simultaneously wish to live and die. But how can you trust me? I'm a mere human being. I am not a rabbit.
You're not a rabbit. What the hell am I saying? Can we possibly trust ourselves with each other when our lives are manipulated by invisible forces of malevolence? Who drives us to do these things? Why can't we fight back? Why can't we live joyfully? Why can't we die peacefully?
I only look forward to one thing in my life...the Marshmallow Sundown. One day in the midst of it all, the rabbit's companions will come back and cry and mourn his death. The Marshmallow Sundown thus descends. You and I shall be embraced by this eternal spectrum of warmth and everlasting serenity. The rabbits need their peace so let them rest...let them rest away. Forever and ever, for heaven and hell cannot compromise, for God and the Devil cannot control us, for nothing can inhibit our dreams and ambitions...we shall transcend all boundaries and rise...
What goes up does not always come down. Sometimes things just fly away. I wish to live for the moment and realize that I have actually lived it, and not when I rummage through my memories in my old age, grimace that I have wasted it away.
Rabbits dancing around me, prancing, singing, crying. Oh Marshmallow Sundown, take me away with those rabbits. Fly me away from this place and I shall never worry again. Let me cry with my friends, let me rejoice with my friends, let me love with my friends. I love you all. I love you, I love you...Oh Marshmallow Sundown you are my only true love.
I wish to come up for air, to discover all the aspects of this forsaken planet and spread my wings. I wish that everyone will survive hard times and stay friends and love and cry and hold each other tightly before settling six foot under.
I will not die when the time comes. I shall leave. I shall head for the Marshmallow Sundown and meet you there. I will meet you there my friend, and I wish you the very best of luck in living your ever-lasting life.
We shall become immortal without having to be immortal. We shall become gods without being divine. We shall embrace one another once we are warmly wrapped within the Marshmallow Sundown. I love all of you. I love all of you. Oh Marshmallow Sundown, you are my only true love.
Perhaps this rabbit is a divine paradox. Maybe it conveys that all living things simultaneously wish to live and die. But how can you trust me? I'm a mere human being. I am not a rabbit.
You're not a rabbit. What the hell am I saying? Can we possibly trust ourselves with each other when our lives are manipulated by invisible forces of malevolence? Who drives us to do these things? Why can't we fight back? Why can't we live joyfully? Why can't we die peacefully?
I only look forward to one thing in my life...the Marshmallow Sundown. One day in the midst of it all, the rabbit's companions will come back and cry and mourn his death. The Marshmallow Sundown thus descends. You and I shall be embraced by this eternal spectrum of warmth and everlasting serenity. The rabbits need their peace so let them rest...let them rest away. Forever and ever, for heaven and hell cannot compromise, for God and the Devil cannot control us, for nothing can inhibit our dreams and ambitions...we shall transcend all boundaries and rise...
What goes up does not always come down. Sometimes things just fly away. I wish to live for the moment and realize that I have actually lived it, and not when I rummage through my memories in my old age, grimace that I have wasted it away.
Rabbits dancing around me, prancing, singing, crying. Oh Marshmallow Sundown, take me away with those rabbits. Fly me away from this place and I shall never worry again. Let me cry with my friends, let me rejoice with my friends, let me love with my friends. I love you all. I love you, I love you...Oh Marshmallow Sundown you are my only true love.
I wish to come up for air, to discover all the aspects of this forsaken planet and spread my wings. I wish that everyone will survive hard times and stay friends and love and cry and hold each other tightly before settling six foot under.
I will not die when the time comes. I shall leave. I shall head for the Marshmallow Sundown and meet you there. I will meet you there my friend, and I wish you the very best of luck in living your ever-lasting life.
We shall become immortal without having to be immortal. We shall become gods without being divine. We shall embrace one another once we are warmly wrapped within the Marshmallow Sundown. I love all of you. I love all of you. Oh Marshmallow Sundown, you are my only true love.
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