Best Day. Ever.

November 5, 2009. 11:37PM. Anticipating, expectant, slightly hopeful, nervous.
November 5, 2009. 11:39PM. Shocked, surprised, confused, denial, realization, happy, trembling, overjoyed, on-top-of-the-world, jumping off the walls, I-would-scream-in-happiness-if-my-dad-wasn't-sleeping mode, life-couldn't-get-any-better mood, this-is-the-best-day-of-my-life feeling.
Suffice to say. November 5. Of 2009. At 11:39PM. Despite the fact that it was 21 minutes away from midnight. November 5. Was indeed. The best day of my 15-year old life. Best. Day. No matter what cruddy things happened to me earlier on that day. It's been overruled. Even if my day started from awful. It's now awesome. I don't even remember what I did. But it was definitely an awesome day. A beautiful day. A wonderful day. A terrific day it was! What did I do? NO CLUE. But it doesn't matter. It was, to put it simply, an absolutely-positively-awesome-possum-blossom-tremendous-stupendous-supercalifragilisticexpialidocious day. November 5 is the best day ever. November is a wonderful month. 5 is a wonderful number. When you combine them, it's just the most incredible thing. Ever. Am I repeating myself too much? I'm repeating myself too much. Okay.

Death by the Light

Butterscotch and roses; caramel and blood; whispers are screams.
^Ignore that.

Just felt like posting randomly. I don't even have much to say. And I have a rather lot of homework left to do. Well, me procrastinating doesn't surprise me at all.
"Can I BE any more lazy?" as Chandler from Friends may say.
I don't feel like doing anything. I don't want to wake up in the morning at six in the morning just to face the 50 degrees Fahrenheit cold. I don't want to play football where the grass is so wet it soaks through my shoes. I don't want to sit in a room where I don't feel like I belong in. I don't want to be in a class where math equations prove nothing besides that I'm one of the four idiots in the class that couldn't get a 6/6 on the easiest opener. I don't want to have a class that is filled with annoying people who say annoying things as we do annoying work. I don't want to have a class where my teacher has to make a scene when I raise my hand because I have the least participation points in the class. I don't want to walk to the library where I'm practically hunched over my work sleeping the entire time. I don't want to do my homework that is either too easy or too hard. And no offense guys, but I don't want to dress up and run around playing all night after having class all day because the Chinese don't celebrate Halloween and art class just doesn't know what the heck a "holiday" is.
What I want? To sleep forever and never wake up. No suicidal implications here.
Basically a bunch of "don't wants" everywhere and a "I want". As if what I want matters in the world. There's a "I must" for those who want to live. And a "I want" for dreamers who think they can make it through life doing what they want to do. Those people either get lucky and succeed in "life" or those people are dying on the streets, bundled up in newspaper, because frankly, winter mornings are freezing cold, even in California.
Knowing me, I'd probably be the one dead in an alleyway, probably died from thirst/hunger or froze to death in my sleep, maybe I died from illness, perhaps the rats bit me to death.

Meaningless

I don't know.

There's always a hole between me and everyone. There will always be a void that I and no one can fill. A gap called feelings.

"I see." "Do you really?" It all started then.

When someone rants to you about something. And then you end it off with a "I see", a common, almost automatic, response, the conversation sort of dies from there. But then, that person said, "Do you really now?" Then I thought about it. Do I really know how someone feels after such an explanation? Can I truly ever understand, can anyone understand, how someone else feels?

I thought that if I wrote, I could convey my feelings to others. But in the dark room, the film of Lord of the Flies was playing, and after listening to people laugh at depressing parts, it seems closer to impossible. Although the actors weren't really in any danger, but they symbolized the feelings the author wanted to portray. Instead of focusing on how terrified Ralph was, some people laughed at his facial expression. If we were in his seat, making such a face may have been inevitable, or rather, we wouldn't have cared if our face looked weird. Does this even make sense? Is this even important? I wonder.

I used to think, actually, I came to think that my purpose in life was to listen to people, to understand them, to help them. I kind of feel like . . . my life really doesn't have a meaning to it.

"What makes your life worse than anyone out there?" My, this person makes me think a lot. But there's actually nothing to think about, because my life isn't worse than anyone I know out there. I was often told that I was perfect. Smart, pretty, skinny, nice, and all those other things. I was told my life was perfect. My parents are alive and living together, I get along with my sister, I have a home and a place where I belong.

It's so stupid. That I want to throw my life away. I want to bring forth death, but I'm too scared to. Am I subconsciously aware how ridiculous I am acting? But I want it to shut up. I want my mind to just shut up. I'm afraid of myself.

"What makes your life worse than anyone out there?" There's nothing. I have no reason. Nothing about my life is worse than anyone's. Yet I still want to die? Stupid. I can't even begin to comprehend how everyone else is enduring their life, but they're still going. If only I could give my life away. I used to joke around with friends that we should tell people who have no life to go buy one on the internet, they're free (not really, of course), but now, I kind of wish I could put my life on sale. My family, my face, my existence, I want to give it all away. Everything but my thoughts.

I recently said to a friend that I think it's pointless for him to complain to me if there's nothing I can do to solve the problem or if I can't help him feel better. He asked me why. Simply, I said, because it makes me feel like talking to me is just a waste of effort. Later he purposely asked for help on homework, then later asked, "Feel any better?" Stubbornly, I said, "A tad bit." He asked why else was I upset. I didn't reply. Because it's pointless to tell him. He can't do anything to help me and my dream. No one can because achieving true happiness is impossible. No one can be happy all the time. Everyone has to suffer, and everyone has to be sad every now and then, if not most of the time.

Ah, if I think about it, it's actually meaningless for me to say any of this. Nothing can be done about how I feel. No one can assure me that I understand how others feel. I can't even assure myself that I understand how I feel. Nobody can completely calm my suicidal and gory thoughts. I wish myself they'd go away. There isn't a person who can successfully lie to me that society is always happy. The impossible is impossible. It's a fantasy that can't be achieved. It merely pushes burden onto others or just utterly wastes their time.

Sorry, I was wrong to say life is meaningless when someone asked, "What is the meaning of life?" I'll correct myself now by saying, "My life is meaningless."

idek

Yesterday was one of the best days I've had in this year. So firstly, my classes didn't seem to bite at me, even though I was in a rush to finish some homework in the morning. My lunch was delicious, a chicken bake from Costco. It's the ultimate lunch, I swear. Hot and crisp, yum! Soggy and squished, still yummy! That cheered me up quite a bit. Then I felt like I productively bonded with my friends today. I got to talk to Diana and such. Mingled with Emily and company. I had a chance to hang out with Hee Soo, Yasmin, and Revathi after school, since Hee Soo made me go to this cross country event. That was pretty fun. My chief editor, Janet, said hi to me afterschool when she saw me on the bleachers. I got to say hi to one of the page editors that I've gotten to know, Ryan, and cheer for him on as he ran. So that was nice.
Strangely, I feel really depressed now, though. I don't even really want to talk about it.

Mere Fantasies

I think I've found the source of my recent depression. I think it's my parents. Not like they've done anything, but you know, they just can't as young as they were when I was in elementary school, you know? It's been pretty weird that my mom and dad's hair, for maybe the last two years, to be growing white. It's like a reminder how old my sister is, how old I am, and obviously, how old they're getting. And since my mom's in China, the house has been more quiet. No car chase scenes or Korean people shouting from the television screen. No random comments my parents make or laughing when the music is all sad. Just the humming of my motherboard and the tapping of my keyboard is accompanying me this night. Last night, the night before, it's so quiet. And so sad. I've been getting along with my father pretty well. We talk more than we would before. Maybe it's because my mom isn't around for him to talk to. The house has toned down a bit ever since my sister went to college, and I wonder if my parents will like their life with me out of their hair. Will they be happy with their freedom, or sad with the stilled air? Would they be thinking in depth about my departure? Or is their matured mind prepared and that my absence would not disturb them. But it's so creepy when they talk about retirement. They aren't that old. Then again, it's from 5-7 years difference, between my parents' ages and a majority of my friend's parents. The difference of a sixth grader and a first-year college student. Mere numbers seem too simple in my eyes, but in the eyes of my past, it seemed just way too distant. Heh, I just remembered an old fear of mine, from when I was maybe in the second grade. I used to be afraid that my parents would soon become elderly, their appearances similar to my grandparents, and that they would forget how to speak English. Somehow that became the reason why I studied Chinese. In eight years, I've grown enough to know that my silly fears won't just happen, but it's still haunting, the image of my parents old and fragile. It seems impossible for your strong parents to look like such a shadow of their past. Then there's those "Joint Juice" containers around the house that reminds you that they aren't strong and reminds you of their aches from age. If life was a neverland, we'd always be living the same roles. The rebellious child, the nagging parents, the bothersome siblings, and wouldn't it all be well? In a fantasy world.

I'm Losing the Will to Live

I wonder if spirits exist. Today, on the Chinese holiday, the Moon Festival, my dad held a small ceremony for his father, my grandfather, which he hold in the backyard every few months. My grandfather died a few years back, and my father would sometimes take the framed picture of his father to the backyard, bring food out, burn fake Chinese money, and burn incense and candles. He would go ahead burning the money, and then after he finished a package, he stands there in a moment of silence. I wonder what he thinks during that time. For the weeks after my grandfather passed away, I was not allowed to go to his funeral because of school. So at home, I'd face a corner and just sit there. I wondered if I prayed to my grandfather there, if he'd hear me. If he did, if he was there, everywhere, would he understand English? Would my poor Chinese grammar allow him to understand what I'm trying to say to him. I'd sit there just once in a while and talk to him through my thoughts. If I was at home alone, I'd talk outloud. sometimes I'd talk about my day, others I'd tell him my guilt. I wonder . . . if he's proud of me. Does he approve of my decisions, my beliefs, my actions? Will he understand why I choose to follow the path I do? My beliefs are messed up, but they're mine. Would he respect me for trying to protect what I believe?
Is he there, though? Is there an afterlife? What is the point of living if you're going to die and there's nothing? My history teacher, who's also the psychology teacher told us why she thinks different cultures have their own beliefs, or rather, why mankind try to make themselves believe there is an afterlife. She said it's because we want some sort of result from our actions on Earth. To hope those who did wrong, God, the underworld, or their next life will punish them. Those who are good are rewarded somehow. But really, there's no point in living if we get nothing. What's the point? I don't want to live if there'll come a day when there's nothing. Everything I leave behind, how much will stay. How much will keep existing on this dying world? Is there an end of the world? Is everything humans have done to improve life done nothing but to slowly destory the Earth and everything will prove in vain. Pain, fear, hatred, sins. I wonder if everything I feel is worth less than ashes. A gentle wind can stir them and a small gust can blow them away, then they're just part of the dirt we tread on. What's the meaning of life, indeed?
Speaking of my history teacher, as well as the idea of being punsihed in your next life, my history teacher also spoke of that. The Hindu belief, which I have somehow come to believe at one point in my life*, is where you will be reincarnated and depending on how heavy your sins were in your past life, that's how much you will suffer in the future. That is your punishment. She said something along those lines. I've began to wonder about how there is more unhappiness than joy (this was some other day when I was pondering this). If reincarnation is real, and what my teacher said was true, then no wonder our lives are sometimes feel like it's falling apart. This is just from a manga, but I believe it said the right words. "Our hands are stained by the blood from the animals our ancestors killed." In the next life, we were punished by what they did in the past. Then collectively, from Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, and Pride, the so called seven deadly sins, our lives have come to how it is so far. Pain, fear, hatred, sins. Maybe our lives will continue this way. Our simple lives and our simple pains have evolved. Every step forward is a step backwards. You can't stop going forward. Every jump is a fall. Every smile is a frown. Everything is useless. Everything you do is going to ruin everything.

*My version of the "Hindu belief" was that you died, go to either heaven or the underworld. If you go to heaven, you will be forgiven by the small blunders of your life--since I don't believe anyone dies pure and free of sins except for the unborn or newborns. If you go to the underworld, you will be punished and purged. Then you'll reincarnated as a new person who'll get a fresh start.

It's Worse for Me

I just want to angrily rant about a friend of mine (I'll probably stay up all night doing homework now). So today he was being dumb and hurt his arm. Online, I sent an instant message asking how was his arm, because it was bleeding rather bad. He said it was okay, but it hurt when he moved his forearm. I said, "I see" and he asked, "Do you really now?" Then he had to go into the whole pessimist mode, saying how nobody understands the extent of his injuries. WHAT THE H--- IS THAT? He ranted a list of things that happened to him, "I've sprained my left knee twice, scraped both knees until they bled profusely, burned three fingers by touching an iron, had to use crutches for my knee, had my hand crushed in an elevator when I was three" then he challengingly said, "Need I continue?" That just ticked me off. Sure, it sounds painful, all of that, but to say nobody understands the extent of his pains? I don't know why but that just infuriates me. I think I have an issue with people thinking I don't understand how they feel. Anyhow, I just got freaking ticked at him and ranted, "So? What makes you think that no one else is in pain? Do you think everyone is living in this fantasy that you aren't living in? Let me tell you, yeah, you've been in some pretty bad incidents, and yeah, you're probably been in lots of pain, but don't assume that no one else can even imagine what you've gone through, because a lot of us has been in a bunch of s---, that you don't know anything about how we felt or what we experienced." As I wrote that, I thought about my injury history. I burned my little finger on accident when I was a child; wooden boards fell on my foot, crushing my toenails inwards and making it bleed; getting hit in the eye by the corner of the locker door, damaging it a little; scraped my leg on the escalate (One foot was on the moving floor, and the other wasn't, therefore the toothed edge of the escalated scrapped against my leg. Obviously, I wasn't a very bright child.); and other little insignificant things in my life where I have hurt myself. For the most part, I kept my hands to myself, tried to stay out of trouble, and followed my parents to wherever they took me.
I haven't many other significantly troubling events happen in my life. Yeah, my life IS good compared to most. My sister didn't do drugs, my ex didn't get shot, my friend didn't get in a car crash and is in the hospital getting surgery, none of my relatives or friends have died from an accident, my family isn't poor, I get an education, I get fed three meals a day, I have more clothes then I can remember to wear, and you know, all my problems are over dramatized because I hate to hear people tell me that my life is perfect. People tell me I'm pretty, skinny, smart, and just overly perfect. If I could tear off my face and give it to you, I would. If I could trade bodies with you, I would. If I could give you whatever intelligence you think I have, I'd give it to you. If you want my life, you can have it if you can take it. I don't care if I'm ugly, fat, dumb, or suffering (probably wouldn't say that when I'm in pain, but I say it now). Take everything I have, d--- it, because I hate living some stupid, "perfect" life I have. Besides trying to help others and trying to protect my beliefs, I don't have much I'm living for. It's so ridiculous how I wished I had a worse life so other people won't feel like their life sucks in comparison to me. It's so stupid how I wished I had a worse life because I want to experience to what extent of other people's pains are. It's so dumb of me to wish that I have a worse life so I . . .

Elderly Pains?

I've realized I seem to be on better terms with my parents lately. I don't know, I guess we talk more, mostly about school, but it's an improvement from not talking. Except I feel like I'm really cold towards some of my friends, depending a lot on my mood and what we're talking about I guess.
And geez, my hands, arms, and neck are killing me. So when I write or type, it's like the bones of my hand ache. I can't hold them straight either, like if I want to put my hand on the table, my palms hurt, and sometimes my wrist. When I rotate my arm sometimes, I swear, it's like a creaking door, as if the bones were rubbing against each other (my knee does that, too, but it doesn't hurt at least). Not to mention, when it's cold or something, my upper arm has some sort of stinging sensation, but it doesn't even seem to go away when I wear a jacket. My neck is probably the worst. It may be from bending over my desk all the time, but if I try to lean my head all the way back, the muscles on the back of my neck hurt, but if I try to bend my head too far to any direction, it hurts, and I'm usually too tired to keep my head up, which is a more comfortable position. Hopefully I won't get sick, because then my muscles will probably cramp, and depending on which one wants to spazz on me this year, it'll just make my aches worse. I really wish I knew what's the deal about my muscle cramps. I visited a bunch of doctors about it, but apparently none of them can find anything wrong with me besides that I have influenza. Of course, the cramps go away soon after my cold passes, but I'd like to know what's wrong with me, you know? Apparently, I used to cry all the time as a baby because of some muscle cramp, too, and my parents had to tie me up in my blanket. I'm not too sure if that's true, because they brushed it off by saying, "Nah, it's just probably because you liked crying." I don't even know.

Foreshadowing

I sometimes feel like my body is telling me I'm going to die.