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Thursday, March 31, 2011

The Paragraph Spacing is Weird.

"4 AM, The approximate point in time, not during normal human waking hours, at which the mind becomes most responsive and flexible in stimulus response, facilitating clear expression of ideas. Increased activity of dopamine at 4 AM seems to be related to positive mood and abstract thinking, possibly leading to higher motivation. This might also be related to why food tastes better, on average, at 4 AM. Considered by leading scientists to be the best time for coherent and creative communication (Casoria, 2010)."

Thank you, Wikipedia. 

So it's pretty late. Or early, depending on perspective. I went to sleep at 8 and woke up at 3, and I've been killing time. Not much is...happening to be honest. If I were  a super exciting person, I would be doing something to better myself and the lives of others... I'm sitting in Hallway again. And I didn't use an article, because the capitalization of "hallway" denotes that I consider that to be a significant area. I would use "the" but for me, it's like saying, "I'm sitting in America again." Refer to the Wikiquote for answers to your questions concerning my mental state. I don't know, it really sounds like it works out....sitting in Hallway. 

Can I show you South African rap? It's crazy. In a good way. Lately, I have been trying to expand my music taste. Although it varied quite a bit, it has started to limit itself to Bruno Mars. Don't get me wrong, I love his music. And that is one thing I am not afraid to "love." (I usually hold back on using the word in that manner) But now it's like it's being shoved in my face. Everything is wonderful. Just not when it's being shoved in my face. You can't enjoy, you just try to avoid it from then on. So...Bruno Mars... to South African rap. 

What about Russian rap? Have you heard of Russian rap? Can I show you this? It's even crazier. I came across this by stalking the personal life of two guys who went to my old school. They are not Russian. But who says you have to be Russian to enjoy Russian rap. For me, Russian rap equates to SunChips. At first, I didn't like it and I had a salty taste in my mouth when I listened to it. Yet, after a few more attempts, I consider myself a moderate consumer of the wonderful healthy alternative to potato chips/ American music. I don't mean to say American music is unhealthy. 

It's like eating too much bread. I'm not even going to explain how. But it's like that. My mother is one of those parents who play nothing but pop in their cars. And the thing about pop is...the times a song is played is presumably based on the requests of people to play it. Makes sense. But people like the same song at different times. So it gets suggested every hours. Bruno, Katy, P!nk, Avril, Usher, Bruno. The nerve of a radio station, the weight of the balls they must have in order to play Beloved Bruno again after only four other songs. It is clearly one of the problems that causes the degradation of our society and the derailment of our children's education. 

Alright, it's a minor thing, yes. But this little sequence is what moved me to start re-expanding my musical taste. This lead to the use of Pandora. And it's amazing and wonderful and you should definitely check it out if you have not had the opportunity to do so. Also, this involves harvesting social networks sites for videos my friends plant. Reddit helps, too, and you guys should also check it out. They have subreddits for anything...anything. 

Also, since I go to a school where self-expression is widespread, I've had so many people suggest music to me. I love it. Over the years, I've been introduced to a wonderful lovechild of rap and classical styles, ghetto Asian crunk has taken up chunks of my music library, my love of Disney songs has been renewed, and my "Favorites" on YouTube  is a stir-fry of lyrical seduction. I know it sounds like one huge advertisement for all of these sites, but I would like to share a bit of my entertainment life with you.  

Room for more? At 4:something in the morning, there's always room for more. You can choose to not view the official video. I don't quite get the concept, but it seems to be a bunch of naked women walking around in France. The store signs are backwards...or something like that. It's all censored, by the way! I understand that the majority of the readers are female so you would condone this sort of thing. Or not. But for the outliers...I hope you are alright with this. Anyway, it's French pop. It's the sort of thing I wouldn't mind walking to in France. Clothed. 

The best thing about listening to this sort of thing is that cursing flies by undetected by parents who aren't South African, Russia, and French. 

I'm going back to sleep now. I think I may be dreaming. It feels like a dream. Why am I up. Good morning, good night!

Monday, March 28, 2011


Have you ever felt really ugly? Have you ever felt like everyone else in this world is so much better than you are? That no matter how much you try to convince yourself that you have a slight bit of amazing in you, it won't matter? Like, you'll look into a mirror, throw on a shitload of make-up, smile, and it still won't be enough? Maybe someone said something to you, and they didn't realize how much it would affect you.

I know I'm really sappy. A lot of people don't like that. I know. It's just me. But out of freaking nowhere, a wave of emotions hit me and it's so pathetic. I'm still on the hallway floor, by the way, typing away. I just feel really ugly. Like some girls can just go out into the world without doing anything. And they get everything, people comment on how beautiful they are, just randomly. And I'm here having a fucking breakdown out of fucking nowhere. I just feel really ugly right now. And I'll admit it, I can't even breathe straight for more than 3 seconds. Fuck it.

I can't force myself to look into a mirror, now, either. Like you know those inspirational stories about people looking into mirrors and suddenly "finding" themselves? I can't do it. I just feel...lame.

I see why so many people have self-esteem problems. I guess I do too, it's just...I can rely on "fashion" to make up for it, or humor at times. But in this world, overall "prettiness" counts for more, it seems. I used to not mind it. Like, I know some people are just naturally radiant and wonderful and confident. I guess this is what happens when I'm left alone with my thoughts. I start to tear myself apart, emotionally. That's why I need people with me.

I think I'm overreacting. I don't even know where this came from. I was trying to finish my drawing assignment, and I just thought about it. How perfect some people have it. And I compare every little thing. Not just looks, or whatever. I overthink. I hate my mind sometimes. No... I hate what it comes up with. God, my head is starting to hurt.

Sometimes I wish for the day when everyone I am surrounded by will be old and wrinkly, because then we'd all be the same, and in that case, everything *will* rely on personality. Not that my personality is perfect, either. I'm sorry...

I've calmed down now. Writing is calming. This'll clear up, it happens, Life happens, everyone moves on, you know? It's not hormonal either. I've timed it. Yeah, it's stupid, I know. Perhaps some chocolate and soft rock will help?

I'm oversensitive. No I'm not.

Hm. Plus side? I finished my homework. Huge accomplishment. What else? I'm surrounded by wonderful people. And...and? I plan on buying a little purple ukelele. I want to thank all of those who clarified that they are essentially mini guitars, but ukelele sounds more fun. I plan on starting up a music career from this. Micaela and her lil' ukelele. The songs would be folk ballads describing life in the 1990s, just because.

When I get my ukelele, I will name it, too. It will be an awesome name. I know it. I can feel it. You know why ukelele's are so calming? No one could possibly feel ugly with a ukelele in their hands.

Hallways and Sisters.

I don't like 'em. Hallways? Yeah, not too fond of them. They are really narrow high-traffic areas. Do you know what that means The carpet on them is not fluffy at all. It's like my hair in the morning. Unattractive, scary to look at, and even worse when you have to make direct contact with it. Hallways are also the worst place to sit to attempt to check Facebook. 

My internet sucks, let's leave it at that. Maybe it's my fault. Yeah, it's my fault. I can't connect to my internet unless I am no more than 15 feet away from the router, which is currently in my dad's room. Um, so what do I do? I spend hours in front of my sister's door, which is conveniently in front of my dad's room. Fun, fun, fun, fun. 

We've all gotten used to it, really. See, the first time I did it, my sister didn't know I was sitting there. She was listening to music in her room, and opened the door. She screaming when she saw me dancing to my wonderful lonely party playlist. I screamed back. We didn't stop for a while. So it's just my sister and I, both screaming, while a love ballad by Mariah Carey is playing in my head. Our encounters often end up like this.

Just one side story? Please? Cool. One time last year, I believe, I felt like dolphin-wailing in front of her door. I positioned myself, I remember this much. And I says to my sister, I says..."WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA." She replied! We continued our screaming until my dad got fed up and banged on the wall to shut us up. I wish I could say he replied with a dolphin wail, too, but no. He is on another level, yo. 

Another side story? I'm probably not supposed to disclose this information...but I will. So my sister got in trouble recently with the Dean of Students at her middle school, my old one. Apparently, her and two other girls were involved in drawing an extremely graphic picture, with highly offensive language. So my parents had been flippin' shit. They thought it would be all over her high school applications. She'd have a record. She'd be restricted from going on the huge 7th grade field trip. The Dean even said that this was the WORST thing she had seen in all 30 years of her teaching. Mind you, she also has a freshman son who is... rambunctious. So my dad gets called in to have a private meeting with the Dean and all. Protocol and all dem good stuffs. 

She owned up to her portion. So did the other kids. She spent a good 30 minutes weeping in her room because everyone in the house was pissed at her. It was terrible. But...what did she do? What exactly did she draw?

Two sticks figures. One was sniffing the other stick figure's butt. That. Yeah. The Dean was pissed over two stick figures. Catholic schools, huh? Ok, to be fair, the other girls depicted sex acts involving stick pornography. Yeah, I still probably shouldn't have revealed that, but it was hilarious. My family spent about an hour afterwards laughing at it while my sister sat silently...

Hallways still suck, ok? 

Thursday, March 17, 2011

My Religious Journey

*Again, there is a high possibility that you may disagree with my opinions, and may take offense at my words. You have been politely warned, and I ask that you leave hurtful comments in your mind.*

There are a multitude of reasons behind my slight dislike toward questionnaires. They always want to put labels on who you are as a person.

_ Asian/ Asian American.
_ Native American
_ African/ African-American
_ Pacific Islander
_ Hispanic
_ Caucasian
_ Other

I end up selecting "Asian/ Asian American," "African/ African-American," and "Other." Or any variant. I adore how they sometimes avoid saying "White" in some cases. They use "Black" sometimes, but don't have the balls to put "White." I guess that would be offensive. And I'm not being sarcastic. I'm perfectly fine with the term "black." Jesus, people get really uptight about it. Of course, my opinion is skewered because I'm not even considered black enough to speak up for the people I represent. But let's pay closer attention to the interjection I used, which sets "Jesus" as a term to express annoyance.

I've offended several races and religions within the first few paragraphs. I do already regret this. We regret a lot of things. In my feeble attempts to be "real" with myself and the Internet, I sacrificed the cover up. That's why there is more dark humor and less fluffy stuff. I'm angry with the world and myself, but mostly myself. What's worse, the opinions expressed on this Internet corner may not even reach the eyes and minds of people who I direct this toward. Mainly those I haven't met yet, since they are the  people I try to keep in mind. I'm really grateful for free speech. And I will leave the stupidity alone for now.

_ Catholic
_ Christian
_ Protestant
_ Muslim
_ Other
_ Non-Denominational

That aside, I am trying to discuss a topic that many people hold dear to their hearts. Religion. It is on these beliefs that organizations are founded, wars are fought, and lives are lost and redeemed. And then you have the outliers who have chosen to either abandon or stay away from this defining lifestyle. Let me start off by saying that one's morality is not dependent on whether or not they partake in a string of beliefs. That came out wrong. I mean, you don't have to believe in a supreme being in order to be a good person. Many of the people closest to me have demonstrated this. I know there are some who believe such people are "sinners" for straying away, but, "to each his own." The only people, in my eyes, worthy of disapproval are the ignorant. Those who just automatically assume that the other side is wrong. There are a good number of those people in both theist and atheist groups. I don't care if you disagree with all of my other ideas, but you have to agree, to some extent, that ignorance is the root of discrimination.

On a side note, sort of, the God I see now is way too human. It's too "real." It makes more sense as a limitless abstract concept… to me. 

My first encounter with religion was at home. My father used to comfort my sister and I when we were afraid of the dark. We would hold our hands out and count, finger-by-finger, the words, "" It would silence the already silent darkness of our closet and make all of the evils in a 5 year old's eyes disappear. From then on, it became a chant to chase anything away.  It went from a metaphorical nightlight to a confidence-fueling cry. I would say it when I was about to take a test. I would say it when I just couldn't muster up enough mental strength to go into a room that hosted the murder of a particular insect. I hate roaches, by the way.

This phrase was comfort. Just the phrase. I had not fully understood the concept of the Man behind it all. I couldn't grasp God, yet that was what my dad was aiming for. For many, religion still serves as comfort. It was very  reassuring to be able to fall back on that in times of despair.

I went to an Episcopalian school for three years. And from those masses, I received nothing spiritually. I loved the songs, fell under the mesmerizing spell of the mosaics in the church windows, and knew all of the Bible stories. And I continue to melt whenever I hear an organ playing. But still, no real concept of God. If my dad knew about this, he would think that's where he went wrong. But no. It's all on me.

Still, he would reinforce this God-being in our minds daily. Yes, my sister and I would end each night with a prayer. And that usually meant going through a list of things to be thankful for, and going on with a list of things we wanted. Yeah, we always thanked first, and THEN asked… I guess it was to be polite. You can tell how "detached" we were. He put up signs on our refrigerator to motivate us. We would wake up to a prayer to, to thank God for letting us live. This continued through my later elementary school years, where I went to a school where for the first time in a while, prayer wasn't required or encouraged in the morning before classes. During that time, I forgot the "Our Father" prayer from 1st, 2nd, and 3rd grade. There was always my beloved religious father to  drill it back into our heads at home.

To clear things up, he is a Baptist. To this day, he tries to get my sister and I to go to church. At first, we didn't go because we're lazy. Like, literally. And that, I admit, is a negative aspect of our personalities. Now you can cut in and say that laziness always leads to sin, blah, and that all atheists are just lazy people who don't want to haul ass to church, blah. Go 'head. But, and another insult is coming, he was taking us to Lakewood. Now, don't get me wrong. I just really opposed Joel Osteen. Every time we went, he said the same thing in a different way. I was tired. And to be honest, it got boring after the second time. Yes, church for me is always boring...and yes, this time, I beg you to blame my laziness and lack of spirituality for this. I'm sorry, once again, for coming across as sarcastic and flat-out rude.

Well, soon, we just stopped going to church. My dad still goes. But I don't. My sister doesn't, but that's just because she is lazy. She still believes in God.

Middle school, private school, prayer school. I relearned the "Our Father," but for the first two weeks, I mouthed the incorrect words to it under my breath. I still don't know the "Apostles' Creed." I'm going to admit on the most public place in the world the one thing I told myself I wouldn't tell the people I am closest to. I was baptized so my parents could get a lower rate on tuition. "YOU SINNER, SINNER, HEATHEN." Yeah, no. Really, my family was just not loaded with money at that time, and my parents valued education enough to cheat an honest institution. (Actually, no one can argue this, but the Church -yes, capitalized to indicate it as a whole- has not always been honest, because it is run by humans, but this particular parish was great. Food donations all week, every week. Jokes aside, it was really great.)

Looking back, we shouldn't have done that. Well, it made more sense at the time, because those years marked the peak of my religious understanding. I was firmly entrenched in the workings of God and biblical  teachings. I prayed and I meant it. Remember the "List Prayer" method I used? Well that became "Thank You Prayer" for a while. And then the cheerleading try-outs rolled around. It turned into "thank you for a, b, c, d, e, f, g (in order of importance, like life, family, friends, shelter… phone, so on) and I hope that I make cheerleading try-outs." It was still basically a wish list. I made it "intense." Man, like, every night, I'd start off with an "Our Father," then a "Hail Mary," and a "Guardian Angel." Those were followed by my actual words. Then another Guardian Angel prayer.

Every night for a month leading up to the try-out date. I made it, whoo, and it didn't stop. High school acceptance letters just took the place of try-outs. And I made it. So religion went from nightlight to genie in less than ten years. And no, Dad, you didn't go wrong there, it was inevitable.

So here I am in high school. We have Mass every now and then, on special occasions. I think the reason behind reaching my religious pinnacle in middle school was the constant reminder of religion. And honestly, the music. Religious music has and still does draw me to tears. Just yesterday, I was moved by Mr. Walther's music (an instructor at my high school) and considered returning to religion altogether. What is holding me back from doing so is simply my belief. My lack of belief, rather. I sort of sought to justify God and failed. I tried to prove religion. And that is why I "lost" it. I do this with friendships, too.

Gotta admit, life is so much harder without having that safety net to catch me at my low points. Back in middle school,  I would imagine myself being held in God's hands when I was feeling hopeless. And now, in high school, when I'm down, there's almost nothing. Not even music. I would turn to people for help, but I've realized that not all people care about me. The  ones that I thought I could go to fake it. But I know the genuine ones, and I really appreciate that. That is my biggest regret about drifting away from religion… I have nothing to thank now, nothing to hold me when I am down. My only source of relief comes from typing up short, seemingly cheerful Facebook statuses every now and then and writing blog posts that I delete before posting. I hope that someone will look past the fluffiness and like, physically hug me. I don't even like excessive physical contact, but random hugs really do make my day.

I bet God would make my day like he does with truly religious people. I just got tired of the bullshit surrounding Him.

Intangible Transformation Attempts

*Unusual language lies ahead. As well as horribly-constructed expressed ideas.*

I'm trying to put my thoughts into this jumbled mess is a physical representation of what goes on in my mind.….trying to "transform" intangibility itself into something we can make sense of.

Ok, so I recently conducted a mini-experiment. It wasn't planned...not really an experiment at all, but it opened my eyes to how we see others. And I guess it's not an isolated experiment, either, it's more...a gradual realization that I choose to consolidate. The result is basically the fact that humanity is perfect. In the eyes of a teenager who has yet to see all aspects of humanity, it is perfect. That being said, my definition of perfect is far from what the majority consider it to be. For me, "perfect" just describes an existence where all beings can live together. That's just it. They don't have to live together without issues. Issues are inevitable. Issues make this whole scheme...perfect. That's just it. In this sense, we CAN achieve perfection if we drastically alter its definition. This is not going to make much sense, I promise. I would really just appreciate the hell out of you if you kept reading it, though.

There are so many things I hate about myself. I mean, the things that I do. I never think things through. Yes, and that is what I hate. I don't hate myself, I just hate what my lack of thinking leads me to do. For instance, I am a dick. A huge douchebaggety bitchy dick. I'm inconsiderate at times and I crush the feelings of some of the people closest to me. That is the thing I hate the most about the things I do. That is the ONE thing I would change about my personality. Then, I would be perfect. But the "normal" version of perfect. In my world, I am perfect. Meaning, I exist, flaws and all, and I can't really do much to change it.

(To all of the people I have screwed over, please let me know this. I'm not going to get mad. I need this as a sort of reminder of how shitty I am being as a person. Ah, and the most important part: I am sorry. I am seriously sorry. Ever spend hours thinking about how pathetic you made your life? Yeah. And it may not amount to much, coming from a 15-year-old, but age doesn't matter.)

Of course, I can change the course of my actions. If I paused for a while and thought about what I do and what I will do in the future, maybe I wouldn't be such a dick. I would be a pussy. I hate using that word. I hate using both words. One day this will get found, maybe if I become famous or something, and this will bring down my career. Like if I starred in a children's Jesus show. I'd get fired.

See, normal perfect means keeping a nice balance between aggression and passiveness. I wonder why it isn't "passion." Or maybe it is. In fact, I will try to tie it in now. Ok, "aggression" is seen as directness. I don't know, it's like, aggressive people are seen as openly confrontational. They will go out there themselves and get what they desire. And I guess passion is similar, but more positive. Damn it, I'm not in the right mindset to attempt to analyze these concepts...I'll leave this for later. But again, I'm going with a theme of not editing anything. So. Yes.

Anyway, yes, you are perfect. Perfect still sucks, but it is what it is. Instead of making the idea of perfection something that can never be attained, we can bend it to accurately portray humanity as a whole.

And I guess now is as good a time as any to tie in religion. Again, this would kill my potential career in religious children's shows. But I've had the notion of Jesus' perfection being shoved down my throat since 1st grade. I don't believe it now. Perhaps there is a greater being, but many try to make him human. Too human. First of all, this supposed greater being should not hate. So all of this stuff about it hating Japan, homosexuals, and black people is bullshit. For me, if any supreme being exists, it should be the culmination of all things great and grand in this world, in terms of power. And NO, that does not mean money or social status. It's just love. Family, friends, that sort of thing Simple as that. And while prayer does boost spirits, and for some may serve as self-affirmation, praying to a too-human-deity is not my thing.

WHAT the hell did I just do? I don't know. I'm sorry. This offended people. I know. But very few people read this, which is probably for the better. We all have opinions, yes? Ok. I'm sorry. 

Monday, March 7, 2011

Screw Life, Just ______

*WARNING: This is not nice. I'm taking out my frustrations from the day and letting them out on a screen. I can't scream into a pillow because the last time I did that, my dad yelled at me. He's cool by the way. And he is indirectly related to my frustrations. *

So I've decided to change my life around slowly. It starts with awareness of course, of something that I want to change. For instance, I've gotten lazy over the past two years. Since I've had a shiny computer, it's been so easy to shirk all responsibilities and squat in front of the computer screen. I've come to notice that while it seems relaxing, all it does is waste time. 90% of the time, I am on Facebook. Let's be honest. Nothing happens on Facebook. I don't know why I waste around 3 hours a day drooling at it. Alright, people upload new albums. Check them once. There's no need to go through them 3 times. And someone posted a post to someone else's wall. So what? It doesn't concern me and never will. I have wasted CHUNKS of my life. Like if some divine being threw up my life for some reason, those huge marshmallow/chicken chunks would represent my time on Facebook. So that's one of the major things I will forget. Or try to forget.

I probably should explain why exactly I am doing this. I've gotten tired of doing things just so other people can be happy. Usually that means I have to sacrifice my own happiness, unless the people genuinely care about me. It's easier than you think to tell the difference between people that care and people who are just there to use you for whatever reason. I know people who use others to constantly make themselves feel better. That's heartless. If you do it, stop. Yes, it does piss me off. And that's ok. And then you have people who flat-out use you. Like physically. They try to mask it with lies. It has happened recently. But for me, that makes life sort of thrilling, how so many people are able to take advantage of me, while thinking I don't know what's going on. Well, I don't do anything about it, so I guess it makes no difference. BuT IT WILL NOW.

So I've taken up a new mindset. Screw Life Just _____. In this case, Screw Life, Just Write. I apologize in advance for the extensive use of cuss words. I'm not  going to stop, by the way. I have spent way too much time using Facebook as a window to other peoples' lives that I have forgotten what it's like to just use the internet for relaxation. It's evident in my interactions. The statuses that I post, for instant. There was a time when I would just write whatever I felt like, no matter how harsh it seemed, or how boring it sounded. But now that I am aware that people monitor me, I feel this need to always write things for *them.* Like, on a really shitty day, I won't post about how shitty it is, or how I feel like bursting out into tears. (Not that most people would care, but I only care if the genuine people acknowledge this) Instead, I'll post crap about a stupid little event thrown in with some humor. I feel like it's ridiculously fake.

At this point, I realize I sound like some poor little girl who always needs support. Good. That's who some people are. It's who I am. And again, I'm not going to stop. Screw YOU, Just Live. No, not YOU. By that, I mean society as a whole. The mass that is machine-like in nature.

I have been spending 3 hours a day on Facebook trying to make a few people laugh and gather a few "likes." But it wasn't really "real." Y'know? I mean… it was for *them.* So that's why I'm not doing journalism. Yeah, because journalism is all about writing for the enjoyment of others. I typed up the application and shit, and I edited the entry that they wanted, but I'm not going to send it. That's pretty sucky. Someone already sent an email to Mrs. Miller to recommend me. I appreciate it, but I feel, in a way, that it would get to my head. Even as I type this, I feel like I've made so many first-person references… it sickens me. FOUR REFERENCES in the last sentence. So, I'm sorry for how self-centered this is. Plus, in a high school newspaper, you generally aren't allowed to curse. I've read the articles from the version that came out just today. No.

On a blog, you don't have to worry about editing or length or cursing. I mean, there are very few restrictions. That's sort of why I'm not worrying about going back over this entry and editing it. I edited the fuck out of the last entry. Not doing that again until I damn well feel like it. Oh, another Screw Life Just _______. Yeah, Screw Life, Just Dance. It's shocking how self-conscious one can get even when alone. Like, in my room, when I'm blasting music after a long shitty day, I don't dance. Dancing is calming, no matter how animalistic it looks on the outside. It's human. So I don't care what people think, or what *I* think. I'm going to dance. I'm going to fucking dance.

At this point, you may now envision a crumply bitchy teenager laughing maniacally at a screen.

(EDIT: Shit, I'm sorry for coming across as incredibly bitchy, self-absorbed, snooty, uptight, crazy, rude person. This is one of many to come where I don't go back and soften it up for the reader. I'm sorry.  Mondays.)

Have a dinky little emoticon. <(^.^)> And I mean "dinky" in the cute sense, no matter what UrbanDictionary says.