sixteen

It doesn’t feel so sweet. At all, actually. Especially since I’ve been doing work for the first six hours of being sixteen.

It feels nice though, this birthday thing, even though it only comes once a year. After a year of having people drill it into you that you’re worthless, stupid, equivalent to the bare scum on the earth, it’s nice to watch the clock tick past midnight, the Facebook messages tumble into your inbox, the sing-song voicemails. When no one’s awake and you’re all alone, the first few hours of the day are peaceful, sacred. For a few hours, you’re reminded that you’re loved, cared for, remembered, three reminders that are too rarely encountered. But that’s only those few hours.

I don’t get why sixteen is such a big number, other than the fact that it used to mark the age of debutante balls and fancy ceremonies (according to Gilmore Girls), but after aging another year, I don’t find anything special with sixteen.

Looking back at the past twelve months, I feel so empty. Nothing has built me up to become more than I was; if anything, this past year has eaten me up down to the very last crumb. Nothing has been significant. Nothing has happened that’s made my parents grin with pride, nothing has happened that’s made me hug myself with contentment. Yet amidst all this nothing-ness this past year felt sated, heavy. Looking back, I think everything just canceled each other out; moments of happiness were quickly nulled by periods of murkiness, luck eventually crushed by fate.

Sixteen. I’m almost scared to hope that this year will be different. I’ve come to embrace the melancholy with open arms, happy to at least have a constant in life. I’m scared to anticipate for too much, but at the same time I know all too well what’s to come. After all, sixteen is just a number, an even age that will have to face all too many oddities.

Too many oddities.

Happy birthday, Me.

im not nice.

you know, i never thought i’d say this, but i hate you.

i really really really hate you. i’ve been thinking and there’s nothing, not one thing i should be thankful for from you, nothing i would reminsce and say wow that one really good thing you did totally makes up for all the crap you made me put up with. nothing. you’re the sickest person i’ve ever met, that has the guts to lie to my face thinking that i’ll never find out about anything, but i do find about things–i’m not as oblivious as, oh let’s say, you are. who the hell steals someone else’s ex? so what if it wasn’t official, you knew every single fucking thing that went on, how much he hurt me, how much he meant to me, how we meant the world to each other at one point and you think its all right to take you and your army of cousins to step in and ruin everything. if it weren’t for you, we’d be fine. i’d be fine. i wouldn’t be worrying about what you two might be doing next, i wouldn’t be worrying about how truthful the last three lines you IMed to me were. when i’m in tears and in shambles, i should be able to turn to you and ask for comfort, for help, not be scared that you’ll expose everything about me in a matter of seconds and have you just turn right around and tell me how shitty of a life you have. i dont need to be trampled on by you just because you have a psychotic family (you’re included in that) and i don’t need to try to dig up words of sympathy that you just completely twist around then try to make me seem evil as anything. i don’t need try three times as hard to win back a guy that was mine in the first place because you pulled some snazzy trick out of your ass to woo him when i wasn’t there. yes, i did confide in you at times of desperate measure, but who knew you would threaten to use that against me? and since when coudl you tell me who i can or cannot hang out with? if you dont’ care enough to adhere to promises you make with me, recognize me and treat me even as a plain acquaintance, why should i even bother dealing with anything you hand over? i don’t need you diagnosing yourself with mental illnesses everytime i ask you a question or talk to you; i don’t want to hear your bipolar accusations or rantings when none of it is true. do you know how outrageous your paranoid statements are? you send at least a chain of five people in a whirlwind, fighting then clarifying everything and every conversation ends with “so she lied.” tell the truth. i don’t lie about people asking me out, i don’t lie about my relationships with people, i don’t lie about things i’ve done, and i’m not scared about what people think about my truths. your lies may boost you up this disgusting social ladder, and since you have no conscience, i hope you enjoy it. i don’t want to hear your bullshit anymore, about your humble braggings about how everyone thinks you’re pretty about how upset you are that so-and-so is so obsessed about you–you think i’m dramatic? take a look at yourself, honey. your life is not a teen chick flick, not a romance novel, not a foreign drama that won a Grammy award. live your own life instead of trying to make one up. truth is beauty, you dipshit, and as pretty of a face as you might have, you have no beauty.

what shade of blue.

i always knew i was a blue kind of girl and blue is, and will be, my color.  it seems to never run out of shades. sure, the cliche thing to think when someone says “i’m blue” is “oh no, you’re sad!” but no, really, it isn’t like that at all. there’s bright blue which can’t possibly be sad because it’s so bright then there’s dark blue which can look so hazy and mystical it makes your heart itchy, then theres cerulean which can put you to peace quite easily, then the tacky crayola “blue” which is just when you’re feeling tacky, and all the other happy blues, like oceanic blue or peacock blue. there are sad blues though, like periwinkle and cornwall blue, but i think the true sad blue would be the periwinkle blue.

why am i analyzing blue. i dont’ know. i’m feeling blue. which shade of blue? i don’t know. but definitely not cerulean and definitely not bright blue.

i like you. i really do. but you’re making me periwinkle blue, and that’s not cute at all.
i want to be cerulean blue.
i want to be dark blue.
i want to be a peacock, dammit.

Ode to Nice Girls

I’ve received Myspace bulletins and email spams, read blogs, and listened to vents with people constantly exalting nice guys and how they always finish last and the bad bad generalizations of girls, so I tried searching for “A Tribute to Nice Girls”. There’s no official article and the ones that I found were whiny and kind of almost fit the description of the girls described in the tribute to nice guys. Therefore, I am writing my own.

This rant was written as a parallel and counteract to Ode to the Nice Guys, written for the Wharton Undergraduate Journal.

This is a tribute to the nice girls. The nice girls that will never mean anything, but still put up with hours of cursing and rants about what bitches girls are. This is dedicated to those girls who is always prepared with smiles and open arms, but are ignored by guys too macho to be consoled by a girl, those girls who leave cookies on his doorstep when he’s sick and forcedly engages herself in video games, listening to his obnoxious sound effects as she’s duly ignored. This is to honor the girls who continuously reassure her guy friends of their physique whenever they obligingly demand an answer, because they know most guys need that occasional ego boost. This is in honor of the girls with continuous optimism, practicality, and untainted affection. This is in honor of the girls who see the good in any guy and every guy, from his messy eating habits to his hair obsession.

This is for the girls who use their femininity to shield their hazed male friends from being beaten to shreds and never complain, simply forgive and forget the words spoken during their moments of intoxication, for the girls who obediently flirt with their guy friends in front of a posse of gazing girls, knowing they’re nothing but a hired decoration but submit themselves anyway, for girls who toss the hoochie skirts even if that’s all the guys want, for the girls who the guys always compliment but never care for, for the nice girls who are disrespected, belittled, and misunderstood, for all the nice girls who are toyed with, used, and shortly forgotten, this is for you.

This is for that time he showed up at your doorstep at midnight, because he was locked out and hadn’t eaten the whole day, and when you let him in, he kept you up til dusk while you taught him the basic essentials of cooking, even if he skipped the learning part and went straight to the eating, and gave him your bed to sleep in while you barely kept warm on the living room couch. This is for the weekend he went out partying solo and abruptly called during a bargain-shopping spree to beg for you to come home and find him cut up and bruised, but you let him rest his head on your shoulder as you clean and cover every wound, kissing each boo-boo to make him feel loved. And even though Bloomingdale’s specifically informed you they’d hold your items for only 2 hours s and you kind of know it’s his own fault for getting too rough, you forget about it and patiently listen to him curse, rant, and yell about his misfortune. This is for the girls who gave everyone a little something on Valentine’s Day, because they of all people know too well what it’s like to be lonely. This is also for the time his now ex-girlfriend cheated on him, and though you have no idea who this girl is, you nod at every sentence and agree with his every proclamation of her sluttiness, skankiness, money leeching, ditziness, and premeditated motives, then because he’s too man to admit how devastated he is, you take the initiative to offer an encouraging word and the simple “there’s plenty of other fish in the sea!” or “it’s okay, you still have me!”, even if his mind and soul are miles away and he fails to realize what he really needs just might be you, but you keep going until you’re positively sure his frown is flipped the other way around. Because you’re nice like that.

The nice girls almost never get any recognition. And what’s worse, the nice girls are so rare, the guys just often overlook them and stand by the theory that all girls are “manipulative bitches” and actually settle for the girls that are the truly illogical ones. And I’ve tried to figure out a logical explanation for this, but I’ve barely come close. When they complain that many girls say “irrational, confusing things”, maybe they haven’t thought about how at least the nice girls politely reject them instead of teasing them, maybe they don’t realize how the nice girls have been ignored and mistreated so many times, the existence of nice guys almost become fantastical. And girls aren’t the only ones that say these things. Guys try to be nice and provide excuse number 489 from their published array of excuses to reject a nice girl; whether it be “you’re a nice girl, you deserve better” or “i really like you, but we’re much better off as friends” is obviously translated into “i just want a girl to play with”–and who do they end up chasing after? The same “logical, manipulative bitches” that the guys seemingly despise.

This is a tribute to all the nice girls who endure the worn and weary duty of being wallflowers, ignored and left on the walls to peel and yellow, noticed only when the house is empty and bare. This is to the girls who have to see all, do all, give all, and receive nothing but a brush of the shoulder. This is to all the nice girls who deserve to be treated more like a rose, placed in a glass vase by a bay window for the world to see, to be cared for and loved.

But one thing I can do, is say that these guys will eventually grow to men, and they’ll eventually come to their senses (most do, anyway) and realize they should be dating the nice girls, not just spitting their game at them only to toss them out later. The tricky part is finding those guys, and even trickier for the guys, finding girls who are still nice and not yet too faithless, broken, or faded to muster up enough hope and courage to trust them again.

Happy hunting!

iCare

i won’t start off by saying how much this retreat changed my life or how amazing of a three days it was; it was a jumpstart to change certain aspects of my life and definitely a very beneficial way to spend the weekend, but to say that my entire life is shaken upside down and that suddenly i’ll grow wings and become the most holy person on earth might be stretching it a bit. i hate speaking about myself or my life in public so i didn’t go up to testify, but i guess an online overview will have to do.

i didn’t want to go to retreat. i’d been convinced that church is full of hypocrites and that i could get nothing out of it besides a useful message or two by some pastor at some sermon, but i guess there’s a lot more to people and to this religion than i’d pushed myself to believe. going to liebenzell this weekend, my spiritual life was dented and my life as a whole was in shambles.  i’d lost the ability to trust people, myself, or God and i was worn out from life in general.  watching the clip of the passion of the christ five seconds after i woke up from my daze during service was shocking, to say the least, and i found myself and every other person there in hysterics. then i thought, hey if i’m crying so much because fake magenta colored blood is oozing out of mel gibson, could i possibly imagine what i’d feel if i could see the blood gush out of someone who specifically died for me, then turn my back on them as they did? starting off a retreat with an extremely graphic video clip and a short pastor from Louisiana that yelled his message at you until his face was purple and his veins shot out wasn’t exactly my idea of a nice transition from the worldly bubble into the spiritual bubble, but i have to say, the message actually prepared everyone for the days to come and allowed us to open up to what was being said. the second message once again taught me to forgive and reconciliate with family and other people that have hurt me, and taught me that i don’t need such things as ‘boys’ because i’m a princess and i don’t need them just kidding. but you get what i mean. in the course of three days outside ofthe sermons and workshops, i was able to rebuild a relationship that was broken and learn how to trust again. i don’t know where i’ll go from here, but like i said in small groups, i’m like a dog on a leash and God is my walker, so i’ll just have to follow where he leads me and stop chasing my own tail in circles so i’ll actually get somewhere.  this retreat might not have produced as radical of effects as it has for others, but it’s a start, and for now, that’s probably all i need.

iLive, iLove, therefore iCare (:

*hope everyone that had some sort of accident/injury/illness during retreat is okay nowwww!

the most beLOVEd day of the year

So in fifteen minutes, it’s supposed to be the day filled with the most love, hugs, kisses, and chocolate in the whole year, the day that keeps Hallmark from ever going bankrupt. That’s one side of the story. Then, in fifteen minutes the other half of the world will either be drowning in tubs of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream or their own tears as they bawl their eyes out because they are lonely, lover-less, and have to sadly celebrate National Singles Awareness Day in solitude on the day of lovers. But underneath all the red and pink fuzziness, underneath the superficial layer of gifts and mushy gushy stuff is really just a temporary emotional high, an illusionary glimpse of something that everyone longs for, a lousy excuse for the so-called “love”.

let’s put valentine’s day aside. just take a look at the average high school as a whole and count how many couples there are holding hands one day and throwing fits at eachother the next. what is their “love” based on? a temporary chemical in their brain that makes them so deeply intrigued with one another for, what, a few weeks? we end up dwelling on words and impulses alone, and what we think we thought was so completely rational, so completely flawless is so completely shattered after a simple “i’m sorry, i just don’t like you anymore”. can you imagine if the lovers of American society had the same mindset as we do now (well, put celebrities aside) ? divorce attorneys would have a field day as people just divorce right and left because they simply don’t “like” each other anymore. oh yes, totally logical.

you start to think if there is anything even minutely substantial in the relationships we have today. don’t get me wrong, i’m not completely shunning it; i mean, if you really think you’ll marry whoever you have your eye on than go for the gold, but is there anything that we get out of it? i guess besides an ample amount of experience, you also get an adequate supply of precious heartbreaks that rip you apart, and tears that could’ve been saved for something so much more worthwhile. you get drained of rare emotions that should have been saved for someone down the road, someone that meant more to you than 20 days of phone calls and empty words. high school puppy love is like a toddler walking on their own; sure, you can go for any amount of time, but some where along the way, you will fall, and you’ll realize that you need so much more than your own instincts to create, then sustain a real relationship. funny how i say this now, but time and time again i catch myself doing the very thing i’m saying that we shouldn’t do–i rush into things, i act on impulse, i follow emotions but not logic, and then i trip myself, blame myself, then do it all over again. i don’t know what it is. probably because i’m so scared of being lonely, i take up on any decent chance i get, afraid there might not be that jackpot at the end of the rainbow or my prince charming on a white stallion waiting for me a few years later. then approaches the question of all questions: what is love. do you truly love someone only if you are up to par on everything 1 Corinthians 13 lists? what if love is really just an illusion, something so intangible and so obscure that we chase after it relentlessly because we know we can never have it? i won’t give my answer or any other answer actually, because there’s no definition of love or means to pursue it except your own. so have fun with that.

okay, so this entry was a bit too serious for a holiday like valentine’s day, but it was at least somewhat relevant. right.

right.

Protected: a love letter in numbers

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battle of the sexes.

women are from venus, men are from mars.
i never really understood that, but i thought it’d be a proper intro to this entry, which is pretty necessary considering the wall wars going on between some of us. haha. and as amusing as it is, you men need to learn some straight up facts and us ladies need to cope with some truths.
so it all started when my darling pumpkin pie answers “vivaldi” instead of “verdi” and tal decides to pester us with “why didn’t you pick alex he totally would’ve gotten it right. after all he is a guy.” then came the shocker.

“and really, shouldn’t you know by now that men do rule the world? they are better.”

if you google ‘battle of the sexes’ or ‘superiority of men‘ or ‘unfair treatment of women‘ not only will their be a slew of jokes, crude comments, and explicitly drawn cartoons, but you’ll see facts. for example. recently, the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development has recently admitted that women outperform men in all levels of education. even though this statement is, oh just a few centuries overdue, it’s nice to have an organization that thinks so. nearly 51% of the medical field today are dominated by women, and according to Forbes, women now own 46% of private businesses. everyday, 420 women start their own businesses, twice the amount of men. women-owned companies now generate $2.5 trillion in annual sales and employ 19 million people nationwide. even politically, i’m sure everyone knows that nancy pelosi is now proudly representing not only democrats, but women as well, as the speaker of the house.

even stepping away from the serious side. men complain constantly about their 80 hour work week and come home and totally laze out, but have they ever considered the fact that stay at home moms have a 118 hour work week with no pay, healthcare, or contract involved? they have no time to themselves and prioritize themselves on the bottom of their list, after “children” and “husband” and “groceries”. men? they’re at the top of their list, then comes “family” and “football” and “poker”. women are the more emotional of the two. guys can go complain that we pms too much, but you know what? emotions show that we care and have more of a conscious heart than you do, and our pms at least shows we can carry on your bloodline. and really. even if men were leaders of the world, who got them that far? without teachers, them majority being women, you little boys would still be mulling over paper boats and marbles since you guys wouldn’t have the knowledge to do anything better. so in the females’ defense, i close my statement with this:

“It’s really no wonder, though, that females’ verbal skills have continued to pass that of males, because the majority of a guys’ time from the age of 5 is dedicated to playing video games, fuming to themselves, and breaking the silence only to banter with each other about their superior proficiency and yell at the television when they can’t pass level 2.” –The Daily Iowan

then there’s the men. if you think about this carefully, there has to be a catch to this dispute. if men had no good qualities to them at all in the beginning, then why would they have been destined as leaders to begin with? why the bias? okay i know claud and dena will hate me for mentioning these points at all, but in all rationality, i have to. let’s start at the beginning of time. Jesus was a man; God is referred to as a man; and i think i can say that in at least the religions of Judaism and Christianity, those two figures preside over the universe. since the most important leaders of time and space are portrayed as men, then it would only make sense to continue this trend onward–hence the creation of man before women (yeah i guess you could say that men were rough drafts and God kinda screwed up, but then again God doesn’t screw up so depends on how you look at it).

then look at what women admire most about men (or at least what i admire most)–their physique, their mass of muscle and ability to protect. true, we need brains in the government, but with just intelligence and no security, our country is just about as doomed as it would be without intelligence. people argue and say that it’s really unfair that women can’t take any real positions in war, but i would like to think that the males of the government took into consideration our pretty faces and didn’t want to see them marred in battle; i’d like to think that they were thinking of our health and detriment to our nation if we settled for just average soldiers; i’d like to think that the sexist portion of their mind wasn’t working. men speak significantly less than women. instead they just think it in their heads instead of vocalizing it.

but guys and girls, really step back and look at the picture and realize something. men wouldn’t exist without women, nor would women without men. without nurses in the army, the soldiers would never carry on. without the strength of men like prince charming to rescue aurora from the tower and the dragon, she would’ve never lived to tell the story. it’s the enveloping protection of men and their quiet, yet irresistable, allure that makes us lose our breath and our natural spontaneity and perpetual thoughtfulness that melts their hearts. women run the household, but there’d be no house if men didn’t work while we were on maternity leave. men own the football field, but they’d lose their motivation to play if there weren’t head-turning cheerleaders rooting them on or motherly volunteers making them nice protein filled meals to build their muscles. men get sick twice as often as women, but women tend to be more concerned about their health and are there instantaneously with a thermos of chicken noodle soup and tylenol. men grasp a situation as a whole and think globally, while women think locally, relying on details and nuances–you can’t change the world without changing a city; obviously both are equally important.

there’s a reason why women and men were different, or else the theory ‘opposites attract’ wouldn’t be valid. for us to rival with each other as to who is better and who is worse defeats the glory of each sex and is totally unnecessary. neither is better than the other, and men need to realize that women should be treated fairly while women need to realize that men are working on it. nothing is everything, and everything comes in moderation. women and men were put together on this earth to live in harmony, each to fill the other up in areas they lack.

50 Things to do Before I Die

Yeah. I’m not having much fun learning about hybridization and ionic bonds so I was thinking about making a list like this. I always wanted to so no time better than now, yah?  Okay, so here it goes, but in no particular order:

1. Eat papayas without holding my nose shut.
2. Learn to cook French cuisine, and maybe even creme brulee.
3. Build a solid igloo in the snow for once that will not collapse on me when I go sit in it.
4. Have an extensive vocabulary, using words like ‘qat’ and whatnot, so I can easily confuse people and get them to acquiesce to almost anything (:
5. Learn how to play the guitar, preferably acoustic. Drums won’t be bad either.
6. Speak fluent Russian.
7. Be able to shove down a teaspoonful of wasabi along with my sushi and not end up crying.
8. In reference to number 7, be able to eat sashimi without cringing along with that wasabi.
9. Visit every country in the world, especially the run-down ones that I didn’t even know existed, and befriend all the natives.
10. Go three days without food or juices, just water.
11. Learn how to ballroom dance.
12. Attend an exquisite party at the Met, preferably in a MiuMiu dress arm in arm with my dashing, successful hubby.
13. Design a portion of my own wardrobe and actually wear it on a daily basis.
14. Along with number 13, concoct an interior design scheme for my own house and have it presentable to guests.
15. Take a road trip to all fifty states.
16. Stand at a nice height of 5′10″ and weigh a dandy 115 lbs
17. Be able to compile a lengthy book of personal philosophical theories, including a long chapter dedicated to defining love and life.
18. Have a normal biological clock that permits sleep from 10 pm to 8 am.
19. Talk to either the President or UN Secretary General one on one.
20. Wean myself off of coffee and learn to cope with the lack of Starbucks five feet away.
21. Be able to fake a nice Irish/Scottish/British accent.
22. Bungee jump off the Golden Gate Bridge.
23. Muster up the guts to tell my some of my family that I do love them.
24. Learn how to play poker (shame, I know)
25. Adopt a kid. After getting married, of course.
26. Do four pirouettes in a row and not fall on my face.
27. Go on a reality TV show.
28. Ride bareback on horses up this mountain in the motherland that’s really pretty.
29. Six-figure salary please.
30. Finally settle on one favorite flavor of ice cream.
31. Find three words to describe myself, so next time when I have to fill out a stupid questionairre on “Describe yourself in three words” I won’t be the idiot looking at their paper like a retard.
32. Watch the stars or the sunrise on a rooftop.
33. Promenade in Central Park while it’s snowing.
34. Watch a horror movie on my own without pissing my pants or hiding under my blanket until someone comes to save me.
35. Be an internationally known runway model.
36. And hopefully number 35 will come with posing for the cover of Vogue or Elle.
37. Publish an article in the New York Times.
38. Maintain a clean room for a time span longer than a month.
39. Stop losing my socks behind the washing machine/dryer.
40. Read the entire Bible
41. Find a way to tell the difference between Chinese/Japanese/Korean, Viet/Korean, and Thai/Filipino
42. Learn how to ski/snowboard.
43. Go one month in public without makeup.
44. Take part in a mosh pit.
45. Explain my theology on baptism and maybe, hence the maybe, get baptized if reasonable reasons are given.
46. Get a tattoo. Then remove it after my mother beats me with a broom.
47. Rid my fear of acting.
48. Participate in a rally or campaign.
49. Die young.
50. Drive at an insane speed by myself on the deserts of Arizona.