I miss Khai.
I am confused and desperate and a bundle of question marks and unsolved problems. There's a Chinese saying that goes, The bridge would straighten itself when you get to it. In other words, problems will eventually solve themselves, but inherent in this assertion is the expectation that the person with these problems simply sits back and does nothing. When that person is me, sitting back and doing nothing means not actively making a decision, and even if I am the person that subscribed to this maxim many times before, this time around I need to know that what I'm doing is right, that it is what I chose for myself, and that I won't live too long to regret it.
Warwick's brochure is the most attractive out of the four. (Even without that cute Asian guy on the cover of its international financial aid booklet it'd still be the most attractive brochure.) I got excited just flipping through it, but the nagging question that persists still is: Am I ready to leave home? Can I really be by myself in a totally foreign country?
But if I don't leave now, when would I leave? I'm not going to stay here for the rest of my life. I don't even want to live here anymore; the mere thought of being stuck in this place forever is enough to make me kill myself.
It's just difficult, choosing one over the other. It's depressing living with the knowledge that either decision would carry with it a significant amount of regret, and that, contrary to what I would like, I don't have a lifetime doing one and then the other.
You have all the time in the world. Actually, you don't. Time was never on your side; it's perpetually against you; and you're subject to its unreasonable commands that ask for the impossible which only become possible because you (have to) fight (like hell) to survive.
I don't know.
I can't wait to go to Taiwan and get away from all these shit.
And never a day that goes by without me asking myself, What the fuck am I doing with my life?
I hate to say this but dammit, I'm becoming more sexually frustrated than I'd like. The dreams keep coming (no pun intended) and stories keep playing and the things I never have keep laughing in my face, and I dreamt of making out with Nicholas Tse/a guy that looked like Nicholas Tse in a public toilet.
It's kind of pathetic when people (i.e. mom, some random relative, sometimes a friend) ask, So, Yelen, does anyone have the hots for you? and I'm like, Um, no, and they're like, How come? and I just shrug because - what the heck do you expect me to say? How the hell am I supposed to know why no one is interested in me? If I had the slightest inkling of an idea I'd be making some changes to my personality right about now.
Okay, so maybe I'm not the most personable, friendly person around, and yes, I don't know what the hell to say to 99% of the world's population, and maybe I'm more socially retarded than I'd thought, but in spite of all these crappy flaws I think I do have stuff going for me. Right? Because, you know, sometimes my aloofness isn't really what it seems; it's me trying to hide my shyness, dammit (but yes, other times - most of the time - it is exactly what you think it is).
You see what I mean? Why did I have to add that crap in parenthesis? It's like a reflex action, adding another brick to my formidable wall of Defensivenss. I don't know why I do that. I can't even say 'hi' to people in school to whose faces I can attach a name without feeling like I'm sacrificing my pride.
Ugh. I do hate myself sometimes. I'm such a damn retard.
I'm at Fuller and his eight requirements for internal morality now. I tried reading that Thompson article but I didn't bloody understand what the heck he was saying, or trying to say (I think it's the latter). This sucks a lot. I haven't touched Criminal. I haven't touched Contract. I still have a long way off before I'm done with Legal Theory. I feel urgent desperation but no drive to deal with it.
So yeah. Clobber me harder over the head. I should know better than to care anymore.
The latest episode of Gilmore kind of bored me.
I want to watch One Tree Hill 2.
I skip A Perfect Circle songs when they come on on my mp3 player. I find myself liking Bush (the band, not the president - DUH) a lot more. And The Dandy Warhols' Nietzsche (I'm pretty sure I spelled that right) bloody rocks. And Stereophonics. I remembered today that I have one of their albums. I bet it's with my bro. He can't stop stealing my CD's, but it's okay, because at least I know he's not listening to crappy "pop rock" bands. But then again, he listens to 50 Cent. That's just wrong. Eminem is slightly better but not much better. Everyone should listen to Jay Chou. I'm currently in deep love with Piao Yi because it's just so awesome. You listen to his songs so many times and they don't ever sound the same. I don't know why, exactly, but that's how it is for me. I like Placebo's heavier songs but not Brian Molko's vocals. That's weird, right? But yeah. I was listening to The Brick Shithouse (spelling?) earlier on and I totally dug the guitars and stuff but when Brian started singing...um, okay. Too shrill for me. Guess I won't be buying any more of their albums. Joaquin directed a few music videos and I watched one of them, Ringside's Tired of Saying Sorry, and it was a great, great vid (duh). More importantly, I love the song. Will get the CD soon, when I actually remember to go on amazon.com and sample a few other tracks (after the Earlimart disaster, I have learnt my lesson - in short, the rest of the album did not measure up to that one song I heard and loved on an episode of Veronica Mars).
The above, my friend, is Butchered Stream of Consciousness.
I know I haven't been replying to comments and emails. I'm trying to stay away from the Internet; hence. And yeah I still haven't gone on MSN yet but I will, soon.
I genuinely do not know how I am going to pass my examinations.
I do not want to deal.
But I guess I do not have a choice.
Free will - right. They left out the part where 'free will' is curtailed by the need to force yourself to survive.
Back to Fuller. Thankfully, he writes like a normal person and knows that his audience are (for the most part) normal people.
Hart is bloody convoluted and too in love with his own technical terms. It was just a few paragraphs on his primary and secondary rules but at the end of it, I had a major headache.
Bleah. I should just go to Warwick.