Sometimes I think..

that nothing can be as vile or unoriginal and depressing as humans generally are. Hehhehehe. Mean humans o_O

I talked to a friend recently who had a frightening lack of empathy for anything or anyone other than himself. Frightening because it made me question the universal quality of his thought process. I know we all do things for 'benefits' even those bereft of recognition or tangible reward because it is still beneficial to us 'feelings' wise but the pride he took in his uncanny ability to succeed(?) in life was disturbing. He laughed when he said he used his ex-girlfriend for sex and thought it was hilarious when he spoke about her crying if he perchance didn't call. The self-absorbed commentary that spewed out over his lips like defecation from the wrong hole made me sick. >_< He spoke of utilizing people, of using and then disposing them...and I suppose this disturbed me because he is as I mentioned before relatively, an 'average' human. It made me worry if I was like that too but just glossed it over better. We all have our flashes of conceit right? I often wonder if we even possess 'personality' or if my likes and dislikes, my wants and needs are all a collection of environmental stimuli. Am I just a mimicry of compacted media personality and social interaction? What part is me ? Am I just as bad as that friend --what is worse? A human who reflects their true selfish ambitions that we are all subject to? Or the other who is encased in a false facade because society says that one should rebel against ideas of selfish ambition but who would just as easily become that 'selfish' person if society deemed that the righteous thing to do. >_< I can't believe I would act the same if everything around me preached different. Obv. not, right? Ewww.

I don't know who I am. I always felt as though I have a strong handle on it, but music and taste and thoughts that I've had have already changed greatly within these past four years. Even my typing has changed these past months because of who I interact with most. I can't just chalk up changing to getting older. It has to do with my revolving group of friends and surroundings. Sigh. Influential jerk Teressa ;_; This was dumb ramble. ANYWAY--


Met a cute man today who travels to Kenya every year and who is friends with Dr. Arons. I really can't wait to go to Tanzania. I hope it becomes the catalyst to many more trips. Why do I want to take trips ? For a change of scenery, for an injection of excitement in life, for relaxation ? I'm not sure if any of these apply.

Death comes to mind, for some reason. Home and sedentary action has always disturbed me though it is meant to be warm and enjoyable. The paint and wood and ceramic feel suffocating in a house all the time. So I suppose I don't want to travel for recreation, but as a form of escape? To escape the death that exists in routine. Comfortability can be deadly.

zZz sleepy goodnight~~~*

Wishes

Other than animals whose deaths I've generally taken with ease besides a few weeks of mourning, no one I really loved has ever died. It's quite simple. To distinguish if I love somebody, I always imagine how I'd react to them passing away. Sometimes it would be sadness, most of the time disinterest, sometimes pity and a strong desire to help those who would be affected by said person's death. But then, there's a very small hand-ful of people who, the idea of death, can't seem to touch. My brain can't function and compute the idea of 'death' and them and so I get confused and bothered.

Those are the people I love the most. I can't imagine a life worth living beyond them and couldn't even begin to comprehend moving forward; it would be a life where their absence is greater and more gaping and glaring than their presence. Than anyone's presence could possibly make up for, really. These are the people I passionately love. There's not many.

You know, I never really lost something I didn't eventually miss. I've let go of relationships and friendships, acquaintances, times and places and even though they slip away un-noticed at the given moment, I always find myself reminiscing at one point or another.Wondering where they went and if they might care to remember me too. My trip to Korea and sequential trip to China seemed to encompass everything I'm talking about. People I bonded with that I never saw again, places that are more hazy and ephemeral than real. Why did that one boy travel alone back then? How old is Simon now? Yuna, a girl at camp, cried when we left and I didn't. Did it really take me years to realize what she comprehended within a few minutes? That we would never see each other again and it was a time for mourning. Why does this bother me years later. I wish I could have cried then with her.

Another thought that does not seem to hold value on this trajectory of random thoughts .....>

I can't seem to grasp the concept that I will one day be forty years old. I used to wonder if it was human intuition, perhaps I knew that death would find me before then and that's why dreams of marriage and grand children were never coherent with my proper train of thought. Like maybe there was a reason I could not envision a future. But now, I think I'm just greedy. It's the most eery feeling when you realize you're sitting on your bed, sitting on a raised piece of wood and fluff and enclosed in four walls. I can't explain it, but I feel awkward and then I feel trapped and then I feel worried because this won't be my room forever like a dusty museum piece and in time it will change as everything is subject to change. Sometimes I close my eyes and try to, for the life of me, remember what my room looks like while I'm at work or school.. and then I have this pre-conceived image of my room that I compare with what I actually see when I get home. How did I forget to draw my Togepi card, my italian mask, the chips in the blind from when I owned Mika and she bit them, the rolled up N64 controllers. I was just in my room a few hours ago. How did I forget?! When this happens I get scared. I get so scared that my brain is faulty and I spend everyday in my room and can't even correctly imprint it onto my memory. What about things I care about that I don't necessarily see as often ? Should I take pictures? Videos? What can I do to makes sure that I lose nothing when I know life is about loss and gain ? What can I possibly do to preserve the happiness I feel now without it becoming almost meaningless later ? I guess I'm just being stupid now. Not like what you leave is important compared to what you have at the time. And something that made you happy is always existent even if it doesn't at this very moment. Aha. DUmby dumb dumb. Such a weird stream of consciousness this entry isssssssssss. I'm scared to read it over.

If I could have any wish in the world, it would be for those people that I love most to be healthy and we all die at the same time. I think I could live life peacefully if only I had that.

A house

I wish we could make our dream-house real. Katherine room, gold bar room, zip-line, gusts of wind that start up only when you grab the suitcase and umbrella firmly in hand, carrier pigeons, collapsible drive-way that leads into the lair, beds in every room, wish-puff garden with a little helper. It would be so great and fun.

Mom brought me up a bowl of strawberries covered in sugar and whipped cream and I really wish I was hungry and didn't feel like puking up 5 scoops of ice cream from the giant crowd pleaser I just devoured with Kim and Katherine because it was a really nice thing for her to do. I don't know why, but I feel like writing a poem. I love when I get that feeling because it's such a hard feeling to conceptualize or explain and even harder to control once it blooms. Does that make sense? Ah babbling. Okay. Go.

The sun-washed ground, the lazy heat
the yellow spilled about my feet
the stench of air, the whorls of steam
that hug bare arms of butter cream
It's summer time, again, again
and them? They're both my foe and friend.
and skin and hair and dreams recede--
projections I no longer need.
Recumbent still, I've chose to stay
I wish that someone felt the same
for even colour chips away
on leaves that tremble, crack and sway
And Autumn days are never deep
Twenty two hours full of sleep
To eye-lids, covers, walls of gray
I lost my life in mundane days.
But winter slinks, however slow
and brings a chill and dark and snow
Unmoving, yet I still might go
I wanted more not long ago.
The seasons change, its such a shame
that I could never do the same
LJFOEIURPEURFJEIF 15 minutes up.

I used to do this all the time to get 'better' at writing. Give myself 15 minutes and then look at a random object in my room and try to compose the most provoking and profound piece of work in that short amount of time. No clue why I felt compelled to do that, but this is what it reminded me of.

Turns out, Kim also narrates her life quite often and knew exactly what I was talking about. No wonder why we are best friends.

Once upon a time

I want to write a lengthy entry about my day... seeing the creepy Easter bunny, animating Chi, laughing and laughing with Katherine, shouting "I LOVE YOU," relaying my nationality to people and then listening to their curiously awkward relations to the Asian race (my daughter married a Chinese man...ect.) and follow-up clumsy compliments, the happiness of seeing old friends and belonging again, a return to normalcy even for just three hours. But I don't really feel like it. I'm tired.

I have so many things to do and my limbs are itchy and aching to be free from fabric and wear shorts and summer dresses again. But really, I don't want to do anything and for no discernible reason I'm feeling listless and lost again. How to convey this 'lost' feeling is something I could never do with words though. Even admitting to it seems embarrassing and almost immediately preempts a feeling of regret, had this journal been a public tool. I feel like a mass lump of fat with nothing to look forward to but atrophy. I always wonder why nothing makes me happy, worried, particularly angry or sad.
Hearing the world might end in 2012 seems more relieving than apocalyptic and even though I'm pretty sure it won't happen, I can't say I would mind it. The idea of aging makes me depressed. I think about how everyone I cared for a year ago, two years, five years ..they all stayed stationary as I swung forward, clinging and swinging through the grid-lines of the calendar from month to month and left them all behind in the respective time we were once both important to each other.

Walking

My brain is throbbing again.

I needed to shake off the mechanical verve that my body had fallen rhythm to. Was I still breathing? Still blinking? But lets recalcitrate against the realization of self. I hate that. I just want to be dangling limbs and a pair of impartial eyes buried in flesh and warm layered fabric. Not a pariah looking for a purpose. I hate thinking of all this shit that is ultimately useless. Why can't walking just be walking? Why does it have to take on a degree of theatrics with me?

It was raining now, but my walk was still comfortable, still careening about in languorous loops from point a to point b, unfolding fictitious scenes in my mind... had this been a good short story. I was narrating my life again, viewing myself in a third person point of view and delegating purpose and meaning to every nuance and subtle movement of my being.
Everything was color and everything became subjective and deeper than its intent. I observed the viney green that clung haphazardly to the spine of a building bearing left, not right, as it lurched higher and higher. The bursts of yellow and cream light that doily-ed the dark and fell, creating distinguished shadows against the puckered street. I tried to find profundity in the orange peel lying next to the garbage, in the garish picket sign that screamed at me with color and caplocks to vote for Robert or in the globular bits of water that soaked my hair and clothes and skin. Had everything come together correctly, I might now have experienced a transcendent moment of glory; a resolution with a purpose that might direct my life, change my person and inject meaning into the serendipity of my phone dying, of my car being blocked, of me wandering around in the rain alone for 30 minutes now. So, where was it? I looked around and found nothing.

Is life really a collision of unaffiliated events that crescendo to meaningless dribble? Most of the time I assuage uncertainty with the idea that decisions and action that precipitates reaction are all amalgamated together and meant to work out, but more often I see events hang dryly in the air before me with no meaningful beginning and no end. And rather than follow a driven trajectory, they just materialize and then disappear, suspended in the air for a fleeting moment only to be dissolved and dismantled the next with no legacy of their existence. And. I can't have that. Part of me needs to believe in something more. I want to trust that old mantra of everything happening for a reason. Of it never being the end until everything works out. And the idea that everything will work out. You know, something nice like that.


Kept walking for an hour until the police cleared the parking lot and the mild chaos of the dead boy was over.