Wish

"If I were a needle

I'd put love into your veins
If I were a needle
I'd take away the pain
If I were a wish
I'd grant myself to you
If I were a dream
I'd make myself come true

If I had a wish
I'd make the dying end
If I had a wish
It would be childhood here again
If I had a wish
Love would be safe and pure

I have a wish
It's for a cure."

-- Ecstasia by Francesca Lia Block

And so...

Not in the mood to explain what happened on my birthday, but in any case, the issue has been resolved.

I am now part of Duke Class of 2013.

Coming of Age

worst birthday of my life

6574

It's my last day as a child. I love how I'm spending it doing discussion questions for AP Lit.

I don't want to grow up just yet. Not yet.

Starlight

"Perhaps... I was a throwback, a small distant meteorite that died several hundred years ago and now lived only by virtue of the light that speeds through space at too great a pace to realize that its source has become a piece of lead."

-- Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison

My life changed one year ago. One year and five days ago, I learned not to wish upon a falling star. The light of You blinded me from everything, until the day I hurtled into the Earth and saw the truth. That the You I once knew had already incinerated, slipped through my fingers like cosmic ashes.

Is it too late to find ourselves again?

Open your eyes. Can You see me, waiting in the dark for You once again?

Beginning of the End

We passed by a cemetery along the highway the other day. Yards and yards of white crosses dotted across the vast expanse of land. It's difficult to grasp that each cross represents somebody who came and left, whose story is buried beneath that plot of soil.

That's what I thought of when I looked out into the ocean, watching the water dart in and out, taking shells and sea-polished stones away and leaving them behind. That's what I thought of when I felt the sand fly in puffs from under my bare feet as I darted aimlessly across the beach, chasing after a plastic replica of the sun. That's what I thought of when I realized the friends around me would fade from the foreground of my life in a matter of months.

Our skin and bones, ashes and dust are recycled in generations, waiting to be drawn from the earth to form another life. Perhaps the same happens with our stories. We come and go no more significant than another wave crashing and receding from the shoreline, leaving perhaps a pebble or ribbon of kelp here and there.

Hey You. Tell me, do our bones collide?
Did our bones collide?

Why did our bones collide?

Morpheus

I am haunted by dreams of people who don't even exist.

Or even if they exist, we have never met.

He was from Paris, dressed impeccably in European cuts and matched colors -- none of the American gung-ho sloppiness. I could discern a hint of Italian in his features, though I have never been a cartographer of the face, possessing no skill in mapping out the ethnic origins of an arch of the nose or curve of the eyes.

When he transferred to my high school, he for some reason was drawn to our side of the quad. A surprise, really, considering how in France, he had been drinking since he was 12 -- he probably would have fit right in with the catty drunkenness of the jocks and cheerleaders. Instead, he became friends with me.

I never understood why. He was too perfect to befriend someone like me. He was loyal, approachable, the kind of person who would always take the time to say hello if he saw you in the hall, rather than cast his eyes downward and avoid eye contact. He became the friend I told everything to, for I never had to worry that my secrets would be spread.

So when I woke up this morning, a feeling of gloom settled in for two reasons. The first is one that everyone has experienced when they awake from a dream that is too good to be true. The second? I realized that I have met this person's physical replica, but the personality inside could not have been any more opposite. My subconscious mind had twisted him into the person I wanted him to be. And that, I think, is even more unhealty than having visions about somebody who is completely and fully a figment of your imagination.

FREEEEEEEDOMMMMM!!!!!!!

I'm off to North Carolina in a couple of hours. I'm not bringing my laptop, so I'll have no Internet for two days. I'm flying by myself, so yes, I am a trifle scared about figuring my way around North Carolina by myself. But on the other hand...


HOLY MOLY!!! Hogwarts, here I come!!

Dance Dance

April is the cruelest month. But let's not talk about the subject I've been blogging about constantly this past year.

Let's talk about my second favorite topic: prom!

Anyone who knows me relatively well should be able to detect the sarcasm of the previous statement. If not, I'll state it plainly: I am not too fond of prom season. Besides the calorie counting and bargain hunting for dresses, there is the lovely tension and gossip swirling around. Guys complain about nobody worth asking; girls complain about nobody worth going with. Blah blah blah.

But I do have to say, my interest in the prom season has increased a great deal this year. Why? I just realized yesterday that it's a lot of fun helping out a guy ask a girl. I used to have sour impressions about the tradition of asking in a creative way -- the courter is pressured to do something amazing (often costing even more money on top of the tickets) while the courtee could be pressured to say "Yes" just because the courter put in so much time and money. Not really fair, right? Well, I never considered the "fun" factor.

So yesterday in AP Stats (I love how my best ideas unrelated to statistics always pop up during that class), I was talking to C and Duckie about Senior Ball. A few days ago, C brought up how the guys were starting to talk about Senior Ball, and I, being the ever up-to-date one, said,"What?? Why are they already talking about that now?"

Well, what I did not realize was that Senior Ball is in less than two months away. Whoops, my bad.

So then I found out Duckie was planning to ask G, so we started talking about ways Duckie could ask G to Senior Ball. Duckie decided the only two possibe locations would either be at his house when she went to work on their project for Amercian Gov't, or at the beach (supposedly a group is planning to go next week). At first, I kept insisting on my ingeniously cheesy "letter in a bottle" idea for the beach -- okay, I was joking, but you have to admit it would have been awesome. Instead, we decided on making a fake version of their powerpoint project.

So Duckie and C came over to my house yesterday and we planned it all out in two hours. Their project topic was "Child Labor in China", so we followed the exact same powerpoint format but gradually changed the topic to "Gender stereotypes of social courtship." Since Duckie is such a wimp, we added a twist to the traditional method of asking a girl to a dance and made it so he asked her to ask HIM to the dance. Here's how the powerpoint turned out:

--------------------------------------------
Slide 1: Title Page - standard "Child Labor in China"
Slide 2: Geographic Location - we went to Google maps and took a picture of the place where Senior Ball would be.
Slide 3: Overview - standard, nothing out of ordinary
Slide 4: History of the problem - with nice clipart of a guy holding a gigantic bag of money

• Problem: Gender stereotypes of social courtship
• Males traditionally expected to do all the work
• Spend $$$ on: flowers, tickets, dinner, dates, other tokens of courtship

Slide 5: Consequences - gigantic list of different health problems including nausea, vomiting, and "FEAR OF REJECTION" in bolded capital letters
Slide 6: Case Study - did a case study on Duckie, added a funny picture of him

• One Asian Male
• Height: 6'0"
• Weight: 145 lbs.
• Name undisclosed to protect identity
• Diagnosed with acute case of terminal wimpiness

Slide 7: Case Study (cont.)

• On the ninth of April, Chinese boy toiled through seven hours of labor at a remote educational facility
• Suffered near-fatal wimpiness attack during his afternoon shift in the statistics department
• Symptoms determined to be the result of extreme pressure stemming from impending spring festivities

Slide 8: Solution - another funny picture of Duckie

• Flip-flop the gender stereotype in order to give females a chance to take the initiative
• Fulfill gender equality to the fullest extent
• Pick up the prepared flowers from under the bed and ask the shuai ge to LHS's Senior Ball =]]

Slide 9: Contact - all his contact info
Slide 10: Bibliography

• Sophelia. Origin of Wussies. Hometown: Matisse Press, 2009.
• C. Dewussify: The Secret to Grow Some Balls. Hometown: Elephant Inc., 2009.

-----------------------------
With something that good? C and I were probably 99 percent confident that G would say yes.

THEN this afternoon, after watching my brother's tennis match, I listened to a voicemail C left on my phone about ten minutes earlier. She was completely freaked out. "Crap! Duckie just told me that it went really bad. G didn't even laugh when she was reading it. She said no, and then she left his house early. He has no idea how they're going to work on Senior Project together, and he says he doesn't want to go the beach next Friday anymore. Shit! What are we going to do??!!! CALL ME BACK!!!"

So I called C back twice, and she didn't pick up. I told my mom about what had happened, and she exclaimed with much surprise, "WHAT? Why??" I felt horrible because I thought G was super mad at C and me, if she was angry enough to leave his house early. My mom told me to go call her, and if it was necessary, she would invite all parties involved in the whole business to have dinner and resolve the conflict.

So I called G, wondering if she was going to screen her calls and not bother answering. As soon as G said "Hello", I unleashed a verbal diarrhea of apologies. G started cracking up and explained that she had said yes, and that they wanted to play a trick on C. Unfortunately, C hadn't bothered informing me after she found out they had played a trick on her, so I ended up feeling like a complete and relieved idiot.

So now my next client in this whole asking business is C. I must confess, I have never been this excited about a dance in my entire life. Although I do not "have the balls" -- to use C's phrase -- to ask anybody, I just realized that coming up with ideas for someone else is a ton of fun.

I should start a business and start charging for clients. Earn some money to go to Duke!

Mad World

To tell you the truth, I was writing another post with a Pro/Con list for Duke and UC Berkeley. But then I broke down and couldn't write it anymore.

You may recall that I was initially very excited about Duke. That excitement very quickly frittered away when I realized that my father was very against Duke and wanted me to go to Cal. I was suddenly faced with the realization that our family cannot afford 200k to send me through four years of Duke, not to mention the fact that my father feels the only thing Duke is good for is basketball.

My mother, on the other hand, has been very supportive. She understands why I prefer Duke to Cal, and she has been collecting a lot of advice and information from family and friends these past few weeks. However, this afternoon she came into my room to tell me about an acquaintance of ours whose daughter did pre-med at Cal and is going to UC Davis for med school. Perhaps she didn't mean it to come off that way, but I interpreted it as her way of hinting that my argument that Duke is better for pre-meds has been effectively shot down.

She also keeps stressing that I need to have a conversation with my father. I am reluctant to do so on many different levels. (I keep telling myself that I can put this off until after I visit Duke next week.) My relationship with my father is minimal -- if we lived in The Sims, our relationship bar would be in the lukewarm 30s. I don't know how to talk to him, and I don't know what to say. His mind seems to have already been set in concrete -- not once has he indicated any interest in Duke. My mother is the one looking up Duke on Wikipedia and calling up old friends whose children attend Duke. I have never seen my father do anything even close to that.

All of the logical, practical arguments make sense. Cal is cheaper, and so the money that would have been spent at Duke could be used for graduate or medical school. Why spend 200k on the undergraduate university, when I intend to go to graduate or medical school in the future?

At this point, I am trying to convince myself to go to Cal. I don't want to burden my parents with 50k a year on top of the possibility of med school tuition. I don't want to fight with my father.

But at the same time, Cal is not what I have been dreaming of. Ever since I entered high school, I dreamed of getting out of this valley. Our family rarely travels -- I have only been to two other countries other than the United States, and plus, I cannot say I really visited the United States either. Other than good old California, I have merely driven through Oregon and Washington on the way to Canada, was born in Illinois (thus possessing absolutely no recollection of the place), and visited Hawaii when I was two (likewise). I have a severe case of wanderlust that cannot thrive in these economic times.

When I was writing my lists, it dawned on me that if it weren't for money, I wouldn't even be thinking twice (unless my father was STILL insistent on Cal). To be fair, I have not visited Duke yet, so for all I know, I may end up absolutely hating the place. But many times, I've wondered -- if I had gotten into Harvard, Yale, or Princeton, would I even be having this dilemna? Then again, if I had gotten into HYP, would I be pressured to go just because they're HYP?

This is one of those days when life feels so empty. Why is everything driven by money? We live and die for pieces of inked paper that represent gold that our country doesn't even possess. I've been born, bred, and raised to live in this system, and I can't even see what's the point. Is the point to be the most successful in the system -- the billionaire CEO or the world-famous lawyer? Or to transcend the system, whether through pure science or art? This world is mad, and we aren't any better.

Pride and Prejudice and Zombies

In honor of the hellish Pride and Prejudice test the AP Lit class took today (ok, I didn't think it was THAT bad), I thought it would be a good time to share this.

Somebody by the name of Seth Grahame-Smith "co-authored" a novel by the name of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. Personally, I'm not that interested in reading this book -- the cover grosses me out, and the review I read didn't make it sound very promising. Though I really liked the visual image of Mrs. Long's head cracking like a walnut.

-----------------------------------------------------

Excerpt: 'Pride and Prejudice and Zombies'
by Seth Grahame-Smith

As Mr. Darcy walked off, Elizabeth felt her blood turn cold. She had never in her life been so insulted. The warrior code demanded she avenge her honour. Elizabeth reached down to her ankle, taking care not to draw attention. There, her hand met the dagger concealed beneath her dress. She meant to follow this proud Mr. Darcy outside and open his throat.

But no sooner had she grabbed the handle of her weapon than a chorus of screams filled the assembly hall, immediately joined by the shattering of window panes. Unmentionables poured in, their movements clumsy yet swift; their burial clothing in a range of untidiness. Some wore gowns so tattered as to render them scandalous; other wore suits so filthy that one would assume they were assembled from little more than dirt and dried blood. Their flesh was in varying degrees of putrefaction; the freshly stricken were slightly green and pliant, whereas the longer dead were grey and brittle – their eyes and tongues long since turned to dust, and their lips pulled back into everlasting skeletal smiles.

A few of the guests, who had the misfortune of being too near the windows, were seized and feasted on at once. When Elizabeth stood, she saw Mrs. Long struggle to free herself as two female dreadfuls bit into her head, cracking her skull like a walnut, and sending a shower of dark blood spouting as high as the chandeliers.

Clockwork

.Psyche.

The media always plays cute on the whole "meeting cute" cliche. The most ridiculous, fantastical concept ever invented, and yet, it sells.

If dead sparrows are cute, then you've got one whopping best-seller right here.

My first encounter with him lay in my little six-year-old palms. It didn't make sense, how such a feathery little thing could be so cold.

I saw him when no one else could. That day, I saw the sparrow's life burst forth to Death.

He was like the sparrow. A fallen angel. Beauty devoid of warmth. A demonic, angelic complexion, pale and pure like moonlight, framed by wisps of obsidian curls. But it was the eyes that I haunted me for the rest of my life. A frosted moodstone, changing from an indifferent gray to a shock of astonished blue.

Like the sparrow. Running into the same glass window.

Again.
And again.
And again.

.Death.

Immortality is eternity.

Immortally chained to the title of Hell's Champion. The Phantom Knight. The Grim Reaper.

Don't they all sound so glorious? "Champion", "Knight", or my favorite: "Reaper." As if I needed to harvest souls to survive through winter.

Immortally thankless. You'd think a simple "Thank you, Death, for guiding Susie to the Afterlife" would be sufficient. No, I'm always the bad guy with a horde of bats you have to kill in video games.

But it's all a lie. Try to be hero in this life, and you'll fail. Because I will never die.

I am the stranger who brushes past you downtown, the one who catches your eye for a split second before merging back into the collective mob of wandering busybodies. You don't expect to see me ever again. But you will.

I can see the clock ticking within each of your chests. I can see the number of heartbeats whirring, unfaltering, down to zero.

I have watched Psyche every day of her life. From the six-year-old girl with the sparrow in her palms, to the young woman in search of Eros. Everyone knows the myth of Eros and Psyche. I laugh, because they don't know the rest of the story. Love comes and goes, like waves drawing to and from the shoreline. The Heart and the Soul may have their mortal love affairs.

But the Soul is wedded to Death for eternity.

asdflkjsa;lfjs@&^#(&@

bad news.

normally, my middle-class family would be able to qualify for at least a small sum of financial aid. however...

last year, my father earned a good sum of money from investment in the stock market. all was fine and dandy until the stock market crashed late last year.

so where does that leave me? our family lost a good deal of money, and now my father says i won't be able to qualify for financial aid because the tax forms will only show that our 2008 income was very high, despite the fact that eventually we ended up losing it all anyway.

at the moment, my parents are discussing how to pay for my college tuition. they are aware that i prefer Duke over Cal. However, if I go to Duke, I will more than likely have to take student loans.

while my parents are currently discussing financial affairs i do not understand, instead of doing chem homework, i am trying to think of ways to get money.

- scholarships... but i don't know if i can find any good ones at this point in the year
- get a job... which may be difficult considering the unemployment rate
- the only useful talent i have is writing. maybe i can win some contest somewhere.
- sell my car
- eat only two meals a day

... WHY AM I SO INCREDIBLY LUCKY TO GET TO APPLY FOR COLLEGES THE YEAR WHEN THE ECONOMY IS SINKING LIKE POOP IN A TOILET AND THE APPLICANT POOL IS THE LARGEST IN HISTORY??????

fml.