Every day may not be good, but there's something good in every day.

This week sucked.

I got into a car accident where I got rear-ended by an uninsured driver who currently has no jobs. I felt so bad when we were doing the police report because he was begging me not to do it and I had to do it because the insurance people would only fix my car if I could prove beyond a reasonable doubt that he was uninsured while he would get fined for it. God, I felt horrible all afternoon. The damage isn't even that bad, but it'll cost a lot to get it fixed.

Then Mother and I got in a fight. Well, it was more like her nag nag nagging and I listening, but you get the gist. Six more months to go. Yippee. At least it's not like, a year.

The only good thing that happened to me this week was that I cleaned the cabinet under the sink in my bathroom and found so many pairs of socks that I thought I've lost. Yay for warm feet!

Oh yeah, I looked at this lunar calendar thingy and it says that February is a bad month for me. Isn't that just lovely?

Hey, it could be a lot worst, right? This is nothing compared to horrible things some people experience. Gotta keep it in perspective.

There is just one life for each of us: our own.

Yesterday, I asked my mom if it was okay if I took ballet class over the summer. She flat out refused and told me how stupid ballet class was and how it would be a complete waste of my time. Whether or not it is stupid or a waste of time, that’s for me to judge after I take the class. I went to bed so annoyed last night.

And then today, she comes home saying how disappointed she is that I’ve developed other interests. Then she says that I live the way Buddhist monks live, like horses with blinders on, so I can focus on getting what I want. Is she serious? I’m not living a life a Buddhist monk. The profession that I choose to pursue is tedious and hideously dry as it is and she wants me to focus only on that? I’ll go insane before I can graduate medical school.

She wants me to be a doctor because her father had asked her to become one for him, but she couldn’t fulfill that promise. I see that they make good money, so I say yes. Then I see how biology and I don’t mesh, but I still have to fulfill my promise. So, I take something I like, the study of the human brain, and combine it with something I have to do and decide on majoring in neuroscience to become a neurologist. Sounds good, right? Well, it’s not good enough for her.

She wants me to be an ob-gyn because it is the noblest profession in her opinion. She gets mad when I tell her I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with my hands in other women’s vaginas.

It just feels like she’s molding me in her image. Whatever that I have that is uniquely me is suppress to make place for her stuff. Things I like to do are criticized as being worthless and a waste of time, but whatever she likes has priority simply because she likes it. Everything has to be done her way. She always says she listens to what her children have to say before deciding on things, but that is such a lie it makes Bill Clinton look innocent. She doesn’t listen; she just waits until we are done talking to tell us her already-decided-on decision.

I’m not a little doll. I’m a human being with my own interests and personality. I have my own views on things and it may or may not be the same at hers, and I deserve to voice my opinion and pursue what I want to pursue and be in control of my life. I want to tell her all of this but I just can’t. Once she suspects that my views aren’t the same as hers and that I will do what I want to do when I’m away from her, she won’t let me go.  I’ve been keeping my mouth shut for a year now, and I’m not going to ruin my chance of getting away from here by losing my temper. Whatever I’m mad about, it is only temporary and definitely can’t beat the regret and anguish of living here for the rest of my life.

My mother seems revolutionary compared to Mlle. Smith’s mother. My God, I’m so thankful that my mother is not Mlle. Smith’s mother. That woman is so bizarre. She thinks Mlle. Smith—who has been 18 for a while now—is still, I don’t know, three. I can’t imagine having to suffocate for two more years.

When our relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points or it would be impossible to endure them.

I don't want to live near my family when I have my own life. I want to be able to make my own decision and stick by them without any unnecessary interference.

There has been this issue that the older family members have with my youngest aunt, who is about 34--last time I checked, which was several years ago, I think. She wants to divorce her husband because she's in love with someone else (my mom's friend from high school), but the big family says no since my uncle by marriage is such a decent guy and she won't do better with the new guy. That's her own decision. They can counsel her, which is fine, but if she chooses not to follow their advice, then it's out of their hands. She's an adult. She makes her own decision. I was defending her today because I don't want that kind of things on my hand ten years from now.

My older male cousins are having the same problems now. The adults want the cousin who's going to be a dentist to stop dating his girlfriend because she's not pretty enough for them. That's none of their business. All of my cousins' girlfriends are scrutinized and dismissed if the girl wasn't Vietnamese. Well, this girl's Vietnamese, and she's getting the same treatment. Thank God, my cousin's sticking up for her and they've been dating for three years. I'm kind of ticked because I'm not that pretty either and I don't want to be treated like that.

I just think they just have to stop meddling! It's really none of their business how each of us lives our lives; it's our own preference, not theirs. Not at all.

It is better to be beautiful than to be good, but it is better to be good than to be ugly

 For all last week, I've been putting on a moisturizer after cleansing my face. So, that's twice a day. Surprise, surprise: I broke out. Not like crazily where everyone could see--only I could see because I'm probably--hopefully--the only one looking at all areas of my face that closely. I don't know why I did that because I have oily skin, and a moisturizer is meant to keep the face from getting too dry. Well, my face is never going to be dry. Once a day moisturizing is enough. I'm going to start doing that now.

Also, I'm going to start rinsing my teeth with Rembrandt mouthwash. I bought it only because it has the name of a famous painter and a simplistic yet very intriguing design. The sucky part about using this is having to wait half an hour before drinking or eating. I don't have that kind of time, so I'm just going to use it at night.

My hair is long enough to be tied up now! Yippee! But if I put it in a bun, it looks like the end of a chicken tail, which is not attractive at all and definitely not what I'm going for. I want to put my hair up in a bun for prom, and in four months, that goal looks very doable.

Once you forget what you’re worth, you forget what you deserve

While I was still fuming yesterday, I considered writing Mlle. Smith a long message to tell her exactly how I felt about her ditching me, but I decided against it. What I did was that I waited until I was no longer mad and had calm the eff down and composed a short message: I was mad at what you did. I'm not anymore but don't come over on Monday because we have finals that week.

She replied right away saying how sorry she was, how bad she felt, and how she felt that if she didn't go the lady's feelings would be hurt.

I forgave her right away. Yup. That was all I needed. An apology and the fact that she felt bad too.

Overall, I am super proud of myself for waiting until I was calm to think rationally and consider her feelings too. That and the fact that I didn't go and blab to anyone who would listen.

My family finally booked the cruise today. My goodness gracious, after all the trouble I and the travel agent went through, my parents better agree. So...we're set to sail on the 11th of July!

Plus, my mother decided not to tell me about how she wasn't taking my design to Vietnam to make anymore. I asked today and she was like, "Oh, just be normal and go buy a dress."

No. I've contacted Mlle. Coleman and let her know that I was interested in having her mom make my dress. She's taking my measurements on the Tuesday after next.

Do or do not. There is no try

God, today was not what I had hope it would be. It was in Art AP that I found out that us AP students whose works were in the show were invited to be interviewed by a local radio station. From 16 PM to 16:30 PM. Mme. Mills invited me, but I told her know, for I and Mlle. Smith had a prior engagement. She asked Mlle. Smith and told her that some woman that Mlle. Smith knew would be there. Mlle. Smith asked if I wanted to go to the radio thing, and I said no, since I was really looking forward to this evening. Then I asked her if she wanted to go. She shook her head. Later, when M. Mills asked again, I kept telling her that we had a prior engagement. Then Mme. Mills told me that since Mlle. Smith was going to the radio thing, that meant that I was available also. I was like, "WHAT?" and all Mlle. Smith could say was "she's someone I know." Well, I'm sorry, but what does that make me?

I was pissed I didn't talk to her unless necessary for the rest of the day.

The only reason why we were waiting until today to do it was because her mom has a problem with her not being home on a school night. So I waited all week and she canceled on me on the the day of to go to a radio interview. God, there's so many things I want to say, but I've swore to talk only about the subject at hand when I'm angry. I felt like she didn't value my time. My plans were just replaced at the last minute for something else so easily without any consideration at all.

I went and asked Mlle. Velasco to model for me. I'm not going to wait around for anybody anymore. The world doesn't bend to accommodate my needs, and I don't bend to accommodate anybody else's needs.

The only good thing about this whole stupid fiasco was that I feel like I've matured a little. The old me would have gone and told all my friends about what Mlle. Smith did, but I've kept mum today despite the constant temptation to tell someone. Well, this is between me and her, and it'll stay between me and her.

A few of the pictures of Mlle. Velasco turned very good, but since this is my first time taking pictures of a live person and her first time modeling, it was pretty good. I got two exceptional ones.

Mlle. Smith says she'll try to come over on Monday. We'll see.

What you do speaks so loud that I cannot hear what you say

I did ballet when I was really little--not yet five--and I remember being in love with it so much that I often got to the studio half an hour early just so we could get things started without wasting time. I was very dedicated and the ballet teacher loved me. A couple of weeks in, the program got canceled from some reason and I took up aerobics instead.

I recently found out that I can take fundamental ballet classes at the local community colleges. The nearest ones are an equal distance apart from me, but the one in V. is a lot better location-wise since my parents' salon is in O while the community college in M. is better option-wise. I really want to take the class. According to the previous years' schedule, the class is two times a week for three hours at a time. God, I want to take it so bad. I just need to wait for them to release the summer schedule and talk to my counselor about it. I'll probably stop by the class after finals to check it out. I've just emailed the instructor to ask for her permission.

I just need to get active, you know? Being active releases endorphins and endorphins make you happy. I can tell depression is trying to creep on me again. The last time I got depressed was horrible. I never want to go through it ever again as long as I live. I felt it when I was cleaning out my closet last Friday, so I changed the music station to more upbeat and mindless songs. It usually comes when the weather gets warm. That's why I hate the summer. There's this air that comes and messes with my mind. It's really fresh and makes me nostalgic. The summer of sophomore year was really bad. That was when I got really down. I didn't feel like meeting new people because I reasoned we would all have to part eventually, so there was no reason to give myself a heartache every single time. I wanted to be a hermit then, living all by myself in the mountain, isolated from everyone else.

Looking back, that plan will never work. 1. I'm not a nature person. I hate forests and trees and all that stuff. 2. I'll go crazy being by myself for that long. And 3. I am incapable of being by myself for that long.

Anyways, I'm hoping this class will give me a healthy dose of endorphins to ward off the blues. Plus, Mlle. Smith and Velasco are actually kind of interested in taking it too--surprisingly. Well, I'm glad.

Speaking of Mlle. Velasco...we went shopping today at Forever 21 after school because they are having this huge coats sale and I am in need of a coat or two. She's been looking for a job for a while now but no such luck. I feel bad while we look at stuff because she doesn't want to spend money because she's saving for college--which is what I'm supposed to be doing too, but we are talking about a desperately needed black coat. Anyways, we had a good time nonetheless and I got a really cute black coat. It is shorter that what I wanted, but it is amazingly cute. Plus, it was fifty percent off the original price. I'm glad we hung out today so she wouldn't feel like we're leaving her out when Mlle. Smith and I go to V. to take pictures of Mlle. Johnston and go shopping afterward.

Plus, Mlle. Smith is coming over tomorrow to model for me for my portrait projects. We'll take pictures of each other before the good light goes out. Hopefully everything will go well. I am extra self-conscious now because my mother's just told me that the asymmetrical-ness of my face is more prominent now that I'm skinnier thanks to my vegetarian diet. Well, is it really my fault that my dad and brother who can both eat regular food always pig out on my vegetarian food and leave me with nothing to eat? Of course not.

Someone told me that in about 50 years, no one will speak Latin, probably. Not even Latin people.

A pretty, clever young girl seduced by a charming, older man, pulled into his world of good music, dinner parties, and the such. I'm in love with An Education. Carey Mulligan is amazingly lovely as an English school girl, and she's even more gorgeous when she dresses up for the fancy events that David, the older gentleman, invites her to.

I would love to get my bangs cut like hers. I have wanted to do so for a while, but my mother managed to persuade me out of it. I'm definitely get my bangs cut like hers next time I go in for a haircut. Her bangs and Abbey Lee Kershaw's length--which is perfect because my hair would be a bit longer than that when I go in.

I'll probably cut it after prom so I can wear my hair up. I don't know if I've mentioned this, but I'm redesigning my prom dress since I have doubts about the first design. I have doubts about this one too, but this one seems very me. It is as me as any dress can ever be. My criteria are: simple neckline (so my dangling chandelier earrings won't have to compete for attention), a flowing bodice as opposed to a clingy and curve-hugging one (I always imagine that the suggestion of dainty curves is sexier that showing someone outright where they are) , backless (a classier way, I think, to show skin and be daring at the same time), and simple yet spectacular overall. I'm thinking a black, floor length number made with fabric light enough for the movement yet heavy enough to be classified as a formal dress and not a nightgown. That's the problem with a flowing bodice. It resembles a nightgown too much.

I think I can pull it off though. It'll be great. I'll put my hair in a ballerina bun to accentuate the unclothed neck and back. Exposed clavicles are sexy. My dangling chandelier earrings will be my only accessories besides the flower items. The whole outfit will be completed with black, smokey eyes and dark red lipstick. Isn't it a beautiful painting? Black hair, black eyes, black dress, and BAM, red lips. The colors just go so well together.

Oh, God, I don't think the flower items will fit in. I hope it'll be alright if I just ditch the whole flower thing.

In painting class, Mlle. Macias and Kweon and I were talking about prom dresses and prom dates. They know how I'm designing my own and remarked on how intimidated my date would be. I told them how I would rather go alone than go with someone uncreative. Then M. Ward, who has recently taken the empty seat next to me-- my bag holder--away by occupying it, said something about being creative with his asking. I told him that I highly doubted that his proposal would be as cool as he thought it would be. Then he told me that I would be amazed when he asked and would realize that he much more creative than I gave him credits for. Then, throughout that whole period, he kept giving me funny looks. I went to the bathroom right before and was sure that I didn't have anything embarrassing on my face.

Maybe I'm reading way too much into it, but it seems like he may ask me to prom. I mean, it'd be nice to have a nice-looking date, but then the whole limo arrangement wouldn't work, I would think. M. Ward will want to go with his friends and I will want to go with mine. God, when I was in 8th grade I wanted to be friends with them so bad, but I prefer my own friends now. It just wouldn't be a good arrangement. I hope he doesn't ask me. I just know it won't work. Again, this is just base on my assumptions and (possibly wrong) over-analysis.

I talked things over with Mlle. Smith and she's coming over on Friday to do our first photo shoot. She wants to have us dressed up and made up while I want us au naturel. Well, it is more sensible to take pictures of us as we are first then run to my house to get ourselves ready before the lights go. I don't know if I want a glamour shot of me all made up. I'm horribly self-conscious when someone points a camera at me. It is as if everything--all my body parts--is in the wrong places and I have no idea where everything correctly goes.

Your imagination is your preview of life's coming attraction

The other day I had a dream about going off to college. It was my first day there. Since everyone was excited to make friends, people would go up to each other and introduce themselves. I introduced myself as Tu Tram, the name I want to by in college. I was giddy throughout the whole dream up to the point where I dumped my fiance (please let this fiance-dumping thing not be a sign in my future or a recurring motif in my dreams), but that is a whole different story. Once I was awake, I could still feel the giddiness.

I just can't wait to get out of here. I want to go somewhere new, where people will meet me as I am now, not me as I was five years ago; somewhere that will inspire me to take my creativity to the next level; somewhere far, far away from here.

My parents will be leaving the country for Vietnam in a month for three weeks, meaning I'll have complete freedom for three weeks! Whoot whoot. I'm planning to visit Mlle. Johnston's dance studio and take pictures of the ballerinas as they dance and go to the mall afterwards with Mlle. Smith to visit H&M and get my black coat and leather jacket. Sounds fun and normal, ya?

My thing for taking portraits has increased exponentially these past few days. I really want to ask my female friends to model for me, starting with Mlle. Smith. She has an ordinarily pleasant face. I know for a fact that Mlle. Velasco photographs well--the highs and lows of her face balance out 2-D, I think. I would love to capture Mlle. Johnston's serious and graceful ballerina-ness. I don't know how Mlle. Jang will look behind the lens--I would sure love to find out, for she is so very charming. So is Mlle. Tran (the older). Mlle. Tran (the younger) is also very charming. I think she photographs nicely as well. Oh! Mlle. Kaila has the face that I want to photograph the most. It is very elegant and reminds me of a Spanish princess back during the Tudors' dynasty. I would love to photograph her. And little Mlle. Brinser too. But if I photographed Mlle. Brinser, I would have to photograph Mlle. Velasco's little sister who is just a--I love her and all, but...--little pest. She wouldn't make a good model; she moves around way too much. I can't work with someone who can't and won't take directions. Mlle. Smith's sister looks somewhat like her. I like how she looks very angelic. I think she would look very nice 2-D, but it would messed up to ask all of the freshmen and leave Mlle. Velasco's little sister out. So, the little ones are out.

My inspiration for the portraits:

It's alright letting yourself go as long as you can get yourself back.

I've been working on my watercolor painting skill for the past two days. Okay, I knew that watercolor was hard and arbitrary, but I never imagined it to be so vexing and time-consuming. I think my problem with it is the lack of control I have to embrace to work it. With acrylic, I favor a brush with very short bristles to have the greatest control. With watercolor, I had to use a flat brush to move the water gracefully in exchange for control. I just find it hard to let go sometimes. So, for two days, this is what I have to show for it.

I used the pictures I took of Mlle. Johnston at her Nutcracker recital this past Christmas as reference.

Sometimes I think if there was a third sex, men wouldn't get so much as a glance from me

I think I may be on the verge of losing my mind. I found out this morning that I’d left my car keys in the cognition overnight. Anyone could have just opened the door and drove off with my car. Can you imagine that kind of trouble I would be in? My parents would make me take back all of my applications and enroll me in a nearby community college. On a side note, you have to admit my karma has been excellent the day I started my vegetarian diet.

Today was such a busy day. I found out that I don’t have enough Breadth pieces for that AP Art Studio Portfolio. For some reason, my charcoal drawing of a glass jar on red velour paper that I am really proud of is gone. It is not in my cubicle and not in my portfolio holder thingy. It’s gone. I only have five Breadth pieces right now: photography, acrylic, mixed media, pastel, and pen and ink. I’ll have to do a piece for water color (which I hear is a pain in the derriere), graphite (I am so bad with values for graphite), collage (something I can do on the computer—YES!), color pencils (at least it’s Prismacolor), and marker and water (my favorite medium). The only problem with marker and water is that I am not very good at it. I seem to have developed a particular pleasure in doing portraits lately. I don’t know why because I usually don’t take pictures of faces. It’s something exciting and I’ll ask my female friends to model for me.

I find the male facial and physical feature inferior to their female counterparts. Don’t get me wrong—I prefer men in sexual context, but I prefer women artistically. I just feel like the female forms draw me in and intrigue me more.

I might do a water color of the picture of the cupcakes Mlle. Smith and Velasco made for my birthday.

I've spent this whole afternoon working on scholarship applications that I've discovered yesterday and are due tomorrow! Can you believe it? Tomorrow! I have three major tests tomorrow too. Isn't that just lovely. I'm not complaining. Mlle. Valdez is in the same situation plus a job and minus the scholarship part, and her birthday's tomorrow. Three tests--What a lovely birthday present.

For me being depressed means you can spend all day in bed, and still not get a good night’s rest.

I was feeling down for the first two periods at school today for no reason. Like, really down. So down it was not even funny, but I sucked it up and held it in like a big girl and went on my way. School went by like usual. I couldn't switch into Shakespeare and American Government AP like I wanted. Even though I don't know if I will like American Government CP, at least I will have it with Mlle. Johnston and still have Mme. Berman as a teacher. If I was in Shakespeare, I would be with Mlle. Smith, Jang, and Tran, but would be stuck in American Government AP with Mlle. Zhou and her obnoxious friends.

Mlle. Smith and Tran came over today to work on our scholarship packets. I love her very much, but I often wonder the extend to which Mlle. Smith can do for herself. She looked really pretty today with her hair slightly curled. Mine would never retain the curliness for the whole. I wish it would just hurry up and grow already.

Anyways, I called the cruise line company or whatever and got an estimation for our senior trip. If we were to go two to a room, it would be about $640ish including tips. However, if we were to do four to a room, then it would be $550 top. I'm super excited to go. To top that off, Mlle. Johnston's invited me to go with her and our dear friend Monsieur Steven to Six Flags this Saturday. I don't think I can go though, because I already took last Saturday off, plus I need to save money for all kind of stuff.

Anyways, I found this blog yesterday, and it is exactly what I need. She's an American writer living in Paris and writes about her experiences there. From what I've read so far, they are very detailed and interesting, filled with things people would usually consider banal or superfluous, but exactly what I need and want to know.

Je ne sais quoi

With the weather outside today, my hot vegetarian chicken noodle soup tastes so much better than usual. That, grilled cheese sandwiches, classical music, and painting totally made up for that crappy day that I had.

Sometimes I hate it when Mlle. Yasakova joins us for lunch. When she does, it just feels like I'm being left out. Maybe it's all in my head--I sure hope it's all in my head, but I feel annoyed when both Mlle. Smith and Velasco talk to her, and then there's me feeling kind of annoyed. Thank God Mlle. Jang was there to keep me company.

I have this insane fear of being replaced. I don't know why. I just have a fear that one day someone who remotely looks like me will try and steal all my friends by impersonating me, and no one will know because she'll wear my clothes, talk like me, and walk like me. That's why I make sure that I have a distinctive style that is not easily imitate, buy clothes are not standardized and easily bought somewhere else, have some articles of clothing handmade to make sure that only one copy exists in the whole entire world. I make sure that that things I do are of a wide variety of interests so that my existence is memorable and hard to imitate. It's a stupid fear, but I can kind of guess where it's coming from. If I was replaceable, it wouldn't matter if I existed or not, and I didn't just live for 18 years to find out that it wouldn't matter if I was there or wasn't there. And here I am again talking like a crazy person.

My mother's mad at my dad, so she took my car to work today, which means I didn't have a ride home when it was semi-drizzling. Of course, I sucked it up like a big girl and walked home.

I looked up YouTube videos on how to say basic French expressions since I'll be taking French next year for my foreign language requirement regardless of my mother's ill opinion of it. It is really hard, I have to admit, but thousands of others can do it, I can do it. If I don't have the talent for it, at least I have the perseverance and dedication. I find it easier to hear the pronunciation and know how to pronounce words first before looking at the text because French is not a phonetic language, so the words always trip me up. Especially the pronunciation for the letter "r". I can't get it right. Not even close.

Depersonalization is such an interesting disorder. I would get so freaked out if I had that because I would totally think my reflection is possessed. I totally would.

Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination

So...I was totally brain-blocked for the "Beggar Maid" dress, so I set that one aside and worked on J.M.W. Turner's "The Slave Ship" and Gertrude Kasebier's "Blessed Art Thou Amongst Women" while my brother got his haircut.

Surprisingly, I had an easier time working on these dresses than the "Beggar Maid" dress.
I've already designed my prom dress, but I've having major second thoughts, as I did with the previous prom dress candidate. They are all very lovely, but I want to design one that when people see it, they'll immediately think of me. I want a dress that no one else can pull off. I have less than a month to design it. There's no way I'm wearing an off-the-rack.

That sounds prissy and everything, but I am prissy, and I'm okay with being prissy, so there's really no problem.

Those who love each other should rest on the same pillow

I'll be breaking my mother's old heart when I tell her I won't be coming back to California. The reason she's letting me go is because she sees how trapped the other college kids feel when the parents keep their kids close. She doesn't know it yet, but letting me go will be the worst decision of her life. I don't know, but I know I won't want to came back. Whatever. I don't have to make that decision now, so I guess that's one good thing about it.

Omigosh, what if I won't get into Barnard nor Wellesley because of my lies and intention of hurt others. That's so screwy.

My mom's friends and their friends want their sons to marry me. I'm sorry, what? They don't even know me. Their sons probably hate me because of that, but that's not the point. God, what is with Asian people and match-making? I'd rather be a spinster than be matched-maked.  I wish they would just leave to me the picking of someone who will have control over my happiness until the day I die.

Look at this skirt. Isn't it the most adorable skirt in ever? I think it'd look adorable on me.

We dance before we even knew music

The art show went amazingly. I've gotten so many compliments on my three photos, my only pieces in the show. They weren't hung but stuffed rather in a small basket. They, along with other matted works, were not judged. It makes me kind of annoyed that my hard work kind of came to nothing, but whatever. M. Kelly and Mlle. Johnston came together. I do love her very much. Mlle. Connelly also came to see it with her boyfriend.

I was in charge of putting name tags on the AP Art students to identify them as the artists. It was fun with so many people there but after an hour, I was bored. So I decided leave early and catch a movie with Mlle. Johnston and Connelly. We watched Black Swan. Mlle. Johnston was such a good movie-seeing partner. She'd seen it before, so she warned me whenever a creepy scene approached. Mlle. Connelly was also so very good. She hadn't seen it before so our experiences matched and the intensity of the craziness lessened. I love all the ballerina clothes that the ballerinas wear, in and out of the studio. I might do a dress sketch on this movie.

 

I do feel like such a sophisticated young adult today, attending an art show and going out to movies with friends. Normally, my mother confines me to the house and rarely lets me out. I told her the show was from four to six, and that it was mandatory for me to stay the whole time, but I left at four forty-five and watched the movie until six forty-five, when I said goodbye to my friends and left for Michael's where I bought a small canvas and gold paint. My mother called and I told her I'd just left. Everything went according to plans. Good girls are simply bad girls who don't get caught.

Do not regret growing older; it is a privilege denied for many

Poor Mlle. Smith. She's a magnet for weirdos. She has not have a single normal boy like her in all four years--all those who like her are weirdos, kids with autism, and gay guys.

Today was terribly funny. I was waiting for her at her locker when Monsieur Greg (I don't know his last name) came by and just stood there beside her. Okay, creepy much? So we walked together to the ABS Bookeeper, and he followed us still. I tried to make the situation as awkward for him as he was making it for her, so I babbled on and on and on about how cute Mrs. McElroy's sons were. He didn't get the hint. Mlle. Smith was too nice to say things and exclude him outright, but she fed me ideas for my babbling. Anyone with us must have thought that I was annoying and moronic. I was fed up with babbling on like a moron, so I slowed down a little. He jumped in at that opportunity and told Mlle. Smith that they should hang out. She made a pitiful face at me when he wasn't looking, and I told him we had plans for this whole weekend. Good thing she caught on and didn't correct me like she did in Italy when I told her to switch seats with Mlle. Corwin away from a pervert on pretense that Mlle. Corwin and I were sharing a meal. Monsieur Greg wasn't deterred and gave her his phone number without asking for her--good for us; bad for him since that's like, setting yourself up for a rejection. Mlle. Smith developed dislike for tall people starting then, I think. We had a great laugh later with Mlle. Velasco and Mlle. Yasakova because M. Greg's little brother followed Mlle. Smith's little sister around for a while.

Mlle. Smith and Velasco went with me to the nursing home today to work on arts and crafts with the seniors. We had a lovely time with the old people making bookmarks. Mlle. Smith was especially loved by a lady with cerebral palsy--I think--because my dear friend knew sign language and could communicate with her better than I ever could. While I and Mlle. Smith helped Mme. Kelly, the elderly lady with cerebral palsy, Mlle. Velasco was trying to fix her sister's outrageous blob of red glitter glue while the girl chattered away mindlessly with Mme. Mary, who was just happy to have someone to talk to. Afterwards, us girls went to my car to wait for Mlle. Velasco's father since it was cold outside and my car had a heater. We made small talks, and somewhere along there, I discovered that there's so much more to Mlle. Smith than meet the eyes.

She has a cousin who is deaf, so her whole family knows sign language and read up on things regarding the disabilities. She was telling us about the controversial aspects of cochlear implants and told us the exact facts and details, which was very unlike her usual whishy-washy self. I'm glad there is something that interests her besides art.

Speaking of art, she will be taking painting with me 6th period next semester! Yay!

For some reason, I've been getting tired earlier and earlier each day. My father blames it on the lack of meat in my diet, but that is not why. I don't think I have been eating well. I need to stop being so lazy and start eating full meals. It's a full day tomorrow with the art show and everything.

Naked people have little or no influence in society

Mlle. Coleman couldn't come with me to Mme. McElroy's party after all. It was fun; I bonded with the younger kids and met Mlle. Behan there. She didn't recognize me for some reason even though my locker is right next to hers and my sister was a close friend. Once she realized that I was the girl with the locker near hers, she was like, "oh, okay" and when she found out that I was my sister's sister (haha), she was like "OH!" Apparently, I'm two different people.

Mme. McElroy stayed in the guest room on what looked like a hospital bed as we kids played outside. She was surrounded by her friends and children. Goodness, that woman has good-looking children--especially sons (all too old for me, unfortunately). She seemed really pale and put on a bubbly facade, but I knew something was off when she tried to hide the fact that she forgot my brother's name--she's been our piano teacher for about three years. At the end, I said, "Feel better," and she told me that she was never going to get better and that she was going to heaven. It was all very depressing. Moving on.

I didn't see the M. S. McElroy. I saw his older brother though. God, this woman has such attractive children. Her daughter is really pretty too. She just gave birth to a two-week old baby. The baby is kind of dopey looking though. 

I think my concentration for my portfolio will be dresses inspired by famous paintings. I have done dresses for "The Bath" by Mary Cassatt, "Madame X" by John Singer Sargent, "Symphony in White No.1", "Symphony in White No.2", and "Arrangement in Grey and Black: Whistler's Mother" by Whistler. Now I think I'm working on "King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid" by Edward Burne-Jones. 

I know it seems kind of dreary and drab, but there's something about it that I really like. I'm thinking of layering a very soft and flowy creme-colored fabric over rich, scarlet red brocade, completed with a pearl choker. Doesn't that sound just lovely? I've been favoring fabric that that skims the body and suggests curves instead of showing them outright, so I think I'm going to use that in this dress--there's a possibility I may not, since I've already done so for a few dresses already. There's a possibility that I'll be struck by inspiration some time tomorrow and just trash this whole idea and go with a totally different one.

I wonder how Tesla feel with that visual mapping ability of his. I wish I have that. Things would be so much easier.

Love is the rhythm and you are the music

So, today, I saw Monsieur Naylor, the cute druggie that I had a crush on last year. To be fair, I didn't know he was a druggie until after he got expelled for doing drugs. Mlle. Smith's crush, Monsieur Mockry, was also a druggie and got expelled last year too, so she told me that M. Naylor and M. Mockry were like, friends--I'm thinking more on the line of druggie buddies. Mlle. Hatfields and I sat next to each other last year in Art History and we had the biggest crush on him. My seat was the best because he was directly in my line of vision. He was very nice-looking, with great bone structures and a nice smile. His hair was nice too even though it was a bit long for a guy--it suited him.

Anyways, I saw him and said hi. He said hi and gave me a huge. I wish I was more graceful. I had my hands full with books and other stuff. Ugh. He laughed at how awkward I was being--embarrassing! I don't like him anymore. I guess I liked him last year because he was different from the boys that I know. I mean, I've been going to school with the same people since 7th grade and taking the same honor and AP classes, so they do not interest me in any ways. Those boys are clean cut, preppy, and full of themselves. And here comes M. Naylor, who takes regular classes, has a life outside of school (HAH!), and seems a little bit dangerous. He was a bit mysterious, so I was very interested.

My school has no cute guys. It is so depressing. There's a guy that's moved here last year--M. Smith (who is not related to my friend Mlle. Smith). Mlle. Velasco had a crush on him last year. I kind of had a little crush too. He is such a gentleman--plus, he had the cutest satchel that inspired me to buy a messenger bag. He's very cute, but I don't know him well enough to like him, and I think he may be interested in my friend Mlle. Smith (haha). She's getting fed up with him because he's not making a move, but I think he's being too much of a gentleman to make a move.

You know who's really cute? Mme. McElroy's youngest son. He's in his mid-twenties, I think, with the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing going on. I think I'm going to see him tomorrow at Mme. McElroy's farewell party. I just wish she wasn't, you know, dying.

Enough about my love life--or lack of one--for now. I've been cruising on five hours of sleep lately. It's time for me to get more.

Life is the ticket to the greatest show on Earth

I've just be notified that my piano teacher Mme. McElroy is terminally ill with cancer. Her farewell party is on Thursday and I am invited to attend.

I feel so ill because when she dies, she'll be the first person that I know to die while I am mature enough to understand the full gravity of death. Sure, my cousins' dad died when I was little. I didn't remember him. I didn't know how sad my cousins were. Then in 7th grade, a distant relative died, leaving behind a wife and two teenage children. He was my dad's employer, but I still didn't understand. She'll be the first one.

Sometime I still think the rest of you don't exist. That I am the only conscious mind among those around me. That events on the other side of the world don't exist. Heck, the other side of the world doesn't exist. All these things are like dreams, programmed to make sure everything is believable. How do I know that places don't unravel when I leave only to pop back up when I return? I don't know that.

But now I do know that everyone else also has a conscious mind within that skull of theirs, that they're not merely robots or stock characters. Their deaths are important; it affects the lives of those who were close to the deceased.

It is a depressing topic. I don't like to think of depressing things, but I'd like to type it down here so I remember her. It is the least I can do since I don't practice nearly enough.

Permission to be perfectly quiet and sane every night

I had the coolest dream ever, and I just have to put it somewhere so I won't forget. Few things beat finding stuff you'd forgotten.

Anyways, I was doing my daily jog in Morningside Park in New York City (so hopefully I was or had been attending Barnard College) when this really ruggedly handsome guy came up and jogged beside me. Like, tall, dark, and handsome--almost like Mme. McElroy's son, but probably a bit fairer. So things blurred and I just knew that we were a couple. Then I remember going jogging again and this really cute, blonde-hair-blue-eyes guy came and jogged next to me. I found out that he was a doctor (I mean, can he get any better?) and he was interested. So I kept seeing him while dating my boyfriend, who was a musician and who turned out to be my fiance since I found his grandmother's engagement ring on my finger. It was all nice and dandy for a while before my doctor boyfriend asked to come with him to an office party at the end of the year.

It turned out that both of them had a mutual friend who saw me with the doctor guy, who conveniently introduced me as his girlfriend. The mutual friend, who was gay and very cute, pulled me aside and told me I couldn't do this to them. I agreed, and he became my friend too. So we were kind of discussing who I should keep, and I chose the doctor guy because I reasoned that since I wanted beautiful daughters, the doctor guy would be a greater help since his features would be lovely on a girl.

So, right after my fiance's very important concert, I told him that I was cheating on him with the doctor guy, that I was pregnant with his child (a girl-child, of course), and I wanted to break up. However, I asked if we could still be friends and "jogging buddies"--that part was directly from my dreams. He was dejected but agreed to be my friend and wished me best of luck.

During the wedding planning process, my ex-fiance was very helpful, going with me from the cake bakeries to the boutiques to the flower shops. He was very supportive. I grew insanely huge because of the baby, and since I was pregnant, I found it necessary to stop taking showers (it made perfect logical sense in the dream), so I became fat, gross, pimply, and greasy. I ordered my dress in size 16 (I'm a 0 in real life, so that's huge) and requested that cameras be left at home. When I tried on my dress for the last time before buying it, I remember having my picture taken with my ex-fiance while he was dressed in the groom's outfit.

A few weeks before the wedding, my current fiance--the doctor--avoided me. I think I was probably giving birth around this time. In the end, the gay friend came and told me that my fiance told him to tell me that he couldn't marry such a fat and dirty woman, so he called the whole thing off and went away. I remember saying, "Well, I can be single, right? I mean, there's no crime in being single. In fact, I don't need a man."

When I told my ex-fiance--the musician, he said, "Well, since you don't have anyone right now, take me back. I still want to marry you." I was so touched. Especially after he busted me out of prison.

I don't know how it transitioned from me about to get married--after giving birth to my daughter, I must say I looked gorgeous at my wedding--in the surreal version of the house on Pala Mesa Drive to getting left behind (not yet married) at an abandoned house where bank robbers started shooting each other to get a bigger share. Well, some died, and the rest left, not knowing that I was there. I was convicted to killing those dead robbers and thrown in jail.

Well, my fiance came and busted me out. I snuck through a crack in the wall and jumped in this vehicle and experienced the BEST car chase scene in the entire world. Then I woke up before I could even get married.

Here's what I think of it:

• Morningside Park is there because of my obsession with going to (then) Columbia and (now) Barnard.
• The jogging part is probably inspired by the scene in My Best Friend's Girl where Dane Cook tries to jog beside Kate Hudson to win her back.
• The musician fiance is semi-inspired by Jane's boss from 27 Dresses--a movie about weddings.
• It's a bit of a stretch, but the doctor guy is probably somewhat inspired by Chase from House since he's so cute now with his haircut.
• I know for sure the gay guy is the same guy I met at Forever 21.
• I've always wanted a girl. Just one. I'm glad this is evident in my dreams.
• The layout for the hospital where the doctor works is the exact one of St. John's Hospital where I volunteer weekly.
• The part about the wedding planning process was taken from More Than Blue, this Korean movie that I watched on the plane. Best movie ever.  I only recognize it because the girl--who is also getting married--asks her best friend--the guy who's in love with her--to wear the groom's tux, and requests a quick picture of just the two of them. It may seems kind of cruel for her to do it, but once you get through the whole movie and find out why she asks him, you'll get it.
• The extra weight is from this insane thought that invaded my head the other day. All of of sudden, I wondered if I was really fat or really ugly, and people were just being nice to me because of my extreme fatness/ugliness, my clothes were bought in large sizes because my brain switched the numbers around to make the delusion real, and my brain was projecting an image of a make believe person for my reflection. I think they call it depersonalization when you think your reflection isn't you. Sometimes the thought enters my head, but I just leave the room because that kind of thinking is what gives you NIGHTMARES. Sometimes, whenever someone would sit next to another person instead of me, I would kind of wonder if it was because my rolls of fat were taking up all the space and I just didn't see it and others were too polite to point out that I was actually taking up the whole bench, not just half of the bench like I perceive. God, I am talking like a crazy person.
• The part about me being convicted just because I was there was from a little snippet my sister told me from the movie Freedom Writers.
• The car chase scene is DEFINITELY from Fast and Furious. I watch that movie way too many time.

You can't reread a phone call

Everyone just seems to be nicer and more amiable today. I don't know if it is because of the chaotic scenario of preparing for an art show or the fact that none of us have seen each other for two weeks, but it seems like we're just having a blast today. Mademoiselle Jang and I had a great conversation regarding the cat videos on YouTube (honestly, those things are the funniest), and Mlle. Smith, Mlle. Velasco, and I also had a great time discussing my nightly dreams and catchphrases while seeking shelter from the bitingly cold weather in Monsieur Doyle's room. Mlle. Smith's little sister and Mlle. Brinser are very adorable and are great listeners. I am very fond of them.

I've just bought the most adorable Paperchase stationary kit from Borders to write to my friend in Japan. I hate how I send her letters written on recycled paper (to make up for all the lights I leave on when I am alone) and she sends back her letters in a cute little envelope and writes on the cutest little pieces of paper. Well, not anymore. I have my own cutesy paper now and will no longer be ashamed when I send my letters.

Time is a dressmaker specialized in alterations

When you really think about it, the distance between home in California and a school in the East Coast is not much greater than the distance from home to an instate university. Seriously, if I am not at home, I'm not at home. My parents won't get to see me either way. I think it is just the thought of being able to get to me if they want that really makes a difference.

Sometimes I feel bad for choosing to go so far away from them when my mom obviously will lose her right hand when I am gone, but I honestly have to go away. I am so sick of being in the same place for so long; I just feel like my creativity is seeping out in this boring suburb. I just need to get away.

My mother is willing to let my go out of state on one condition: I have to come back to California after I'm done with school. I'm telling her I will, but I am not planning to keep that promise. That is pretty stinky of me, I know. How am I ever going to make it up to her?

On a happier note, I met a cute boy at Borders today. I was buying the usual--a cream cheese pretzel, and he was the cashier or bartender--I don't know the right word. He was very cute; tall and blond; not too; amiable-looking. I wonder if he'd find me cute as well.

Speaking of cute...in honor of the new year, I am wearing at least one new item each day for seven days.

Fresh Start

Every 31st of December always ends with me painting my nails and making resolutions for the new year. A few weeks in, my nails are peeled, my resolutions abandoned. This year, I am not painting my nails. I am leaving them au naturel. My resolutions this year are also very simple and doable.

Since this year is my last year at home before going off to college and my first year as an adult, I want to do something memorable to remember it by. What's better than starting a blog? I will treat this blog like a public journal, documenting my year as it progresses until I start college.

Back to New Year's Resolutions--here they are:

1. Reduce the amount of cuss words from entering my mouth my using euphemisms.
2. Update this blog at least once a week.
3. Be a nicer person.
4. Try to not talk about other people.
5. Buy only two things from Want List once a month.
6. Run and work out at least once a week. It doesn't have to be the same time every week.
7. Stretch at least once a week.
8. Stop biting my nails.
9. Take at least five good pictures a week.
10. Drink tea daily.
11. Get rid of acne.
12. Learn more French words.
13. Whiten teeth.
14. Produce at least 30 dress designs. I have about 15 already.
15. Smile to at least seven strangers a week.
16. Start conversation with at least three strangers per week.
17. Procrastinate less.
18. Be less lazy and messy. 

 So. 18. Pretty doable, I think. I'd be a much better person if I keep my New Year's Resolutions. This year is going to be my year. Happy New Year!