If I had a single flower for every time I think about you, I could walk forever in my garden.

I feel so empty, like something’s missing. Last year it went away really fast, this feeling, but it’s been nagging me the whole day since the moment I woke up.

I’m going to be conceited and assume that he likes me too. I wonder why we like each other, though. We’ve never really talked before yesterday, but I’m always intensely attracted to him. I don’t think it’s lust because I’ve never had a sexual thought about him. I think it’s because, to me, he’s a mystery. His life outside the temple is unknown to me. I only know that he’s an orphan with an identical twin and family members in the temple. He thinks I’m this quiet and shy girl but I’m pretty sure it’s unanimously agreed upon by those who are close to me that I tend to share things that people would rather not know like…I don’t know…my bowel movements. Also, since he won’t make a move, I’m forced to maneuver myself in a way that allows him room to make a move without looking suspicious, so it’s kind of, like, a puzzle, an enigma, a code I want to crack. Manipulation, almost, but not quite. Like a game. I make myself available; his turn. He makes a move; my turn. Like, it’s enjoyable because the thrill of the hunt gets you high, but I think what has happened is that we’re both more into the hunt itself than we are with the prey. Follow?

On a side note, the state of New York has legalized gay marriage. I don’t know why I’m not there yet. That state is totally my state.

I found this really really really great dress. It’s a dress; actually, it’s this Indian robe or whatever. But it’s so adorable. I want it.

But things like that get me thinking. Like, marriage is like finding the perfect item for your closet. Like, I don’t buy anything unless I fall for it at first sight. Then I grab it and head to the dressing room where I try it on. If I don’t love it, then I don’t get it because if I do get it, I’ll never wear it and would have wasted money on something I don’t love when I could have used that for something else. If I still love it or love it even more, then I put it back and leave the store. If I keep thinking about that item all day or all week how it would be perfect in my closet, how it would go with these tights or those shorts, and if I still want it, then I go and get it. Usually, new items purchased this way are incorporated seamlessly into my wardrobe and usually become one of my staples. But I’d hate to be the clothes and have others try me on just for fun. That doesn’t sound too good.

I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year.

Monsieur TP and I still haven’t gotten past “can you hand me the spoons?” and “bring this tray out, please”. Yeah. He talks to everybody but me. His twin is also talkative to everybody but me. What is with this? I was kind of complaining about it to my little brother without telling him that I liked one of the twins, and he said, “Maybe they fancy you.” Well, I just need the right one to fancy me.

So, yesterday, when I got back to the temple at night, I had to go take a leak really bad, so I ran to the bathroom and lo, behold, there was a giant ass line. So, while I was trying to not do that awkward pee dance, I saw Monsieur TP and he saw me. So…I watched as his face went from normal to really happy, and he smiled at me like he was really glad to see me. I smiled back, of course—thank God I wasn’t acting retarded then. Then after I got my business done, we passed each other a couple more times, each time glances would be exchanged.

I don’t know. It’s just that things like that make me think that he has feelings for me too, but sometimes he just seems so aloof. The whole I was there, I was Skyping with M. Paff who told me that maybe M. TP seemed aloof because he was busy. I’d like to believe that very much.

Then today is my last day there, so I got up at half past five (yes, in the morning!) to help set up for breakfast. So…guess who was part of the setting up crew? Well, he’s always part of everything around the temple, but it’s just…I don’t know…it’s just nice working together. And then when we were passing out the soup, he passed me and we were really close together when I looked up and he looked up at each other. I don’t know. I just can’t think of any other explanations for looking at someone that small distance apart other than that he likes me too. I mean, that’s why I did it.

Then I helped set up for lunch…with him…and a bunch of other people as well. Then I went and looked after the little kids and took a nap and missed the passing food out.

Then my mother told me that today was our last day here. Well, tomorrow is when it actually ends and we usually leave on the last day. I was bummed, but not too bummed because I had to take a dump and I don’t like taking dumps at places that aren’t my house. Yeah. TMI much? That’s me. But we were to leave at 9 after the Buddhist lecture.

So, I took a smaller nap and then woke early to set up for dinner. Guess who I saw? Yes. Wow, you are absolutely right. Monsieur TP. At first, he was walking from the entrance toward the main eating area, wearing regular clothes—we all kind of wear our Buddhist garbs around here for these events or the people who don’t have Buddhist clothes wear these green aprons that has the temple’s name on them—so I thought he was coming back from…you know…normal life, but a few minutes later, he came out again with a backpack and walked out. I was working at the row of tables that was closest to the entrance. He turned at the gate and looked once and we locked eyes. Then a few minutes later, I was just looking up and saw him in his car passing, and we locked eyes again. Awk? Yes, a bit.

But I was a bit worried because I knew dinner started at six and it was five then, that meant I only had four hours left and he was gone, so…things weren’t working out! Then I came in the kitchen to help, and guess who was there at five thirty?

Thank God.

We helped with dinner and at one point, all the food was brought out and there were a few of us left just standing around. He was, like, four feet away and I could tell that he was looking at me, but I couldn’t look back without making my feelings obvious. It was like the other night when I attended the Buddhist lecture. My brother was the one sitting between us, and we were all the way toward the back. And at one point, this lady behind him left, so I moved there because the wall was right there so I could lean on it because I’m lazy like that. But moving right behind my brother meant I was kind of right next to him. We were less than a foot apart (an inch or two away from each other) and not being able to touch was incredibly aggravating. It was quite hard to concentrate with him being so near and the monk’s heavy, heavy Northern accent.

Anyways, we at dinner after the monks ate dinner and all of the sudden a bunch of people gathered near this one inner gate. And I saw M. TP bringing a huge ass ladder, so a bunch of other people and I came over to find out what was going on. Well, a baby bird fell from the tree and the monks and the lady monks were trying to get it back up to its mommy. Monsieur TP helped at first, but the monks told him to go eat since he worked really hard, but he got a bowl of soup and ate in front of a car, right next to where I was standing to watch the scene. It wouldn’t have been just the two of us in that corner if it hadn’t been for my little brother coming over to see and this little monk who kept bugging Monsieur TP. I wanted to be like, “Dude, just let him eat,” but I didn’t want to come off as a bitch, so I didn’t. Then I found out that he wasn’t even training to be monk! That’s good, because M. TP actually talked to me then. He was like, “This kid? He’s way too mischievous to be a monk.” It sounds awkward, but it’s because I’m translating it, and I’m just an awkward translator. It sounds very not awkward in Vietnamese.

And then after that whole she-bang, I went to dry the dishes, hoping that the older people would go listen to the lectures and leave me and him alone again even though he didn’t normally dry the dishes. He came over and asked to borrow my iPhone charger. And I went to get it. Okay, so before, I wanted to let him know that I was leaving, but I couldn’t figure out a way to do it without it being weird, so this whole charger thing gave me the perfect excuse. As I handed it to him, I looked him in the eyes and said, “I need it back because I’m leaving at nine.” You know, one of those, read-between-the-lines thing. He was like, “At nine?” and I said, “Yes, right after the lectures.”

Then he came over again and helped dry dishes. My God, it was so hard to keep a stupid smile from going on my face with all those people around me, but I was really happy. I kept hoping that these people would go to the lecture later and leave us to ourselves. Then I could just…you know…lean over and just peck him on the lips and go back to normal…like nothing happened, but all these other people were there and more came to dry the dishes so no can do. Grr.

So he didn’t help for long and carried the huge ass basket full of dishes and shit inside. I followed suit and carried a smaller basket with chopsticks, spoons, and ladles inside, where I helped him sort them all out. Okay, we were finally alone. We talked a bit. He asked me about my sister because he’d noticed that she was missing since we came in three the years before. I asked him about his twin brother. It was nice, being alone. Someone gave him a small plate full of rambutans and he offered me one. 

I said no even though I kind of wanted one since I already have gloves on and didn’t feel like taking them off to eat. He said, “You’re going to regret it when they’re all gone.” So I had one that was cut in half for easy access since I didn’t want to bite into it and tear the cover off at the moment since it’s such a bothersome thing to do. But then I wanted another one and he saw that I wanted another one so he opened one for me without me asking and I ate it.

For five seconds before this lady came in and started helping us. Oh. My. God. We didn’t need help. We—at least, I—wanted us to be alone. Jesus Christ. And then the little monk came back and started bugging him about his phone again!

I don’t know, but it seemed like he wanted to be alone with me too. He told the kid to go take a nap. The kid said he couldn’t possibly nap at half past six. Monsieur TP kept telling him to go somewhere else subtly, but the kid wouldn’t budge without M. TP’s iPhone, so I was like, “Um…you know my little brother? Well, my little brother has his [M. TP’s] iPhone. Go find him.” And he did! Yes. One cockblock down. A temple-ful of them to go. Well, by the time that lady was gone, we were done sorting and had no other reasons to be around each other anymore, and this one girl asked him to download something onto her laptop. FUCK.

So I grabbed my phone from his bedroom (don’t ask) and went to sit at a bench next to this old lady, but I thought, if I wanted him to spend more time with me, I need to get myself alone. So I went to the round outdoor table near the trees and sat there all by myself and my cell phone. I had my head on the table and absentmindedly playing LuxTouch and Skyping/texting with M. Paff at the same time. All of the sudden, I heard noises and I looked up and I saw Monsieur TP with that girl and their laptops. He came over and sat across from me while she was all grumbling, “Why are we out here? Why can’t we sit inside. We’re disturbing her.” He looked over, smiled, and said, “Can I sit here?” and of course I smiled back and said, “It’s alright.” We just kept looking over and smiling at each other.

I don’t know…at this point, I was kind of convinced that he had some kind of feelings for me too, but nothing would happen unless we ditched these cockblocks. And he was trying. He told the girl, who kept on grumbling about being outside, to go do what she wanted and come back when it was done. She didn’t want to and continued to grumble. Well, bitch, shut the fuck up cause you’re ruining my evening too.

Then this old lady came and told us to go sing. I was like, HELL no, but M. TP convinced me and that girl to go since he had to. So I did. I took a seat, and he was going to take a seat next to me, but that girl dragged him away to work on her laptop.

Like, seriously? You guys live nearby. Can’t you do this another night? I only had less than an hour left and I live an hour away. I think I get priorities.

But she dragged him away, but thank God, this old lady told me to go get him back because they needed people to sing. I went and got him and sat back down in my seat. Okay, so my seat was right next to the only seat left. Hah. But then this lady came and sat the fuck down! I was like, what the hell is with this? But when she saw him coming, she grabbed him and sat his butt down. Yes, someone who wasn’t an obstacle! But then that girl came again with her laptop and dragged a chair over and sat next to him. Boo.

My Vietnamese was deteriorating really fast, so I kept getting lost and of course, I asked him once or twice where we were. At one point, I made up my mind to just lean over and whisper, “Hey, I like you, but you probably already know that.” But that bitch dragged him away again.

Oh, my fucking God. You know, at that point, the mood was gone; I was pissed. I was done waiting around. I got up and got inside where I talked to M. Paff until my mother found me and made me go to the meditation session, where I was determined to avoid M. TP for the rest of the night until I went home. Well, I got out and I saw and I couldn’t do it. I went to bed/nap everyday for ten days thinking the same thing, but every time I see him, the feelings surged back. It’s been going on for ten days for the last three years. Pathetic? I know.

But once meditation was over, he was like, “You’re still here?” It was ten. I was like, “Yeah, we had to meditate.” He was like, “See you next year then.” And I said, “Bye.”

End of story.

I don’t even know if we’re going to see each other again next year since the event won’t be located at the temple next year. I’m hoping my mother will take us there for Vu Lan though. Fingers crossed.

All and all, it was just a summer fling. We were in this tiny Buddhist bubble. It never would have worked in real life. He’s not the most handsome guy and he’s my height. I’m pretty sure we’ll have communication problems, not to mention the fact that I don’t believe in long distance relationships. I guess I was just looking for closure when I thought about confessing, but I’m kind of glad that I didn’t confess. If he didn’t, then it’d just be awkward and it’d make a funny story to tell my grandchildren one day, but if he’d like me too, then it could get complicated. In a way, I was partly looking for confirmation that I was thought beautiful and desirable and that I, too, have the power to stir something in the opposite sex. That was the point of confessing if nothing could come out of it? We weren’t going to date, obviously, considering the physical and cultural distance between us. What would happen next time we see each other? What if one person moved on and the other person didn’t? Love isn’t a game. It’s one thing to be depressed by myself, but it’s something quite different if I drag someone down with me. I would hate for another person to feel as bad as I do when I do go under. Yeah, I’m glad I didn’t confess. I’m just glad he's at least noticed me this year.

Charm is a glow within a woman that casts a most becoming light on others.

Okay, so M. TP has a twin. Um…what? Like, for the last couple of nights, I kept passing him again and again and it would make no geographical sense whatsoever unless he had a twin. And then I got confirmation that he indeed has a twin who looks exactly like him, walks exactly like him, talks exactly like him, and looks at me the exact same way.

But I know which one is the real one because the real one has longer hair. And his twin is quieter. Like, way quieter.

So…I was taking a nap yesterday in my room at the temple. Okay, like, it was the awkwardest place to take a nap. I curled like a cat and napped at the edge of the mattress. And all of the sudden, I heard the door open. Well, the door is jammed. You have to force it open with your shoulder; it makes a really loud noise. M. TP was at the door and I was barely awake. I kind of sat up and he apologized for interrupting and thanked me for letting him borrow my charger. I had no idea what was going on; I later found out that my mother lent it to him. But I was all groggy when I reached for the charger, mumbled something, curled back into my original position, and went back to sleep while he was still there.

Yup. I am so charming and graceful sometimes I even amaze myself.

And there’s these other guys. Oh, my God, why can’t the one I like like me back? Like, once I like someone, I’m not interested in anyone else. Especially someone who looks like a thug or someone who looks like douche.

Okay…so…there’s this guy at the temple. He looks like he’s in his early thirty, but he’s really skinny and short and creepy. He wears this pair of black sunglasses that makes him look so douche-y. He always tries to talk to me, and I answer because I’m not rude, but he took my phone as a joke. Nononono. Sometimes I do that to people, but I get so pissed off when people do that to me. Yeah. You had no chance before; now you have negative chance—even though that makes no sense.

And then there’s this other guy from San Jose. He’s a bit taller than me, but he speaks English fluently. We have okay conversations but when he kept following me whenever I go, things got a bit uncomfortable. He looked like such a thug. I don’t know; I just didn’t get good vibes from him.

I took pictures of M. Purwadi today and hung out with Mlle. Jang. It was fun. It felt a bit different with them now. More liberated. Like, we were adults, not little kids anymore. It’s a great feeling. M. Purwadi has a lovely camera. I want it.

There's a difference between beauty and charm. A beautiful woman is one I notice. A charming woman is one who notices me.

So, there’s got to be a limit on how many times you can glance at someone and catch them looking at you before things get awkward and suspicious. Especially if you don’t talk. Yup, me and M. TP have been approaching that limit very, very, very quickly.

Let f be the number of times we’ve glanced at each other and caught the other looking.

To say f’ is positive and increasing would be a huge understatement. F’ is very positive and quickly increasing. I wonder what will happen when it does reach that number.

Anyways, I’ve been bitching about this Buddhist thing to anyone who’ll listen, but I actually am having a good time. Not a great time. Just a good time. Like, there are more children here this year, and they’re all under ten, so, as the youngest young adult, I’ve been unofficially delegated to watch them while still be part of the adult world.

So me and M. TP talked a bit again that evening. I don’t know. I might be overanalyzing things, but I think he changed his routine so we could see more of each other. Then, when most of the other people went to the main hall to listen to lecture, I told the people who were helping me with drying the spoons that they shouldn’t mind and just go since I wanted to be alone and turn on my music anyways. They thanked me and left. I turned on my music and had a great time drying the spoons, but then he came over and helped. Just the two of us. Drying spoons. I turned off my music since they were pretty risqué and so we were drying in silence.

Then I, being the charming girl that I am, asked why he was drying spoons with me when he could be listening to the lecture. He said that it was alright for him to miss a few minutes since he was helping me with the spoons. Then I asked again five minutes later. He was like, “You want me to leave?” And of course, I said, “Kind of.” Why the fuck did I say that? Why the fuck did I say the stupid things I do? Oh, my GOD.

I’m usually not this quiet! Like, ever. Yeah, I can be, but not this quiet. It sucks.

Strangers are just friends waiting to happen.

So, on Sunday, I faked it and it worked. I changed my mind that went with food poisoning. Yup. I walked around in my underwear all day. Lovely feeling.

But, I was taking a nap in my underwear on the couch in the living room with my dress pooled at my feet with the blanket when my daddy and Aunt No. 4 came home early. I barely registered the door opening and then his face before I yanked the blanket up to cover everything. When they were going about, I worked the dress up with my feet and kind of stepped into it while lying down. Yup. I’m pro like that. Jealous?

And then I went on the UCI tinychat thing or whatever. I was the only one there so I invited all my UCI “friends” on Facebook. This guy, M. Paff, whom I added a bit ago, messaged me and we had a small, uninteresting conversation there. He seemed pretty snotty in his profile picture, but I managed to persuade him to move to the tinychat thingy, where Mlle. S. Nguyen and Mlle. K. Nguyen (oh, God, we were all Nguyens) and I were having a pretty decent conversation.

Then Mlle. Jang came on Skype and wanted to talk, but then she got a bit drunk and red in the face with her parents so we ended up not talking. Monsieur Paff accused me of luring him to the chat room and leaving him there. I apologized and persuaded him to switch to Skype, where we talked for two hours before we decided to go back on the chat room.

Okay, what is up with those kids? Like, there’s a group of unattractive Asian kids who monopolized the chat room and ignored everybody else. At first, I was just amused, watching them ignoring the other kids while watching Project Runway, but at one point, this girl named M. Tran (she has the same name as Mlle. Tran the Younger) said, “Why do people wanna go to NorCal anyways? There nothing up here” in the snobbiest voice ever. I spoke up and said in a bitchy tone, “Um…there’s this little city called San Francisco. It’s probably the most cultural place in California.” She had to respond to that. I think I just don’t like her already because M. Paff said that he thought she was cute and that he tried to talk non-creepily to her during one of these chat sessions and she completely ignored him. Like, at first, I was like, okay, even if you’re pretty, that’s still really rude. Then when I found out that she wasn’t even cute, I got pissed for no reason.

So, M. Paff and I switched back to Skype and talked until one o’clock. Yeah, I think we hit it off pretty well. I like him. He seems like my kind of person. I think he’s my first friend at UCI.

So, this 10-day Buddhist thing is completely jacking up my schedule! On Monday, the first day, my mother woke me up at 7:12 and gave me half an hour to get ready to go to the temple. I checked my phone out of habit since I check my emails every day when I wake up, and guess who texted/Skyped me? M. Patterson. You have no idea how happy I was. He made the day so much better for me. I told him of my day on Sunday and he accused me of teasing him and avoiding him at the same time. It’s actually quite the opposite! But I don’t want to, you know, put down and date and make things seem more than they actually are. I think I prefer it this way; we don’t get to talk to each other much, but that keeps things interesting. But either way, he made my day.

Okay, so today is the second day. So…okay, this is my third year doing this Buddhist thing, so I know a lot of people there already and it’s nice seeing them again. So…there’s this guy. Haha. There’s always this guy. Like, last year, I had a massive crush on him. He’s a bit older, in his early twenties, very religious, very hardworking, and incredibly adored by the other temple-goers. I'll call him Monsieur TP since that's his Buddhist initials. So, I had a massive crush on him, right? But I guess I’ve outgrown it, but I’m still pretty aware of him, you know? Like, last year, we talked like, once. I said, “cheater” when he turned the timer to finish before it was time, and he laughed. For ten days, we exchanged one word.

And then this year, we’ve spoken twice…in two days. Haha. Isn’t that such an improvement? The first time was me chasing after him since he had a trash bag and I had a lot of trash in my hand. I said, “Hold on” and he said, “I know, I know.” And then the second time was when I said something in Vietnamese and he was like, “Oh, you know Vietnamese?” in Vietnamese.

Oh, my God. I’m so ridiculous. If that thing with M. Patterson isn’t going anywhere, this is not going anywhere even more. If that makes sense.

Because of you... I laugh a little harder, cry a little less, and smile a little more.

Keep in touch? What bullshit. Mlle. Smith hasn’t called me once save for the one occasion regarding the Hurricane Harbor trip. We talked for less than a minute because our call got dropped. I called her back multiple time during various time that evening in various location, but once I got home, she’s Facebook messaged me and said, “Sorry. I was at [M. Smith]’s.” And that’s the end of that.

Before, when we were incredibly bored during the school year, I thought it was because I was boring; but when I hang out with Mlle. Jang or Mlle. Johnston, we have tons of fun. So I suspected her of being the killjoy, but I remembered how she has fun with her other friends too. Maybe it’s just the two of us that aren’t compatible.

When Mlle. Velasco and Mlle. Yasakova left, Mlle. Smith and I clung onto each other for dear life. I think we both forced ourselves to enjoy the other’s company and we both were aware of it. I think that’s what happened. We forced ourselves because we ought to stay together to preserve the memories of our little group. But I’m glad that we did because if we didn’t, I’d have to sleep in my car every lunch, something I occasionally did when I felt tired or anti-social.

So, I got home and was talking to M. Foghi on Skype when my mother sat next to me and went on and on about how I ought to live my life: no parties, no dating, no friends. She said she wanted me to be like a horse with the side blinds because it wouldn’t get distracted by the things around it so it’d go down the only path that it saw and would get to the finish line faster. What’s the finish line? Death. I don’t want to live my life like that. A life devoid of emotions, other people, joy, and art truly is a pitiful existence; it’s worse than being dead.

But, the whole time while she lectured, I was fuming inside. Monsieur Foghi was still on camera, witnessing my facial expressions, but I had it muted. I signed out of Skype after awhile to avoid M. Foghi further witnessing and my mother noticing that I was talking to a boy. She made a correlation between low grades and relationship; there are no such correlations. It all depends on the person in question. How ridiculous.

But I was pissed. I signed on Skype again when she left and M. Foghi asked if she was off my ass. Monsieur Dow was online so I was like, “Oh my God, I’m incredibly pissed. Can I tell you about it?” He was like, “Sure. I’m all ears.” So I told him everything.

Oh my God, I miss video chatting with him so much. He’s such a great listener and his responses are appropriate. He tells me to take emotions out of the equation. I don’t know if I can do that, but that is very good advice. At one point, he says he misses talking to me too and that he wants to keep track of me. It’s cute.

After I’m done talking about my mother, my mood goes from a -8.5 to a +7 on the happiness scale. I’m happy, so I tell him about M. Patterson. He agrees that it’s harmless fun but it’s not going anywhere. He says I should flirt with someone whom I’m interested in real life. But, at one point, he says that whatever I do, “no boobies, no flashing, nothing that he can take pictures of.”

Um…why can’t you live near me so I can have a proper best guy friend?

It can be a trap of the photographer to think that his or her best pictures were the ones that were hardest to get.

I think the greatest compliment someone can give me as a photographer is to display the pictures I've taken of them or set my pictures as their default. Sure, I look to take good, candid pictures of my friends, but I personally think the best ones have a very voyeuristic feel.

Or something like these:

The worst thing about being a photographer is that people suddenly forget you're part of the fun too. You almost never see or remember pictures of the photographers themselves. When I go places, there's definitely more pictures of other people and there are pictures of me. If there are some of me at all, then, they'll either be taken Myspace-style or via a mirror or by someone clicking the shutter without aiming. Those definitely aren't very good pictures.

Next time I take pictures at events, I'll make sure to capture the other photographers as well.

I think I'd to date a photographer once in my life time. I've always wanted to take candid/Polaroid-esque pictures of a man in bed in the morning. It's awfully intimate and very voyeuristic. But I won't be in bed with a man anytime soon.

I Stumble-Upon-ed this photographer who did just that, but I can't find her right now. Boo.

My family is incredibly nosy and meddlesome. My mother took one glance at my draft which mentioned the word "boyfriend" and assumed that I wanted a boyfriend just because Mlle. Smith and Mlle. Velasco both have one. Um...I am not going to jump off a bridge just because everyone else is. How stupid.

I wish my mother would butt out of my life. She thinks whatever she wants to think and bends facts to fit her erroneous assumptions. Then she preaches about whatever the hell she wants and I'd be spacing out and thinking about other things like, oh, I don't know, moving out.

Anyways, there's M. Monge. I've met him on Monday, I think, and we've been talking almost every morning. He's fun. He lives in San Francisco and has his own room in an apartment he shares with our other guys. He's very flirty. Very, very, very flirty.

I kind of want to have another day to myself where I can wander around in my underwear. No, let's make it just my birthday suit this time. I don't know. I'm a bit uncomfortable wandering around naked, but this can help with that.

So, I need to fake being sick. I've bought this huge book called "The American Medical Association Family Medical Guide" from the hospital's charity book drive for a buck and it includes all kinds of sickness. I'll just pick one that's easy to feign and plant all the symptoms there.

Men get laid, but women get screwed.

Yesterday, I got home at two-ish in the morning and was dead tired and sleepy until I got into bed, where I texted/Skype M. Foghi until about five, when we both feel asleep. Monsieur Foghi is an acquaintance from school since freshman year. That kid has an unnatural obsession with his goddamn penis. Anyways, somehow the conversation turns to why I don't and have never had a boyfriend. He says it's because I look high maintenance because I wear nice clothes, but once you get to know me, you realize that I'm not. And then later, he says I look like the type of girl that smokes cigars at a swanky but dark bar, waiting for a man to approach her. Wow, I really like the sound of that. I sound so mysterious...like a femme fatale.

Or like Sharon Stone from Basic Instinct. That interrogation scene is mad hot, not gonna lie.

Anyways, then I got up at nine and had crazy cramps. Well, which was perfect since I was supposed to go to Hurricane Harbor that day with the girls, but things came up and then now this, so it ended up being only Mlles. Jang and Tran the Elder that went.

So, I had the apartment to myself for the first time in a while. What's a better way to appreciate my solitude than to lounge around in just my underwear? It felt very liberating, like the whole place was mine and mine alone just because I was so exposed. Maybe that's why my bathroom is my favorite place in the whole house.

Then, at 8ish, Mlle. M phoned and I asked her to come over since I know how she feels alone right now. We were on Chatroulette for a bit and then we went to Trader Joe's to look for this guy who sold weed. I wasn't buy shit; I'm saving up for my summer wardrobe. He wasn't there so we drove back. On the way back, I found out that Mlle. M currently had a fuck buddy and she was in love with him and he wasn't in love with her. Then we went on Chatroulette some more (till one in the morning, actually), and I found out a fuck load of information about Mlle. M that I didn't need to know...I'd rather not know. I found out because we played "Never Have I Ever" with five fingers with these two boys from Florida. I haven't done jack shit, so it's pretty much a given that I won that game. But Mlle. M was the first one to get eliminated since she's done anal, given a blow job in a vehicle, slept with more than two people but less than five, hooked up in a movie theatre, and gone further than making out. The craziest thing I've ever done was making out with a dog, and I wasn't even conscious or consensual. But back to Mlle. M...learning all that about her just disturbs me. I'm still her friend and stuff, but...I don't know.

As you can probably already tell, I am a very easily disturbed person.

Things like this threatens my little bubble of how life and the world ought to be. Suddenly everything seems cold and bleak. The world of TED videos, intellectual enlightenment, and romance disappears. In its place is a world where humans behave at the basest and crudest level, a world where morons get paid more than intellectuals for being morons, where things like fuck buddies and one-night stands exist and replace the notion that sex is the highest form of intimacy, where everyone is so obsessed with pleasure and taking it or his/herself regardless of the detrimental effect that has on society. I don't like this world, but that's what it is. Escaping it just means I'm escaping reality...going crazy.

I seriously don't know what to think. I mean, humans are technically animals too, but it takes a collective effort to keep socity from unraveling. Here I am preoccupied with the preservation of society, but what is it anyways? Doesn't being a part of society mean giving away my sense of self and become a mindless robot? See, if it comes to that then it's really pointless for me to keep on living and keep on wondering and keep on getting confused. Let's be real. I'm horribly average and there will definitely be tons of others to replace me. I don't know. I'm not contemplating suicide. It's just my train of thought.

But because of the things that Mlle. M has revealed, I don't think I want to lose my V card anytime soon. I don't want to lose it while I'm still a "teenager"; I don't want to be part of the statistics. Twenty seems a bit too young still. Twenty one is iffy since alcohol adds another variable to the equation. Alright, so twenty two it is. I will abstain from engaging in sexual activities until then. And under absolutely no condition will I ever engage in a no-string-attach relationship. That's a promise.

Well, masturbation doesn't count, of course. That shit helps with my insomnia.

So, the other day, I sent M. Patterson a message that read, "I like waking up to you," and a smiley face. Short and sweet. He wasn't online at that time and we wasn't online for days, and Skype sends offline messages whenever we're both online. So, this morning, a few minutes before I woke up, he messaged me back. Was I happy? Very.


We talked while I got ready for work. We both really wanted to, you know, actually talk, but that was out of the question since I was nowhere near ready at late in the morning (it was about half past eight). And my mic's recently started to work again, so it'd be a much better conversation. His schedule is so irregular since he freelances, and mine is pretty regular but I get no privacy at all in the house.

This is a non-sequitur, but I hate it when people know on the bathroom door when it's clearly occupied. I'd just take twice as long on purpose just to piss them off.

But, you know, if I'm this happy with someone I'm mildly interested in, how happy will I be with someone whom I actually love and who loves me? Very,very, very happy.

When you finally go back to your old hometown, you find it wasn't the old home you missed but your childhood.

I've forgotten the joy of driving your own car with the windows down and the music blasting. One of the best feelings in the whole wide world. It's kind of like dancing, actually. I remember distinctly this one scene at Prom where everyone started jumping up and down in unison to the beat. The strobe light was going and all of the sudden, I was lost and was part of the crowd. And I didn't mind it. It felt good to be part of a crowd to lose myself for a bit. I wonder why that is.

So, I've found out recently that one of my cousins has recently lost her virginity. It disturbs me for a bit. 

Well, there's always four of us that have always been together. Over time, Mlle. Truong and Mlle. La grew closer together while my sister and I remained apart. Still, there were always four of us. Like, it's not even an option for one of us to get married and not have the other three be a part of the bridal party. It's just how it is. There's Mlle. Truong and I--we're the same age. Next is Mlle. La, who is a year younger but very mature. Then my sister, who's the complete opposite of everybody. Sure, there are four of us, but sometimes I think it's more like three of us adults and then a little kid. Now that one of them has lost her virginity, I feel so compelled to grow up too. The only reason why the other hasn't lost hers is because her boyfriend isn't interested in that at the moment.

Maybe the reason why I'm disturbed is because someone who grew up with me and is about my age has gotten so intimate with another person already while I have absolutely no experience at all. Plus, the only reason why I found out was because I found the Plan B thing on the bed, hidden under a mess of blankets. I was like, "Hey, [name], are you still a virgin?" Of course not. What a stupid question. She didn't answer, but she smiled. I was like, "You guys didn't use protections?" and she said, "We did, but it ripped." Then after a little bit, she started telling me more and more about it and about her boyfriend. He bought the Plan B thing. I didn't know it was that expensive. It is. Sixty bucks for one pill. But sixty bucks for assurance is a pretty good price.

Then me and that cousin hung out a lot all day. I met her boyfriend, who seems really nice, but she keeps him a secret from everyone in the family except for the few of us since he's black and the family is full of racists. We just talked about growing up and stuff, and I told her about smoking weed. She and the other cousin have always been more on the wild side, and me and my sister on the more conservative side.

Her graduation was boring, like all graduations, but I had this dress on and it was amazing! Everyone was complimenting me on it. And I was considering giving it away since it didn't fit right, but with a few adjustments, it fits me very well now...if I don't gorge on food since it's very form fitting.

I actually talked to M. Dow for a long time a few days ago. I hope he's okay, but I won't find out until Wednesday night.

In this day and age, some turn 18 and think they're a man or a woman and that's it, but that's just not true. You have to establish your manhood or your womanhood with actions.

Yesterday, me and Mlle. M (one of my close friends since I'd like to keep her identity a secret) smoked pot. She had some and she had stuffed it in her cigarettes. So, she taught me how to smoke a cigarette. We smoked the pot part first. That was alright; the smell was pleasant and very European. But once we got the the tobacco part, I started to choke. Yeah, I don't like smoking tobacco.

I didn't get high since it was my first time, but Mlle. M was very happy while we watched Atonement. Yup. Very very very happy.

After she left, I was just doing random things and talking to M. Dow. And then later, I went on Chatroulette. Two nexts after, I got this really really really handsome guy. We were talking for the longest time, but after a while, I got bored. He was really good looking, yeah, so I kind of wanted to stay longer because of that. But he was just so dull and seemed so unintelligent. I told M. Dow and he said I got spoiled by talking to him. Arrogant little jerk.

Okay, before I continue, I have to mention that I've been talking on-and-off with this guy in New York called M. Patterson for a while. Well, M. Patterson is about 24 or 25, lives in New York City, went to NYU, and does film. He's not the handsomest guy on my Skype list, but he's pretty cute, which is why I didn't next him on Chatroulette. He looks a bit like M. Manwaring, actually, just scruffier. That's alright because scruffy is good. Anyways, so, yeah, I've been talking to him on-and-off and he becomes more and more flirtatious over time.

Usually, we talk at about nine or so if he has time. Usually, it'll be me talking to Mlle. Jang or M. Dow and he'll be interrupting and then I'll multi-task.  Sometimes he talks right after I get home from school. Sometimes late at night. Sometimes right after I wake up, but I'd said, it's not a regular thing.

So, this morning, he Skyped me at six something in the morning. I woke up at seven and Skyped him back. Like, texting, not video chatting. Let's just say it got very, very, very flirtatious (x10), this time, with me reciprocating as well. Then he said that I've gotten him going so much and he wanted to video chat. Okay, so here I was, lying in bed, under the cover, with zit cream all over my face. Hot was the opposite of what I was at the moment. So, I was like, I need to get ready for graduation. That just makes me such a tease though, whatever. But, to be perfectly honest, that conversation was hot. No joke.

So I graduated today. I didn’t feel any different. I just felt freer and less burdened. I thought I was gonna cry a whole bunch, but the only time I teared up a bit was when we were taking pictures, and my mom leaned in and whispered, "You make me so proud."

I was with Mlle. Hatfield the whole time since we were both Honors students and our last names are next to each other. She’s sometimes really annoying, but I’ve been friends with her since 8^th grade and I can tolerate her shit. But I have a feeling Mlle. Smith and I will probably fall out and not stay in touch as much. We simply don’t have anything to talk to each other about beside other people, and I would like to stop doing that. My senior quote is:

I’m aiming to be a great person, but if I can’t be a great person, I would at least want to not be a small person.

              
My family from LA came. Mlle. Truong and Mlle. La were there with their mothers. Well, Mlle. Truong’s mother, Aunt No. 4, lives with me, so only Mlle. La’s mother, Aunt No. 8, and Aunt No. 3 came with Mlle. Truong’s older sister and Mlle. La’s younger brother. So, basically, it was the family’s matriarchs.

These people right here essentially have the final say in everything we young kids do. I’m planning to not have to ask them for permissions to do anything, and the only way to escape their jurisdiction is to study hard and get tons of scholarships. I have to be financially independent, in other words, and grow freaking thick skins.

So, I found out that Mlle. Velasco has gotten a boyfriend, and I know him! Like, damn, I wish Mlle. Jang wasn’t reading this, then I could divulge his name, but since the relationship is supposed to be on the down low, I can’t say it. Mlle. Velasco seemed a bit weary that I knew, and that bugged me. I don’t know. I guess in my mind, there are always the three of us: Mlle. Velasco, Mlle. Smith, and me. We drifted apart, but I always thought that we were in the back of each other’s mind. Like, if I’d gotten a boyfriend, I would call Mlle. Smith and Mlle. Velasco and tell them. Sure, I said up there that it seems like Mlle. Smith and I will fall out, but I’ll probably at least try to keep her up to date on the happenings in life and she, too, will do the same. But this…it just feels like Mlle. Velasco cuts me out of her life completely…I don’t like the feeling of that at all. Whatever. There’s always a first for everything. It kind of freaked me out, so I guess I’m trying to reach out to her more.

You know what’s funny? I’ve always kept a journal. Well, almost always. But I do remember writing in my journal the summer before freshman year, dreading high school and growing up. And now, here I am, finished with high school and excited for college.

I hope I wasn’t the same girl I was before. I think the me four years ago were very insecure and incredibly delusional. She had her own version of how the world was and didn’t really accept reality. Well, not technically her own version. Her mother’s version, actually. She was shy and she was waiting until marriage. She’d never speak her mind and never trust anyone, always confiding in her journal. She wrote fanciful stories and never finished any of them. She lived in her own fantasy world and never bothered with how the real one worked. She was lonely, definitely, and I didn’t realize that until I saw the panoramic picture of us 8^th grade in Mlle. Johnston’s room. She had  long hair and she definitely had a lonely and timid look on her face. Plain. Her face was weak, watery, and plain. She had very weak eyes; they looked as if they would float away if she cried too much. Her face was definitely very watery. Her life was plain, boring, and uneventful. She didn’t want to go to high school, to college, to the real world, where her beloved mother didn’t live forever. She wanted a large wedding at a beach and she wanted to live with her mother until her mother died. Once her mother died, she would follow suit. Growing up didn’t seem too swell; she didn’t want to grow up.

And then there’s the most current version of me now. She still has weak eyes, but black liquid eyeliner anchors them pretty well to her face. Once her eyes are anchored, she appears less watery. She looks more solid, more tangible as a person. She has a pretty nice smile, but not always. She looks horrible on camera, so she prefers to be on the other side of the lens. She wonders about the certainty of reality; she lives in her own world still, but at least she’s trying to step foot in the real world. She becomes an atheist. She’s tried pot. She’s masturbated and watched someone’s face as he does too. Not at the same time of course; that’s a bit too naughty. She’s gotten a man all wound up by just talking to him—not suggestively, of course. She covers herself in beautiful clothes and make-up to feel beautiful and wonders about the shallow nature of such things. They should suffice for now, but she knows that when beauty and youth desert her, she’ll have to rely on something else more solid, something she’s supposed to find in herself that she hasn’t found yet. For now, she clings on to them with her dear life. Grace and charm still elude her. She’s learned to trust and confide in others; her journal serves only to record and track now. She’s semi-secretly rebellious and clashes with her mother. She’s designed her own prom dress and plans to design her own wedding dress as well as the bridesmaids’ dresses. She’s been disappointed for the first time in her life and has to live with that disappointment for the next four years. I think she’s more open to new ideas than before. She’s been told that she’s very shallow, although she respectfully disagrees. She’s somewhat shallow; not very shallow. She deviates away from the mainstream--or so she believes--and wants a small wedding somewhere where it snows; she wants a British husband with a beautiful mother and/or sister. She's selfish and impulsive, malleable and stubborn, arrogant and insecure...all of that combined. That's the person I am right now. 

A dirty book is rarely dusty.

So...today was the last day of high school. I'm pretty okay. I don't know when it's gonna hit me, but I hope it won't hit me hard. Actually, I do when it's gonna hit me. Friday.

I need to buy waterproof make-up.

Oh, good deed of the day: I got Mlle. Jang out of taking her French finals. Yup. Well, it wasn't all me. Her French teacher didn't have the test ready for the seniors, so she asked Mlle. Jang to come back tomorrow in the morning, the same time that we were supposed to walk to Burger Barn. Well, I was like, Hell, no, that's not fair, and I want to go to Burger Barn, so I persuaded her to go talk to M. Lipman, and M. Lipman talked to her French teacher and she doesn't have to take a final for that class anymore. You're welcome.

Why is it that turning someone else on turns me on? If that makes sense. I was talking to this guy on Skype from Chatroulette a long time ago, and he wanted to video chat. Okay, sure, why not? He was shirtless and he had really, really, really nice shoulders and I have a thing for nice shoulders, but I kept it to myself. Well. We got really flirtatious, and at one point he just flat out said he wanted to remove the straps on my dress.

Well, okay. I really like this dress. It's brown with black designs. Like, really pretty and totally me. It dips pretty low in the back and has two thin straps to hold it up. Well, I didn't want too many straps going on to ruin the nice dress, so I opted for the backless and strapless stick-on bra. So, it looks really good on. No joke.

Anyways, I was like, umm, awk, let's move on, in my head, but since me and Mlle. Johnston have that plan, I've been trying to act smooth, and pretending to be smooth online is so much easier than doing it in real life, so, I was like, whatever, it's good practice, you know? So I was like, Thanks for sharing; so tell me about... Okay, that's not very smooth, but it works.

Anyways, we were about this bullshit policy where you have to go to bed shirtless. I was playing along and I was just asking what the consequences were if I were to go to bed fully dressed. Well, I'd have to pay the "ultimate price." I was like, what's the ultimate price? He wouldn't tell me unless I lower one of my straps.

Okay, whatever. I was curious, so I did. Well, tried to. My little brother was in the room. He stayed in the room for what seemed like an eternity. I did it, and that's when things got inappropriate. I won't go into details, but I didn't do anything appropriate, just for the records. He said I was seducing him. I was doing no such thing. Well, I know I said that I was trying to be smooth, but I don't think my effort was any good.

I am 95% sure that he was m-bating after that point. Yeah. That wasn't a turn on though. Actually, it kind of was, but it kind of wasn't at the same time. Like, I guess it's flattering that he thinks I'm attractive enough to be a muse, but somehow it fells like, boys are just so damn horny at that point that anyone not ugly could have worked. Like, personal but not personal at the same time.

What was the turn on was that I asked him if he could rub from his neck to his shoulder blade and down his arm because it drives me crazy when a shirtless guy with really nice shoulders do that. Eeek. Definitely a good day.

M. Dow and I haven't seriously talked since forever. We've been typing to each other on Skype, but that's not the same thing. He's completely into his girlfriend; he wants to marry her even. It's cute. It's actually ironic since he thinks marriage is pointless. It's cute how he has everything planned out.

Mlle. Jang and I are walking to Burger Barns tomorrow. Stoked.

Mme. Berman's class! Okay, so we went around telling her what we were doing this summer, where we were going in the fall, and what our life goals were. Well, it was M. Pei's turn and he said he would be working at Chippendale's (a strip club) and he'd be at the corner of [This] Street and [That] Street. Mlle. Johnston said, "That's my spot!" all jokingly to me, but she said it a tad too loud, and that caught M. Berman's attention.

She turned around and said, "I cannot believe that that came out of [Mlle. Johnston]'s mouth!" and of course, M. Pei immediately quipped, "That's not the only that that's came out of her mouth." Mlle. Johnston was laughing, but she was beet red.

Okay, so Mlle. Velasco is such a non-hater! Like, the complete opposite of me! I usually hate on most people until I get to know them. Mlle. Tran the Younger is probably one of very few exceptions. I liked her right away. I thought Mlle. Smith was a snob the first time I met her; she was just shy. I didn't really have an opinion of Mlle. Jang. Mlle. Kweon really got on my nerves cause I thought she was always staring at me in Science Honors freshman year. I thought Mlle. Johnston was a snob, too. Let's see, who else? Oh, my God. M. Tackett! That kid is the funniest person on this whole planet, but I thought he was just another ASB retard. He's not! I'm so glad we became better friends. I need to stop hating. For sure.

To the world you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world.

So, Mlle. Johnston seemed bummed out that I couldn't make it to her last ballet recital, but she was understanding. However, she was mad at her other friends who could go but didn't go. Especially M. Kelly, who came but left after the first act.

When I saw her at nutrition, she looked like she was about to cry, so I was like, "Hey, are you okay?" She was like, "No." So I looped arms with her and we walked down the hall. She said she felt like she didn't have any friends anymore--no offense to me. None taken; I knew how she felt. I gave her a hug and suggested that we make cookies at my house after school. We always wanted to make chocolate chips cookies without the chocolate chips.

We finished dissecting the fetal pig today.

Mlle. Jang got a new camera, so she went on a picture-taking frenzy.

So, Mlle. Johnston and I went to Vons to get the stuff. We wanted whipped cream, but we didn't know where to get it, so we were looking for a Vons person to help us out. We couldn't find anyone, so I was like, "Dare me to ask some random stranger where the whipped cream is?" She was like, "Don't do it!"

So I went up to this little kid and asked. His face was like, how the hell would I know? I couldn't keep a straight face the entire time and we just busted out laughing. He looked pretty confused when we did.

We got home and realized that we had no eggs. So we ran downstairs and asked my neighbor, who I've never spoken to before; I'd only smile on the occasions that I do see her. She was like, take two eggs. And Mlle. Johnston was like, do you want us to bring back an egg when we get more? She was like, nah, it's all good.

So we ran upstairs and shifted the chocolate chips from the powder stuff. Half an hour. Then we baked it. Really great cookies! We put ice cream and whipped cream on them and I went on Skype to show Mlle. Jang to make her jealous. Then, out of habit, I video called M. Dow to show up. The first thing that bitch said, "Wow. You have a friend?" Fuck you. That's why I have this cookie and you don't. Mlle. Johnston loves him and wants to talk to him again.

That's awkward because Mlle. Jang knows about him first, but we've made plans so Mlle. Johnston will talk to him with me tomorrow. Mlle. Jang's gonna be a bit annoyed about that.

We watched Priceless and Mlle. Johnston suggested that we should do what she did, and we should try it on the ship. Seducing men...that's my forte.

Our goal is to get older (well, older than us) men to buy us drinks on the cruise since we can't buy any. Yup. That's us. Seductresses.

So...since we ate whipped cream on ice cream on a giant ass cookie, we got high off of sugar. Like, crazy high. So, we went on Chatroulette and excitedly told this guy our whole adventure. He was a good audience. He listened patiently while two girls jabbered on and on and on about not having eggs and chocolate chips. Then we gave this guy dating advice, but he got creepy, so we nexted him. It felt great being high, but the crash was horrible. We just sat there, I was trying hard not to fall asleep because Mlle. Johnston was there, and it'd be horribly rude to ask her to leave. She left at 9 and I think we both just died in bed that day.

I felt good because I made her feel better and not so alone. Plus, she 

The trouble with having a stubbornness contest with your kids is that they have your stubbornness gene.

My car broke down. I'm incredibly pissed. Grrr. It's an old car...it's understandable, but now my legs are broken and I have no way of getting around.

Mlle. Velasco signed my yearbook today. She blamed herself for our drifting apart. It was weird because in her yearbook, I said that I held her blameless for it. We simply grew up and grew apart, but she felt so bad about it. She wrote a whole page, but I only wrote a little bit in hers. Once I saw that, I quickly got hers back and wrote more in, but they were all memories from sophomore and junior years.

My God, my MOTHER. I cannot stand her. She wants to send my little brother to boarding school! What the fuck? She's just trying to escape her maternal responsibilities. She says that we're burdens, but "good" burdens. No burden's good burden. That's bullshit. Poor thing. He doesn't want to go, so he cries, and she tells him to man up and stop crying. I feel part responsible for it. Ever since I've been "acting out," she's been gradually switching her affection to my brother. While in my presence, she emphasizes that she loves him "the most" now. It's like she taking her claws out of me and digging them into him. But she won't make the same mistake twice. She'll make sure to brainwash him more thoroughly than she did me. She'll make sure he won't have any other aspirations than those she has for him. He won't be able to escape.

It sounds horrible, but I'd rather it be him than me. That's incredibly heart-wrenching, but it's the complete and honest truth. I'll try to help as much as I can once I'm out, but if it means being trapped again, I'm booking it.

107 more days until I move out.

To bring up a child in the way he should go, travel that way yourself once in a while.

My mother...Oh. My GOD.

I can't see why she doesn't accept me as a person! I'm a real life human being with my own aspirations, likes, and dreams. I'm not a piece of clay that she can imprint upon me what she wants. I'm not a clever pet for her to show off to her friends. I have thoughts and emotions too. This morning, she chewed me out for the way I do my make up. She wants me to stop doing it the way I do it. She wants me to stop dressing the way I do. I'm sorry, but I dress very conservatively. You almost never see my legs because they're always covered. Me and overexposing never go in the same sentence.

Yes, she gave me life and sustained it for 18 years, but to assume the power to dictate how I live and what I do with my life is a bit excessive. She says that I should just study from now until the day I become a doctor. Are you fucking serious? That's another ten years of my life. She's already lorded over me for 18 years, and now she wants to do it for ten more years? I don't fucking think so.

She says she'll stop when I'm married. Fuck that. I'll marry some hobo off the street just to get away from her. And divorce him, of course.

She's given me an ultimatum. Either lessen my make up, dress her way, and suppress my wills, and we'll get along, or do it my way and get the fuck out and never speak to her again.

Yup.

And then there's M. Dow's mother. Oh, my goodness. I feel so bad for him. She needs to stop dating and bring wackos into the house. M. Dow was telling me about what happened to him in elementary school and his previous stepfather. It's heart-breaking. I don't know what to say. I told Mlle. Jang snippets of it but not the whole thing because he's asked me not too. Like, he usually doesn't care, but when he does ask me to not do something, I respect his wishes and not do them.

Previously, Monsieur Foghi was talking to me via Facebook Chat. Oh, my goodness, that kid...he's so ARGGH! I don't know what is wrong with him! He doesn't bug me because I'm used to him, but if I didn't like him (platonically), I'd be incredibly annoyed. So I logged off of Facebook and talked to M. Giusti about sex and drugs. Exciting stuff.

Then Mlle. Jang and I talked about our family. WHY CAN'T THEY JUST ACCEPT US FOR WHO WE ARE?

Anyways, speaking of friends, Mlles. Jang and Smith wrote in my yearbook today. I wrote a long one for Mlle. Smith yesterday. It's basically just a summary of our senior year. I talked about meaningful things, I think. Like, I kind of poured my heart out a bit--not to be cliche. Then I wrote Mlle. Jang's. It's nice and long too, but half of it is a list of things we will do...like, getting married before 30 and having attractive and intelligent children (who we won't force into impressions of ourselves like our MOTHERS did).

Mlle. Smith wrote me a really long one too. It was very heartwarming. She too included the friend drama we had and how she was glad that I was there to listen to her problems. Then she talked of the future. Today, I straight up told her, "Hey, promise me you won't marry [M. Smith] and live here forever." She laughed but took me seriously and said, of course. Good. Now she'll definitely grow.

I think I've figured out why I can't talk to her as much. It's kind of crazy...I can't see auras, but I can sense it. Mlle. Smith has a really bright aura. Like, nothing seriously bad has happened to her. I just feel like dragging her down and dirtying her with my problems when I complain. So I try to keep my complaining to a minimum because no one likes a whiny ass.

Today started out bad (oh, God, definitely) and went up and stayed up.

But, Mlle. Pearson! Oh, my GOD! She is SO annoying! Jesus Christ. Sometimes she's funny, but she's just so crass and inappropriate.

Not gonna lie...that shirt is kind of gay.