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.

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.

Beauty was my mothers law, her religion.

On Thursday, Monsieur Reyniers—this British guy that I met on Chatroulette a while ago—and I talked on Skype. The day before, we briefly talked about Osama bin Ladin, and he sent me this link to documentaries. I watched them. Crazy stuff. So, on Thursday, we kind of talked about that a bit more. Then he asked me about my studies, and I asked him about his line of work. He works for an advertising firm, and the way he describes it makes it seems so interesting and appealing. Like, no joke. He showed me some of the ones that he’d produced. Good stuff. We talked about wine and cultural things.

Then his drunk cousin came home. He’s called Nicholaus. Nicholaus then told me about his date while M. Reyniers tried to get him to leave us alone. Nicholaus asked me if I’d been on a date, and I’d said no because that’s the truth. He was all shocked. He then said I should get together with M. Reyniers, and we laughed since M. Reyniers and I always joked that M. Reyniers was too old—he’s 29. Having conversations with drunk people is the most interesting thing ever. We kind of stopped the conversation because Nicholaus wanted to retire and M. Reyniers had to make sure that he was okay.

I went and finished up my commentaries for the portfolio. And then M. Dow and I talked for four hours.

On Friday, I only went to second period to take my Calculus final. I spent the rest of the day preparing finishing up my portfolio and hanging out. Mlle. Jang finished all 12 Concentration pieces the night before, and I bought her a breakfast burrito to reward her. So did M. Ward, but I didn’t buy him one.

The thing was, everyone was supposed to finish their portfolio and send it to Mme. Mills before noon, which is when the testing period was for Studio Art AP, and we were supposed to be done before 1—ideally, so we could all leave. It actually is supposed to go all the way to five o’clock, but everyone wants to leave early, obviously. Mlle. Ocampo had another AP test before, so she came in at half past noon, which was understandable, but we were just all so pissed when she said she had to take pictures of some of her art works, edit them, and upload them to the site. She hadn’t done her commentaries either. We finished at two o’clock—an hour late.

Mlles. Jang and Smith and I went to Pink Cherries (or whatever the name is) and got frozen yogurt. Good stuff.

Then I came home and read White Oleander since M. Dow was spending the night at the house of the girl that he liked. I didn’t know. I only knew they were going to hangout. So when he didn’t come on at eight, which was eleven for him, I kind of figured he got lucky that night. He later told me that they just hung out and he slept on the floor (on a mattress) in her room. That's awfully romantic. I'd love to be in a relationship like that. He's planning on giving her flowers since she's said she's never received flowers before. Sure, it sounds mushy and everything, but that's pretty sweet for someone who's an asshole.

White Oleander is such a good book! I am in love with the way the author describes beauty. It’s my kind of beauty: traveling all over the world, having beautiful and classy clothes, and having a sophisticate mannerism. But I wouldn’t trade place with the heroine. She’s forced to grow up too fast, too soon. I’d like to retain my childlike thoughts and to blush like someone unjaded.

M. Dow messaged me the moment I got home, which was eight—eleven for him. We looked up porn together although I could only stomach the first few seconds. That didn’t work out, so he showed me other videos like One Guy and One Jar and Two Girls and a Cup. He’d watch each video first so I could kind of get a feel for it by watching his reactions. I don’t know. I thought One Guy and One Jar wasn’t that bad—yeah, he was shoving a jar up his anus and it exploded and he bled, but watching Two Girls and a Cup kind of stimulated my gag reflex.  Then he told me of his plan to not masturbating since it lowered his zinc and testosterone level.  I like talking about stuff like that, like things you do and how it affects your body on the chemical levels. Mlle. Smith and Mlle. Jang and my girl friends wouldn’t understand. Mlle. Karch probably knows, but she seems so chaste and virginal to me; I don’t know if she’d know about that kind of stuff, you know?

We talked about our prospective partners. He liked Asian girls, preferably atheists, but he’d tolerate Buddhists and Agnostics. I liked white guys, preferably atheists or Agnostics. It would be awkward to bring up the fact that we fulfill each other’s requirements, so I didn’t. But he did since he possessed the IQ of 130 but almost no inhibition. He said that we should enter a pact where we’d have children together if things end up not working out. I agreed, because there’d be no harm since things will work out. I think our kids would be funny looking though. Maybe that’s not such a good idea.

Anyways, remember that guy that told me that he loved me? Over the Internet? He’s not actually who I think he is. The guy that I’m thinking of is from the Netherlands, not Austria. The guy that I’m thinking of is very, very, very cute and has a giant painting of New York in the back of him. The guy that I’m thinking of loves kids and wants to work with mentally retarded children. That guy doesn’t love me and he isn’t creepy. Thank God.

M. Dow told me he wanted to see me without make up. I told him, not in this lifetime. 

Here are some of my Breadth pieces:

There is a great relief in experiencing the worst vicariously.

M. Dow and I talked for three hours straight yesterday. That's the longest time I've ever seriously talked to anybody. I really do enjoy talking to him even if he's homophobic. He's just very open. Like, you know how girls are looking for Mr. Right? Well, me too, but not Mr. Right All the Time (ha-ha. I'm so funny I crack myself up). But having a Mr. Right All the Time to turn to for advices and stuff? Isn't that, like, perfect or what?

I gotta stop saying like. I sound so dumb when I do, but I feel like my speech is naked when I don't.

Today, we talked for an hour. Well, not really. It was actually a pretty boring hour. He was texting and I was listening to Ed Sheeran. He told me (on and off) about this girl that he really liked and showed me a picture, but I think she looks like a skank. Not because I'm jealous. It's just how I feel. But maybe she looks horrible in pictures. I know how that feels. I'll just trust his judgement on her prettiness since he uses that same scale when he tells me I'm pretty. Anyways, I got bored, so I feigned sleepy and ended the call.

Then I uploaded some of my Concentration pieces to the College Board website. Like, that whole time, I could feel depression creeping up on me again. Like, it's this feeling where something is clawing at the top of my stomach, an inch below the sternum, trying to climb up my esophagus. It's not a pleasant feeling. I hate it. I hate the warmer weather that always seems to trigger it. I need to go somewhere nice and cold all the time.

Then M. Dow video called me again and we talked for another hour. Like, actually talked this time. I told him about my mom and how her attachment issues. He was telling me stuff, and, all of the sudden, I started tearing up. I excused myself and went to the bathroom to wipe my tears. I knew it wasn't noticeable that I had tears in my eyes because I looked at my part of the screen right before and tried to act as normally as possible, but when I came back, he apologized for making me feel upset. Honestly, I'm getting my period soon. I always get depressed and become an emotional wreck right before, but the second part is a bit more manageable since I know about it. Anyways, we talked about depression, and he told me some really personal thing that I won't mention on here since M. Giusti will read it when I'm done with this blog at the end of the summer and I won't feel right indirectly telling someone someone else's secret. Like, yeah, I gossip. Not gonna lie, but this is different. It's not like, oh, that weirdo Johnny says he likes our Sarah; he says not to tell her; like hell we're not going to tell. It's not like that. It's like, deep stuff.

Anyways, I tell him how I sometimes feel lonely. Like, I just feel like people here aren't on my wavelength and they're not on mine. Yesterday, M. Dow showed me a video explaining how the string theory works and explained it to me more when I got lost. This morning, I asked Mlle. Smith if she knew about the string theory, and the first thing out of her was, "It's retarded." I barely finished my sentence. I was just so appalled. I asked her how it is retarded and she said, "I don't know. It's just retarded."

It's kind of cliché, but I just died a little bit right there. Like, this is my best friend. The one person that I'm closest with. Just dismissing something like this just because she doesn't understand it. I'm feel bad talking about my own best friend like this, but she just seems so ignorant to me right then.

Anyways, so I told him that I've got no one to talk to about things that I want to talk about, and he was like, "Well, you can talk to me." I smiled, of course, because I'm always smiling, and said thank you. Then I went on and described how I envision my ideal best girl friend to be. Like, I want her to look kind of like me...like, we could be taken for twins or sisters. Our appearance would compliment each other's. She'd be on the same wavelength as me. So, I told him and he said that I was way too idealistic and I'd just end up disappointed in the end. Then I got teary-eyed again and he looked like he felt so bad, but I told him, so we were good.

I shouldn't have promised M. Giusti access to this blog. It's become an edited, fragmented, and impartial representation of my life and feelings. I've just realized that today when I chose not to put in M. Dow's reasons for being depressed.

Anyways, I've picked my five Quality pieces.

The last one was fought over when a copy went on sale. I'm so incredibly flattered, so I told my mother. She said something like, who in their right mind would pay money for that photo? Like, my mood was so good before, and the moment she said, it's just like, I need to get out of here. But she stayed and asked me where Mlle. Velasco was going next year. I told her SBCC, and she was like, "Why?" I was like, well, she wants to get out of the city but she still doesn't want to pay a lot, that's why. And she was like, "Kids over here are so traitorous. What about her mother and all those kids?" I'm sorry, but it was her mother's decision to have those kids and her responsibilities shouldn't be left to Mlle. Velasco to sacrifice her youth the way my mother's asking me to sacrifice mine. God, now I'm all pissed off.

M. Dow thinks my mother is living vicariously through me. I suspected as much. I just want her to leave me live my own life, free from her interference. I want to be financially stable first, though, before I confront her. She'd thrown me out before over something ridiculous before. I'm planning to go abroad Junior year in college and I think that's when I'm doing it. I'll be calling from the airport and be all, "Hey, I'm going to England in a few minutes. See ya in a couple of months. K. Bye!" and deal with the consequences when I come back.

Eff this. My mother needs to get her own life. I feel so frustrated.

While there is perhaps a province in which the photograph can tell us nothing more than what we see with our own eyes, there is another in which it proves to us how little our eyes permit us to see.

So, Mlles. Smith and Johnston and I were really excited about the photo shoot today. I saw Mlle. Hopkins and verified that she could indeed take Mlle. Jang's place since Mlle. Jang wanted me to take her pictures after she got her braces off.

Mlle. Smith came to my house first. We re-curled her hair. She looked lovely with the dress on even though the dress was pink. She looked even prettier with red lipstick. And then Mlle. Johnston came, undressed and un-made-up, but she only took five minutes to get ready. They both looked very lovely, and I felt kind of plain in comparison because I was only wearing my bikini and a peasant top over and they were decked in maxi dresses, with curled hair, and red lipstick. Mlle. Hopkins called and apologized for not being able to come because something urgent came up that last minute. We ran late to the beach and had to take Mlle. Johnston's car since her car was big enough for the vintage chair that I dragged along. Well, we didn't even use it.

The beach was horrible! It was cold, and the tide rose every five minutes, which made it hard for me to take pictures. Mlles. Smith and Johnston have never met, so they were kind of awkward together, but luckily they followed my instruction very nicely, although Mlle. Johnston constantly looked annoyed and older than she was because the corners of her mouth were always pushed back. I managed to make her relax a couple of times and those photos turned out great. Sometimes she over-posed, in contrast to Mlle. Smith, who would sometimes wandered off frame just because. Sometimes she looks dead in the pictures, but when she doesn't, she looks GREAT! And once we just hit a spot where I didn't know what I wanted them to do and so they just stood around awkwardly. So I suggested that Mlle. Johnston pick up my vintage camera (well, technically, it is Mme. Mills'), and I'll take pictures of her trying to take pictures of me with it. Well, she's not a photographer, so she held the camera like this:

When you're supposed to hold it like this:

This way allows one hand to support the lens and steady the camera and the other to readily cover the shutter button. First thing I learned in photography class.

Anyways, while that was going on, Mlle. Smith wandered off (surprise surprise) and next thing I knew, she was hiking back toward us with a huge-ass stick in her hand. I was like, "Stop right there! Lean on the stick, please! [Mlle. Johnston], go sit in front of her." Things kind of went up after that.

At the beach, Mlle. Johnston got cut. All of hair got messed up. We shaved this morning because of the weather and the sand rubbed against that the wrong way and it hurt. And then my brother called and said my mother called and she said she was coming. An hour ago. So we rushed home and Mlle. Smith rushed the chair back upstairs since she said I was a twig and couldn't possibly carry it. Then I looked at the pictures and my heart nearly dropped. There only a couple good ones out of about 120 photos for how much trouble I've caused them. I mean, they said they really liked modeling for me, but I know it's time consuming and hard, and I greatly appreciate them taking the time to do their hair, make-up, and dress the way I've requested.

Anyways, I may not be a great photographer, but I am one heck of an editor (just saying). I went through each picture and tried to improve it to the best of my abilities and ended up with about 16 decent to really good ones. I'm just happy I have more than ten photos to prove all the trouble we've went through and a great day that we had.

I'm so glad I have pretty friends.

But seriously, taking pictures at the beach is a pain! Everything is so unpredictable and overwhelming. It's not a feeling I like to have, but something I want to master. But working with Mlles. Smith and Johnston kind of makes me wonder if having three models is a good idea when working with two is this exhausting. Well, there's always things to overcoming. But I probably won't do more than five models. Four is too even.

There are three types of friends: those like food, without which you can't live; those like medicine, which you need occasionally; and those like an illness, which you never want.

So, this weekend, I kind of made peace with myself about my upcoming rejection from Barnard. I was going to go to Irvine, study my butt off, and be the one doing the rejecting the next time around. That was my plan, as set in stone as my plans could possible be. I told my friends, and they were more than happy because we would be a few minutes (at most an hour) away. My mother and I got on so well this last weekend because of that.

But now University of Rochester--which I just assumed would reject me since they accept 38% of all applicants while Wellesley accepts 32% and they rejected me--accepts me and is probably giving me tons of money to go there. I'm so lost.

Pros

1. Rochester is a huge-ass city, which means plenty of volunteer and job opportunities.
2. It's ranked higher than UCI and is one of the new Ivies.
3. It's one of the leading research universities right now.
4. You just need to take classes for your major, so no gen. ed.
5. It's 300 miles from NYC, which is a whole lot closer to it than I will ever be at Irvine.
6. Last, and most importantly, it has a neuroscience department, and I want to be a neuroscience major. I honestly don't care about the other stuff, but UCI is almost the same in those aspects, but neuroscience is something I really want to get involve in.

Cons

1. It's far away. I mean, I can understand going all the way across the country to study at Barnard and Columbia, but to study at a school that's ranked a wee bit higher than my in-state school doesn't make much sense. But the neuroscience department is just so so so irresistible.
2. It's not NYC.

Can you imagine how lost I feel now? Now it feels like I'm waiting for Barnard's acceptance letter to swoop in and save me from making bad decisions all  over again. I love Barnard, but I don't want my hopes and dreams to be shattered and trampled all over, something that will happen if I keep getting my hopes up.

But, for sure, wherever I choose to go, I will become the applicant that medical schools can't resist. They won't be the ones rejecting me the second time around. I'll reject all of them save for Columbia Medical School.

So, away from collegial stuff...

Prom planning is a nightmare! People keep freaking changing their minds!

Okay, so we have a bus for 18 people but we only have eight people so far (Mlle. Lopez dropped out to go on another bus after giving us her words, what the heck? but Mlle. Macias managed to find someone to take Mlle. Lopez's place). So I talked to Mlle. Yun, who has a group of ten and no bus, so if they merge with us, it'll be perfect.

Not.

Mlle. Yun is the only one I can stand in their little group. The rest of them are annoying as hell and are just asking to be slapped. So I asked Mlle. Coleman and her group, and she says she's telling everyone tonight, which is great. Her group is huge. They'll get ten people with no problems.

And then Mlle. Jang--who's going on Mlle. Lanter's bus, the same bus Mlles. Velasco and Yasakova (oh, they are an entirely different story), keeps interfering with our plans because she talks to Mlle. Smith and Mlle Smith is the most malleable person on this whole planet! Mlle. Lanter's group isn't going to dinner before the Prom like we are, and Mlle. Smith wants us to cancel to the dinner reservation to. Are you serious? Mlle. Macias, who is normally calm and gentle, nearly blew her top when she called me (because I left at lunch and skipped 5th and 6th to go home and finish my Sim's new house. Haha. The things seniors do). I called Mlle. Smith to tell her that there was possibly no way we're going to cancel our dinner reservation. She reasoned that it was too much, but was willing to do dinner anyways since it would make us happy. I told her that she shouldn't do that, and that she should only do dinner if she really wanted to. She said she wanted to do dinner, I knew she didn't. She kept trying to convince me that she wanted to do dinner, but a fool could tell that she wanted otherwise. So I pretended to believe her and hung up. Then I asked around and apparently, all these losers were not going to freaking dinner which made her convince that dinner wasn't necessary.  So I called Mlle. Macias again and told her about my plan to eat dinner before, but only to eat a little bit so it wasn't terribly expensive, then eat at Prom with everybody else. Problem solved. You're welcome.

God, Mlles. Velasco and Yasakova make me so mad! Especially Mlle. Yasakova. She just assumes that everything and everyone revolves around her dramatic little life. But Friday was when people who were going on our bus needed to confirm with us that they were for sure going. Everybody was supposed to tell me before school ended. So there I was, at freaking five o'clock, calling Mlle. Yasakova over and over and over again (why the eff do you carry a cellphone if you're not going to use it?). I took a break from that and called Mlle. Velasco--who called me at two and requested an extension till six. Mlle. Velasco said that she didn't know what to do. And I was very patient then, not at all pissed off like I am now. I was like, "Okay, well, what are your deciding factors?" And she said that she didn't feel comfortable with Mlle. Smith. Well, honey, if you hadn't ditch us, that wouldn't have happened, would it? NO.  But I was really really nice then, so I was like, "Okay, well, you do whatever you feel comfortable doing. I don't want to force you to come with us and make you have a crappy night." So she chose the other bus. I called Mlle. Yasakova again and she didn't pick up. She didn't even have a damn voice mailbox or whatever. I called Mlle. Velasco and asked her to ask Mlle. Yasakova for me. So Mlle. Velasco called right back and told me that Mlle. Yasakova was coming with her to the other bus. At that point, I got really mad. I kind of started to raise my voice at Mlle. Velasco, but I stopped and apologized because I was getting mad at the wrong person.  Mlle. Velasco was trying to get me to sympathize with Mlle. Yasakova. She said that Mlle. Yasakova liked to talk about her problems and didn't like it when Mlle. Smith and I just dismissed them like they were nothing. Well, first of all, we never dismissed them. We talked and talked and talked about them until we got sick of talking. Second of all, okay, so having a conversation means talking and listening.  She always talks and never listens to problems, and she thinks we're being unreasonable? Ugh. I. Am. So. Sick. Of. Her.

And then now, Mlles. Smith and Velasco are talking again, but Mlle. Smith says that her forced conversations with Mlle. Yasakova always returned to Mlle. Yasakova and her problems. Well, I'm not putting more efforts into a one-sided relationship. Period.

And guess whose bus Mlle. Jang and Tran Sr. are going on now that their party bus is broken up? Mlle. Lanter's bus when they could have joined ours and save us bunches of money. Then I really thought about it. I was really close with Mlle. Velasco, so to think that she could have spared me all the worrying about the party bus but chose not to is kind of annoying. I love Mlle. Velasco, but she is very shallow. I thought I was shallow, but she's even more shallow that me. And that says a lot.

Anyways, tomorrow, Mlles. Smith, Johnston, and Hopkins, and I are going to the beach to take pictures. Well, I'm taking pictures of them. Their hair will be curled. They'll have on red lipstick and cat eyes and long dresses. It'll be great! I'm excited!

He could be that boy, but I'm not that girl.

So, Mlle. Smith went on a Career Fair field trip today, which means she missed out on the fun we had in Studio Art in the morning.

Mme. Mills has been going on and on about having us do something like this picture below.

And today she was bugging M. Ward about it. I volunteered to take his pictures since I'm trying to build a portrait portfolio. It would be a win-win since we both get to use my pictures in our portfolios for the AP test. She told us to go to the dark room. We were like, "Okay? Sure, whatever you say," and went in the gallery. She was like, "It's not dark enough!" I was like, "What other dark room is there?" She meant the storage room in the back, and she kind of said it really loud and made Mlle. Tupac--one of M. Ward's close friends--turn around and said, "Hmm, [_] and [M. Ward] going to the dark room, hm?" and got the whole class in on it.

The moment I closed the storage door, M. Ward turned around and pounded on it while moaning and making sex noises. I punched him and flipped off the light. Then I had to turn the light back on to go out and get my cellphone (which usually serves as a light source). Mme. Mills was like, "Just in case you need help, huh?"

I went in and took pictures. Good ones, too, I think. I had M. Ward sit on the floor, and since the lights are off and it was completely dark, I sat cross-legged on the floor too even though I wore a skirt. I had him make faces, but mostly just stare straight into the camera. Most of the time, we completely missed each other since he would look one way while the camera was pointed in a different direction. Overall, the pictures were good for being taken in the dark.

Today, in 6th period, I found out that M. Lythgoe will be asking Mlle. Pillado to the Prom this Friday. Lame. Well, now I have to find someone else to daydream about. I kind of want to get him back for leading me on. I know it seems like there's a possibility that I'm delusional about him on this blog, but I'm not. Take my word for it, please. Anyways, there's not much I can do except to look so good that he'll regret not asking me.

We have yet to find out who M. Ward is asking to the Prom. Whoever she is, I hope he goes on with the plan so he can tell Mlle. Jang and I once it is executed, like he's promised.

Do not dwell in the past; do not dream of the future; concentrate the mind on the present moment.

Today was an amazing day! Us AP Art and Art History kids went roaming in Old Town Pasadena for the whole day and then stopped at the Norton Simon Museum to finish up. Before that, we went to Dick Blick, the most amazing art store EVER! The Art History kids were like, "Okay, whatever. It's just a huge art store", but the rest of us went crazy. I picked up a set of gouache instead of watercolour, a palette to put the gouache in, and a set of graphite pencils that go all the way up to 9B. 9B! I love doing dark lines! Mlle. Jang and Smith did almost the same thing, except Mlle. Smith bought Prismacolor color pencils because color pencils is totally her medium. Mlle. Jang is pretty versatile, and I don't know what she bought.

We had a blast chilling and eating before noon, when we were supposed to be at the museum. Anyways, since Mlle. Schneider and I are vegetarian, our group (Mlle. Smith, Jang, Schneider, Hai, Choi, and Murphy and M. Ward and Purwadi) had to find a restaurant that would accommodate that special needs. While looking for the restaurant, Mlle. Smith and I decided to split and go to H&M instead because I've never been there. We looked around, and I saw a bunch of bags that I would love to have, but since I already blew, I don't know, $45 at Dick Blick, I couldn't afford to drop another huge sum of money just because. So, Mlle. Smith and I each got a really cute dress and went to the dressing room to try it on and took pictures. We looked cute, if I do say so myself.

Then we got a call from Mlle. Schneider saying that they'd be eating at Johnny Rocket and I told them we would meet them there. We went to a frozen yogurt store and then to Johnny Rocket before heading back to the museum.

At the museum, our group got cut up again with only me, Mlle. Smith, Jang, and Schneider. We had to complete this scavenger hunt thing. It was fun, but when we were done, Mlle. Smith and I went out to the garden to take more pictures. We had a fun time.

It got so hot during the day in Pasadena, and I was wearing a black scoop-neck thermal with black tights under a white dress. Yeah, I looked nice (if I do say so myself), but not weather-appropriate. But as soon as the bus started, the breeze and wind came in and Jesus Christ, it took forever for me to de-tangle my hair after an hour of about 70 mph wind.

Then, I got home and worked on Mlle. Coleman's dress. Here it is.

There's three versions because she likes blue and green, but I detest the color green and don't really care for blue. The red one is personally my favorite, but this isn't my prom dress. So I drew up three for her to see her options.

And then I found out that M. Smith will ask Mlle. Smith (haha) to the Prom THIS WEEK! And I'm probably the first to know about it! I was so excited, I called Mlle. Jang to tell her. Mlle. Jang is very excited too. So now our bus has ten people. We have room for 22. So, that's, like, not even half yet. I am awfully fond of Mlle. Jang and wish she could come with us, but she is committed somewhere else.

I don't think anyone will ask me. I don't have any close guy friends. I kind of want M. Lythgoe to ask me, but I seriously doubt it. His ego is too big to risk a rejection. Plus, even if he does, transportation complications will arise.

I know I've been all "I can't wait to get out of her/this year to be over", but I think I will seriously miss it once it is over. I'll miss the people that I've spent years with, the people who love me and whom I love. Time has never been my friend, and it probably will never be my friend.

And you're sorry that the ephemeral beauty has faded so rapidly

This week is going to be exciting. I love checking my planner and finding out that I have days booked with fun events. Tomorrow, our AP Art class is going on a field trip to Old Town to meet local artists and have them instruct us on art-making and gallery-etiquette. I do love the architecture in Old Town. It is very quaint and lovely. Mme. Mills says field trip, us seniors are thinking more a long the line of excursions. It'll be so much fun tomorrow.

Then, when I get home, I'll get to photograph the lovely Mlle. Johnston. She'll be made up with red lipstick and dark, smokey eye make up. I'm going for the femme fatale kind of look, but maybe not quite so dangerous. She does have such a pretty and interesting face.

Anyways, I took pictures outside of Mme. McElroy's house yesterday while my brother had his lesson with her. There was a beautiful cherry blossom tree outside, and the lighting was just right, so I couldn't resist.

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.

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: