All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.

M. Paff and I had another fight. I manned up and apologized even though it wasn't really my fault. I started to feel really upset when he replied with "apology accepted". I was just like, "THAT'S IT? THAT'S ALL YOU HAVE TO TELL ME?" but then he apologized too. That's good. If he didn't apologize, I think we would have been done.

My grandma is in a coma. No one bothered to tell me until she got really bad. What the fuck? Yesterday, my dad left the country to be by her side. I feel bad for my grandpa. He's gonna lose his only companion, and you can tell he really, totally loves her even though she has dementia and she's bawdy and vulgar and sometimes hits on him in front of us. I don't know how I feel about this. I know her, but right now, she doesn't feel like a real person to me. Hardly anyone feels real right now. I once again revert to thinking that everyone's programmed except for me.

My mom and brother are helping me move in. I don't know how I feel about that.

A few more weeks then I'm done with this blog and onto another one. I think toward the end, I've drifted a bit far away from the people I've given/will give access to this blog, and I no longer feel comfortable with them reading my private and sometimes insane thoughts and feelings and my countless and erroneous assumptions and predictions.

All God does is watch us and kill us when we get boring. We must never, ever be boring.

Okay, so M. Dow said he wanted to delete his online friends to focus on real life. He even blocked me to not feel tempted to talk, but then he felt bad and added me back. We talked for awhile today.

So...life's been boring. My mother's still nagging and bitching everyday. I'm still low on money since my mother won't pay me; I've been saving up tips to pay for my dorm stuff since I don't want to ask my parents unless I absolutely can't do it myself. But my mother says I've made over $1000 since the beginning of summer. YEAH.

I found these poems that I really like:

"They came to tell your faults to me,
They named them over one by one;
I laughed aloud when they were done,
I knew them all so well before,—
Oh, they were blind, too blind to see
Your faults had made me love you more."

Will I ever be the onewho gets to hold you tightWill I ever be the oneto hear your last goodnightWill I ever be the onewho’s hand you gladly takeWill I ever be the onenext to whom you wakeWill I ever be the onethat holds you when you cryWill I ever be the onethat never hears goodbyeWill I ever be the oneto whom you give yourselfWill I ever be the onein sickness and in healthWill I ever know the reasonthat our paths were meant to crossWill I ever know the gainthat is someone else’s loss

This one's a bit melodramatic, but I like it.

STEPHON kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.
Stephon's kiss was lost in jest,
Robin's lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin's eyes
Haunts me night and day. 

I'd love to be looked at by Colin.

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.

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. 

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.

Even if one takes every reefer madness allegation of the prohibitionists at face value, marijuana prohibition has done far more harm to far more people than marijuana ever could.

So...I did it...It wasn't as good as I thought it'd be. M. Dow said I did it wrong. Asshole. I was watching romantic love scenes from movies to get myself in the mood, and then he freaking sent me porn to look at. Well, that totally negated everything I've been doing that evening.

So...when I was doing it...it's just weird...like, it didn't feel particularly good...but, good thing is...I definitely know that I have a vagina and am NOT a hermaphrodite. You know what that means? I can go swimming on my period because I can finally know where to put the tampon.

Yesterday night was a waste of time. My mother took me to the temple to mediate. I was sitting there, half day dreaming, half nodding off, for one freaking hour. During that time, I let out a bunch of loud ass yawns, involuntarily, of course, because even I am not that rude. Yup. Boring boring boring.

M. Dow says I should try smoking pot and gives me the reasons why. I look at it and now I just feel so misinformed. I kind of want to try but don't at the same time. Like, I'll try it at least once before I die, but I don't want to make a habit out of it. Maybe it's the fact that it's illegal that makes it alluring...like, having a double life.
I told Mlle. Jang about the above. She's pretty open to it, I guess, but she's sticking to her own conviction, but she's willing to talk about it. Like, she's not just dismissing it without hearing anything.

MY MOTHER! She doesn't like me wearing a lot of make-up, which I don't. But, I'm like, "Well, I like doing my make-up this way." And she says that she doesn't care if I like doing it that way because I'm living under her roof and still have to follow her rule. Boo. So I'm out next year. Whoot whoot. But then sophomore year's still not down yet.

A bunch of us are dressing as pirates tomorrow.

(HAHAHA, I was reading this days after I posted it. ^ is not intentional!)

There are no good girls gone wrong, just bad girls found out.

So...since I didn't finish my homework, I told my parents that school started at 10:30 today. I slept in and took my time getting ready. When I was getting ready, M. Patterson from New York Skyped me and wanted to talk. Well, a few nights ago, he got home drunk and started flirting with me like crazy. Why is it that I'm only attractive to my family, old people, creepers, guys on Chatroulette, and drunk people? For some reason, he was under the impression that it'd get a bit warm next time we talked. I talked to him today before he left to Chicago. It wasn't a horribly flirty conversation when we were face to face--I'm glad.

But how exhilarating is it to do what he does? He's going away to Chicago for the weekends. No need to ask permissions. No reasons to not go. I'm extremely jealous. He's in control of his own life.

Anyways, then I was going to do my homework, but my dad kept asking me to call to various companies to fix his mistakes. When that was done, I started to write my Hamlet essay but then M. Dow and M. Manwaring came out Skype and both wanted to talk. At this point, I was just planning to wait till my family left and just ditched school all together and just emailed Mme. Berman the essay.

M. Manwaring is now in China. He loves it there! The culture, the people, everything. That guy is so full of life. He's Mormon, so of course he's a virgin.

And on the other end of the spectrum, there's M. Dow, the nympho. We discussed the deal some more. I wanted my reward to be for him to date a girl that is fat and ugly (since he hates fat and/or ugly girls) for a month and for him to treat her like a human being that she is. He didn't like that. I also specified that our deal would be null and void if I had a boyfriend during that time. He agreed to that, but he didn't want to put a time limit on it. He said it'd go until we were 80. How lovely. Me...an 80 year old virgin.

He sent me a link of Richard Dawkins speaking about militant atheism. It's a great speech, actually. He's mad eloquent. I'm kind of hopelessly in love with the way he uses his words.

Anyways, when M. Dow were talking, we kind of talked about oral and anal sex. I think oral sex is nasty. Like, you're sucking on something that leaks urine, the body's waste product, but M. Dow says that the girl doesn't come in contact with urine unless the guy pees right before. I don't know. I just think oral sex is nasty and unnatural. But, why? Why is it nasty and unnatural? I can't think of any reason why it would be. Anal sex, however, is a whole different story. Yeah, that shit is never gonna happen.

Yeah, well, I'm getting away from the point. I told him about this cartoon that I read. It basically says that sex is a natural act; killing is wrong and illegal; so why is it that it is more socially acceptable to play games that involve killing people but it is not okay to play games that involve sex?

Like, all my life, I've been taught that sex is dirty but necessary, like, just lie back and think of England. But it's a natural function of the human species. My mother probably definitely has a horrible sex life and she always says that I should wait till marriage. Waiting is my choice anyways, but she waited till marriage. She didn't have a good one, so/but she turned to religion fanatically to fill the gap, I guess. I'm not religious. I actually find atheism very very very appealing now. It's late. I had a good argument earlier, but I've lost it now.

It just seems like all my life, I've been told what to think by my mother and her religion, I've never really questioned anything around me (oh, God. THAT part is especially true considering all the things I eat). My mother! She raises me to not ask questions. When I tell her facts and my points on gay marriage and things, she says, "You think you're so mature and smart that you talk back to me? Don't argue with me. Just listen to what I say." End of convo. Lovely relationship we have. She thinks I'm a child. I think I'm going to go batshit insane if I have to live with her for another year. That sounds really mean, but I can't stand her forcing her ideas down my throat and her telling me to not question and just accept her authority.

Anyways, I ended up ditching till 12:30 when my parents came back home! They were like, "You're still here?" I was like, "Um...I'm on my lunch break! Forgot my lunch at home." They bought it and I drove it school to attend one class. At least I didn't get in trouble.

Haha. Good girls are just bad girls who don't get caught.

I took a picture of M. Dow in the morning since he's having his girlfriend over and they're doing what bunnies do. Minus the multiplying.

Man is harder than rock and more fragile than an egg.

It never occurred to me that other people go through identity crisis too. I always thought that only emo people and me had that kind of problems.

Like, M. Dow...I never would have thought that he is the person he is  from the first glance.He's the completely opposite of what I was expecting. But we opened up and he told me all those things about him and his problems.

And then I read M. Ward's accumulation of problems today. It's quite terrible, but it's a bit like mine, only so much more intense. Poor thing. I'd love to help, but I don't know how.

Funny thing was...right before I started reading it, Mlle. Pearson, this girl in our AP Art class found it funny--ridiculous, in  fact--that I asked the people around about those moral dilemma questions. You know, there are people like her who just kind of cruise through life all happy. And then there are people like M. Dow,  M. Ward, and I. Why can't we live like that? 

I'm not saying I'm incredibly intelligent and philosophical, but sometimes it seems like having the ability of think is almost like being cursed, being born a human is an unfortunate event. We're "blessed" with consciousness to feel all the things we don't want to feel like frustration, anxiety, emptiness, hopelessness, loneliness, etc. But then again, we also enjoy the good things in life, but I can't really think of any right now.

I remember several years ago, a monk was lecturing on how fortunate we were for being born human, and I remember thinking, "I'd rather be that ugly-ass plecs fish. Sure, it's eating waste from the other fishes, but it doesn't know any better. If it tastes good to it, then it shouldn't matter. It's happy where it is with how it is. Not like us."

Now, I kind of don't think that way anymore.. Sure, it'd be nice to not know any better, but knowledge is power. It's been given to me, and if I don't use it, it'd be a waste. I only have this life once. Might as well make the most out of it.

I gave a ride to a random stranger today. Non sequitur.

I know I've been bitching about how I want this year to be over, but now that it's getting close, I want it to last just a bit more. I hate getting into habits and schedules because I feel so nostalgic looking back and remembering. Like, for the past few days and weeks, I've been coming home from school and talking to Mlle. Jang and M. Dow on Skype for hours, listening to classical music, and updating this blog. All this will end in about two weeks. I'll be working all summer. I don't know how college will go.

It just seems like, yeah, I welcome change and all that, but I was in Mme. Kennedy's room today and thought, "In a few days, I probably will never see this classroom again. I will never walk in these hallways again." All the things that I've grown accustomed to...they'll all be gone soon. There's this sinking feeling in my stomach. I don't want to let it go, but I know I have to, I want to let it go because I'll be on to bigger and better things. 

But it's a bit sad and hard to let go. Well, really sad, actually...to let something go after you've been used to it for so long...says that girl who's willing to throw everything and everyone a few months ago.

Anyways, I thought about my plan to study abroad in London and how I was just going to drop the bomb at the airport. That's not very different from running away. It's a childish thing to do. The adult thing to do would be to inform my mother and stand my ground, and I will do just that. I won't let her be in control of my life anymore. I don't want to go through life feeling like a doll and empty and commit suicide by age 30.

I've discovered that if you say, "I'm thirty years old" in a British accent, it's the saddest thing ever. Oh, God. Thirty. I never want to turn thirty.

Anyways, I've also discovered that being pretty has it advantages. Many, actually. And I'm not even like, the prettiest girl out there. Not even close. Cars stop for me more often. People let me cut in line (not because I ask). People just help me out when I need help when I don't ask for it. Like, it's great. For example, today, it was very windy, and, being a student in Mme. Berman's class, I have a folder full of crap mixed in with stuff I actually need, I was carrying my English folder in such a way that everything fell out and flew all over. I just stood there in shock at what I've just done, but almost all the people around me stopped what they were doing to grab my papers. There were so many, just flying in the wind. I'd walk for a few steps and someone would come up and hand me paper. It was nice. Unlike how things were years before, when the same thing happened and no one stopped to help. Like, literally nobody. 

It's good for me, but it's very unfair. I read this book a while ago and the main character was an ugly duckling in middle school, but she cleared up her acne and got hot for high school. One of the things she said was that pretty girls got head starts. Head starts, indeed.

Haha. This is a bad picture.

Speaking of Skype, I was talking to Mlle. Jang and watching a video at the same time. And I fell asleep. Oopsie. For two hours!

Mlle. Jang seems so lucky. She has parents who support what she does. She's allowed room and freedom and is provided with a protective environment to grow as a person. I asked her if she had any identity issues or stuff like that, and after she told me, I felt even more oppressive by my family.

Let us be grateful to people who make us happy, they are the charming gardeners who make our souls blossom.

M. Dow told me more about his mother's relationships. From what I can tell, they kind of really messed up how he views women and girls. The whole time he talked, I didn't know what to say because when I tell him about my parents and stuff, my problems just seemed so trivial compared to his. I'm just glad he's NOT like Mlle. Yasakova and doesn't say things like, "I wish I have your problems."

Anyways, I kind of told Mlle. Jang about M. Dow more and more. I told him about the above in details since I know she sympathizes with him, which she did. Dang, she was on Skype with me for from 9 to 11:30. I was talking to her and chatting with M. Dow at the same time. Then Mlle. Jang suggested that we did the rating game. Most of my friends got 5s from M. Dow--WTF?--even though Mlle. Jang and I picked out really pictures of them.

I find it a lot easier to open up to people now that I've opened up to M. Dow, but I really think it depends on the person. Like, Mlle. Jang is a good person to talk to. Mlle. Smith is a different matter. Even though I hangout with her everyday, I find it very hard to talk to her about serious subjects, so we almost always talk about other people. It's kind of a shallow relationship, what we have.

Today, Mme. Mills took the AP Studio Art kids to Starbucks for the first two periods and bought us coffee. It was "supposed to be" an Artists' Walk, where we go and get inspiration. NOT. We just drank coffee and socialized, which was nice because Mlles. Jang and Smith and I got to know M. Purwadi a bit better. I always knew he was a character, but I didn't know that he was also a fun person to have a decent conversation with either.

Steak Night tomorrow! Whoot whoot!

Logic ridicules love, and love smiles knowingly at the whole foolishness of logic.

I've started to think of some people in real life as how I call them on here, like Mlle. Smith and especially M. Lythgoe.

Pie day in Calculus today. And tomorrow. And Wednesday.

I'm kind of glad that I shared this with Mlle. Jang. Out of all them, I think her wavelength resembles mine the most, if that makes any sense. I know Mlle. Smith won't "get" it.

Regarding Mlle. Smith's new relationship with M. Smith (haha), I wish Mlle. Peltz would shut her mouth and butt out. She was all probe-y and asking a bunch of invasive questions like it was her own relationship. She's a nice person, she just needs to talk slower so she can filter what she has to say.

I've been very inspired to open up my mind lately and I've been reading poems and scientific findings as well as watching videos of philosophical ideas and how things work. I've learned how the heart works and what Charles Bonnet syndrome is. My brother got curious and started to watch it with me.

We've determined that he also has synesthesia. His is the one where numbers have personalities. At first, I thought he wasn't, so I was like, "Oh, guess you're not special like me after all." But we kept reading anyways, and he pointed at that particular one and asked if it had to be the exact same thing. No, and he told me about how he thought that the number three was the strongest while the number nine looks most like a nice guy and stuff like that.

Mlle. Connelly told me that she got her period on Prom night. At first, I was like, "That sucks. Thanks for sharing." But then she was like, "No. No. That's good." Then I remembered how her boyfriend wanted to have sex with her on Prom night. He booked the hotel and everything even though she didn't want to. At the prom, when she had to leave, I was trying to stall her because I knew she didn't want to go where she was going. But I'm glad she didn't have to go through with it. I do not like her boyfriend at all. He seemed dumb to me before. Now he just seems like a dumb pig or a dumb bear. He wanted them to get married in the future. Oh, God, no.

For some reason, I can see Kaylyn being stalked and killed if she breaks up with him. But then again, I'm quite opposite of a psychic. Events most often unfold in the exact opposite directions of my predictions. I hope to God that this is NOT an exception.

M. Dow and I talked again today. Surprise surprise. About his girlfriend, girls in general, the type of people that girls are attracted to, the image of a musician, dating a musician, being synesthetic, moral dilemmas, being stranded on an island, and different kinds of love. With the last one, I asked which was more important to him in a romantic relationship, and he had to pick between intimacy and passion. He chose passion, and I asked why. He said, "The two of us are intimate now, but we don't have passion for each other. And if we don't have passion, we're not really in a romantic relationship." But he also said that intimacy was also an important factor in a romantic relationship since it would just be lust if intimacy was absent. It would get tiring fast if it was just lust, and then one person would get obsessive and possessive.

I was looking through all the types of love, and I think I would end up being and being with a storgic lover--a lover that is derived from friendship. With this kind of love, my intimacy level would be very high, but then I would forgo passion in exchange.

My mother was a pragmatic lover. In a sense, everyone is a pragmatic lover, I think, but my mother more so than other. She chose my father because she figured he would be able to provide for her financially. She also chose him because she was a lot more attractive than he was and people who attach themselves to less attractive partners are less likely to be cheated on. Plus, she was already thirty, and her biological clock was ticking. As typical of a pragmatic lover, she viewed sex as a mean of procreation. Through religion, she views children as liabilities, but, secularly speaking, she views us as assets that will provide for her later on in life. That said, she's also an agapic lover toward her children. "The advantage of agapic love is its generosity. A disadvantage is that it can induce feelings of guilt or incompetence in a partner. In its deviant form, agape becomes martyrdom."


I won't fall in to the same trap. I won't have an unhappy marriage. I won't force my daughters to endure my unhappiness and disappointment in love through the form of excessive protectiveness and devotion. I won't have the same financial needs because I will provide my own   stability. I won't choose an ugly guy because I do not want to risk my children being ugly, like my mother did, and subject them a life of insecurity. I will have my own life independent of my children. I will have a passionate relationship with my husband. I will let my children grow as people because they are people and not clay that can be molded into whichever way.

"A pregnant woman leading a group of people out of a cave on a coast is stuck in the mouth of that cave. In a short time high tide will be upon them, and unless she is unstuck, they will all be drowned except the woman, whose head is out of the cave. Fortunately, (or unfortunately,) someone has with him a stick of dynamite. There seems no way to get the pregnant woman loose without using the dynamite which will inevitably kill her; but if they do not use it everyone will drown. What should they do?"

This is one of the moral dilemmas that M. Dow and I talked about. Before, I kept wavering between the choices, but once I showed M. Dow, before he could react, I immediately found the solution. It's heartless, actually, but if it means that the majority and I get to survive, I will sacrifice the weak and defenseless. I feel so horrible typing those words. Sure, there's a 98% chance that I will use the dynamite or allow someone else to use it on the pregnant woman without protesting because it's the logical thing to do to preserve the highest number of lives, but I don't know if I'd escape emotionally scarred from that.

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.

A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.

So I kind of told my mom that living with her restraints me. Oops. Big. Mistake.

She didn't get mad. She just started saying stuff and then crying. Of course, I started crying way before because I'm a huge-ass big baby. She takes it like I'm rejecting her, but I'm not! I just need room to grow.

But after a shower, she just kind of went on like normally. Then we drove to LA and she was just telling me a bunch of stuff, but it was weird cause it was just really normal. I hope she realizes that I need room to grow and just kind of supports me for it. I hope she's NOT keeping for future fights.

Other than that, the day went fine. She even suggested that we take yoga classes in the summer together.

I think the reason why she took it so hard is because I'm her favorite child and now I'm saying I don't want to live with her. I know I'm her favorite child because she told me when she thought I was sleeping. It's nice to be the favorite child, the subject of all of her stories, but sometimes it feels like she's molding me into an extension of herself.

The other day, I read this article in Vogue (like, the one that came out in 2008) about how having a beautiful mother affects the author's upbringing and choices. Well, the mother was extremely beautiful and sought after, like mine, and she was always going on about how beauty wasn't important, like mine does. The mother in the article always acted like she was unaware of her beauty, but the author witnessed how long it took for her to pick the perfect dress, to do her hair, to moisturize her skin...just the extend that the mother goes to to preserve her beauty while saying it didn't matter. Mine's not like that. She doesn't take good care of herself like she should. Anyways, the author resented her mother for saying that beauty didn't matter so often, because she felt like her mother was only saying that because the author herself wasn't beautiful. Story of my life. The author then kind of rejects her mother and all that she stands for; she embraces literature and politics, stuff that her father, a literary critic or whatever, was into. So they would be debating stuff at the dinner table and the mother would be completely shut out. Okay, that's not going to work with my mother because my mother wasn't always beautiful. In fact, she told me that she was really ugly up until after puberty...at about 18, 19ish. So, before that, she had to rely on her brain to get what she wanted, and she got a lot because she was clever and witty. And then she got beautiful.

And there's me, who's dull and unintelligent. Saying that I'm pretty is a bit of stretch. I'm just hoping I'll turn beautiful before I turn 30, because, as everybody knows, that's when you get old and decrepit. Yeah, I'm not wearing a wedding dress after 30 because then I'll be an old bride and an old mother and my daughter won't be as smart because eggs would be too old. Omigosh, what if my daughter is stupid?

Anyways, I'm definitely going to change my name. I've talked it over with my mother and she heartily approves. Khue Tu. I don't know if I like that sound of that. It has a great meaning though. Khue Tu, in Sino-Vietnamese, is a literary name for the brightest star in the sky. I looked it up, and it said that it's actually comprised of a bunch of stars (no wonder it's brightest). She gave that name to because she wanted me to outshine the people around me...someone others can look up to. Khue is also a lady's bedchamber. Back when noble ladies are kept inside, the bedchamber is only opened to those of great importance...so she wants me to be selective of those whom I give my happiness to (oh, God, if that sentence doesn't make any sense, I'm sorry), and be elegant and graceful and accomplished ("A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern language, to deserve the word" and "To all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading."--Jane Austen) as those ladies who inhabit those chambers. Tu is generally a very masculine name, like Tuan Tu (I used to have crush on this kid with this name...first grade), which means handsome and intelligent with abilities to lead. So...in a very sexist society, my mother gave me the name Tu, hoping that I will take on good traits of the male species and lead those who need leading, like my future pets (JK.)

Tomorrow, my mother, Mlle. Smith, and I are going to Irvine for UCI Discovery Day. Yay! I'm excited. Then we're going to a massage place afterward. Hopefully it'll all go well.

I can think of more stuff that get me excited:

WINTER CLOTHES!

He who trims himself to suit everyone will soon whittle himself away.

My mother has decided to move to Irvine my sophomore year at college. Lovely. There goes the plan that Mlle. Johnston and I have about moving into an apartment together sophomore year. I sure don't want to live with my mom. I'm super sure Mlle. Johnston doesn't as well. I mean, this is our time to live, but she keeps trying to interfere and not letting me live. She's had her chance at life. Let me have mine. Youth only happens once.

Speaking of youth, I've just finished a book. Rebbecca by Daphne du Maurier. It's an okay book with wonderful descriptions of a country estate called Manderley. It sounds so lovely to be so rich and living in such a decadent place, to have a drawing room and a morning room. I am especially in love with the scene where the unnamed heroine enters the morning room, the place where her husband's beautiful first wife Rebbecca always spends her morning writing letters and managing the estate. She describes the ornaments and decorations in the room, and then the descriptions of the writing desk comes up. Gosh, it seems like such a great desk, with labels such as "Unanswered Letters", "Invitations", "Parties", and "Misc.". And then the scene where the unnamed heroine stumbles upon the bedroom in the west wing (she stays in the east wing), and sees how the crazy housekeeper Mrs. Danvers has kept Rebbecca's room in a way that suggests that the owner is still alive. There is the ante-room which has a closet full of beautiful dresses in multitude of materials. I could have died and went to heaven right then.

And then there's Rebbecca.

My ideal beautiful woman is always one with black (blackest of black) tumbling past her shoulders. Always. Then, if her skin is dark, then she would have almond eyes (black or green, it doesn't matter). But if she has pale skin, then she has the kind that is almost white, but not quite. Her eyes, then, would be icy, icy blue. Rebbecca has the hair of the beautiful woman in my mind. She's tall and slim and beautiful, not to mention witty and clever and very, very charismatic and charming. She sails and rides and entertains while looking lovely beyond belief. And then we find out she's a nymphomaniac who has sex all the time and enjoys telling her husband, who hates her, about it to provoke him. She's manipulative and deceitful, mocking those around her for believing in her facade. When I was reading, I was very drawn toward her (not in a homosexual way, of course), but I always feel giddy when a beautiful girl or woman or house or room or dress or outfit or closet or scene that has some kind of a natural water source is described. It's weird. I just can't explain it. Oh, yeah, and floor plans! That stuff turns me on. Not in a weird way, of course. It just gets me really excited.

Mlle. Johnston wants to hangout during Spring Break, and, of course, I can't because my mother is incredibly anal. The topic of my prom dress came up and I told her that it would be $200 (it's actually $300. I always tell her that I spend less money that I really do), and she almost flipped out. She was like, "$200? Why are you so extravagant? Why don't you just borrow one of [my cousin's] dress?" Um...because, one, a long dress costs at least $200 and a good one costs at least $600. Mlle. Hatfield got one for $400 and it wasn't even that good looking. Mine's going to be so much better. I'd rather spend a wee bit more money on something I love than spending any at all on something I don't care about, but that's beside the point because I'm spending less than most people anyways. Two, because it's my own money? Three, because she and I don't wear the same size? Four, who borrows a dress for Prom? That's like borrowing a wedding dress. Who does that? Certainly not me. I would not get married if I couldn't wear my own wedding dress.

Actually, sophomore year, I decided that I wasn't going to marry, but then I thought about it and I really really really want to have my own wedding dress, so I decided to marry after all. Yeah, so...she's ridiculous! I'm paying for it with my own money! Why is she even complaining? Everyone else's parents are paying for theirs and they actually go shopping with their daughter.

Ugh. Talking about this makes me feel so suffocated and oppressed. I wish time flies faster.

If minutes were kept of a family gathering, they would show that "Members not Present" and "Subjects Discussed" were one and the same.

I can feel my nonchalance wearing off. I got rejected from NYU ( I KNOW!) but got deferred to NYU Poly, which, in a sense, is an extension of NYU, but it does not have my major: Neuroscience. I can always take Biomedical Engineering, but that's not what I want. I'm so freaked out and depressed.

Barnard will reject me, I know it, yet somewhere in the back of my mind, there's still foolish hopes and dreams that they won't. I feel like crying right now because if I don't get in, I'll have to go to UC Davis or NYU Poly. I don't know. Things would just untangle if I get into Barnard.

My mother thinks I want to go as far away as possible since I'm choosing Davis over Irvine and applied to all those schools on the East Coast. No duh. I want out, and getting into Barnard will give me the ticket. That's why it's so so so very important for Barnard to accept me. Everything about it is just perfect, and it just needs to accept me.

My mom's forcing me to go to Irvine now. That's complete BS. I'm going to be living there for four years and I need to like where I'll be. I don't want to finally escape her and be reeled back on weekends just like that. I hate Irvine so much more now just because she endorses it.

My dad is on my side. For now. I hope he'll remain on my side and not go off to the dark side.

Everyday, I see girls who do normal things, like going out with friends and talking on the phone, and things that they love doing, like dancing, and I get incredibly jealous because their families support what they do. I have to do this, I have to do that. When I offer an opinion, I'm told it's not appreciated because I'm too young and naive to have an opinion on everything. When I ask to participate in something I like, it's disregarded as being unnecessary. She hates it when I go out with friends and would give me a hard time about it. When I do volunteer stuff, she would rush me home or comment on how often I do it. I hate that.

But to be fair, I mean, I can see where she's coming from. She's raised in a family-centric culture, so me going out with friends and stuff is weird for her. I mean, she has friends, but she hung out with her sisters more since there are like, six of them. She also grew up poor which strengthens familial bonds because people who go through tough time together bond because they have the same common enemy: adversity.  She was more intelligent than all of my aunts, so she saw things differently and knew that she was different then the other girls who only lived to doll themselves up. Beauty fades, but knowledge remains, so she always pushes her children to get the best education they possibly can.

When I was growing up, I was a funny looking child. I'm skinny to the point where looks bony ever since I could remember, so growing up, I was a little bit on the uglier side compared to my two cousins of the same age, who grew up all pretty. My sister, who was supposed to support me, made sure that I knew I was ugly whenever I tried to make myself pretty and would always try to get on my cousins' good side. Well, I turned to studying because that was what I was good at, and that was how I got attention, but I isolated myself in the process. No one seems to be on my wavelength, but they're on on each other's, so it's like I'm an outsider in my own family anyways. But with that education, I know--hope, wish, pray--that there is more to life that just studying for years and years and years to become a doctor only to put it on hold to start a family. I don't want that for myself. I want something different. I want to travel, to feast my eyes on the wonderful world around me so I have something to look back at when I'm older. But traveling means ripping myself from the family.

She just condemns me for trying to break apart, but she's done the same thing! She moves us up here, an hour and a half--without traffic--away from where the main family lives. I've seen how clingy and intrusive it is. My cousins' relationships are forever under attack from the aunts, my mother included, simply because the girls are not who they have chosen. I don't want my boyfriend to have to go through that. I don't want to look back on my relationships and wonder if things would have been better if they'd let us be.

Well, actually, I'd just realized something. I'm not an emotional person, but I've been crying non-stop since nine. It is now about half past eleven. You know what this mean? I'm getting my period pretty soon. Goddamn it.

I think this is actually not as complicated as it seems. I just need to get into Barnard and all the problems would be solved.

So, Barnard, please please please please please accept me.

Many a young lady does not realize just how strong her love for a young man is until he fails to pass the approval test with her parents.

I had the most enjoyable dream last night. So...apparently, I made plans with Mlle. Connelly (at least I think it was her) to have a photo shoot after school. Everything was all well and good until M. Lythgoe needed me to do him a favor. I couldn't remember what it was, but I remember Mlle. Connelly (who knows about my little thing with M. Lythgoe) urging me to forget the shoot and just go with M. Lythgoe. So I did. Then I remember a string of back-and-forth messages between him and I, and soon it was obvious that he was very enamoured with me. Then he invited me--last minute--to attend his birthday celebration which includes lunch at In-and-Out and then spending the next day at Disneyland. I was reluctant to go because I didn't really know the other people going well (when I woke up, I realized that the names of the people he listed were the Sims living in my neighborhood! Imagine that!), but he insisted that I go. I got caught up in something and couldn't make it to the lunch. He was disappointed but told me to meet him at his house at midnight since his parents were taking the load of us to Disneyland. Well, I woke up and showered, only to be told that it was already 1:47 AM. So, I phoned him and said I wouldn't be making it. He told me that it was alright and that he was waiting for me anyways. Then I realized that I didn't know where his house was. Then I woke up.

Sure, it's not that exciting, but being in a dream where I am deeply loved and cherished makes it hard for me to wake up in the morning, especially when I have to wake up at five to finish my homework. I love those dreams. I remember when I was enamoured with Ben Barnes after watching the second Narnia movie.

God, we were in serious love. Compared to my previous love dreams, this is is barely anything. The other ones make me feel empty afterward. Like the one with Ben Barnes, I felt like I lost something for about three days.

But the ironic thing about this dream is that today is the day that M. Lythgoe is asking Mlle. Pillado.

Okay, so possible explanations:

• Mlle. Connelly and Mlle. Karch and I have agreed to go running with each other at least once a week to get ready for prom. I seriously need to tone my legs. So, all that planning with Mlle. Karch the night before must have gotten me to this part of the dream.
• And then the portrait photo shoot is pretty explanatory.
• M. Lythgoe just seems to occupy my mind much more often now that I know he's going with someone else. Asshole.
• His friends (my Sims) are the result of playing the Sims 3 the night before.
• I don't know the part about In-and-Out, but I do know that the lunch thing is from forever forgetting to get my ID card stamped for the off-campus lunch pass thing.
• And Disneyland is because I've never been there and that Grad Night this year will be at Six Flags instead of Disneyland.

Yup. That's about it, I think, for the dream.

Today, I went jogging around the neighborhood. I jogged for three minutes and ran out of breathe. It felt like my throat was infected and on fire. But I kept jogging down the huge hill, and then I walked it back up. My upper thighs hurt when I move now. I'm kind of glad that I went kind of late because, even though there were cars, nobody honked at me today. I don't know why is it that guys honk when they see girls walking. This car, this one time, honked and then the guy from the passenger seat stuck his head out the windows and stared at me until the car disappeared. Um, WTF? Like, how do you expect us to respond when you honk? Wave? I don't think so.

I finished my first gouache painting today. I must admit that even though I do like it, I also find it less satisfactory that what I imagined the effect would be. I think it is because I don't have enough white space so it looks extremely mediocre.

My mother is so ridiculous. She wants to bring this country girl from Vietnam over to match-make her with my eldest cousin, who was born and raised here. Seriously? They'll have nothing in common! It's a match made in hell. Then she wants my brother--who is currently 12--to do the same! What the eff? NO. By that time, I'll be an adult and I'll be on his side, telling her how ridiculous she is. She always says white girls spend their husbands' money, black girls have ugly babies, Mexican girls have too many fat babies, and Filipino girls are lazy and ugly, and that only true Vietnamese girls are the best because they take care of their families. She forgets about their other good traits too: possessiveness, gossipy, nosy, and unreasonable. My brother and I will marry the people who will make us most happy, not the people who'll make her most happy. Like, she's so good at choosing potential spouse. The last thing I want is for my marriage to resemble my parents' in any way. Their marriage is ridiculous. Mine will never ever ever ever be like them. If it does turn out that way, I'd rather file for a divorce that have my daughter (or twin daughters) raised in such an abnormal and unhappy household.

I'm moving as far away as possible so she'll no longer have any say in my life.

Oh, yes, before I forget...the Calculus test that I felt good going into but thought I failed..that test, well, I got a D on it without the curve, but with the curve, I got a B!