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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

End of story.

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

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

Men get laid, but women get screwed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A dirty book is rarely dusty.

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

I need to buy waterproof make-up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To 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.

Women dress alike all over the world: they dress to be annoying to other women.

I was bored because Mlle. Jang was at a concert and M. Dow was busy sleeping off his crazy and sex-filled night. I was on Chatroulette for a while.

Okay, so...I don't know why, but people keep thinking I was a GIF. Just to be amused, I ask them to demonstrate that they too aren't GIF by doing stupid things like hopping in a circle on one foot. Then the girls...Jesus...why is it that us girls are so mean to each other?

I got two instances when a girl with her friends flipped me off. I just ignored it and waited for her to move on. One did. The other didn't. She stayed and typed "ugly". I ignored it, put on my lipstick since this guy got tea and it got me to want to drink tea and drinking tea wears away the color, and wait for her to click NEXT. She didn't. Instead, she typed in "bitch". At this point, I was kind of annoyed, because she was UGLY. Like, I think girls are generally really pretty when others obviously don't think so, so when I think they're ugly, they're definitely super ugly. So I was like, "Are you jealous because you're ugly?"

Her face was priceless. It's so mean of me, but I felt so triumphant when I watched her face, right before I nexted her. That's kind of horrible of me, isn't it?

Then I went and talked to Mr. Inappropriate (A.K.A. Monsieur Peel), the funny drunk. I thought he'd been avoiding me because he was embarrassed by what he's done, but he was just actually very busy with work. He had a fun conversation today with him whispering at first. He then got a text from his flatmate to tell him to shut up. I talked and he typed after that. He's just very funny, but I don't think he'll live for a very long time. The man drinks all the time.

The reason I bring this up is because when we were talking, I guess I was being cheeky and he said, "If you weren't cute, I'd be annoyed with you." I've actually been feeling pretty all week, so I'm going to take things from that point of view. Attractive people get preferential treatment simply because they are easy on the eyes. It's not fair if you look at things from a plain person's perspective...actually, it's not fair PERIOD. But those who receive the preferential treatment obviously won't complain. The thing is...how long will it last? My skin won't be this tight forever. It'll lose elasticity. Gravity will eventually get to me. What happens then? Then I'll actually have to use my personality to attract people. How frightening considering the fact that I don't have a very attractive personality to begin with.

Wow. I wonder how I got on all these years.

M. Dow wanted us to do what we did the other day. But he was horny, so I acted as the sane one for the both of us and reminded him that we promised it wouldn't happen again. He logically agreed. Glad he did because

Mlle. Smith...I wonder what will become of her. I can't imagine her outside of Camarillo. What if she just finishes college, gets married to M. Smith (haha--but this is no laughing matter), stays in C-Town, and starts the cycle all over again? I hope not. There's definitely more to life than this provincial town and I hope she gets to experience it and not live the rest of her life out like my predictions.

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!

Seduction is always more singular and sublime than sex and it commands the higher price.

M. Dow suggests that I should seduce someone.

It's just that we were talking about how he has his girlfriend, and now Mlle. Smith has M. Smith (haha). He says I should just go out and seduce a boy and get experimental with him.

Well, you know, it's pretty easy for him to go and say, "Just seduce some guy you think is cute." He has all the experiences and none of the inhibitions. I have never done anything before, and I don't know if I like the thought of toying with someone's feeling to relieve my boredom and loneliness. It's not really loneliness, actually. Maybe it's the desire to be loved by the opposite sex. I don't know. It just seems like since everyone's coupled up, I just feel kind of left out--not really. Like, sure I want to be in the same lovey-dovey relationship and do lovey-dovey romantic stuff too, I guess.

Anyways, the most farthest I've ever gone with a boy is sitting by him on the bleachers. Like, side by side. Arms touching. I remember how his arm felt really warm to the point where it was almost hot. It seemed to last forever, which was nice, but once it was over, it was over way too quick. Yeah, so the point is, I wouldn't know what to do, being the seductress.

Thing is...when he said that, I immediately thought of M. Lythgoe. I could always try. There'd be no harm done. We'd never ever see each other again after graduation until our high school reunion which won't be upon us any time soon. By that time, we'll be able to either forget about it or to laugh off the stupidity of youth.

But, let's say that I do succeed and he ends up liking me, what happens next? He's restraint by his faith; I by my family. It's just not going to work out. Plus, M. Dow says he'll disown me as a friend if I get with a Mormon guy. The last part doesn't really matter, but it's not as simple as it seems. Nothing good will stem out of it. He's Mormon; we won't hold hands let alone make out. Do I really want to lead him on (like he's led me on) and just leave it unfulfilled like that?

No, I don't.

The other option is M. Ward, but if I'm not willing to hurt M. Lythgoe's feelings, I'm definitely do NOT want to wound M. Ward in anyway. He's deeper and more sensitive. Plus, he's a lot closer to me than M. Lythgoe, who I barely know. Why should I spare a stranger's feelings but not my friend's?

Our Steak Night is on Thursday, right after the second to last Art Show. I'm excited. It's going to be a juried show. I hope I at least get an Honorable Mention.

Tomorrow, we're all walking to Starbucks for the first two periods. Yup. Exciting stuff.

Now that I've started sharing things with Mlle. Jang, I've felt less lonely. Like, a lot less. Which is good. Anyways, I kind of helped her pick out an outfit for this concert she's going to next Friday: black blazer, white, patterned tank, black shorts, black tights, and black flats. That outfit's so me, but hopefully it'll look more her when she has it on since her body shape is not like mine.

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.

We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone.

Prom was yesterday! It got off to a boring start, but it was great. I had tons of fun and tons of compliments on my dress. Although, I have to admit, the slit was a tad too high, but it stands out that way. Plus, I could--and did--pull it off, if I do say so myself.

Mlle. Hatfield and I ended up being each other's date. We just kind of went everywhere together, me going to the bathroom multiple times to touch up my make up and her to the freaking drink place. We made fun of people with ugly dresses and feared for our future children's good taste.

Dancing was fun. I didn't expect to really get into it. It was so awkward at first because the other people were all grinding on each other while we were--or at least I was--trying to dance clean. I just felt to awkward on the dance floor with my high, high heels on. We could BARELY move. I really, really, really wanted to leave, but it was so cold, the only way for us to stay warm was to dance.

Luckily, Mlle. Corwin found us. She looked so hot and classy in her little black dress. It's time like that that makes me wish I have bigger boobs. Anyways, she pulled me and Mlle. Hatfield into the center. It was a lot easier to dance in the center. Warmer too. Once I got used to it, it felt more natural.

Then I got into it and got better--in my humble opinion, at least--and it got really fun. Mlle. Hatfield and I usually dance with each other. We later found Mlles. Jang, Tran (the Elder), Macias, and Lopez. Dancing felt good, which is a given since physical exertions release endorphins, and endorphins make you happy. Anyways, Mlle. Hatfield and I were dancing all night long.

We're definitely going clubbing next year. I've been missing out, man. It just felt so so so great! Like, I'm letting go of most of my inhibitions. The flashing lights feel warm on my face--even though that's not possible. It's just very hypnotic. Like, nothing else matter. I'm both relaxed and hyped at the same time.

I saw Mlle. Lythgoe, like, at most five times. He barely danced, and, when he did, he danced with his huge ass group. He got Prom Prince, but when it was time to dance with the Prom Princess...there was something going on. I didn't know what.

Anyways, there were a bunch of people not dancing. They just sat there. And there were some who were texting on and off the dance floor. I don't know about you, but I didn't pay all that money to look pretty sitting down and texting while everyone else had fun.

We went to Denny's afterward, Mlles. Macias and Hatfield and I, and had some thing to eat. It was crowded  there, and when I was walking to our table, these guys from the table next to us just all turned and looked at once. Not obvious at all. Then when I left for the bathroom, this guy on the way there, turned his whole body around and just watched blatantly as I walked toward him. When we were at Denny's, I was way tired and way beyond caring. So, the whole time, I made eye contact with him as I walked. Looking back, that was probably the shittiest idea in the history of shitty ideas.

We went on Chatroulette afterward at my house till five in the morning. This guy said we were pretty. As a joke, I was like, which one? He said the one in the middle, which was me. Haha. That makes me happy.

But, the thing about Prom that really got me disillusioned was how many people were grinding and dancing dirty. It just looked so wrong...a girl dancing close to a boy, and he holds her and kind of guides her butt to totally stimulate himself. It's dirty and disgusting and it makes the girl seem like a sexual object whose whole purpose is to be a stimulant for the boys. I don't like that. Not one bit. It's almost sex, but people do it out in the open for other people to see.

Why are we so obsessed with sex? It's all over the media. Artists who don't have any talent can just BS a few verses about sex and make tons of money while people who actually have talents don't get the same recognition. Little kids are wrapped up in it. It's messed up. It is no longer just a human instinct to procreate and preserve the human race; it's a pleasure, a past time. I don't know. I don't know what to think.

Maybe it's just the way sex is represented by the media that turns me off. I hate how women are viewed as objects for MEN to assert their masculinity. Fuck that. If that's really sex, I'm joining a convent.

But I've talked to people--guys--who don't see it like that--thank God. The guy from London--the one that advised me to masturbate--talked of sex like it's a way that further connects two people in a relationship. M. Dow also talks about it that way--and that's saying something since he's such an asshole. M. Dow also says that it brings two people closer. He also tells me bunch of things that I dare not repeat because of the inappropriate nature of those statements. I just hope that I meet men like M. Dow and the guy from London--I'm going to give him a name...let's see...oh, this is hard...how about Guy from London Who Also Likes Ed Sheeran?--and not pigs like Little Wayne and all those good-for-nothings.

M. Dow called me today right after Mlles. Macias and Hatfield left. We talked for an hour or two. I asked him about the limitation of the things we could talk about now that he had a girlfriend. We obviously can't talk so explicitly about sex anymore, but we could always talk about life. He told me about the theory scientists are postulating where the human DNA was altered in a way that would explain the small time gap that human had to evolved from apes or whatever to humans. Interesting stuff. I told him about Prom and grinding and stuff. We talked about his new girlfriend. He thinks she's not on the same level intellectually. He says they don't have much to talk about when they're not flirting and teasing each other. I tell him to talk to her about things like he talks to me, but he says that she won't understand. I feel like he's almost afraid to have girls know the deeper, less go-lucky side of him.

I'm leaning heavily toward atheism now. Do I really believe it or am I just easily persuaded?

I'm also thinking of not waiting till marriage. Like, 10% for not waiting. I've told M. Dow and M. Giusti and they both said I had to make that decision myself. Then M. Dow and I got into a really, really good conversation for about two hours. But then I don't remember how, but he said that he didn't feel any attachment to anybody in his life. Like, deep attachment.

I mean, I understand cause that's how it is with me. To me, right now, relationships are like balloons on flimsy strings. They could float away for all I care. Heck, I'd throw them all away if it comes down to that. I thought I was a lonely person, but the way he described his loneliness made me cry because it's so much more intense than mine. Like, I've seen bits and pieces of this side before, but this time it really got to me. He thinks that everyone's replaceable, and he too is replaceable in other people's lives. I tell him that I wish that he'll find somebody who he won't feel this lonely with. He's convinced that he won't find that person since he's drawn to innocence; he wants to cuddle with cute, sweet, and affectionate girls, and he doesn't think they can handle that kind of thing. He says that I wouldn't even talk to him if he was ugly and/or fat, that I was just drawn to him because of his outer shell, like everyone else.

For an egoist, happy-go-lucky person, he certainly didn't seem like it at all. Is that what happen to attractive people? Do they doubt their own substance because they suspect that people are attracted to them because of their looks? What happens when a person's inside does not match his/her outside but his/her outside is doing a good job of attracting the "right" kind of mates?

My head hurt. I haven't been able to think straight all day. It took me hours just to write this post.

Mlle. Smith and M. Smith (haha) have finally made it Facebook official.

Remember, we all stumble, every one of us. That's why it's a comfort to go hand in hand.

I wonder if I live vicariously through M. Dow. I sure hope not. He's a pleasant person to talk to, but I'd hate to become obsessively attached to him.

At first, I showed him songs from Amelie and he showed me classical music and this screamo song that was actually pretty good. Then...

We discussed his kinky sexual habits. Jesus, he's very adventurous and experimental between the sheets. And on the other end of the spectrum, there are people like me.

We went from there and got to the topic of marriage. I said I didn't want to not get married because then I would feel like my relationship wasn't stable. He said if he could find a compatible person, he would marry her if that's what she wanted. He said he'd married me if I wanted; he did admit that the scenario was far fetch but not impossible. I said we wouldn't be compatible. He said he thought that we were. I said that he'd be the one thinking for the two of us while I'd be in the corner just following along. He said that he was trying to get me to think for myself, but I could feel his influence whether he extended them or not.

I swear to God, he looks so clean cut and innocent, like someone I would bring home to meet the parents, but he's totally not. Like, my parents would be fooled and they would love him though. The bunch of them don't like black people, are homophobic, don't believe in welfare, and think whites and Asians are the best. Plus, he's atheist and he's a musical genius, so it's perfect. My mother would love him.

Except I feel like he's leading me down the road of depravity. He doesn't believe in honor. He believes that we were born simply to have children to preserve the human race, and everything else in life is just decorations. Well, that's lovely, but having children is definitely not my main goal in life. I believe in honor. I definitely believe in honor.

Speak of which, I found out today that Mlle. Connelly, who is Catholic and was supposed to wait for marriage, actually had already had sex. Like, she was reluctant, but the way she told it was like he pressured her into doing it. She said their whole relationship was based on sex. She told me to wait and that she regretted not waiting.

It just seems like we are forced to grow up too fast. M. Dow says sex isn't a big deal, and yeah, it's convincing when it's told from a guy's perspective and over the Internet. But here is my good friend, one of us, a part of me, being forced and pressured into having sex. I don't think girls can separate affection from sex like guys can. It's just not the same. I know I'm not the most authoritative person to speak about this subject, but I don't like it. Not one bit. I said she should dump him. She's too good for him. He'll only cripple her and drag her down.

So...M. Lythgoe. What is up with that kid? The office girl came today in math class to deliver notes, and M. Lythgoe got one. Yeah, so what? Big deal. But he let out a loud "whoot." I couldn't help but turned around and looked. He made eye contact with me and looked at me as he smiled and said, "I'd never gotten one before." Of course, I couldn't help it and smiled, but I averted my eyes and returned to my task. He left the class. While he was gone, the class was broken up into groups of four to work on the FRQ's from last week's AP Test (oh, God. Why couldn't we just left it be?). He came back and joined my group even though my group already had four people while Mlle. Pillado's group only had three. I didn't talk to him much because I resolved to give him the cold shoulder when I found out he asked Mlle. Pillado to Prom. Mme. Kennedy later took him from our group and had him form another group with Mlle. Yun from our class to work on the last problem.

I hate how boys give mixed signals. Either you like me or you don't. Stop jerking my chains. But that's okay if he tries because I won't let him disturb my chains the second time around.

I am now friends with M. Reyniers on Facebook. Yup. Exciting news.

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:

Sometimes we're so concerned about giving our children what we never had growing up, we neglect to give them what we did have growing up.

M. Dow and I talked again today. Surprise surprise.

It's kind of amazing that I can talk to him about anything. Like, I never thought that I could open up to another human being like that. Especially a boy. Especially a boy like M. Dow.

I told him about some of the things I've wrote about on this blog. About how I sometimes feel like I have no identity; like, I don't know who I am. I know I'm supposed to be, but I don't want to be that person. I've told someone that as long as I keep up my facade, it'll continue to act as a shell to cover the emptiness that's inside. It's sad to think that I'm empty inside. I have my mother imposing her will on me at home, and I have expectations for me at school.

I can't wait until next year, where I'll be away from my mother, friends, and their expectations, and just start growing as a person. I'm already 18. I thought this transformation was supposed to be done and over with.

I have a friend, Mlle. Karch, who is amazingly intelligent and beautiful, except she doesn't think so. She always says that I am pretty, and she always looks like she's embarrassed about herself when she says it. Like, I just so so so glad that no matter how intelligent she is, she still can't read minds. If we were to strip down, bare and naked; no clothes with flattering cuts, no tights that accentuate lengths, no sweaters that conceal curves, no make-up, nothing...we wouldn't even be on the same level. It's weird to think of people looking at me when I'm unclothed, but I just feel like they wouldn't give me a second glance if that was the case. Like, I'm not a lesbian or a bisexual or anything, but I even get amazed, and I'm a girl. She doesn't even wear make-up, and sometimes when we're talking, I'd just interrupt her and say, "You're so pretty; I'm jealous."

But thank God we live in a shallow and materialistic world where minor tricks and gimmicks mask emptiness and ugliness. But only for a while. I seriously need to grow as a person.

M. Dow told me that I was interesting to talk to when I told him all that. I was like, "WHAT?! I know you're sleepy, but if you're that delirious, go to bed." He says he likes talk to me because I'm a contemplative person and he likes to hear my thoughts. I like to hear my thoughts too. When I try to voice them, they come out awkward. He sums it up nice and tidy for me.

I wonder how long our little thing will last? He must get bored of talking to such an insecure girl sooner or later, and he already told me earlier that he found insecurity very unattractive.

I thought I was done with the headband craze (I owned more than ten different headbands at the beginning of this year; that number is gradually decreasing thanks to a little thing call inertia), but now I seriously want to buy more headbands. Like, no joke.

Guess who I parked next to today at the place to take the Calc. AP test? Who else but M. Lythgoe and his giant-ass truck? He keeps looking at me. If he has something to say, he should say it.