Love is the answer, but while you are waiting for the answer, sex raises some pretty good questions.

I find out who my roommate is today. She sounds like a very nice person, but she's not that cute and M. Paff's roomie isn't cute either so my plan to get with his roomie and get M. Paff with my roomie and have each couple use a room kind of fails really bad. But she sounds like a really nice person, and I'm really glad that I'm not rooming with a bitch.

M. Paff. Oh my gosh. Whenever we webcam, which we do all the time, I just wanna kiss him. Which is weird because I don't like him. He's not attracted to me AT ALL. And he thinks all these ugly girls are prettier than me. Okay, I know I'm not the most gorgeous girl out there, but MY GOD, REALLY? I'm decent looking. Christ.

My mother wants me to not have any kind of life whatsoever in college. Well, Mother, we'll see about that.

M. Paff wants me to hook him up with a girl. I agree and once I'm done with that, we're sneaking through the cemetery. Yup. I wanna sneak through one at night before I die.

Mlle. K. Nguyen is gonna be in my hall on my floor! Wheeee! That girl cracks me up. No joke. Funniest person alive.

I move in on the 17th of September, two hours before M. Paff moves in. I think I'm going alone since my parents are gonna be busy, so I've asked M. Paff to come early and help me move in.

I've talked to Mlle. Johnston on Skype today. I miss her.

I hope to stand firm enough to not go backward, and yet not go forward fast enough to wreck the country's cause.

Okay, so my mom keeps mentioning M. Paff. She keeps saying how he looks so nice, and I'm just thinking to myself, "His hands are really nice too." And she thinks we should be friends, and I'm just like, "Oh, you have no idea." She's just saying that. Once she knows he's my friend she'll feel threatened. She thinks which ever boy I decide to date will lead me away from her.

Trust me, I don't need a boy to do that.

So M. Paff got me addicted to League of Legend. Yay. We play together online, and this game totally explains why he's gone reticent. It's a full-screen game and it's a pain to check Skype while you're in game, so what we do is call each other and turn off the videos and just play.

Yes, it's very nerdy. Haha.

Mlle. Johnston's all moved in. So is my cousin and Mlle. Hatfield, who came over the other day to give me my graduation present. It was incredibly awkward because there was really nothing to talk about because I've been hanging out with Mlle. Johnston so much more than I have with her, and everyone knows those two hate each other. So Mlle. Johnston calls me at dinner because she's lonely and I'm like, "You need to hang up the phone and make friends. Like, now." And she says we have to Skype later. So she Skypes me and says that she's made two new friends and one of them is Vietnamese and that I have nothing to worry about because the Vietnamese girl is nothing like me and she likes me so much better. Well, I'm glad.

Speaking of high school friends, Mlle. Yasakova's recently decided to reconnect. Are you serious? No, I'm out of high school and I want nothing to do with that drama. Nonononno. I'm done. You ditched me. It's nice that you want to reconnect and make nice, but I'm done. I'm over it and I've already moved on. I'm way gone, actually.

I saw M. T. Bland (the twin that I didn't have a crush on) the other day at McDonald's. He was working there and he saw me and he looked happy, you know, like, yay, someone I know. I was like, "HEY...can I get a big Mac?" and he got confused and disappointed because I guess he was expecting more of a greeting than that. Oh, god. I definitely screwed that up. Oh, Jesus, I did. We asked each other about college and stuff. Then later, my brother went and ordered a smoothie or whatever, but the cashier gave him the wrong one, so M. T. Bland saw his hesitation and asked me if something was wrong, and then he fixed it for us. That was really nice. When I left, I said "bye" to make up for my awkward greeting.

He has no enemies, but is intensely disliked by his friends.

So my mother was stalking my Facebook last night and found out that I listed "Atheism" as my religious affiliation or whatever, and she freaked out! And then today, she's like, "So...that boy from Chino Hills who's going to UCI with you looks very nice/cute." I'm like, freaking out on the inside while I think of all the things that link me and M. Paff together on Facebook. There's one picture of us. That's about it. And I'm like, "How do you know him?" Oh, I just STALK YOUR FACEBOOK. No biggie.


I've resolved to not talk to M. Paff if he doesn't talk to me, but when I get home, he greets me with a funny/playful hello and I tell him about my mother's stalking. Then it gets quiet after that. Then I'm like, "Maybe it's just me, but sometimes you seem like you want to talk, but when I talk to you, it seems like you don't want to anymore." He says I'm being paranoid and I should stop freaking out. I'm trying! Believe me, I am.


Then we talk--okay, more I talk--for a bit more before he says he needs to go do something and that he's telling me now so I won't flip out. Well, thanks for the heads up.

I'm glad this is over. Jesus, it was a pain in the ass.

Then I talk to M. Dow for an hour. Like, we haven't really talk-talked for a while. We've been IMming on Skype, but not like, a sit down and talk thing. It's nice to talk to him again. He's fun, and I like that.

Then I talk to Mlle. Jang for a little bit. She's reading this and she knows what we talked about so there's no point in repeating it.

Then M. Paff and I actually talk for a little bit before he goes to bed. You know...about time!

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?

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.

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.

A friend knows the song in my heart and sings it to me when my memory fails.

M. Dow's gotten a girlfriend! He looked so happy when he was telling me how he asked her. It was very cute! I'm incredibly jealous. He usually smiles, but that day he just seems to smiles brighter the whole time we talked. Very, very jealous. He was like, "I finally have someone to cuddle with at night. Now we need to find someone for you to cuddle with." I was like, "Fat chance." I can't bring boys home, and, more importantly, I can't find anyone to really, really like.

When will I be that happy?

Speak of which, I went to the bank yesterday to exchange money for my mother. While there, I also wanted to take my mother off of my account so she couldn't see my expenses. So, the lady at the counter called this really cute guy over to help me. I was smooth, like I usually am, losing my debit card despite having it five seconds ago, dropping my phone on the ground, and sucking on a dumdum like a little child. Then I told him what I wanted to do, and he had to verify some information, like address, phone number, etc...but once he got to my school, he was like, "[My high school]? What do you do there?"

I was like, "Um...go to school?"

Then he asked me where I was going next year, and I was like, "UC Irvine."

I don't know, I just feel like whenever I say I'm going to UC Irvine, I feel like everyone just automatically thinks, "Of course. An Asian girl going to an Asian school." That's what I thought I saw in his eyes when I told him. Anyways, he asked what I was going to study, and I was like, "Oh, biomedical engineering."

He looked impressed and asked if there was a company in the area I wanted to work for. I was like, "Well, I'm actually trying to get out of the area. New York...Europe...you name it and there's a good chance I want to go there." Then he got really excited and said that he was super stoked that Chase had plans to go international soon, which means that he could visit other countries.

Anyways, the whole thing with taking my mother off the account didn't work out because she would have to be present and signed this thing where she agreed to be taken off my account. Yeah, that's not gonna work. He said to just explain it to her, but I told him that he didn't know my mother.

What I'm doing is closing down my account and creating a new one. Problem solved. He gave me his business card so I could call him when I decide to open the new account. His name is Monsieur P. Southerland.

I'll definitely call. If I still have the business card, of course.

I've given Mlle. Jang the link to this blog, which means more censoring. Unless I can get her to stop reading it until the end. On the flip side, I've told M. Giusti that I am recanting my promise of giving him the link. I just feel uncomfortable with him knowing some things about me. I just feel like he's judging me and disappointed in seeing the real, nasty version come out. I just feel like he's put me on this pedestal for so long, imagining that I'm this lovely, kind, and innocent little girl that will always stay that way.

I don't need another copy of my mother, thank you very much.

I actually had a really good conversation with Mlle. Jang yesterday. She just seems more open than Mlle. Smith. Mlle. Smith seems increasingly close-minded to me now. I think we've outgrown each other. I have increasingly find myself without things to say to her because of that. There's really not much to talk about anymore. She finds it weird that I keep in touch with some of the guys on Chatroulette. She thinks I'm crazy for believing in the correlations between chemicals one's body produces and attraction even though it's scientifically backed.

On the other hand, Mlle. Jang laughs at stupid stuff with me. She listens to my stories about M. Dow without judging. Mlle. Tran the Younger listens too. I like that.

Talking about friendship makes me think of the other day when we were talking about weddings and our bridal parties. Mlle. Jang asked if Mlle. Smith would be my maid of honor, and I immediately said "no" without thinking. I feel bad because Mlle. Smith looked a bit hurt, but at least she was still a bridesmaid. I BS-ed my way out of that one, saying that I needed someone who wasn't wishy-washy, and Mlle. Smith said she understood.

That's not why. I'm constantly on the lookout for a candidate to be my maid of honor. Someone who can pass for my twin, yet is not uglier or prettier than me. Someone who is on the same wavelength. Someone who can finish my thoughts and sentences. Someone who always know the right presents to give me because she understands me so perfectly. Someone who will bitch-slap me when I step out of line. Someone who will force me to eat when I should but don't feel like eating. Someone who will love me regardless of my faults and misgivings, of my shallowness and pettiness, of my callousness and weaknesses, etc...

Once I find her, that girl will be my maid of honor.

If this is what I look for in a best girl friend, what exactly am I looking for in a soul mate?

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.

Rejection helps you to discover who does not vibrate at the same frequency as you, and therefore it lets you know whom not to waste your energy and resources with.

No go on Barnard. I'm not incredibly bummed, but I speed-walked to the bathroom to cry my disappointment out. It was took less than five minutes. Thank God Barnard was incredibly cold and rude in their rejection letter or else I would be more bummed.

My mother took me to visit UC Irvine on Sunday. It was a lovely campus. There was a lot of Asian people, but the ones I've seen were attractive, so I don't mind. Plus, when I went into the Visitor Center to grab a map, I saw the cutest guy--possibly Greek or Persian--manning the Info Desk. I think I'm going to like it here.

Then we went and got our whole body massaged. It was incredibly nice and it felt so good.

I turned in my SIR and paid my non-refundable deposit yesterday and just paid my housing application fees today. It feels so good, and I am incredibly excited.

I told my friends, and everyone was like, "it's not like I don't want you to go somewhere you really want to go, but I'm glad you're at most an hour away." Mlle. Jang is going to USC. Mlle. Smith is going to CSUCI. Mlle. Connelly is going to LMU. Mlle. Johnston is going to CSU Long Beach and was especially excited when I told her. Mlle. Hatfield hasn't decided yet, but it is most likely that she will go to CSU Long Beach too just to piss Mlle. Johnston off. I wish those two would stop hating each other.

Oh, yeah, I've almost forgotten about Heel Day. It was great. I wore my heels with ankle socks and received so many compliments. Only a few girls did it with me, but they looked great and the other ones looked like they wished that they did it too. Guess who stared at me when I walked to class that day looking great. If you guess M. Lythgoe, you are absolutely correct. Okay, seriously, you've asked somebody else to Prom--you forfeited your privilege to stare, so please stop.

Speaking of Prom...now that it's a little bit more than a month away, I'm kind of freaking out because I hate two pimples on my face because I was lazy last week and ate junk food that whole week, so, yeah, my face is kind of messed up at the moment. So, I've started a new diet and new skincare regiment.


Diet:

• No more junk food.
• Drink a glass of tea per day.
• Drink at least five cups of milk per week.
• Drink a glass of water per day.

Obviously, the point is to detox my body so this kind of disaster will not occur. Ever again. I like having nice skin, thank you very much.

Skincare:

1. Remove make-up and cleanse lightly.
2. Apply honey to face for ten minutes.
3. Rinse and cleanse for real.
4. Tone.
5. Moisturize.
6. Apply this disgusting-smelling night creme to my face.

Well, this is obviously for my night regiment. My morning regiment is steps 3 to 5. And then there's the make-up routine that I have and must specifically follow because I am anal like that.

Make-Up:

1. Moisturize.
2. Foundation.
3. Blush.
4. Chapstick.
5. Eyeliner.
6. Highlighter.
7. Lipstick.
8. Mascara.

And there's my hair styling regiment, but that one's more complicated to explain because it has many variations.

But starting this week till Prom, I will not wear foundation unless my skin looks horrible. I know I said my skin looks disgusting right now, but it really isn't. It just looks unsightly because I look at myself with a magnifying glass. Not wearing foundation is supposed to help your skin, so I'm up for it. Saves me time too.

It seems like Mlle. Jang is trying to be better friends with me, which is nice, except I have no time to hangout because my mother hates it when I go out. Grr. I want to do yoga with her and Mlle. Smith. I just want to hangout like a regular girl, but I can't.

Mlle. Smith and I, and possibly my mother and Mlle. Jang, are going to UC Irvine next Wednesday to tour that campus and dorms. I'm so excited, you have no idea.

Now that I think about it, my mother always gets what she wants. Everything works and fits her plans the way she wants them too. It's like the people upstairs love her more than they love me.

That's a lie. They love me in a different way. I'm an incredibly lucky child. I've never been seriously hurt in my entire life. Never broken a bone...nothing. Almost gotten hit by a car, stepped in shards of glass, lost a foot, gotten rabies, stabbed and sliced by a knife, gotten stuck for weeks in Italy, gotten stuck and lost in Vietnam at the airport, and bunch of other almosts. I'm just lucky like that. My well-being is looked after.

Sometimes I wonder if I truly want to go to UCI or if my enthusiasm is just something my brain make up to ensure my survival through these rejections. Either way, I don't care. I just kind of want to know, that's all.

I talked to Mlle. Kodoma today. It was really nice. I miss her and I wish she was here.

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

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

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

Pros

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

Cons

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

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

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

So, away from collegial stuff...

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

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

Not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

But it's my scattered thoughts that keep me sane.

I am finally, legally 18!

I've been feeling so empowered lately. Usually, I'm the kind of person who just floats in life. Now, I want to be person who actually tries. I want to actually do my best, actually study this last semester of high school. I want to be a person deserving of the gifts and advantages that I've received.

My mother's just left for Vietnam a couple of minutes ago. It's hard to believe, but I was kind of sad to see her go. Usually, I couldn't careless. Well, that sounds cold and heartless, but I know she's coming back, so I'm not that worried. Can you believe she's taking my camera with her? I'm useless for three weeks!

Yesterday, I saw M. Naylor again. He greeted me first, and then gave me a hug. I suspect that he was high the whole time we were having a conversation. I mean, he was talking normally, but the way he bobbed his head as he walked was kind of suspicious. Anyways, he walked me to class and gave me another hug. Okay, so he's gone for a year and now he's giving two hugs in five minutes? Definitely odd.

My thoughts are all over the place. They can't seem to settle down. I've done this really neat watercolor painting and hopefully that's good enough for by breadth and quality. I hate how seldom I update this blog now and I can't even update it right. I'll do better next time, I promise.

My dream living room right there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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