Growing Up (kinda)

I finished the Toradora! anime yesterday (or shall I say early this morning?) and it made me think a lot about myself. Ha, ha, yeah... what doesn't make me think a lot about myself? What doesn't make me wonder about my own growth and upkeep? Well, hey—it's kind of nice to be reminded every once in a while. Another thing that has made me go under a lot of self-speculation was watching new film adaptation of The Great Gatsby. I'll get to that a little bit later, though.

Toradora! started off as a cutesy high school romance story between two characters, Taiga and Ryuuji. Ryuuji had it bad for Taiga's best friend, Minori. Taiga had it bad for Ryuuji's best friend, Maruo. Or Yuusaku. Well, he went by both, but his last name is Kitamura so yeah, we'll go with that. Well anyway, Taiga and Ryuuji both team up and try to hook each other up with their best friends. However, they realize that they actually are in love with each other, and drama drama drama. Towards the end of the anime, it got really deep. Broken families, expectations, life, growing up, and love—they ended up sacrificing things in their life, because they knew if they went too fast, that it would all break apart. They took their time, they broadened their perspectives and dealt with their personal demons.

I related a lot to Ryuuji's family background. I understood where he was coming from. A single mother who got pregnant at an early age, and no father-figure to guide him. I saw myself in him because I take the responsibilities around the house. I'm the level-headed one who gets stuff done.

But the anime taught me to take things in stride. It reinforced in me the fact that life doesn't always work out at first, and that it does take effort. I can't just breeze my way into things. It has to matter. It has to mean something. I'm on the path of finding out what I want and will do with my life... but it's alright to be afraid. It's alright to not know exactly what yet.

Gatsby taught me some things too, but those were impulsive thoughts... laced with a little bit of heart-break, I suppose. I don't want to call myself the jealous type, but I will admit to it. I am but a jealous soul, but I am also protective. Though I found out quickly enough that though I want to protect those that I love, sometimes I can't. And, when I can't, I need to trust them that they will do what is best for them. I cannot make that decision for them—that is something that they must do for themselves. And with that, I find myself to be a very selfish being, too. I want people all for myself. I don't want to give them away. I think it's because I have a minor abandonment problem.

Actually, I'm pretty sure that I do. But, I've gotten better with it. People don't fully leave me; I am the one who pushes them away. When I can't have someone all for myself, I reject the little pieces I still have from them and try to push them out of my mind and heart. God, what a dysfunctional way to go about things. Life does not work that way. People do not work that way. I can't have everything, duh.

It's alright though. I think people find me fragile. I think people find me tough. I'm both. I'm fragile, I'm tough, but I'm resilient. When life kicks my ass, I know how to kick it back up. I'm not hopeless, nor aimless. I take trials and complete them—though some may be a longer journey than the others. I say it's all good because really, it is all good.

Total weirdo.

I'm actually quite glad no one ever really goes on this blog anymore. It's nice being able to think out and type out my thoughts without people actually having to read it.

Well, no—scratch that. This is public. If I were to ever delete this, a copy of it would still be floating around somewhere. But it is nice getting out thoughts and no one in my immediate friend circle will read, but rather the world. There is this certain anonymous aspect to it that I really dig; and even though my friends who do follow me on here can still read whatever I post, I kind of trust that they don't because, well, Tumblr fever took over months ago and they are most definitely not turning back.

Neither am I for that matter, but too many people know me on Tumblr. I don't want a response from these posts anymore. I just want to get them out of the way so I can forget about them. I want this as a collective diary that only I can write, read if I want to.

And if any of you peeps are reading this, you should stop. This is all totally unimportant. This is just how I manage to stay sane.

Or perhaps preserving my sanity is important...

I have this weird mentality that I will wait for whatever comes to me. Patiently wait. Wait for love, wait for money, wait for the sun to shine and wait for the rain to fall. All things good happen to those who wait, but when does waiting get too long? When does assertion have to jump in and kick patience in the ass?

I admit that I am too accommodating. I learned long ago not to call myself "too nice". One can never simply be too nice—niceness is a quality that should not be wasted. I should help out everybody and everything to the best of my abilities whenever I can. However, that shouldn't mean that I should drop my own priorities for the sake of someone else. Though I want to help out, I need to realize that I am my number one priority. I shouldn't hold other people up higher than I view myself. There's this little thing called self-esteem and the need to feel accepted that sort of... intercepts my own self-worth. It's quite ironic.

Though I am a firm believer in waiting for the right time and place, is the "right" time or place ever stated? Is it on a whim? Or is it impulse and intuition? Most of the time I fall with my intuition. And, most of the time it sets me on a greater path. I have great timing, and it's shown all throughout my life. But now that I am older, now that I can go see the world right now, tomorrow, if I wanted to, what am I exactly waiting for? This subject ties in with a lot of things that I've had weighing down on my mind lately. Some such topics will be for a later time. I don't know.

One such thing I have been thinking about is the concept of unconditional love. Unconditional literally means without a condition. Love, well, we all know what love is. But, do we understand what love is?—most specifically unconditional love?

This is perhaps one of the biggest things people want in their life. Someone to love them through their flaws, faults, habits, routine, annoyances, likes, dislikes, hates, and all things related. I know that I want that special someone in my life to love me up to the brim; I know that I want to love them more than I love myself. I don't even care about the sex, the intercourse, the "love making" if you will. I would be quite content with someone just holding me. It's really not too much to ask—but yes it is. Love is expensive. And, I'd imagine unconditional love is beyond price. What I don't understand is how someone can fully give themselves away to someone else. It's like walking on thin ice (pardon the cliche). It's stepping into the dark with a dying flashlight. It's that moment where you let yourself fall and hope that the other person is there behind you to catch you.

We all want love, yes. But I guard myself from it so much that sometimes I'd rather be alone than have to burden the other person to deal with my insecurities and personal rejection. I always say that "it's not worth it", especially with things regarding myself. It's not important. It's not worth it.

What exactly is not worth it? The fact that somebody cares for you? Am I selfish enough to self-indulge that I am not worth other people's time and care? I'm so damn backwards that it hurts to think about sometimes. Soak up the sun, revel in the fact that people genuinely want to know how you are doing, how you have been, what you are up to.

I part of it, I believe, is due to my parents. I'm afraid of giving my heart away because I don't want to end up like them. And this is a battle I'll be fighting for most of my life: the fact that I am not my parents and that I never will be. It's all my own choice. I build my own fate. And so this ties in with my feelings about time. Waiting. Waiting for something good, only to realize that I've waiting for so long that it has all turned bad. Why am I so cautious? Because that is in my personality. Side-step the issue until I cannot avoid it any longer.

I feel that this all has to do with my unspoken obligations to people. I finally declared myself as an English major with a concentration in writing. I cannot be happier. But, when I was in my rut, what was my motivation for being in school? I didn't want to learn anything. A lot of what I'm doing now I could do myself, or care less about. When the hell am I ever going to need statistics? I'm a damn writing major now! And all of these art classes, yeah it's great they are giving me direction, but I could have learned this all myself, by myself. Sometimes I just don't know, but I feel that I use that as a crutch.

I need school because I don't have a strict direction. It's all general, all haphazard. I go where ever I want to go. All I lack is the motivation. I have determination, but that is only fueled when I have specks on the horizon of what I want. What do I want? Where am I going? I promised others, as well as myself, that I'd finish college. That is a no-brainer. I'm too far in to quit now, and if any of you knew me, you'd understand that I hate quitting things that I've already started. That is why I've failed so many math classes: because I'm stubborn and prideful. I'm too prideful to ask for help in some subjects, and I'm too stubborn for everything else. I'm a walking contradiction, and it's horrible.

God put me here for a purpose. I just have to pray that I'll see it soon.

I've diverged and dove-tailed, but I'll leave the rest for another time.

This is Named after a Timber Timbre Song.

When I think about last year —such an awkward year it was— I realize that I don't even remember most of it. There were many instances that are highlighted in the back of my mind, and these are instances that I can remember because I can't forget. Those memories are better left unsaid, unreeled to an audience.

I mean, I've already wrote those down in an essay, a personal anecdote... and that story is over.

And here I am again: back to this place in my life, except this time, I've found a lot more sunshine (and even a little more pigment!).

When I think back to last year, I can't even remember most of it. I'm not the party-type; I didn't drink, smoke weed, or have crazy freshman sex. The worst I did was take a sip of vodka, actually gain that "Freshman 15", and steal cartons of soymilk from the dining commons. I had a different kind of college blackout. I believe it's because I was in such a dark slump my first year of college.

The summer before moving into the dorms leaves small space for emotional transition. I feel like I had really lost my best friend, and that it was all my fault because I was bitter, jealous, self-pitying, and perhaps just a little bit neglected. But it's easy to play the victim, I admit. It's easy to blame someone else, but sometimes it's even easier to blame yourself. I felt alone—I didn't know anybody on campus. San Jose is a city where sirens go off every half an hour downtown, and I didn't feel that I could talk to my roommate because she was the rich preppy cheerleader type who scared the hell out of me. She made me feel poor, she made me feel insignificant.

(And again, the roommate stuff is in the essay previously mentioned, so I'm not going to go through much of it.)

I remember getting out of class in a hurry, just to get back to my dorm and log into Skype to talk to those friends who I felt that I lost in the transition. One friend, one such dear friend, felt the same way about it—she went across the country to her college, and I remember talking to her the most because she was in the same place. And even though I talked to her, and was reassured that this was normal, I still felt lonely. I still felt the crush of my mom and her relationship with her new boyfriend. I still felt the crush that I would not really be able to see my dad in a long, long time. I still felt that crush that overwhelms a person into such an inexplicable state that all that can be done is just fly by.

And so that is why I'm here now, sitting in my dimly lit room, waiting for the moon to come out.

And, well... perhaps it's sappy 80's music that makes me a little bit nostalgic. But this was something that has been on my mind for a few hours now. This is one of those full-circle moments that I'm sure I'll be having every year I'm in this weird college place.

Something from the other day triggered a weird set of memories. I dabbled with the thought of becoming an English major last year, first semester. Why I didn't change it right away to that, well... it was God's plan. In order to reach a set of promise, one has to trudge through pain and uncertainty. Going into the English major office to my advisor, she had made a comment how I had taken a linguistics class. And for a moment, I was a bit confused... what? I took linguistics? When?

Then it hit me: oh yeah, linguisitcs. With the professor who looked like John Lennon and had MLP: FiM/weed cookie parties with his friends in Santa Cruz. Oh yeah.

And that led to the intellectual snowballing of those who were in my class. On guy who was serviced in Iraq, that one girl with the orange (and then purple) hair, and that one Chinese girl who offered me chocolate that one day. I still have the wrapper to it stuck in one of my binders that I used for that class.

This Chinese girl ties in with my thoughts because I forgot what her name is. Just like how I forgot how I took a linguistics class, how I forgot how dark the beginning of my year really was. We could have become great friends, I'm sure of it. She was one of those anime chicks, yeah—so we had common ground. She had a cool sense of style, too. Kind of lolita but not. Her dresses were just kind of cool. She took notes in sketchbooks that weren't lined. She drew cats that were stretchable and resembled Jake the Dog. She must have had been an inside source or something, because she had Fionna and Cake all over her notes, but we just didn't know it yet.

I remember after the class, during the next semester, I'd walk past her every once in a while and wave. We had built up a good enough relationship where we could greet each other in public. But, she was a busy art student and every time we'd cross paths she'd have her big clipboard and portfolio over her shoulder. She was in too much of a rush to notice, which was a shame. She was a damn good artist. I remember going to a Japantown festival and seeing an art panel, and I swear I saw her name on one of the pieces that won. Yet, I believe it's kind of hard becoming friends with art students. It's hard becoming friends with anyone, for that matter.

I haven't thought about her since then because I guess our friendship was just a little too limited. This goes with that chick with the orange/purple hair who was in the same class. We sat next to each other, same general interests, all that. But she was a sophomore and lived in the International House (which was ironic because she was like, totally from SF or something). But hey, if you can afford it—go for it. I see her every once in a while on campus. That's only because her hair is back to orange, and that's insanely easy to spot in a crowd. Yet, I don't think she remembers me. When I first get to know people, I don't think I make that much of an impression... especially if I'm in a new place.

I'm overly cautious. I guard myself until I feel like I can be myself. I usually say that it takes me about a year to adapt enough to wake out of my shell. It's a damn shame but that's just how it goes. I will always be a cautious, homely person and I'm sure that won't ever really change. Not that I'm totally against it or ashamed of it... it's just a pain in the ass every once in a while, and for those who stick through with it until the end, well, I'm glad. You have made a brand new friend who won't leave you, even if you leave me.

Yet, I suppose back to the "meat" of the post (I actually have no idea where I'm going with this anymore) I am now an English major with a concentration in Career Writing. I couldn't be happier. Why I figured Marketing would be a good idea, I have no clue. Same goes with Advertising and Public Relations. I'm way too moral for those careers; I can't lie to people. But with just my pen and paper and my thoughts around me, I feel like I have finally selected my calling.

And it was a calling that I already sort of knew, but fought against. Sometimes we have to choose between the practical and what we love. I have been fighting what I love for so long and turning to what is practical that I was just a ghost of myself. This is what I want—I want to write, I want to edit, I want to materialize my thoughts into print. I want to make people's writing better, I want to encompass them with my words and lead them. Save them. Inspire them.

All I need is some sunshine, but I feel like I've already caught a few rays.

Censorship? A DRAFT FROM A LONG TIME AGO..AGAIN

I really want to say this one thing to you. I doubt you'd read this. Really doubt it. I wonder if you even know I'm talking to you. Ha, probably not. If I could post one thing on the internet about a personal negativity, I'd choose for it to be this one moment. I really don't like to bitch about things, really. But here I am, without a backbone. Once again, right?

I can't really say it. Maybe the feeling will change.

...don't really think it will. Oh, but the adrenaline is rushing through me, I can feel it in my chest.

Fuck you.

That is all :DD

(Oh, where'd Nnoitra go?)

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OMFG THIS ONE IS SO ANGRY TOO
WHY WAS I SO ANGRY
actually I do know who this post was about, but whoooooooa talk about teenage angst.

THIS WAS A SAVED DRAFT FROM A LONG TIME AGO OMFG

"I wonder that with all of the time you have been gone, do you really know me? Do you know who I am, what I like, my aspirations, dreams, weaknesses, strengths, sadnesses? I know you care - you care because that is all that can take the place of your absence. You have been gone too many years of my life; when will I be able to say goodbye? Better yet, when will I be able to say hello? So many questions. So many damn questions that make me angry at myself for being such a coward.

And really, that’s all I am. A coward afraid of the world. Afraid of dying, afraid of saying hello to those I encounter on a daily basis. Afraid of writing a simple letter, afraid of the future and what will inevitably happen.

I don't like celebrating my birthday anymore. I don't even like staying at home, let alone my hometown. My fears even cause me to resent Christmas - the very day where family should stick together in merriment and love. As I look up at the tree now, I think of years past where life was gilded with happiness, but with a core of disdain. The teen years suck. The adult years are just bland and tasteless (unless you're rich or something)."

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WTF I WROTE THIS SO LONG AGO OMFG.
SO DEPRESSING
DUDE I WONDER WHAT WAS MAKING ME SO DOWN (well we can kind of get an idea but whaaaat)

I'm an amazing writer when I'm depressed/angry. My goodness.

Contentment.

The 19th of November will be my third month here at San Jose State University. And, in some right twist of fate - I love it. I actually love it so much that I’m dreading my last day here. It’s quite sad - yet very premature - but it’s true. I know that I have three more years, and many more experiences to ---

[Pause this thought because my roommate walked in the room and she literally makes time stop.]

[[Wow that sounded kinda gay...but she plays Drake and sings/dances to me and it makes me laugh my ass off.]]

--- dude, I don’t even remember what I was saying. Well, along the lines of “roommate’, I freaking love mine. She’s like a total crazy bitch (not literally) and extremely funny. All of my roommates are people that I totally adore, and I honestly want to be their friends after this year. I don’t know how life will pan out in this “future” (like really, I could die or move away or change my name or something) but I hold the thought that I want to stay friends firmly in my heart.

[Pause again. I freaking hate how much I like Selena Gomez’s “I Love You Like A Love Song” song. The roommie just started playing it to annoy me because she knows it gets stuck in my head.]

[[The music video sucks ass, LOL.]]

Anyway! Fast forward to like, four hours from those last brackets and here we are again! I went to the mall with two of my roommates the other day - unfortunately I lost my SJSU ID card along the way - and we started talking about birthdays. My roommate's is in January, coincidentally the same day as my dog Charlie; so, it's an easy on to remember. Ashley (my roommate) asked when mine was, and I told her it was in July. She got kind of bummed because it wasn't during the school year when we could celebrate it, until she perked up and said that we could celebrate it in August. That confused me. August? Why August?

Then she said something along the lines of "Yeah, when we come back for the next year we can celebrate your birthday."

And that got me really happy. Wanna know why? Because that means that we'll all still be friends even after this year. That means we'll still hang out next year. One of my fears in life is being alone, and this reassured me quite a bit. I honestly love these people, and just thinking of next year freaks me out. Will I stay in contact with them? Will they forget about me? I've only known them for about three months, and our friendships are already tight. Sure, I may be the quiet shy one, but I can obviously tell that I'm loved. And it's a great feeling, not gonna lie.

Uehh other than that, life here is pretty frackin' great. Even though it's been raining and really really cold, it's still nice. After the dorm drama broke up, the metaphorical "sun began to rise", and we fixed up the whole suite. Now, it's all decorated with posters, cutesy decals, and really awesome pink Christmas lights. "Homey" is how I'd explain it (wow, homey looks like horny...or maybe that's just me - wait, no, not "just me" as in I'm horny, but "just me" as in it probably looks horny just to me. Oh God, either way this was still awkward). UEHH. Overall, I'm just really content with how life has been going. I'm changing my major next week (because the office was closed on Friday), and I'm switching to English with a concentration in Writing. English has a larger breadth of career options than just plain "writing", and even though it's not particularly Journalism, it still withholds the very essence of I want to endure for the rest of my life. I'm also planning on minoring in Japanese. So maybe I can teach English to cute little Japanese kids, and actually live the Japanese life through my students.

Oh, what a happy world that would be.

Aright, I'm tired. And this typing scheisse is burning my eyes. Happy daylight savings time! (only if you're in every other state except Arizona and Hawaii :P)

Where Time Freezes

Call me a romantic, but I missed seeing the stars of my hometown. You don't get many stars in the city - the only star I see on a constant is the sun; even so, I make a habit not to stare at it because, you know, that's kind of a heath hazard. Yet, as my eyes glide over the black horizon of the ocean as I'm parked at the Rock, the lights of Cayucos houses seen to glimmer - much like these small-town stars. I suppose it's because I'm not wearing my glasses (of which, I consciously neglect), but these lights are like the rippling sheen of sunlight on water. These lights are like tears rolling down one's face. Realizing this, I've come to realize that home is where time freezes.

I returned from college just this last Friday, mostly because I wanted to see my family; along the way, I managed to watch my former high school's losing homecoming game. Maybe it's a sign, I don't know.

I only told a few people that I was back because I felt that my visit home wasn't that important regarding others. This sounds wrong and seems like I'm rejecting my old friends, but weighing in the fact that lives are continuing and kindled friendships aren't as important nowadays compared to the fast-track of living in general, I felt that there was no need to waste others' time with mine. We've all split our ways, traveled to distant places on the map and rerooted our lives to adhere to our new surroundings. Don't worry about it - we'll all be back for Thanksgiving and Christmas; this won't be the last time you'll have a chance to see me.

However, home really is where time freezes. I'm back at the same old pink house, with the same old half-asphalt, half-dirt street. Fog is always prominent towards the morning and night, yet the clouds turn grapefruit pink over the bay as the sun sets. Despite one major difference - an in-the-process renovation of the demolished Taco Bell on Main - I'm back in the same old town. The sea breeze of Morro Bay smells of fish and harbor, and the roads of Los Osos still have no street lights. Sure, there are subtle differences here and there (especially what I've noticed was an increase of traffic in SLO), but the essence is the same. For that I'm grateful, because when I return from the city, where people are living on the street to survive, taxi cabs don't give a damn if they run red lights, and police sirens are heard at least on a two-hour interval, I need to revel in that forgotten peace I had grew up with. The sound of the beach, a slow leisurely life - my life is put on hold. I feel young again, younger than I have ever felt.

Do I really look like a college student? Could I still pass off as a high schooler? In most cases I think not. However, I still seem to have that minor mind-set that I am, and could. But, I'd never want to go back. That's why returning home is so great - laying back in my old bed, watching the TV that has off colors and looks 3D seems to take years off of my eighteen year old life; I feel seventeen all over again...oh, that was a good year.

Being back home makes me feel so inexplicably loved. Just all around I'm blessed to have so many people care for me. For that, I'm grateful to God, to everyone. I feel safe to say that my roommates like me, maybe even love me - and I wonder, What exactly is in my personality that makes others respect me? Makes others want me to stay with them, to hang out with them, to laugh and joke and live with them? It's a fantastic feeling because despite the fact that I had to work back from the very bottom of the chain to create some type of bearings for myself in an unknown territory, I'm still wanted by others. And I can guarantee this - I can be the best friend you will ever have, if you just give me the chance. But, that's a downfall in itself, because I'm vulnerable to getting used and abused. Life is always a toss-up.

Friendships change, but family stays the same. Buildings are rebuilt, demolished, rectified and dilapidated - it's all just a metaphor. The blanket of safety is cast over my childhood, and I'm sure as long as I return every-so-often, it'll stay the same. If I change, so be it - but I'll always regress as soon as I step through my front door.