Masochism

I never labeled myself as masochistic. It was a trend, helped along by Meredith Grey, a barely-disguised proclamation of sophistication, when I saw nothing admirable about it. I've always prefered to call myself optimistic--hoping that people are going to surprise me with what I want to hear.

The thing is, when you want what you can't have, it's not optimism anymore.

So I got to thinking...are we all masochistic? Is the very act of hope, against overwhelming odds, a form of masochism?

We all want what is impossible for us to have. And at that point it ceases being charming optimism and becomes foolish, self-inflicted pain. We hit ourselves with that hammer. And it's not because it feels good when we stop.

The truth is, we never stop. For some of us, it's the glamour of pain that draws us to it. For others, it's the consistency, the comfort of knowing exactly what is in store. For me, it's the pathetic, idealistic wish, that one day I raise the hammer and it won't hurt, and what I want most of all will appear instead.

And so I wait, bruised and all, for the tide to turn.

After

The thing is, I'm in pain. I'm in more pain than I was when my favorite teacher died of lung cancer. That makes me sound like a horrible person, but it's how I feel.
How do I feel? I feel hurt, and skeptical, and embarrassed, humiliated. The thing is, lung cancer is unpredictable, unpreventable, it had one path to take, and that was forward.

But this? This had many paths that could've played out. Many, many forking roads, each one I could've stopped at, taken the other instead. And the irony, the IRONY, is that I took the ones that led to this mess, which, in a way, you could label as self-destruction.

When I read that valedictorian speech a year ago, I foresaw forking roads. And I urged my fellow classmates to make those decisions on their own, because realizing that others had made you walk down a path over another--even if it was willingly--is cheap. Is irresponsible. Is something to regret the rest of your life.

Now I've made those decisions, and I ended up here. I could blame it on others, say they led me here. But strip all that finger-pointing away, you have me choosing to believe favorable arguments over realistic instincts. When it comes down to it, I led myself here.

And it's everything and nothing I could do to get out.

Spring

It's spring break and there's nothing to do here. I miss dorm life, where even lazy, unfilled hours become laden with activity.
Here, nothing begets not another mischievous doing, but just itself. It's the emptiest equation.
I'm in a strange town, yet again. It's beautiful, I've scoped out at least that much. It's what I do every time I move, I scope things out like a cat, quietly and carefully, lightly treading on new earth. I suppose this new place is pleasing to the senses, so I'm not sure what's wrong. I read somewhere that we depend solely on our senses to understand the world...we are trapped in our senses, you could say. So it makes no sense that what I feel doesn't agree with what I sense.
I suppose I do have familiar people here. But I've always thought that it was better that I live far from home, I've felt guilty thinking it, but nevertheless, it's how I feel. Now I know why. Because there are people that can hurt me more than the rest of the world together. and it's all I could do to pretend that it's not true when I'm 2000 miles away.
Maybe "hurt" is the wrong word. It has too negative a connotation, especially for something only those we are closest to can cause. Maybe I mean that it complicates things a whole lot more than I could deal with.
I hate that word, "complicated." What does it even mean? It's a word feeble people use when they are too obtuse to explain. Too out of touch to grasp.
For now, that's what I seem to be.

Dear Stranger:

I want to know you.
Why can't you open up to me?
How come the others can open up to me and relate so well, and you're so closed off?
you seem friendly, but you're not, you're distant and it's not my fault.
I guess I'm pushing you, maybe i'm pushing you too hard.
God i wish the words could just come to me on the page right now, but they don't.
just like how they don't when you and I are alone.
When he's doing something else, and it's just us two,
Do you know what you do? you turn to your computer.
You admit you're reserved, but what are you doing to change that?
Nothing.
I want to know you, let me in your life.
confide in me
I want to be THAT girl
which is ridiculous because I can't define what THAT girl is.
I don't even know what i want.
the only thing i know,
is that
I want to know you.
and it's the one thing, the one simple thing
that he so readily gives me
that you don't.
So here it is.
I'm laying it out on the table.
Except I'm not.
I'm writing this in the privacy of my journal.
Thinking about you.
After lingering in your room for hours, after leaving
still i'm thinking of you.
Are you thinking of me?
What do you think? Do you think anything at all?
Give me something. Give me anything.
Your sister, your parents, the crew team, michelle branch, anything you can offer me
I'll take.
Because i'm throwing away almost my pride.
Because I want to know you that much.
Why can't you see? Don't be so reserved.
Don't be insecure, if that's even what you are.
I'm not leaving if you take off your wall.
I'll still be here,
I'm too invested.
So talk to me,
Because I want to know you.

musings

--i fall in like very easily...the opposite for falling in love...in fact, i think i will only recognize love after i've fallen out of it
I don't think I'm very deep, i keep waiting for that one person to come and find it perhaps, but if i don't see it, how can he? i'm very surprised when people find layers within me, like how i think my hum teacher (soucek) is reading too much into things...that cannot possibly what augustine intended, can it?
I like copying from others, their favorite music, how polite they are, their sleeping habits, mom says it's ok, we have to copy from others to see what we like, when do i start creating? I think it might come with time, like my sense of fashion, but i think that truly flourished when others started to notice. Shall i discover my own originality only when others start to take notice? that seems to defeat the purpose.

Disillusionment

College was so much fun for me. It was a whirlwind, a blast, a f--king smorgasbord, whatever. So so fun, so much fun I never slowed down.
Now the pace slowed me down, and I don't know where I am.
It's like this instability, like I'm in this giant field, and I reach my arms out hoping to hold on to a tree, so maybe I won't be so scared of spinning, so maybe I won't feel so unbalanced.
I had those trees.
Except...now...the trees are shifting...closer to some and further away from others. In this field, every tree is shifting, moving around, like they are on mobile, volatile vulcano lava.
Every tree...except me.
What makes me hate change so much? When I find something, I hold on like I never ever want to let go. There are some things that I grasp tightly in my hand like precious stones...but others might not feel the same...so the sapphires and diamonds spill to the ground unceremoniously...and before I could stoop to pick them up...the lava moves yet again...and I'm lost...
Yet Again.

Wisdom

I used to have a band teacher who said:
"the stupid person doesn't learn from his mistakes,
the smart person learns from his mistakes,
and the wise person learns from his neighbor's mistakes."
I have never met a wise person.
And very few smart people.
We've all heard it before, learn from what you've done wrong. But for most people, they drift across life without taking anything from it. The truth is, some lessons are just too painful to learn. Some mistakes are just too fun to make. And sometimes, we just have to see ourselves, what a mess we really made of our lives.