Category Archives: The Future?
05/30(or the 31 since you are in Japan right now.)/2016
How we met: well it wasn’t quite meeting at first, really. You stared at me (checked me out) from two rows back on the other side of the class room of our Econ 111 class in Xavier room 150. I knew your name and who you were, and I ran into you often with The-Girl-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She was something else (and a whole other story) and you and her seemed to be best friends from my point of you. Until I began to pester you.
I thought you were (OMG kill me now for saying this) THE cutest Asian kid I had ever seen in my life, and I was down for the chase.
I made a mistake first hand though by the telling your “Best friend” what I thought of you. She had a bit(a little more than that) of a fit and she said: “You got, Tomas, and Kiya, you can’t can’t canttttt by any means have Hiro.” And I told her I would respect her wishes, but there was a big piece of me that I certainly was not going to ignore that said “ignore her, he is a catch… even if he ends up just being a good friend” which of course made my reply to her be: “Oh of course, he is your best friend, I would never!!!” (one of the biggest lies I have ever told). And here we are. You are my man.
You ask me to make lists.
I love this. (but you know I love making lists so it isn’t exactly work to me. )
What we should do:
- Travel the world
- Go to every San Pellegrino 50 best restaurants in the world.
- Go to Japan – like everywhere
- Take a bath – not too long of one, I hate being pruny
- Go to an owl cafe
- Go to a cat (neko ねこ 猫) cafe 😀
- Feed each other nutella
- Stay at a ritzy hotel and splurge on room service
- Keep each other motivated
- Keep each other healthy
- Couples Message
- Take a train over night somewhere, hopefully Europe
- Swing Dance
- Shop for undies in Tokyo
- Ice skate in Rockefeller center in NYC
- Build an igloo in Alaska
- Pray at a temple in Japan (Nara)
TO BE CONTINUED.
My dreaded, and also exciting, search for colleges and now applying for them has been so exhausting in so many ways. The horrors of touring giant colleges with my crazy parents who never get along has been very real. My first campus tour last spring at UMass Amherst wasn’t totally a disaster but it was rough, and at the end of the day all I wanted to do was call my boyfriend and cry all night. So I did, while sitting in the empty tub of the hotel while my brother played video games on the bed. I didn’t particularly like the college. My mother had attended there for 8 years, and she hadn’t even visited the college before throwing herself into the application process, she had just wanted to get out. But the cement covered valley with its high risers that stuck out harshly against the barren landscape didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t want this ginormous campus to be my home, it felt too much like a evil institution like in all those dystopian movies I watch. I felt incredibly alone in the crowd and lost in all the commotion of schedules and 100 kid lecture halls. Even though the tour guides said the only 100 person classes they had ever taken were their first semester ones, it didn’t assure me that I would find my place at UMass. No, this place wasn’t for me.
I toured one other college that I got infatuated with, Hampshire College, or as my parents called it while going to UMass: “Hamster College” since all the weirdos went there. I felt like the curriculum was really me. Yet again though, I found that the barren fields, and awkward buildings that I was getting lost in were making me feel unwelcome. But mostly it was my tour guide telling me to “Get off my high horse and realize you aren’t special.” That was a very big blow to all my philosophical beliefs. He recommended I read a bunch of books about the insignificance of my existence and people’s lack of ability to be different from one another. I looked down onto my pin that I got from the college. It had a picture of a sheep and an red x across it. Don’t be a sheep. Don’t follow. Be a leader. Be a world Changer. Be different. Be special. That was the college’s motto, and I wondered how a person could go to a college with that motto but come out saying “No one is special.” It made me doubt some credibility. I still like Hampshire, but I have some philosophical wars going on.
Next stop was Salem State University. It was smaller and sweeter and newer than UMass. The library was way cooler and the facilities rocked. Even the dorms were better than UMass Amherst’s. I was impressed with the peppiness of the guides and welcomer’s and the enthusiasm and honestly of the admissions adviser who spoke to us. Then we went to another lecture for the “undecided”. This was a disaster. Absolute cacophony of horridness. The man speaking to us must have been having a mid life crisis of some kind since he just ranted about politics and when he was actually on topic I asked a question about something and announced I was home schooled. He said. “Well, college will be a culture shock.” and a few other comments of similar views. I was so insulted I almost left the room. I simply do not understand how a college professor could be that ignorant. Educate thyself and read some Socrates.
I’ve toured BC, Suffolk, Merrimack, and Bowdoin since then. Bowdoin was another catastrophe, but the college was pretty. I won’t tell this story since it was such a strange day. I also hate the person I liked at the time. (I wrote another post about him, but it got deleted accidentally) Now I am applying to an arts and communication school, Emerson. I’m applying for Writing, Literature, and Publishing, crossing my fingers they accept me!!!
Here are my college essays:
Q: Discuss an accomplishment or event, formal or informal, that marked your transition from childhood to adulthood within your culture, community, or family Settling down on a name was hard for my parents before I was born. My mom wanted something interesting, different, not the Sarah, Emily, and Elizabeth’s of the world kind of name, she wanted it to be a creative and interpretive thing. My dad wanted exactly what my mother didn’t. He wanted tradition continuing to honor ancestors. I was going to be Alice Marie, May Eddie, or Willamina. Don’t get me wrong, Alice Marie, May Eddie, and Willamina are beautiful names, but I am not an Alice, nor May, and even more so, I am not a Willamina. Samantha suited me for a while, but it felt uncomfortable. I felt like it was a whiny, nasally noise people were yelling at me across the baseball field, up at bat, and then when I got hit with the ball a thousand times it was cooed out by my couch and that silly Tyler boy who still is lovesick for me today. “Samantha, are you OK? You get to walk.” That’s all I was doing, walking through the pitches, taking the hits, never swinging into a ball and hitting a home run then racing across the field for a winning game. I was standing in the outfield, waiting around, picking boogers, and staring into the sun, asking it, “Why do they call me Samantha? Who gave them the right to call me something I never signed up to be called?” As I grew up I liked to play make believe, and I would take on my make believe names for years. I was Mike (4-5 years old), Isabelle (6-7), Amber (7-8), Crystal (9-10), Landia (10-11), and then I found something I fell in love with. Zanthia. I wanted that to be me. Zanthia was beautiful, Zanthia was complex, Zanthia didn’t whine, Zanthia didn’t sit in the outfield, Zanthia hit home runs, Zanthia was a good friend and team player, and Zanthia was a Queen. But also, Zanthia wasn’t a stuck up girl, she was a transforming butterfly, she was becoming something she didn’t even know could be. Zanthia was ready to take on the world, or what she’d like to call her fairy kingdom. I decided to be Zanthia. Just like in the Bible when Saul realizes he was wrong about life and turns to God and is renamed Paul, Sarai and Abram realize they are called for something more and are changed to Sarah and Abraham, I was changed from Samantha the listener to Zanthia the fair haired. I claimed myself as my own, more than just claiming my body and personality, I made my identity. My parents may have needed to have a starting basis on what to call me, but I knew Samantha wasn’t a tattoo that was going to last forever on me. Samantha was little leagues. Samantha was playground talk. I was now the Queen of the Fairy Kingdom and Queen of Me. Zanthia.
If you could title your life anything what would it be? : I consider my life a building work of art. The hardest part of being an artist is naming your art. Sometimes stories are easily explained in a banner (headline) phrase: “Don’t Do Me Wrong”, “Love Me Do,” and “Good Girls, Bad Boys”, but some stories need more of a lead-like or thesis title, which a lot of punk rock songs use: “This isn’t a fashion statement it’s a deathwish”, “This mirror isn’t big enough for the two of us”, “Here’s that song you wanted”, or “Where can I stab myself in the ears”. The only reason I do not name my songs like the untitled versions of Shakespearean sonnets is because I am simply not allowed to. As a singer songwriter I’ve been forced to take my beautifully self titled songs like “I Really Shouldn’t Be Doing This”, or “My Soul’s Seasons of Drought”, and “Build Yourself A Home Inside My Heart” to be cut down to “Home” which does it no justice to what the song is actually about and is easily confused with the famous country song. At certain points in my life, namely ages 11-14, I would’ve liked to title my life: “Sometimes I Scream Aloud”, “Failure to Assimilate”, and “Would It Be Weird If”. Now I am almost 18 and many things have changed since my preadolescence and I can say that “The Uselessness of Trying To Be Human” is among my top three titles. The other two are: “My Reputation: An Apology” and “I Tried The Best I Could To Write You Songs.”
Totally doesn’t apply to this post, but I like this gif ALOT: I love you Roozbeh <3;)
THIS IS AWESOME.
I’ve been thinking about a lot of things like this since in recent days my brother was having some relationship issues. (He is 19 and blah blah marriage, college, job blah blah adulty stuff) This made me think a lot about what I want to do and about advice I was given.
Another thing I would add to this is: What comes after marriage?
My parents didn’t have kids till they were married 1o years and they don’t regret it. You know why? cuz they got all that time to just do adult stuff and work hard at what they loved as well as learning how to work as a couple. As well as budgeting for 2 people and getting to know what its like to settle.
A lot of cool future stuff to think about, but living in the now as the reblogged post suggests is also really good and I can check off quite a few of those things already and I am only 17! Mission accomplished.
Although that trip to the Philippines sounds fun.
I have lost my attention span more and more lately.
I’ve endured 90 minute to 2 hour classes for that past three months and I’ve just about lost my skill for focusing when I am at home. It’s like my wind and body just wanders and I can’t seem to pick up where I last left off. I find myself looking up random
and here are all the posts I’ve written and have been interrupted in the middle of.
Weak of spirit: I don’t really know what to do anymore. I’ve become so numb to many emotions. The feeling of wrong and right, how to detect whats wrong. Blurred lines. 10/10/13
Stupid Weirdos: So there’s this thing called a midterm……..yeah lets not talk about that. I got enough work to do that I pretty much, go to class, play piano, and do my homework. 10/09/13
Saying No: I guess I’ve always been a “Yes!” person. Excited, enthused, ready to go, and encouraging the best. I’ve realized as well that because of this I let people into my life that drain me dry. I have to learn to say no. I’m not very good at it at all…. What else I have noticed is that people are eager to volunteer their time to have you “talk about” what you are going through, but hardly recognise when you start to talk about it. 10/02/13
A Never Ending Persecution: There must be something about me that attracts people to call me vulgar names; I can’t seem to avoid them. Better yet, maybe there is something inherently attractive about close-mindedness that people feel the need to terrorize those that aren’t.Maybe this makes no sense. To the point: At least 3 times a week, I am being bombarded with names that I do not deserve, and a lot of the time, I receive these things nick names from people who I thought were friends of mine.
I am on a non-stop song writing streak. It gives me almost a high to write. I love it so much. I think it frees my soul and mind in a way I’ve never experienced. 08/11/13
I am Starting to See a Pattern here: I seem to stumble into a very neat linear action of falling majorly for guys that are 3-6 years older than me. I can’t decide whether this is normal for my age or unusual. I also am confused by how often I tend to reject younger guys and except older ones.
It might be purely because I find that many guys that are older have matured better emotionally and socially, while the younger ones (between 14-17) tend towards the awkward stages of in between understanding the concept of maturity and the balance of immaturity. Not to ignore the very prominent figure of awesome immaturity, which is another matter in itself.
Maybe its just me. Falling in love with people that i am not legally able to be with in almost any way. So…. I get caught in awkward places. 07/28/13
When all Else Fails, Fall Asleep in A Pile of People: That pretty much sums up my week-end. Laugh so hard till we collapse and then run out of breath to talk from all the laughing till finally, we succumb to silence and then sleep.
If you cant tell, I am procrastinating writing my five page history paper. Its rather repetitive because it is on the catholic and protestant reformation… Ugh, the information is overwhelming. 5/27/13
What I wanted to say on fb: and this everyone can see, and they can feel embarrassed for me w.e. … IDGAF
I am not boy crazy, I actually love women, or I wouldn’t be posting this on your wall.. and I am simply a “needle in the vein of the establishment,” and there is”Nothing wrong with me, this how I am supposed to be. in a land of make-believe, don’t believe in me.”
“My name is jimmy and you better not wear it out, suicide commando that your momma talked about, king of the forty thieves and I’m here to represent.” -Green Day
Actually, what I wanted to say was, stop judging me….. please? If I am on Facebook too long, I obviously have no life or problems… If the only thing I feel comfortable talking about to people I don’t trust is random stories that have to do with my guy problems it obviously means I am boy crazy and think about nothing but sex. If I have a bad day and am crabby, I am forever called an immature women. (BTW I AM NOT A MATURE WOMAN, you can’t ask a 15 teen year old boy to be a man, would you ask a 15-year-old girl to be a woman?)
I make mistakes, yes. This is who I am and I can’t change that.
So please, if I ever judged you, I am sorry, can we start over???
What I wish people would do. ^-^ 11/14/12
Things I really don’t Notice: I have to say, I’m a very good observer, but my mother is too sneaky for me. How does that laundry make it from the basement to the second floor so quickly on the weekends? Why is it that all the rooms down stairs stay organized? Mom is the explanation to the household miracles. I call her Marmmy in public so not to confuse her with the other multitude of mothers out there, cause she’s special. And I know, I know, it’s not mother’s day.. and it’s not even my Marmmy’s birthday, I just was thinking about her awesomeness.
As promised when I was in New York City, Clay, I will write about you. I might beautify a little, but that’s what all writers do even if they don’t admit it.
Clay, always sitting behind his mahogany desk between the black columns, a small lap top in front of him and to his right a phone and note book with spaced scribbles in every corner. Though in the dimly lit club like dark 70’s hotel lobby, you could make out his form with the small spotlight that was cast above his workspace.
New York is not what it looks like on Glee, or those penthouse shows. It looks like a dirty city with a lot people and a lot of very tall buildings that block out the sun, stars, and moon. The buildings and people don’t sleep so noise even in the depth of night and early morning is present. It isn’t a bad place though, just not the place I could survive in long. I am not sick and I suspect the city was a contributor to my illness.
Tomorrow is another school day, laboring over my oral presentation for my genetics project. I also must have a full draft of my persuasion letter for British Literature, I’m thinking I might have to write three to make up for my lack of focus.
This has been a long blog, but necessary to cover the ground I have been heedlessly trampling for two months. 1/03/12
Enough. Omg.. .too much.
I’ll spare you the depressing monologue or Hamlet, or the monotonous: why are we here if it means nothing? questions. Because if life is meaningless, why ask? You might as well grow some ovaries and accept the fact that it is, or strongly disagree and continue however you were before. Either way, at least you know what you think unlike the rest of us, lost wandering in the void of questions with no answers and a seemingly endless storage of useless information acquired through every means we have, experience, education, internet, curiosity, parents, family, friends, etc.
Here is an example of struggling question:
I really like Dan. Super chill guy.
But anyways…. The meaning of life…. Any suggestions?
In Virginia Wolf’s To The Light House, which I didn’t really care for, was a character named Mr. Ramsey. He infuriated me more than any of the other characters. Though there was one thing about him that fascinated me. He had this idea that the average man only reached a certain point which he called K, (meaning a certain level of intelligence, success, wisdom, wealth etc.) but he was feeling like if a man could even just surpass Q it would be an accomplishment. Mr. Ramsey wanted desperately to get to R though. (why R we don’t know why..) but at this point in the book I was finally paying attention… Mr. Ramsey wanted to be a “better” man. Better in his eyes was probably a man who was more successful in work, made more money than the majority, had a perfect relationship with his wife, had a wife who took perfect care of the children (of whom he did not wish to deal with). I didn’t think much of this while reading it since I was barely 14 and rather confused about everything at the time… looking back on it though, I notice it is very relevant in many people lives. Although they don’t specifically say; “If only I were to get to R…” and ponder the predicament that they were involved in and how to maneuver out of it in order to get what they want. Most people just say “I want to get a good job and get by.” or some aspire higher and say: “I dream of becoming the CEO of Microsoft.” or “I want to be the new Justin.” or “I want to be President.” (That in some people’s book would be getting to Z) People don’t give it a letter, they say the place they fantasize about.)
I havent read this book since 9th grade, 4 ish years ago but I remembered it reading my Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft 7th Edition book by Janet Burroway and Elizabeth Stuck-French. (Mr.Teacher is very amused at the last name of Elizabeth and her husband who helped write the 8th edition for some odd reason. I don’t find it too amusing, more silly and stupid. The whole “Stucky-French” thing is simply a combination of the couple last names which are both generic and ridiculous, sorry to be obnoxious…#sorrynotsorry) It was in the chapter about crafting your words in a sentence to find detail but not to tell, but to show the detail of characters with their surroundings and such. It was probably my favorite part of the reading so far since we finally got to something interesting instead of just reteaching ourselves discipline. Which as you all can identify and testify that I have done by keeping up my blog for this long…. it is insane I must admit having this much commitment to a thing.
…..I have just had an epiphany about why I can’t commit in relationships. I am much too committed to my arts and expressions than to give any emotional and physical time to one person for the rest of my high school experience, which surprisingly is not turning out too horridly. (stress of the “not too”.)
Away from those things… I hope I get to T. Because T is much better than R. R is silly compared to the majestic T. X would be a miracle.
Just you wait T. Just you wait.
1. “I wish my name was book, so I could go up to girls and say: ‘hey ladies, you wanna go and curl up with a nice me?'” -JR
This boy amuses me a lot.
2. “Have you ever tried to drink a really thick milk shake?”
“That’s better than sex!” (this boy referring to a bunch of virtual gold)
“No its not. Dont you say that.” (Another boy)
I have this fantasy now and then about what my funeral would be like. I have asked people if they also fantasize about this, but it seems not many people do it as often as I do.
It’s not that I want to be dead, or that I have an extreme interest in things pertaining to, associated, and related to death, but I do have an interest in the psychological idea of death. The philosopher’s analysis of death is very good, and I have found through much research in new and old texts whilst writing that mortality does have a meaning. It is not simply a curse or a new cycle of reincarnation (recycling back into mulch and outwards again.) nor is it a form of elimination to support evolutionists idea of survival of the fittest; mortality is all about moving on, living fully, and know if we all lived forever, what would it matter?
So what does it matter? That I will die, at a time where I will most likely be unprepared to die, my financial life will be a mess, and my last testament will most likely be written in an old diary from 8th grade. What does it matter that I could die tomorrow or not for 80 years? What does it matter that I think about my death, my mortality, my shelf life, my expiration date.
It matters because I am not living life avoiding my death. It matters because, I don’t say: “Yolo”, I say “I live once because living forever is meaningless, so I should make my small meaning especially perplexing, influencing and beautiful. ” I’ve been thinking about my own funeral everyday for a while now. How I want it to be, what the flowers will look like, what kind of decoration there will be, if I will insist people dress in rainbow or as animals or not… whether I want to be cremated or buried. If coffinated, will it be open? Will my mother die before or after me? What will my friends say? Who will cry the most at the altar? Who will throw a fit and punch my xboyfriends? I have questions.
Here is a list of what I think I want:
All flowers will either be rainbow, or black.
Chairs should be more like movie seats.
Pictures of me should be posted better than on poster board…
The podium should have vines all over it.
Attendees should either wear all white, all Rainbow, or if preferable, black.
ushers are encouraged to wear rainbow.
The service itself should be filled with what other people have to say about who I was, telling many stories, and presenting different items of writing/art/music that I liked or created. My family should have last words.
None of my xes are aloud to speak. (unless they rock)
If forcefully buried, coffin should be gratified so should grave. Please give me art on my place of “rest”.
I don’t believe that heaven arrival happens immediately after death… so I will just chill with Aristotle and Plato a tad… maybe have a chat with Parmenides and Heraclitus.
It is coming to my attention things are speeding up. Hour and times of day clump together, days swirl in my memories, and weeks are hard to count. I can’t remember certain days where things were said, important things I should have remembered. This year it feels like more is behind me, but the “more” that happened was in just a little time. So little, it becomes a focal point because it appears like an explosive red line, jolting up on a chart befor coming to a fast decline and plunging down to the normal wave it once was. That’s how last year looked, it finished with loud shouting and blasting music too. New Year’s Eve. If I say those words to some friends of mine, and raise my eye brows they just give me a wry smile, shake their head, and sometimes put their head in their hands and say: “Ah.. that was a night.” I would reply: “Sure was!” and punch them lightly in the arm and walk off.
I am sixteen now. Not so sweet tasting actually, sour, and kind of metallic, almost like blood. I guess it’s metaphorical then, the past stab wounds being reopened for old time’s sake. I am thinking a lot lately. My friends are making me think. They’re challenging my beliefs, my integrity, my dignity, my convictions. My reactions to them are really starting to show me who I am. What my “True” nature is. I doubt anything human can be fully honest though. We are much to layered and self constructed creatures. We can’t peal them all back, even when we try to we just cover it up more. Like band aids, they hide the wound but show that their is a wound there to be covered. That’s what humans do.
I’ve come out about a lot of things this year. My fashion and crazy style was just the beginning. I don’t exactly know what is wrong and right looking back, because the things that had a slight absence of good in hindsight always had a abundance of it in the moment. When I put myself in my 11 and 12 year old shoes again I feel that. The overwhelming urge to cover up. Get some band aids on. Get bad ass. Toughen up, don’t cry. I didn’t even know what I was dealing with. I still can’t bring the memories back, there must be at least a hundred layers in my brain to cover them, shield the rest of me from seeing the images, the faces, the hands, the eyes again. Small flashes here and there, nothing permanent, nothing worth recognizing as a memory. Maybe a made of blurry picture of what my senses want me to take notice, small traces of what life was like 4 years ago.
I changed a lot. Maturity, or just more layers? probably both. I still like to hold on to some of my childishness, especially with my brother. People aren’t aloud to see me like that anymore, no one… Not even some of my best friends. “Define best?” …huh, I can’t seem to.
Very soon, very fast, it’ll all be over. I am not a fan of speeding it up. Though people may think that. Yeah, I am talking to you, bitch. Whatever. I will be off, and away, like Peter Pan from a young girl’s window sill. Is it that bad?
I should ask sometime, ask a person about how fast they think some years have gone, and how slow others have seemed. Maybe because we are all so confused, we can’t tell the difference anymore. Maybe that’s a blessing. We won’t have to hold on to the past, the silly things. The unimportant things. “Define, unimportant?” It’s all in perspective.
A college application requires you write a(n) essay(s). The college I will be applying to next fall, requires 2 essays, but rather than 2 accedemic critical essay’s about ancient history/literature, they require one about your life as an artist, your experience etc. and one other about what inspires you as an artist.
The first is easy: (List of stuff to outline my essay. I know, its due in a year but… might as well start early?)
1. Been in plays and choral ensembles since 4
2. Voice lessons for 7 years
3. Piano for 7
4. Dance fore 7
5. Modeling experiences
6. Camera mini movie and public TV performances
7. Art project with illustrative design.
The Second is well not hard but more complex. There has never been one thing through out my life always inspiring me.
- at age 9 saw a 42nd street at The Rep in Portsmouth, fell in love saw it again. Inspired me to tap dance. (still love to tap dance)
- Age 7 watched Phantom of the Opera and became obsessed with it.
- age 10 saw Cats, also by Andrew Lloyd Webber. Obsessed
- Age 14, heard Jesus Christ Super Star music (by Andrew Lloyd Webber) Obsessed
- Age 14, went to NY. New York and saw Broadway show God Spell for the second time and loved it.
- Age 11: Gothic Lolita style of dressing influenced me greatly
- Age 13; Harajuku (Tokyo street fashion) influenced me greatly)
- Age 14: Fell in love with the statue of a man, “The Dead Pearl Diver” wrote a paper on it for school
- Age 15: Street graffiti everywhere. The underground projects in abandoned New York subways inspired me.
Wow.. that’s not even half of it….
Guess I’ll be working really hard on this.
Well tis the season to be getting started on my Christmas list:
- money for College fund
- Money for Cornish Theater prep in the summer
- Hot Topic gift card
- Delia’s gift card
- Barn’s and Noble gift card (for school books and for pleasure)
- old magazines with cool pics/headlines
- The Resistance album by Muse
- Vampire Weekend album by Vampire Weekend
- Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge Album by My Chemical Romance
- Making Mirror’s album by Gotye
- Halo 3 or 4 t shirt
- Cow Slipper or Hello Kitty slippers size 9
- Cow or Hello Kitty socks size 9
- Aerie or VS gift card
I think that should give my 9 aunts some options…. They will probably buy me a lot of socks and Barn’s and Noble gift cards.