A thank-you note to Darren Hayes
Watched an interview with Darren Hayes today on MTV. I love Darren Hayes - no scratch that, I'm in love with Darren Hayes, the public persona he puts out anyway. He's funny, without being a clown. He's sweet, without being saccharine. He's clever, without being pretentious. His music is like someone got into my thoughts and set them to haunting melodies and danceable tunes. And his lyrics - oh, his lyrics! They're so beautiful. Without the music, they'd be poetry. If I had to live my life in a song, I'd pick a Darren Hayes song. The people in his music aren't perfect, but they try, and they find joy and beauty in the simplest things - the shadow of the moon, a lover's old pair of shoes, a cup of coffee. The way he describes love is the way I feel it - "[I]n your eyes/I see the missing pieces/I'm searching for/I think I've found my best friend". I know how entertainment works though, and probably, in real life, you don't always get sentimental, romantic, find-poetry-in-a-cracked- dish Darren, but you know what? That's okay. When I listen to his songs, I can almost believe that love doesn't have to hurt, that you'll find someone one day who makes you think "I can put my faith in you". So, thank you Darren Hayes. It doesn't matter to me that you might drink too much at parties, or recite dirty limericks or leave the cap off the toothpaste. You have penned the anthems of my life. Thank you for that.
Final thought: "If all the world was smiling/I would only ever want to see your frown." So Beautiful, Darren Hayes
Unexpected
CK called while I was mowing the lawn in the late afternoon. It was completely unexpected. He said he wanted my help deciphering some notes he'd made in Friday's class. They turned about to be about the TESOL/NCATE standards, standards for teacher professionalism developed in the States that have been praised all over the world (according to my professor). So afterwards, we made some small talk - the state of the weather, his progress on his thesis, the impact of the internet on modern society. Then he said, "You like Mission Impossible, right?" This is a continuation of a conversation we had at lunch yesterday. My friends were all asking if I wanted to watch some Thai movie, and I said no, and that led into a discussion on everyone's favorite movies and movie genres. My comment? "If there's something that blows up, I'll watch it." To which he remarked, "So you must be anxiously awaiting the new Mission Impossible movie." Not really awaiting, anxiously or otherwise, but I wouldn't be adverse to watching it. After I said yes, he said, "Well, the last day of class, it's coming to theaters. Would you like to watch it?" I was a bit surprised - oh, who am I kidding, a lot surprised, but I calmed myself. Unfortunately, I can't because I had to prepare my speech for the next day - my program asked me to be one of the speakers at the pre-sessional course for the new students, and I don't want to make a bad impression. I was going to wing it at first, but on second thought, don't think it's a good idea. I won't have any time to write a good speech during my hectic week, so I slotted the last day of class for that. The next day, I need to go down the US embassy and pick up my passport, after giving the speech, so couldn't just move it a day either. After my long refusal, I thought he'd just give up, but he laughed, told me I was a busy girl and said, "Friday's a holiday. Are you free then?" I was not aware that Friday was a holiday. I answered that I'd look into it and tell him in class. We talked a bit more about ideas I have for my upcoming individual study before I had to go and finish mowing the lawn. I am not going to overreact. It was an innocent conversation; it was an innocent invitation. I'm not going to get all worked up over nothing. I'll decide during the week whether I want to go or not, but I'm leaning towards not, and not because I don't want to (I kinda do) but coz of all the work I have to get a start on. What I really like about him is how interesting he is, how so many of his views mesh and in some cases, are identical, with mine. I know I haven't known him long enough to form any sort of impression, but what I see, I like. And he's got such adorable dimples.
Final thought: I am really wearing out the words "cute" and "adorable" when I talk about him.
Love conquers all
What is love? Back to one of my favorite topics to debate and discuss. There's no shortage of metaphors and similes to describe love. The one I most relate to at the moment? What I feel for Mr. Heartbreaker - that's like being hit by a train. Complete, utter, life-altering event. CK? More like being clipped by a tricycle. You're a bit disoriented, but it's not love. I know this, I know this even as I'm staring at his clever eyes behind his glasses and his charming dimples and thinking, "You're so cute!" He is not the solution. He's not even much of a diversion. This changes nothing, these eight days (of which I've spent five) I'm interacting with him, hearing his ideas, admiring his intelligence, having conversations with him where he makes me feel like I'm being paid attention to, that I'm being acknowledged. I'm still the same, too damaged to ever feel those same feelings. Will I love again? I'm going to go completely against my nature and be optimistic - maybe. Will it be with the same heedless intensity? Never. That girl who could love with sheer abandon is dead. She was killed by a cruel Cupid and nothing, not even a smart, adorable Clark Kent lookalike can resurrect her.
Final thought: Omnia vincit amor. Love conquers all, and he takes you dead or alive.
In the Zone
Today was a pleasant enough day, even though I stayed up late last night reading The Rule of Four and was exhausted before class even began. It didn't help matters that today we were talking about curriculum development, and I don't have a background in curriculum theory, but see, the best thing was I was in a discussion group with CK. I loved the back and forth we had (well, in the group that is), about educational policy, about how ideology fits into curriculum planning, about what professionalism means. I felt out of my depth sometimes, but it was a nice feeling, like what I imagine Vygotsky meant when he conceived of the zone of proximal development. The zone of proximal development, or ZPD, in case you're unsure, is the metaphorical gap between what you're able to achieve competently on your own and what you're potentially capable of doing with more advanced peers to guide you. I was totally in the zone today, and I was glad CK was there to see it. Don't know if he agreed, but he smiled at me a lot. I'm still worried about boring him or showing myself for the fool I actually am (a daily fear), but it was a rush nonetheless. Think it could also be the effect of being in such close proximity to him. Did I mention how adorable he is? Coz he is. God, look at me, acting like an ineffectual teenage idiot. I have to keep repeating to myself, "It's nothing, it'll be over before you know it." But it's good while it's going on. In other news, I've only heard from one friend in the past five days, and that was a couple of emails from Kwan. I was ecstatic. I miss all my friends like...well, any old simile just won't cut it, so I'll just say it's winter in the forest of my friendships and there's no sign of the frost melting. I know they're all busy; that's fine. For instance, Goldfinger has started his pre-sessional courses at Chula, which horribly, are in the evening, so we have no chance to get together (and I'm sensing more and more that he doesn't, but that's a separate issue). My best friend is incommunicado, what with the nonfunctionality of her net connection. Sigh. I feel metaphorically (and literally, really, coz who do I hang out with anyway?) alone, and that would be okay, but at times like this, when I'm in the zone, I just feel like talking to people other than my family about it. Man, this is a drag to blog about. That's enough pouting for this entry.
Final thought: It's nothing, it'll be over before you know it. My mantra for this week.
I am such a bore
How can you tell if you're boring? Lately I'm thinking I'm a huge bore - in the middle of listening to me talk, people yawn, get headaches, minimize eye contact, gaze off into space, invent excuses to leave. I never really put it together before, but gosh darn, I must be a complete failure at lively conversation. I always thought people avoided me coz I was mean, but now I think it must be a combination of my cruelty and dullness. I wondered if I bored CK today? We finally had lunch together, though I use the word together loosely. We were with like fifteen other people, because everyone attending the seminar today decided to eat together and discuss the course assignment and whether or not to audit or register for it. CK's not taking the class; he finished all his coursework and is focused mainly on his thesis now, which explains why I haven't seen him around before. He just happens to like the professor's work. I felt a little out of my league when all the doctorate students started discussing her books and theories; I haven't read any of her stuff, and to be perfectly honest, hadn't even heard of her before I showed up for her course. The same for Professor Nunan; it was only after I'd attended some of his seminars that I finally read a book he'd edited. It shows me again how fish-out-of-water I really am. The only names on my mind all through my undergrad days were Mendel, Watson and Crick. I didn't want CK to think I was an idiot ( I mean, the guy has a degree in linguistics), so I mostly just nodded and chimed in with stuff I remembered from my language assessment class. It went well, but the best part was on the way back to class, CK and I walked next to each other and he asked me about my individual study (basically, it's like a mini-thesis). I told him that honestly, I didn't have anything concrete in mind and he asked why I didn't research something I'd wondered about from my teaching experience. Well, that led into a whole discussion about how I'd veered off from medical science and didn't really have any teaching experience. He asked me what I'd liked about science so much I'd decided to major in it; that was a good question, I thought, and really, no one at grad school has ever bothered to ask me that. Their main concern is that I totally switched, from science to the arts. He was actually fascinated by how someone who is apparently thriving in an atmosphere where everything is about language could ever have liked something so disparate. So, of course, I talked all the way back to the classroom, coz it's not a simple question that can be answered with "Yeah, well, you know". In the middle of my talk, I noticed him looking a little to my side and that's when it flashed into my mind that I was a major bore. This puts a whole new spin on many of the events of the past few days, including (and I'm loathe to admit it), the incident that is still ticking me off two days later. If I'm really that boring, then what happened was actually a good thing, a face-preserving thing on my part. Yet, I don't know, I can't quite shake the feeling that it's actually how I conceived it and I should stay strong and not give in. Anyhow, it was great talking to CK, even if he did think I was dull. He's so cute; I just like looking at him. I'm going to make the most of our eight days together.
Final thought: Highly educated bores are by far the worst; they know so much, in such fiendish detail, to be boring about. Louis Kronenberger (Thank God I'm not very clever!)
Yesterday, the elevator day
Seriously, do the powers that be get together and just decide to see how much they can jerk you around before you crack? I have had a totally elevator day yesterday - one second up, one second down. It was the first day of my eight-day long course with guest lecturer Jill Burton. We're doing classroom-based assessment, and no, I have no idea what it is, not really. Still, it's in my nature to give it a shot, when it comes to academic matters, so when no one deigned to answer, I'd put up my hand and volunteer my thoughts. Apparently, I did it a bit too much, because the professor smiled, politely (she's British, after all) and suggested that perhaps someone else would like to say something. I know it wasn't meant as a put-down, but everyone was laughing at me like I was a complete dunce and I felt like one. Then, my director calls us up to give us the results of our comprehensive exam - which it turns out I got an A on. My high was quickly killed when it turns out the subject I was most sure of, I got the lowest score on, and this other girl who copied all my notes and just chattered through the whole class got a particularly high mark. Yeah, so then, I manage to get home quite early, which is a definite plus in traffic-congested Bangkok, but as I walking towards my house, I realized I was starving and almost fainted when I got inside and had to wait for my mother to open a bag of crackers. I hadn't had the faintest idea that I was hungry, but my body knew. After refueling, I managed to get quite a bit of my errands done, but then I called Goldfinger and we chatted and he said he was most likely not attending the upcoming MUIC graduation ceremony. This nixes picture time with him, which I feel is the only point of stuff like graduations - so you have photos to hang in your future office and bore your future children with. My brother had a good day at work, which is good for everyone, so that cheered me up. And then a major low hit, which I won't even bother to detail, let's just say I was left feeling crummy. I was pretty upset by it, but I've decided I get angry much too much these days. Who needs the added stress? So, all in all - an elevator day. But then, lo and behold, CK called. Why? Your guess is as good as mine. That really brought the day up. And he was there again today! We didn't sit near each other, but during the coffee break, he came over and told me about this forwarded email that was going around that might contain a virus, and that I should be careful. He is majorly cute. When he smiles, he has dimples in his cheeks, right near the corners of his mouth. They're adorable. I was half-hoping we'd have lunch together (yesterday I had lunch with my friends, and he with his), but he had to leave right at noon and missed the afternoon session. He did say that'd he'd be back tomorrow, so hooray! God, I'm sounding more and more like a teenage girl. I mean, I've only known the guy for two days (technically, one and a half), and it could be going nowhere, and I may never see him again after this - but it's just so nice to meet someone who appears to be on the same wavelength as me, someone who makes me feel like he genuinely wants to listen to me (plus, he's super-cute!). I'm still quite angry over the incident yesterday. With some serious consideration, I do feel that maybe seventy-five percent of the issue is based on assumption, but I don't know - I have a pretty good feel for things. I doubt my instincts are wholly wrong. It sucks, because I'm tired of being angry. It feels like I'm screaming all alone in a dark room - I'm wearing myself out and for what? No one hears me anyway.
Final thought: I hope CK stays for lunch tomorrow. And I hope he asks me to join him.
New friend?
Was gonna blog last night, but my internet crashed before I could post anything. I am now utilizing the half-hour before class starts to get in a quick update. Yesterday was a total elevator day (up and down), the details of which I'd soon forget, but unfortunately, put down in writing and will post later today when I get home. Let's just say - I almost went to bed feeling like I was kicked in the shins, but something pleasant and unexpected happened and turned that all around. Some background is needed. Yesterday was the first day of my eight-day intensive course with a visiting professor, but the class is structured like an open lecture and other people can sit in on it. I met this guy from another batch (basically a guy from another year of my major); he's doing a thesis, something on computers in language learning, I didn't totally get it. I thought he was kinda cute. Think the Asian version of Clark Kent. So, CK (I'll call him that) and I got to chatting and it turned out he'd lived in the States as a kid and then he went back and got his bachelor's in linguistics. We got into a long talk about the potential negative consequences of the use of computers in the classroom and I was very pleased that he shared a lot of my views, and rebutted the ones he didn't agree with in an intelligent, calm manner. Yeah, it looked like a pleasant enough acquaintance was building. He asked for my number, but I thought it was out of politeness - but last night he called! Okay, okay, it's no big deal, but it was just so out of the blue, and it was timed to perfectly (I was bummed about something which I won't go into details about) and we ended talking for like an hour. He made me laugh; he has as corny a sense of humor as I do. I'm not gonna read much into it. I'm tired of being hurt, but it was nice to talk to someone who doesn't a) annoy me, b) treat me like I'm a moron or c) act as though I was intruding on their personal space. All problems I have been facing lately. Maybe it's not too late to try and cultivate some new friendships. I hope he shows up for today's class. Fingers crossed.
Final thought: Linguists are sexy.
Rated
Being the judgemental person I am, I utilize a series of rating scales for evaluating people. It's just my own system of shorthand - oh, he's a 7 or she's just lost five points. I think everyone evaluates stuff all the time - the weather, traffic conditions, their meals, other people's hair and outfits, the list goes on and on. I just like having a sort of system. Basically what I do is rate people on a scale of one to ten; there are two scales, one for personality and one for looks (yes, I can be superficial). One is low - you have the personality of a constipated yak or looks only a mother could possibly love. Ten is killer personality combined with total adorableness; I just add the two ratings together and that's the number I associate with someone. So, theoretically, someone could be a perfect twenty, but I have yet to meet him or her. Totally subjective, of course (I'm the only rater after all), not at all scientific. And sometimes I find myself assigning negative ratings, too, if I really feel someone's a lost case. Everyone also gets "behavior points"; they start off with one hundred and I add and subtract points according to my own internal system of "good" versus "bad" behavior. I guess it's terribly mean of me, but you know, I'm thinking other people are doing the exact same thing to me, but maybe not in such an organized way. The other day I was talking to a friend, and I just jokingly mentioned that they weren't terribly attractive. This was a joke. Although this friend would probably never land on the cover of a fashion magazine, they're reasonably good-looking. Can you believe that because of this one throwaway comment, they were sitting there contemplating their nose for the next ten minutes? Nothing I said could appease them, not even the fact that they'd landed a fourteen on my personal rating scale (seven for looks, seven for personality; not bad, if I do say so myself). It struck me because I used to be that way; I still am that way sometimes, but mostly with my mother. I used to let what people say about me affect me, especially what they thought about how I looked. People always think fat people can take a lot of abuse, because of their bulk, but I'll tell you, with your skin stretched so tight, you're really quite sensitive. Maybe that's why I developed the rating scales, as a sort of defense. Anyhow, I felt really bad for deflating my friend, and even though it was unintentional, I know how that can sting. I only hope they'll forgive me. They really are quite cute, but go into anymore details, and I'll start to sound sappy. I'm just going to dock fifty behavior points from my own score.
Final thought: It's a cliche, but the only way anyone can make you feel inferior is with your consent. I refuse to grant consent any longer.
Little Frustrations
My best friend called today! Was totally psyched. She has loads of vocabulary to learn, and tons of exams. Sandstorms have plagued Beijing, and she has to walk around with sunglasses. Her internet is totally bust; it only stays on like five minutes, so all she can really do is read my emails. I miss her terribly. All the little things in my life pile up and I can't tell them all to her in a ten-minute phone conversation. We need to have one of our five-hour pow-wow sessions, and that's just not possible right now. It's not like there's anything major going on in my life, but it's nice just to be able to tell someone all the trivial little issues and know that they're listening and not judging. That's very therapeutic for me. Lately I've found myself sulking more and more, acting like a petulant child and pouting at the slightest provocation. It's annoying; I even irritate myself with it sometimes, yet I can't stop myself. I think it's because I don't have an outlet for my little frustrations, so I just sulk. It's not like I don't sulk normally, but as of late, I've been doing it so much, it's gotten tired and cliched. Have to find a way to vent (blogging helps, I suppose). Pouting so much makes me feel like a little girl, a horrible one who manipulates the people around her with her emotions. That's not a good thing.
Final thought: Well, guess it's back to the origami.
The Truth is in the Taste
I was doing a bunch of quizzes on the BBC website and found out I may be a supertaster. According to the explanation on the website, supertasters have more tastebuds than other people and thus, react more strongly to flavors. They have an strong aversion to many foods, especially bitter ones. Well, that's me. I always suspected I might be a little weird in the tasting department, since I am the only one in my family who can't stand ketchup, coffee or durian and I'm always the only one who finds certain things bitter. My mother always said that I react so strongly to some foods because I'm fussy. I'll bite into a carrot, tell her it's bitter, she'll taste it, pronounce it normal and tell me I'm hallucinating. Apparently, she's wrong. There appears to be a scientific reason why I am the way I am. I'm also the only one who more often prefers a vinaigrette dressing over a mayonnaise-based one. Thai curries make me nauseous, and as a result, I always come across as a picky eater. A curry on rice is the equivalent of a sandwich - it's just something you eat on the run, and is available everywhere. I can't eat any curry with coconut milk in it, which is basically every freaking curry, so my choices are greatly diminished. Coconut milk in any sort of savory food makes me feel like tossing my cookies; the smell alone is almost enough to induce a stroke, but I think it's due to classical conditioning. Strangely enough, I'm okay with it in desserts. It's just when it's served over rice that I feel sick. Because of all this, I always believed that I was a fussy eater like my mother admonished. Seems that's not the case. It's just something to think about - that you can labor under a false belief for so long, it becomes truth, and it only takes empirical evidence to turn it around. Guess that applies to so many other aspects of my life. I'm tired of thinking about him, but Mr. Heartbreaker keeps springing to mind. For so long I thought he was the perfect guy for me, that he was smart, sweet, sensitive and strong. It was all just a mirage, of course. The truth was, he wasn't smart - he was wily; he wasn't sweet, he was a sweet talker; his sensitivity was a ploy, his strength a sham. I fell for him completely, I believed him so thoroughly, his lies became my truth, and I still suffer because of them.
Final thought: Never hold onto something so hard it ends up drowning you.
In Defense of Origami
There is just something so therapeutic about origami. I can't recommend it enough as a way to unwind. It keeps your hands occupied, engages your mind and at the end, you have something cute to look at. I guess the reason why I'm so enthusiastic is that I was a late convert to paperfolding - in the fifth grade when everyone was manipulating colorful sheets of rice paper into cranes and stars, I was busy being cruel and antisocial. About last year, I decided it was something I wanted to do, went online to research it, and ever since, everytime I've felt bored, I've picked up a piece of paper and attempted to fold something. It's hard because I have almost no spatial awareness, but the challenge invigorates me. I am also slowly working on my thousand paper cranes. I am currently at nine hundred and ninety. The last ten are coming along, and I've been thinking about my wish. The legend is that if you fold a thousand paper cranes, you're entitled to one wish, and as I'm rapidly approaching that crucial number, I have to seriously start thinking about what it is I desire. Not that I believe in it or anything, but hey, since I spent all that time folding cranes, why the heck not?
Final thought: It's either origami or writing erotica, and at least I can do the former in public. 
Oh, yeah, grad school...
Noticed I don't really talk much about grad school or my grad school friends. It's not that I don't like the program or the people in it, but sometimes when I'm there, it feels like I crashed a party just as it's about to break up. Some background is needed to clarify this statement. First of all, the official name of my program is English as an International Language. I have a degree in biomedical science; you can see my dilemma. Everyone was confidently reciting the International Phonetic Alphabet and arguing the merits of rhotic versus non-rhotic accents, and I had to scramble to keep up. My knowledge of stop codons and cranial nerves was quite useless. And to top it off, most of them were old enough to be my parents. Don't get me wrong - they are a nice bunch of people. Thais are notorious for making you feel like you fit in, even when you don't, and you know it, and they know it, and the people in the next room know it. It's why we're the Land of Smiles; a smile can mean so many things. But I didn't bond with anyone, and still haven't, and frankly, I don't know if that's a problem. I get along well with them, but it's like how you get along with the man who sells you your morning newspaper - genial, but not deep. I'm at a point in my life where I feel that the energy, time and patience that needs to be dedicated to the making of new friends is way beyond my present capabilities. In simple terms - I'm content. I'm a rock, unmoveable. My best friend is out of the country and my other close friends are spread out across the globe. I have two good friends who are somehow able to tolerate me, and even when they don't bother to call me or stand me up, I'm only ever mad for like fifteen seconds (I tend to sulk longer). The point is, I have no motivation to make additional friends. That may be nuts, but I'm nuts. Maybe I'll get over it, but I highly doubt it. It's just not that point in my life, and I need most of my time to dedicate to memorizing the different foreign language teaching methods.
Final thought: It sure does suck when you need a fourth for paintball and you only have two friends in the country.
Cute is deadly
I saw the cutest thing yesterday at the bowling alley. There was this pudgy little boy, not more than four years old, tops, and he was too small to do anything but heft the ball with both hands, scoot up and roll it down the lane. It was one of the most adorable things ever. I love kids. I even love kids who wear those little squeaky shoes, you know, the kind that sound like someone stepped on a rubber duck everytime they take a step (although who knows, after twelve hours of it, I might get homicidal, never tried it yet). I always thought that it would be interesting to study why is it that almost anything a child does is just downright lovable, whether it's making a mess eating their strained carrots or ripping a valuable book to shreds. Then I found out that there really is a "science of cuteness" and basically, like a lot of stuff, cuteness is an evolutionary thing. We're more likely to help and support something if we view it as charming and helpless, rather than...I don't know, a loud, obnoxious, pooping, energy-depleting, time-sucking hog. I guess the same can be said of the person you fall in love with, although kids can never be accused of using their cuteness to manipulate you. You can forgive any and all faults in a lover - untrustworthiness, laziness, compulsive lying, messiness, etc. Any anger you may have evaporates in the light of their smile. I readily confess that I get angry very easily, that it doesn't take much to set me off, to send me flying off in a huff, but no matter what Mr. Heartbreaker did, all it took was one sheepish grin, and I'd melt. I always forgave him, for everything, even though he never once said "I'm sorry" without prompting and sometimes, even spun it so I was the bad guy. One look from him, one word - and I was his for the taking. I still am, and that scares me. He's so...cute, for lack of a better word. I think his cuteness will be the death of me.
Final thought: Cute is such a mild word, but don't be fooled. It's deadly.
Sucks at bowling, sucks at cards
My throat hurts. It's that strange tickle that feels like you're thirsty, but really you're not. I think it happened coz I kept getting in and out of the cold - caught in the rain on my way to US embassy for a new passport, cold at the mall, cold at the theater (watching Failure to Launch with Sittha, a less-than-great movie, but good for laughs), cold in Sittha's car. Anyhow, aside from the sore throat, I had a good time. This despite the fact that I can't bowl, can't win a stuffed animal at any of those arcade games, and can't play card games of any kind. Did manage to win one game at bowling today, but Sittha implied it was coz he'd injured his coccyx. He wanted to play poker, but was too tired to teach it to me, and plus, I've never been very quick on cards. It's ironic, because my grandfather is a bonafide card shark. Before he got sick, he used to have people over practically everyday and he'd take them to the cleaners at blackjack. Ever heard the saying, "Unlucky in love, lucky in games"? Yeah, that doesn't apply to me. Alan and I were talking about chess the other day, and I remembered that I suck at chess. Basically, I suck at practically all sports and games - can hardly play badminton, can't serve a tennis ball, have yet to master a basketball lay-up, am awful at darts, have yet to win a game of bingo and practically have an actual heart attack playing the card game heart attack. Yes, when it comes to sucking at recreation, yours truly is the real champion.
Final thought: An acceptance speech? Why, of course! Aside from the academy - uh, wait, wrong award - I'd like to thank my horrible lack of strategy and even worse sense of coordination for this honor. Thank you, thank you (takes long bow and only leaves after people start booing and throwing rotten tomatoes). 
Listmania: The Unknown Ailment
Hmmm, haven't made any lists for awhile, and am thus suffering from list-making withdrawal. Though not recognized by the DSM-IV, the official handbook of psychological disorders, believe me when I say, it's bad. Tom Cruise-jumping-on-a-couch bad. Of course, the cure is simple. I will now subject the reader to another random collection of things in a list format. You have been forewarned. Turn away now if lists make you nauseous. Otherwise, enjoy.
Reasons Why I Think I May Be Slightly Abnormal
1. I put everything, even instant noodles, in the fridge.
2. Always have to have tissue with me or I freak out.
3. Still name my stuffed animals.
4. Still have stuffed animals.
5. I can't shop for clothes without my mother.
6. Can name all the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Raphael, Michaelangelo, Donatello and Leonardo, by the way).
7. Enjoy French fries with vanilla ice cream.
8. Don't like pineapple all that much, but love eating the core.
9. Can laugh for a whole minute non-stop.
10. Get a kick out of making lists.
So, what's the verdict? Have I already left Normal or am I only on the road leading out of town? Who defines normality anyway?
Final thought: The only abnormality is the incapicity to love. Anais Nin (In that case, I guess I'd be okay.)
I see soulmates...
To borrow a lyric from Edie Brickell and the New Bohemians, "I'm not aware of too many things, I know what I know, if you know what I mean". My father is always telling me the wise person is the one who knows how little they actually know. I'm not sure how little I know, but I am constantly finding out. For instance, the subject of soulmates. Today, I read an article about it. Apparently, we have more than one, though they don't all exist at the same time and we also have twin-souls (people with the same half of one soul) or twin-flames (people who have the same soul, in different bodies). Personally, I think that soulmates exist, but not for everyone (and quite possibly, not for me). Maybe it's weird, but I can usually tell who is meant to be with whom. It's some kind of weird gift; not really a psychic thing, not that potent or accurate, but I'm correct more often than chance would predict. I have strong vibes when it comes to love - I can see who's meant to be together, who is attracted to whom, if someone is crushing on someone else. Perhaps it's because I myself have such bad luck in love - ever hear that phrase, "Those who can't do, teach"? I think coz I have no success in the love department, it makes me more attuned to it, and thus, able to see it clearly in others. It's crazy, but for some couples, I just know if they're gonna be together until they're pushing each other around in wheelchairs or whether they're going to be separated in six months. I see other people's soulmates, but haven't ever seen my own, how nuts is that? I envy people who've found their other half. I've actually met people who have found their soulmate, another person who complements them so perfectly, you kinda wonder how they ever managed to do without each other. Sigh. According to a Chiang Mai fortune teller, I have no other half. It seems that all the good fortune I have in the other areas of my life - family, friends, school - has effectively canceled out any chance for luck in love. I guess it makes sense; you can't have it good in everything. I'm not saying the other areas of my life are perfect, but I'm quite content with everything. Thais believe that the actions of our past lives affect the life we are living. I have two theories about my own past lives - either I was a complete jerk about love, or I had such a bad time with it, I swore it off. The first theory implies that my current horrible love life is due to karma, that I'm paying for past sins (maybe I hurt someone real bad in a past life, and I have to suffer the same indignity now). The implication of the second theory is that I'm getting exactly what I asked for, and thus invokes the saying, "Be careful what you wish for." I guess I'll never have any way of knowing, so I'll just have to go on winging it.
Final thought: A Very Short Song, Dorothy Parker
Once when I was young and true,
Someone left me sad -
Broke my brittle heart in two;
And that was very bad.
Love is for unlucky folk.
Love is but a curse.
Once there was a heart I broke;
And that, I think, is worse.
Dysfunction
For better or for worse, I think our relationship with our families colors every other relationship in our lives. The personalities of the people in your family, the people you interact with, have an influence on how you react and interact with other people. I think it's especially true of romantic relationships - you either end up falling for someone similar to a family member or you just go the other way. In my case, the two men in my life are the main culprits. When I look over the guys I fall for, I can always see similarities to my father and brother. My father is the most unromantic man in Thailand, and I say that with love. He can't dance, he can't sing, he couldn't compose music or poetry if it was the cure for world hunger. My father loves us - my mother, my brother and I, I know he loves us more than himself, and that he would gladly lay down his own life to save ours. I know this even though he never says it. I know this even though he finds hugs and kisses awkward. I know this even though he finds it hard to express his affection in any way, shape or form. So, somewhere in the back of my consciousness, somewhere hidden behind all romantic stuff I'd like to find in a man, is this understanding that sometimes the deepest love is the love that is not expressed. "Romantic is good," my mother says, "but it's not everything." I think of it like Spock, from Star Trek. Spock was the cold, logical, supposedly unfeeling Vulcan - but if you watched him during a crisis, particularly one involving his best friend, Captain Kirk, you could sense that beneath all that ice was a heart that was breaking more poignantly than anyone else. It's because of my father that I have a certain image of what a man should be, what a man should do, and I admit, it's probably a distorted image, but it's my mental template, and every guy I meet, I compare him to it. It's because of my father that I have a penchant for men who tend to keep their emotions well under wraps, and sometimes, that leads to frustration. Mr. Heartbreaker is the prime example - he was the most equivocal person on the planet; he never said exactly what he meant, and you couldn't read his emotions unless you were psychic. This upset me so much coz I never knew how to react, but that's what you get for liking a guy who doesn't reveal his feelings. As for my brother, well, he's a lot like my father, only slightly more sensitive, the artistic type. I'd have to say, even though I could call Mr. Heartbreaker a love of my life, my brother is the love of my life. He and I may not always get along, and he may think I'm totally uncool, but I know he loves me and cares about me and worries that I might get robbed or killed on the streets of Bangkok (though coz he is cool, he'd never admit it). It's my brother's fault I like arty guys - poets are my real weakness, with songwriters a close second. It's probably also partly his fault that I always fall for guys who don't have any interest in reaching their potential - it's like something in me is drawn to clever slackers, as if I believe that it's my duty to push them to where they need to go. So, I'm not wholly to blame for my romantic dysfunctions, and that makes me happy.
Final thought: Your family knows all your faults...because half of those are shared by them!
The birds and the bees
I've never watched it, but apparently, there's a scene in the movie Lovely & Amazing where Emily Mortimer's character strips down and asks a man to criticize her naked figure. That's a fascinating concept to me, because I'm one of those people who says, "Tell me what you think of me" and actually means it. A lot of people, I think, ask you for your honesty, but can't really deal with it. Like if someone asks if the song they wrote is good and you think it's like a yak giving birth, you probably wouldn't use those exact words. I'm not advocating giving them two thumbs down and saying, "For goodness' sakes, I'll never get those three minutes of my life back!" That would be mean and would earn you a reputation as a nasty person. It's a judgement call - how well do you know that person? How much do you think they would benefit from sincere constructive criticism? I've asked people to comment on my personality and to tell me my flaws, and for the most part, we seem to be in agreement on a lot of issues, so I guess I know the problems (as for solving them, well, that's another issue). But my body? I don't know if I'll be secure enough to listen. I want to know, eventually, but I'm just not at that stage in my emotional development. I suppose it would happen in a sexual context, and that's what unnerves me. I think I've mentioned it before, but I have issues with my own sexuality. Not that I'm confused or anything, I'm just not comfortable with sex, with discussing it openly or anything like that. I acknowledge my problem. It took me a long time to be even able to say or write "my own sexuality" without having a panic attack. It's kinda funny, because of how my parents are - they're so open about sex, and embracing one's sexuality and so on. I wonder where I got this complex. I mean, it's not like I wasn't taught all about sex in a safe, supportive environment - my parents made sure I got the "talk" and I got all the gory details at school. Unlike a large fraction my Thai countrymen, I know most, if not all, of the facts - how people get pregnant, how sexually transmitted diseases are caught, etc. Yet, I don't know - I'm still just very, very uncomfortable. Maybe it's just me. Do I think sex is important? Absolutely. I mean, the other day Sittha jokingly asked me if I'd rather have someone who I could spend the rest of my life shopping with or sleeping with - the latter for me, definitely. It's not just because I don't like shopping, I just think that if I ever do get married, I might as well have sex. You can shop with just about anyone.
Final thought: The birds and the bees...if only it were that simple.
Wishing for a longer fuse
Alan and Sittha are at the beach and I have to admit, I kinda miss them. Of course, if I told them this, it would totally go to their heads, so I'll just keep it to myself. Neither of them has really been checking my blog lately, so it's unlikely they'll stumble across this. Hahaha, but if they do, it's all well and good. I do miss them. Possibly coz all my other friends are out of the country (except Miko, but she's busy with Chinese and piano lessons). Possibly because it's so hot in Bangkok I am literally cooking in my own skin. Possibly because I have no one to be silly with - although it's hard being silly with the two of them; Sittha, because it's so hard to read his reactions and Alan, because he's so quiet. Lord only knows what Alan is thinking about half the time. Hmmm, but maybe I should be happy about that. The thing I like about Alan is that it takes a lot to provoke him. He has the longest fuse of anyone I've ever met. You can tease him and taunt him and threaten him, and he'll take it all in stride. But, for goodness' sakes, don't give him a chance to exercise his sharp tongue. We met at MUIC, and during second year, he was in a few of my classes, and I thought he looked so much like a sad, lost puppy dog, I decided to make friends with him. Big mistake. That babe-in-the-woods look? Just that - a look. The first time we had lunch together, within the space of about five minutes, he'd already insulted my looks, my intelligence and my ability to carry on a decent conversation. I was so shocked, I abandoned all attempts to forge a friendship and decided never to talk to him again. Suffice to say, "never" has been shelved. Aside from that hidden core of potent meanness and his atrocious taste in all things entertainment (he has by far the worst collection of DVDs I've heard of, seemingly composed of only fourth-rate movies), he's a good guy. Don't give him too much of a chance to be annoying, and he's quite tolerable. Sigh. Tomorrow is Songkran, the Thai New Year, meaning I have to make the rounds of relatives' houses. The streets will be drenched; the splashing of water will be engaged in by all and sundry. The two of them will be enjoying themselves at the beach while I have to sit through my grandmother's lecture on how I'm still too fat, but oh, would I like another bowl of fried rice? Don't you love irony? I wish I had Alan's long fuse.
Final thought: If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will escape a hundred days of sorrow. (Chinese proverb)
Every Breath I Take
"Even nectar is poison if taken to excess" goes the Hindu proverb. My parents are always advocating the metaphorical middle path; moderation is key to a happy life, that's their philosophy. There's some truth in that, I'd have to agree. One of the main problems in my life is excess - excess of food, excess of work, excess of worry. Of course, right now, it's excess of emotion that's derailing me. Everywhere I look, there's his face. Everywhere I turn, I hear his voice. Everything I do, reminds me of him, of something he said, of something he did. I can't draw a breath without missing him. I never knew that loving someone too much could be such poison. Before I decided to separate myself from him, I thought I would be shattered, that I would feel a deep intense pain not dissimilar to being stabbed or shot. I was wrong. It was more of a numbness, like the pain you get when you've been sitting in one position too long and try to stand back up and your legs just give way. It was that helpless feeling, of being trapped inside your own body, unable to move, unable to speak, yet on the outside, you seem just fine. It was that kind of pain. Inside, I was wooden, I was hollow, I was devoid of all sensation. But on the outside, I laughed, I smiled, I walked, I talked, I went on like nothing had happened. Some of the pain has lifted, but I still hurt. With every breath, I hurt. I loved him so much, and he made me see that even that much love was simply not enough. Or maybe, it was more than enough, maybe he began to feel suffocated by me. I feel more and more these days that my aggressive nature will be the death of me - if I want to know something, I need to know it now! And, apparently, that just scares people off. Again, my excesses is killing me. My goal is to try to calm myself down. For now, though, all I can do is hold on.
Final thought: "My bounty is as boundless as the sea/ My love as deep; the more I give to thee/ The more I have, for both are infinite." Romeo and Juliet
Give Me a Poem, and I'll Give You Myself
Sometimes, I can't help but be romantic. I think it comes from being taught to analyze poetry too well (thank you, Ms. Joanne) - all of sudden, everything is beautiful. Everything is rhythm, everything is verse. There's beauty in everything, not just the stuff that inspires so much poetry and music, like flowers, nature and celestial bodies, but other things too. The way my mother chops garlic. The sound of my computer keys. The shape of my deflated pink balloon. There is beauty in banality. I think you can find poetry in just about anything, and I'm thankful for that. I'm almost a simpering romantic because of it. My best friend is always telling me I'm going to end up marrying the wrong guy (if I ever do marry, that's still up in the air) just because he wrote me a song or a limerick or something along those lines. She's right. It doesn't even have to be that good, it just has to be dedicated to me and I'd melt. I am that much of a fool. The thing is, we're surrounded by so much beauty and so many atrocities, yet people only ever seem to see the latter and I think that's a shame. Maybe being too romantic and falling for a simple abab rhyme scheme will be my downfall, but I'll gladly fall. At least, for a while, I would have had a piece of the world's beauty in my grasp.
Final thought: Valentine for Ernest Mann, Naomi Shihab Nye
You can't order a poem like you order a taco.
Walk up to the counter, say, "I'll take two"
and expect it to be handed back to you
on a shiny plate.
Still, I like your spirit.
Anyone who says, "Here's my address,
write me a poem," deserves something in reply.
So I'll tell you a secret instead:
poems hide. In the bottoms of our shoes,
they are sleeping. They are the shadows
drifting across our ceilings the moment
before we wake up. What we have to do
is live in a way that lets us find them.
Once I knew a man who gave his wife
two skunks for a valentine.
He couldn't understand why she was crying.
"I thought they had such beautiful eyes."
And he was serious. He was a serious man
who lived in a serious way. Nothing was ugly
just because the world said so. He really
liked those skunks. So, he re-invented them
as valentines and they became beautiful.
At least, to him. And the poems that had been hiding
in the eyes of skunks for centuries
crawled out and curled up at his feet.
Maybe if we re-invent whatever our lives give us
we find poems. Check your garage, the odd sock
in your drawer, the person you almost like, but not quite.
And let me know.
Ranting for tomorrow
It rained earlier today. I love rain. Well, I love rain when I'm home and not caught in it. Tomorrow I have to go out and get my passport renewed. I hate dealing with Thai bureaucracy. Although they are vastly better trained now than when I first arrived in Thailand, it's not hard to improve when you suck. They were slow, inefficient, dictatorial and downright nasty sometimes. I'm sure not all government officials are like that, but I always seem to find the ones that are. They always look at you like they're so put-upon, as if you're interrupting something so terribly important, when, hello, duh, isn't it their job to be there? And they're such sticklers for silly details! Once at the post office, I had to post a letter for my maid, and I hate to write out an address in Laos and the guy practically yelled at me for writing, what was in his opinion, a crooked L, making the word Laos unreadable. Right, to him, the fussy jerk! I normally try to keep my temper when dealing with civil servants - hey, they have pretty thankless jobs, and they must deal with all types of creeps - but I just lost it. I started ranting and raving and screaming, and when I'm angry, I don't bother to speak Thai. So, there I was, standing in the middle of a post office, yelling my head off in English, which maybe five people understood, and my mother, who was with me, had to take matters into her own hands and just rewrite the darn thing. And this is one of my better experiences with Thai bureaucrats, if you can believe that. If I didn't need the darn passport, I wouldn't be caught dead going down there.
Final thought: Give me patience and give it to me now.
Doubt Not
"Doubt thou the stars are fire/ Doubt that the sun doth move/ Doubt truth to be a liar/ But never doubt I love." The first time I read that, while studying Hamlet during my junior year in high school, I thought, "How come the most romantic line from Shakespeare is in a play about a guy who has to decide the morality of murder?" This illustrates nicely something I've come to realize more and more - love happens in the strangest of places. You can't choose when or where or with who you fall in love. It hits you like lightning or a bullet, and it's just as lethal. It's pathetic, but I still can't seem to recover, and a part of me doesn't want to recover. Maybe it's a little like Stockholm Syndrome - even though I keep getting hurt by him, I can't seem to let the love of my life go. If you had asked me, say four years ago, whether I would sitting here, pining away for this person, so deeply in love with him I felt like I was physically missing something, I would've laughed in your face. "That's absurd," I would've said. "I'm stronger than that." Turns out I was wrong. You can doubt anything you want, but you can't doubt the power of love - the power that brings even the most resilient of people to their knees. Everyone tells me I'm an idiot to hold on, to love someone who hurt me so deeply, so very much that I'm not sure I'll ever heal completely. I smile, sadly, and just nod my head in agreement. Are they right? Is each and everyone of them right to tell me to move on, to tell me I'd be better off with so-and-so, to tell me it's a waste of my time to keep on loving him? Yes. Absolutely. Each and everyone of them is totally correct. In my mind, I know this. I'm a pretty rational person; I know reason when I see it. Does it matter? "Doubt thou the stars are fire/ Doubt that the sun doth move/ Doubt truth to be a liar/ But never doubt I love."
Final thought: If thou remember'st not the slightest folly/ That ever love did make thee run into/ Thou hast not loved. From As You Like It
Am I a present hog?
Had to go into university today and so decided to be efficient, and fit in a movie with Alan and Sittha, but it was not to be. The movie began at two-thirty, and at that time, I was running from Chula to Siam Paragon. My teacher was busy explaining to me the process of obtaining a visa (still don't get it) and it took her forever. I ran all the way, but I was still late. So I could only hang with them an hour, and it made me feel so bad because it was really my fault, and they were so nice and brought me presents and Sittha was sick. I hope they don't think I'm some kind of present hog! I don't normally tell anyone when my birthday is; I always feel it's a little like you're fishing for gifts. None of my grad school friends had any idea and I liked it that way. But Alan had asked me and he told me he'd told Sittha, and though I kinda tried to tell Sittha, all in all, gifts are not big with me. Believe me, I like gifts, who doesn't? But I'd much rather get a card or a nice letter. Alan bought me two little figurines of cats, but what I really liked was the origami bird he folded me with a card he'd partially written (I think I recognize the first part from Much Ado About Nothing) stuck in its tail. That was sweet. The downside was Sittha. I felt horrid when I saw him, all flushed and bundled up in a bulky gray sweater. Poor thing; Alan said he got sick from too much sun. If I had known, I would've made him stay home, but last night, I got mad at him and didn't want to talk to him, and so I didn't find out he was sick until he'd already shown up. If he were my neighbor, I'd make him chicken noodle soup. No one can stay sick long if you've got chicken noodle soup. I felt soooooooo guilty, dragging an ill man from his bed and then showing up late and only having enough time to consume disgusting amounts of chocolate at the Vanilla Brasserie (hmmmm, ironic). Oops, cell phone's ringing, let me get it. Okay, just hung up with Sittha, who has made a miraculous recovery. Sittha is a nice guy and all, but he has the worst telephone manner of anyone I've ever known. He has three stock phrases he'll utilize in each and every phone conversation; they're not even phrases really - "Okay," "Uh-huh", "Huh?" - and that's the extent of his side of the talk. You could say something like, "What movie would you like to watch?" and he'll reply, "Okay", which, yes, is the most utilized word in the English language, but not appropriate for certain kinds of questions, Wh-questions being one sort. It gets me so mad sometimes, and another thing, he only ever half-listens to you, even when he's the one calling! Yes, yes, yes, everyone has their faults and I should be feeling sorry for him because he's sick (although apparently, he's all fine and dandy now), but I have a very low tolerance for ambiguity and making plans with him is like talking to a rock sometimes. Still, he did buy me a cute gift - a stuffed pink monkey. I named him "Cotton Candy" and introduced him to my teddy bear (yeah, I know, twenty-three and still sleeps with a teddy bear? It's a thing) Starlight. I'm not sure if Starlight likes him yet, but I put in a good word for ole CC. Hehehe.
Final thought: Excerpt from Alan's card - "Under the sky, a star danced and you were born. Under the same sky each year, you are not getting older, but better." Isn't that sweet? He's such a good friend.
Thank God for Obscurity
The best part of being born on an obscure holiday is that you get the time off, but you don't have to actually do anything. No agonizing over what gifts to buy people. No making the rounds of relatives' houses. No having to get dressed up. Just downtime, handed to you on a dish. In my case, that obscure - well, obscure may not be the right word, but not major - holiday is Chakri Day, a significant day, to be sure, but not a family holiday like Christmas or Songkran, the Thai New Year. April sixth, in Thailand, commemorates the founding of the Chakri dynasty, the current ruling dynasty of Thailand, a strong, proud line that helped keep Thailand from becoming a European colony and beyond that, I know nothing. (Yes, as you can see, I am a very proud citizen. 
) An important day in national and personal history, but not important enough for me not to be able to dictate my own itinerary. On the agenda? Finish checking my friend's textbook (darn, I am one big procrastinator nowadays), watch one of the DVDs my friend lent me and finish reading Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris, also on loan from the same friend. This is bliss. This is the best present I could ever ask for. Time off, but nothing to do but what I want to.
Final thought: Obscurity is bliss.
Recap of my day
Exhaustion is slowly creeping up on me. Went bowling again today and had the worst scores in bowling history, though, through sheer dumb luck, managed to make a single strike (yippee!). The downside is my arm is slightly throbbing, but it was all in good fun. Was at the toy fair at Yuppie Hell (known to all and sundry as Siam Paragon) and I wanted a balloon, so I just went up to a sales clerk and said, "Could I have a balloon?" Hard to believe it worked, but I have the pink balloon with the word "Barbie" emblazoned on it as proof. Did one of those "find the differences between these two pictures" games again, and sucked royally, again. I had a nice time, overall, a nice, calming time. Came home and watched Chicago, which was suprisingly better than I thought it would be. It doesn't sound like much, but this was over the span of about eight hours, and half of that time, I was stuck in traffic. I hate Bangkok traffic. It makes living in Bangkok that much harder, but who am I to gripe. The last traces of my funk are slowly draining out of me - there's still some residue, but all in all, I'm feeling better I did all this stuff with he-who-shall-not-be-named (coz I don't know if he wants me to name him, that's all, not coz he's evil or anything...well, maybe a little. Hahaha), who amazingly, has not yet walked off and ditched me in the middle of a mall (happened with my other friend). I'm counting the days to that event or something similar though. Oh, well, you can't always predict rain, but you can carry an umbrella, right?
Final thought: I got me a strike! 
Playing Offense
As a kid, I bounced around from one group of friends to another. I never really fit in anywhere, with anyone. I literally had new friends every academic year, sometimes, I even changed groups during the semester. Was I a lonely kid? No, not really, I always had my fun. I watch all these movies about high school outsiders who are so depressed and upset with their lot in life, and I think, "Hey, that was me, and I don't remember it being that melancholy." Perhaps I was desensitized to it early on - I literally had a first grade friend who said to me during recess, "I can't be friends with you anymore." Kids can be brutal. It was snowing, and bitterly cold and I didn't have my mittens on. I don't remember if I asked her why. I was just a baby at the time, and all I could do was walk away. Ever since then, unconsciously at least, I've come to see that the best defense is a good offense. Could be why I couldn't stay put in any one clique. Could be because I am inherently evil. My first crush told me I had cripplingly low self-confidence in my ability to make and maintain friends. He was and is right. No matter how good a friendship is going, there is always a kernel of doubt, that little voice at the back of my skull screaming, "It won't last. At the first sign of trouble, cut out!" I've survived because of that advice. It's only recently that I've begun to try to find a place to settle, but it's hard. It helps that I have a best friend. It helps that I've found friends who think I'm mildly funny. It helps that I have a good friend who calls me almost every night and reassures me that yes, I have a mean streak, but hey, he can take it (or so he says). Am I still wary? Always. Old habits die hard. There are still parts of me I know I'll never share without some real, true persuasion. I think that's okay; it's that 10% you need to hold on to to keep sane. Goldfinger asked me why I was so mean, why I delight in cruelty. The truth is, everyone becomes attached to their weapon of choice. I suppose that's enough revelations for today, considering I am again breaking my cardinal rule against daily-double blogging.
Final thought: "When he [man] is pleased, a feeling of affection springs up within him; when angry, his poisoned sting is brought into play." Shih Chi
Yesterday and Today
Had a very long, but nice day yesterday. Went early to attend the doctoral dissertation seminar, but ducked out at noon to meet Miko. Ate lunch with her and May, then May left and Miko proceeded to beat me into a pulp at bowling. I suck at bowling. Apparently, I also suck at doing those "find the difference between these pictures" games, making conversation and ironically, keeping my mouth shut. A certain someone has flaked out on me for the eight millionth time, so that is officially the last time I ask him out anywhere. Why is it that guys never bother to inform you that they're canceling an appointment or if they're gonna be late, they have to wait for you to call? It ticks me off so badly, but I guess I'll live. So, anyhow, after Miko annihilated me at bowling, she left and I spent the rest of the time with...hmmm, not sure what his new policy is on me disclosing his name, so I won't (and coincidentally, I'm never mentioned in his blogs. I think he's trying to tell me something). He was nice enough to give me a ride home, but he also tried my patience and told me in no uncertain terms to be quiet. Friends, huh? Anyhow, I'm feeling a bit better, got a good amount of sleep, ate right, feeling almost back to normal...maybe not almost, but closer than any other day. Today, editing my friend's textbook is the main thing on my agenda and then maybe watching Chicago or Pride and Prejudice. It's a nice, quiet day and I like that.
Final thought: One day at a time.
A + B = Foul Mood Me
Still not back to feeling 100%, but I think that lack of sleep was one of the main culprits. I took a very long nap today and that really helped. Woke up early to go vote, but there weren't any candidates I was interested in, so I just declined to make a decision. Had Sunday breakfast with my whole family, a rare occurence, since they're usually gone before I'm awake (my parents to visit my grandmother, a weekly ritual that my tutoring job doesn't allow me to participate in) ad my brother to band practice. I think I've seriously been ignoring the physical side of my health, not to a large extent, but enough to make a difference. I've been sleeping later than usual (I usually turn in by ten p.m., but have been going to bed at midnight sometimes), I sometimes skip lunch coz I'm so busy, and because of the seminars, I was consuming vast amounts of snacks (we had two coffee breaks a day). It's not a huge lifestyle change, but it was the culmination of modifications that I'm sure it has a factor in my funk. Sigh. I have plans with Miko tomorrow, I missed her. I heard she has a new boyfriend, which she refused to tell me about and my plan is to crack her tomorrow. I need to know! I live vicariously through my friends. I have a hunch as to who she's dating, but I need confirmation. My best friend called me from China, I was so happy. She was telling me she's quite fluent in Mandarin now and that she has to sleep in like seventeen layers because it's so cold. I'd love to be in the cold. She always said she's the sun bear and I'm the polar bear, and we used to have to compromise on what temperature to set the air conditioning. She always wanted it at like twenty-seven degrees Celsius, but I was more comfortable at eighteen or fifteen (coincidentally, the lowest temperature possible). I miss her, and I think her absence is yet another variable in my negative mood. So, all right, that's lack of sleep + altered diet + missing confidante - oh, and disappearing friends (no doubt super-busy, so I forgive them), overall, equals me in a foul mood. But I'm trying to pull myself out. I pushed myself in, I can get myself out.
Final thought: Slow and steady wins the race.
Hopeless Fool
Is there such a thing as an "All-Year Fool"? Coz I'd definitely qualify. Could be my foul mood, but every day seems to be, lately at least, an uphill struggle. I'm dragging this sorry excuse for a person (myself) along this road we call life and scratching up other people on the way. I wonder, "What the hell? Why do I bother?" I think I'm a fool for that. Darn, this is veering down into super-negativity again. I admit, I do feel slightly better because I just got some good news from Alan about a certain issue that's been bugging me, but I'm not 100% back to my perky happy usual self. I'm working on remedying this. I watched The 40-Year-Old Virgin, a piece of horribly inane, foul-mouthed, perverted cinema that did not tax any of my mental capabilities (translation: I kinda liked it). I treated myself to a disgustingly large cheeseburger for dinner. I refused to do any research for my fast-approaching individual study. I am throwing caution to the wind (a fraction of it anyway) in an attempt to calm myself down. The one thing I can't seem to control is thinking about him, the man who broke my heart and, though it makes no sense at all, is still in the process of breaking it (can't explain how that's possible, considering I washed my hands of him). He's always in my mind - in my conscious thoughts or lurking at the back, waiting to jump out when I hear a song lyric that reminds me of him or see a shirt that looks like something he might like or even during stupid moments, like when I stubbed my toe on the doorframe today. I thought how I'm always eight hundred times more klutzy in his presence and that set me off on a reverie. If you're wondering why I just can't get over him, believe me, I've tried, tried, tried, TRIED. I can't seem to shake him. I've only had two great loves in my life. The first began with a crush in the fifth grade and escalated into a love that survived puberty, his moving away, his playboy streak and the requisite string of girlfriends and a whole continent of separation - oh, and did I mention it was unrequited? Yes, I was the one pining away for years and years; he could've cared less. How did I snap out of that one? I didn't do it voluntarily. I fell in love with Mr. Heartbreaker. That's how I stopped caring about my first love. It doesn't seem hopeful if the only way I can stop myself from wishing I could hear the sound of his voice is to fall in love with someone else! At this point, I'm so hurt, so jaded, that nothing short of a grand gesture on the scale of say - I don't know, say a teen romantic comedy (lame much?) - would win me over and what guy would waste that much time and energy on me? Hopeless.
Final thought: And the title of "All-Year Fool" goes to...me (cue pity applause).