Friends?

Sometimes I want to stop talking to you because I feel myself getting dumb down, numb down at the hopelessness of your situation.

I know that I am one of your few friends who actually care about you but must you burden me so, it's like constant 24/7 with you and I am tired. I asked you about your other friends since you have so many on facebook, knowing a 1000 people and who else were you going to invite and you invite only my social circle of friends, and only one on your part?

I fear you are leeching my friends because you can't make any of yours and I feel shitty for feeling this way because of the fact that you are a good person caught in a bad situation that has become your trap.

I was hoping the books that we read will help you and I do see progress but my patience has run out with you. I am sorry honey, but please cheer the fuck up, and start thinking positively and get up your ass for once and air out your place and you might not under the weather as you constantly are but jeez louise if I lived in your place and did not clean it like you did, I'm sure I would be constantly suffering from respiratory troubles as well.

I am angry. I am tired. I have little patience with you.

You have no idea how much you have with what little you have. I am jealous because of what little you do have, you do not take advantage of it.

If I were in your place, I would be living different lives all the time. You do not appreciate your life and I can hear you saying that there is nothing to appreciate to it but that's the problem. You are and the way you think about your life. Not your life itself.

You have no clue when was the last time I woke up and only had to take care of myself at home. I love vacations so much, traveling by myself because I wake up at the time I want to and I breathe when I realized that the only person I have to be responsible for, is myself. That is something rare for me and you have it everyday and could care less. How unfair. That is just one thing, there are so many elements to this life, to your life that you can't even appreciate even though it's right under your nose because you have not live my life or the life of someone who has to wake up every day and fight because we were born minorities, discrimination found in the face of neighbors, of entering a place like a scholarship review, a book discussion, a classroom, a gala, and knowing that the first thing people notice about you is not what you are there for, not your pretty face, not your acknowledgment as a person, but rather you are acknowledge by your race and the fact that you feel immediately that they think you do not belong there and are pity, yes fucking pitied like a lost dog because they think that you're trying, even though the majority of your race is working behind some stove or cleaning up someone else's toilets. That is labor, not the little job you so constantly bitch about which I don't get at all because seriously, you are not earning your money with the sweat off your brow. You haven't worked underneath the sun right at it's highest point. You have never worked a job that has given you calluses on your hands, you have to be constantly on your knees cleaning, and made you dog tired when you got home that you just collapse on the couch and NOT be able to get up because you are so damn sapped of everything and then you have to do it again the next day. So shut up already about it. I know what real work to bitch about is and that isn't it.

So tell me when you are complaining of having nothing to do, of being bored, do you blame me for wanting to not talk to you because of the fact that I have to try at least 6 times harder, house responsibilities riding on me, filial duties constantly at my side, work, school, and grabbing each spare minute to work on myself and hope that one day I will accomplished what fuels me. I take the blame for my patience , but honey, please for once, try to be a little considerate.

Is it?

Lust can be a mistake, over and over and over. We make mistakes based on lusts and bodily urges that are fleeting and disappear once our satisfaction is attained.

But as I wandered in between the market aisle this morning, somewhere between the soaps and laundry detergents sections I realized that love, love can never be a mistake. The situation may be all types of messed up but the love itself isn't a mistake and never will be.

Adonde?

Where is all this anger coming from?

I was pissed off. Again. Briefly today. I don't think anyone noticed but for ten minutes, all I wanted to do was break something beautiful. I wanted to mutilate and pound and just fuck the shit out of anything that was considered beautiful, including myself. I just got very angry during class & so I wrote.

I wrote in my book, and gave my anger to my main character, poor pitiful little fuckshit geek younger brother Jules with an asthma problem and pimples coming complete with thee yearning for a girl he could never have who will always be living in the shadow of his douchebag older brother who will never be more than a jerk. I gave it to him and read what I wrote and then laid back in my chair and thought...

I am writing a VERY violent book in terms of suburbia and urban settings. No swords. No shields. No epic battles. No royal treachery here. It's all about the losers and winners of high school and how certain choices just rippled through out your whole life. it's about the pummeling and hate between two brothers, even if one is not aware of it and how a little glass jar which holds your brand name coffee brand can become the object of a fight fantasy, a key to winning a fight.

& all of this macho things coming out of me, I think it is me. I've always been neutral in terms of being either girlish or boyish in personality, never super girly (& now only in terms of appearances because I will never squeal over the latest vogue magazine.) And yet all this coming out, it's just because I"m not denying it anymore. it's not I'm becoming a tomboy. it's because it is me. Since I was little, I would read these "male authors", never was into the babysitters club, was into survivor stories and fantasies. This having a motorcycle as my cell wallpaper, and reading palahniuk, bolano, it's just me. Coming to terms of all aspects of my personality. This anger, by taking it out via working out, This is how I deal with things, and fuck society for labeling it male or female. I'm not about to sit down and boohoo over a dish of ice cream. I am stronger than that.

& I still don't know why I've been so angry of late. It just occurs. I guess because I don't go easily into mood swings & control my temper that it is only alone that I let my feelings out. Either through writing it out or through exercising it out.

It's me. I get to know more about myself every day. I tend to look for those self actualizations which can make me into a happier person. & this is a self actualization. I do have male traits to my personality & I accept them. I just hope that one day my family will accept me for me.

My sexuality. My love of bikes.

I won't find out or risk it till I'm on my own.

Which I hope will be very soon. Because I think a girlfriend would be very sweet to have at this point because guys are just confusing me.

Everything except for their cock.

One day, I will come out. One day I will be me. & to hell with what everyone thinks.

But that day won't be today or until I can support myself. & this will be soon. Soon. I will be that person I dreamed of being and be honest about it.

I guess it all worked out

The reason I'm not blogging much these days is because happiness with little trivial complications that are nothing, has decided to visit me.

I am happy.

This is my secret blog that turn into my rant against what the fuck is up with my world & what the fuck am I doing? But the longer I don't blog, the longer my happiness has decided to stay. I only hope that everyone else feels the warmth of what life can be too.

& that this feeling stays, and this blog should turn into my nauseating happiness as I gush about books, movies, and all the good stuff that life has to offer like funnel cakes and inside jokes. Memories. Beautiful memories that make up our lives, that make up our daily happiness.

Now all that I want to do is go back to my writing, it beckons me, and I have answered its call. So I'm happy.

A long time ago there was a girl with big dreams

& it was me. While most girls dream of their prom dates, their first kiss, I was dreaming of something else. Making promises on my birthday, saying that this year I will do this or this, that counted far more than any new year resolution.

& I promise myself to make all my dreams come true. Girls my age were more into thinking about what they were going to do for summer break or who would be their next high school love, and I was dreaming of being a writer, of being a librarian, of living in cities I read about. & this afternoon I remembered how I wasn't going to stay still. How I wasn't going to be my cousins and live forever and a day with their parents and grow old and bitter underneath the fact that they never found their one true love to settle down with & have kids with or the realization that they never found their passion.

I remember how I used to have a list of places I wanted to live in my old livejournal account. Places I've been to, lived in through the pages of books I read. Cities so alive, with people and mannerisms that just breathe curiousity and made me wish so bad that I was 10 years older, age 25, and a woman with a self supporting job that needs no man to be desire financially or anyone, and had the choice to live anywhere I wanted to.

One of those cities was Sacramento. The Camellia Capital of the world with its festivals. Another was Half-Moon Bay, just outside of San Francisco. Coronado Island, San Diego, which I love so much that I based a tiny bit of my book in. Not just california cities either. The Sno-Isles, Washington. Boston. Barrington, Rhode Island. Savannah. New Orleans, New York. Vero beach, Florida. Every region I wanted to explore, including the south (YES MIKKO THE SOUTH & YOU KNOW THIS! & I DON"T CARE IF I HAVE TO BRIBE THE HELL OUT OF YOU TO COME VISIT ME. You are going to visit me WHEREVER I END UP. Please? xD) just so many places, the allure of how it was presented to me in books, just called to me and it would be a way to get to know the US in it's beauty and ugliness. & this wasn't limited to the US. I wanted to travel the world, to really be a traveler, not just a tourist, most of the time when I pictured myself living overseas I saw West Europe in its enchanting siren song it called to make me feel uneducated. & now I know I can actually do it. I feel like everyday I wake up more. I become more aware of the person I used to be, & how I used to think to hell with everybody who would try to stop it. & to hell with love, I was much too busy to even think of kisses and hand holding and then guess what, someone fell in love with me. & I experienced it and I lost it, and it hurt me. It changed who I was. & I found it was wonderful, & it leaves me wondering whether that's it. Whether my ex would be the love story of my life, and I would be forever the woman telling of how her greatest love happened when she was too young to realized it, and it ended tragically cliche. & sometimes I still reel from that. Like last night, it just hurt, and it was my own fault because of the certain scene I was writing in the book, and how sometimes, writing, and listening to songs, and even reading or certain conversations had those echoes and I know it's time to move the fuck on, just get over him, and for the most part I am, it's just sometimes I am reminded & now that I'm remembering who I am, this curious little girl who wanted to know everything, read everything, get to know what the world had out there, and how I was going to conquer it, I realized that in my endeavor with love and relationships, just how much I lost of myself in that relationship & I promise, when I do get in a relationship & I know I will because I am going to want to date eventually, I will not forget myself. Not forget my dreams. Not going to sacrifice myself again in hopes of retaining another person. I don't need to sacrifice who I am for another person, they should like me, and not required myself to mold so much into their life that I forget what is my passion. & I promise myself, even before I became that person, that I would NEVER changed myself for a guy. Never say never, I became exactly the type of woman that I always wonder why the hell were they so stupid, so blind to themselves and let their boyfriends treat them however. Well I know why now, it was for love & at the time I would say it was worth it. I knew love, and now I know love lost, & I try to live with the knowledge of it that experiencing that does make me a better person and I make promises, so many promises, not to be that woman, not again. To be the best person I can be and live to the fullest reality of my dreams.

Let's hope it lasts for more than one day

Today I found myself dreaming those dreams of old.

& I remember what it was like before when I would dream of my future. A cozy little home, my career, a little car, everything just for me because I didn't need no mansion because it would be just me. A garden. Wind chimes and a little seasonal flag in the front. Maybe a small cemented pond, if the climate was right. A house in a city I never lived before, and moving frequently, every few years. exploring the people of the country, and out of it.

But it was always me. Because I didn't expect anyone. Didn't expect a prince charming. Even in my dreams, when I would take off on vacation, it was just me and my books. Maybe a few friends along the way, but ultimately I was the one walking around the ruins of Rome and buying gelato off the street by myself.

I didn't need anyone, didn't dream of anyone, of finding that person just for me.

& this is how I ended up writing a nearly 400 page novel in under 2 years once I got serious about it.

It was because I depended on me and in my solitude I would be find happiness, content, and I found myself dreaming of that house, a place to call my own again. No relationship needed and I don't know whether that means I am jaded or just content and selfish enough for it to be just me once more.

& the dream of Cp has never changed at all, just strayed to the back of my mind.

It feels like I'm finally waking up, snapping out of it. I see what's vital to me, and now it's to hell with what everyone else thinks. Just like I used to be.

A few things have changed about my dream though, but mostly materialistic. There are things I would buy now that I would never before even hope to touch because I was afraid of my secret desire for it.

Also, I realized I wouldn't be that much of a loner as I used to dream of before. That instead of me coming home to my house, it might be me at home, cooking, and my friends dropping in at all hours just because they want to see me. & they know I'll feed them lol. & before when I thought I would move far far away from my family as I can, i realized I still want to do that, but for different reasons, before it was just to get away from them so I could have complete freedom and now it just so I can prove to myself I can live without them.

As well I could myself having affairs, & know now full well that guys ARE (very...yes I'm a vain whore) attracted to me, when before I thought that they would just overlook me because that's how it was. But I realized I could have as many as I want, really, it's about the confidence within me that draws them, that and I know not to hide beneath the baggy hoodies no more.

Funny how after all these years, I dream the same dreams, only with a bit modification, but that's okay. I hope I wouldn't be the same person I was so desperately that I both changed and didn't change completely.

I remember now, and I just hope I won't forget myself again.