& then I forgot this.

What it was like to have an actual guy call.

Like talk on the phone. Not just text and to be able to have a conversation without going sexual, only light, verging on polite flirting.

I forgot what it was like. It's been so long because I don't/won't/can't answer the phone and am very selectively about who I talk to on the phone. Especially when it comes to guys.

Especially when it comes to my (potential) fuck buddies. But he called. He called me and I said fuck it, and decided to pick up, thinking he just wanted to hear my voice and make sure it was me, voice confirmation.

But it brought back memories.

And it was nice. I forgot about how nice it is. To have a guy just talk to you, no bullshit involved or before it starts and I realized this is the way it should have been, with Meaty. yeah, I admit it Mikko, and maybe this is why you logged in to see if I had any of my confessions. I didn't, because you already know how I wanted it to be with him, and then not.

But it doesn't matter, or maybe it does. Because he's still talking to me, and now we reached a point that I don't even know how to describe.

but this phone call, it reminded me so much. Of how I used to be. That girl. You know, when I was with someone. A girlfriend. A person. I've become so used to texts that are so removed from me, and then just being with a guy and not talking with him because we didn't exactly meet up to talk, that I forgot what it was like.

It's nice but I have to put it away now. It'll be another memory and I'll look back upon it as just that. Because if I allowed it to be much more than that, then it'll start to matter.

And he doesn't matter. And he won't.

But it was still nice. If only for a little while :) But I feel bad for my less fortunate friends who won't get this attention from guys because I don't know why. Either they attract the attention but are too picky, or they don't but only from guys who are not really guys but creepers, or they just get it from their ex, which is just a world of fuck up hurt waiting to happen, but they don't get it. I don't know why.

I never saw myself as particularly attractive. (Unless I'm being cocky) I mean look at me, I am overweight and still working on it when I hope I wouldn't be as much but life kinda took over and pushed away my jogging routine.

Maybe soon again when I will take it up. I have to, if I am going to be leg humping again. I want myself in the best shape possible for twisties.

I guess the point of this blog is that I have to remember what it's like being me. Completely me and happy with myself again. I forgotten that too. Was remembering. But then the schedule kicked in and I didn;t have time to be myself, to completely recovered from my last boyfriend. My ex. Yes it was short, so short of a time we were together, it seems crazy now to see how much I became attached to him. But at the time it wasn't and I let myself fall. Fall for him. Fall in love, and it hurt after the fact. Just broken hearted for a long time, and just made me really question. He said he would remembered long after I have moved on, what he didn't know is that I knew it would be the opposite. He would be with a girl first, and only mourn the relationship a few days, a week at most, and I would still be trying to get over it.

Just because I was attached, and this is why I don't like to get attached because when I do get attached, I do it (to quote my cousins) FOR REALS.

I do it FOR REALS. No half assing it. I go all the way and give over my heart, love shouldn't be half ass. Not one bit. Which is why I'm selective and chose to fuck around than date.

I say I can't date because of my parents but that's not the whole truth. It just adds to it. I really don't date because it tends to mess with my head. My heart. Am I scare? Yes. I don't want to put myself through it if I don't think the guy is worth it.

So I'll continue to fuck around and have as much fun as I can with guys and hopefully girls. I want girls. I wants lots of them. I want them to come to me, and I want to play and I want girls. But for right now, I'm going to concentrate on riding and getting through the night. Day. week.

Without remembering fuckface.

I thought I saw him today, making a turn. My heart JUMPED and I was so happy of the way I handled the truck even though my heart stopped. But then my second thought was "you're too poor to own that nice of a corvette." And I kept driving. but but but. Like any time that happens, he stayed in my mind.

He was my adoration. The love of my life. He hurt me so much that even now, some songs still reduce me to tears when I think about him.
But all I can do is toast to that fucker's fate and hope his life deteriorate daily and for one day, just once, I would like to laugh and have fate laugh with me when he sees me driving in a nice car, and before he realizes who it is, I want him to think- hot girl driving. Fucker. You thought I couldn't drive, you said so yourself, that I shouldn't drive, that I had a distracted personality, that I wouldn't be able to drive. That I was too "nervous". & I'm ashamed that I agree with you. that you would reduce my independence so much. fuck you and your shitty car, my car may not be new but it'll never break down on me like it does yours and is newer. Just wait, one day. I will get my own bike, fuck what anyone says, I will learn to ride, and you will have to owe up to the fact that you fucked up with me. OH & the reason why I have such a "distracted" personality is not because I can't control myself, oh no buddy, it's the opposite, it's because I am thinking a millions thoughts at a time.I am thinking thoughts that you can't even dream of because of your limited imagination due to your inability to have passion for anything outside of yourself and your puny paycheck and your car. Anything else in your head going on? Nope. No ambitions beyond slaving away at a crappy job for one good day of paintballing. Fucking idiot, and I'm not saying I'm better than you, but you will never understand what it's like to actually THINK. I have dozens of layered dreams, and guess what fucker? Most of them are coming true and if not, I am working on it and won't stopped till they are coming true.


YOU

Majorly fucked up. I was willing to give you everything and you knew it, and you threw it away for a little high school tramp. Fucking 15! You were 20 turning 21! Wtf were you thinking! Did she give you that good of a blow job? Was it because I was timid in giving you blow jobs? And the only reason why I was so timid was because you fucker, had a big dick. If you had given me damn time, I told you I was working on it. I never given blowjobs before you! I was a late bloomer, and only had 2 guys before you and one of them was the guy I lost my virginity to. Idiot. I was learning. Did that scare you? Knowing that I was always learning and intent on always doing so. Placing value in my education? Well, my education has gotten me to the point where the other day at work, when I ate a big banana, I got stared at. 3 stares and one guy who had to look back at me.

Yeah, I learned a few things. Fucking idiot. Your loss and I can't wait till you realized how well I did for myself. Am doing for myself.


...wow when did this turn into a rant?

X_X

In the still and the chill of the night.

I remember what it was like to have heart and harbor the possibility that anything might happen.

Instead I find that I am the instigator, bringing mystery, allured, excitement to everyday life.

What am I doing? Really? What am I doing with him?


He's not for me and yet I continue this almost ridiculous Amelie game with him. Maybe I'm just jealous because I am Amelie, but he is no Nino. He will never figure out who I am and he will never find a way to play with me, like Nino did to Amelie.

I strive for this different type of life that will hold a love that utterly enchants and the only place I find it in is when I do it, and pull all of this anonymous bewildering tricks that do intrigue the person of my interest but at the same time I don't think they can give a damn. Because really who can relate to me on, who can be that person for me to create that type of love for me?

Who is the Nino to my Amelie?

No one.

It hurts.

It pains at me. I remember how magical moments seemed and I want to reach for a bottle to forget.

I'm trying to forget what they meant to me and it comes back at me and I need to forget already. I need to move the fuck on.

I'm going back to my book. That's all that's left for me to do. It's the only way I can move on with my days and get lost in the writing so I don't have to go on living with these stupid memories.

I will find love and live love, and experience it how I want to. In the pages of my books, through my characters. They will have all I never can have, and they will be beautiful.

No real education

I'm afraid.

I'm afraid, when I should be embracing it.

I'm afraid when I should be waking up challenging it.

I'm afraid because I am coward, and this coward took a chance.

I took a chance and now I am afraid, after the fact.

I need to breathe and not be afraid because after all, he doesn't know me. He can't say anything. I am a masked zorro amelie to him right now, just a mystery, and yet I'm afraid that I will fail. Do I really want this? Do I really want him? I am not even sure but I'm taking a chance and doing it in the most odd and yet only way that I know how to do it because I know that if it happens, face to face. That him, like any other guy, would just be a missed connection. Because they always are. It is only through my writing that I grab anyone's attention, and everyone's from the look of it. But what if my writing fails me? What if...?

I don't like being afraid, especially not for and of my writing. Of this potential I know so well. And yet is the real issue here is not him, but the fact that I might, actually be afraid of reaching my own potential?

What if I reach it and it's not like I want it to be?
What if getting there, writing like this, writing everyday is where the true happiness comes from, and after the fact, after there is no happiness to be found?
What if I aim for that guy, and once I get him, I don't find happiness because I was stupid and selfish enough to love and want only the idea of him, and not the real person, just like with CP.

Is that why I'm so disinterested of late? Because I might just love the idea of things but then not really want them because I am afraid I only love the idea of them but not the actuality. What if I dont love my books after they're done? What if I go after my dreams, and don't love them in reality?

I took a chance and I need to learn to take more chances, for better or for worse, but just take chances, for me.

The write way?

Writing.

Progress

I'm hoping. I'm really hoping that if I continue like this, that I might actually finish my book. Page 74. Yesterday I was at page 71. I have hope that if I keep writing and get back into that beautiful habit, I might be able to double my writing.

With less than 40 pages to go and a few weeks before school kicks in, the challenge is in.

<3 Hoping. I found a quote the day before yesterday of which I thought applied to me, because I am selfish like that and overestimate myself.

"There are two kinds of artists in this world: those who create to enrich their lives, and those who create to define their lives."

I know which one I am.

Books

Yes that's my third. yes, I'm quite proud of that. Yes, I realized that after everything, it's all I'll ever have. Just me and my books.

i'm sorry if I'm a little jaded but I just want to know why every guy I've ever loved, left me for her. Loved her more than me.

Oh well.

Back on track.

They can't stop me.

No matter what fate throws at me. I refused to be stopped.
I refused to be beaten down and waking up every morning, feeling hate, feeling self-pity, feeling anything but awesome at who I am. I have worked too damn hard at the person I am today in order to be reduced to being the person I was before, damnit. I refused to lead any life that I am not happy living. I don't care if I have work even more. I will do it. I will achieve my goals. I will let nothing stop me. A few bumps in the road, a few traces of the past coming along, a sense of security being shifted, will not stop me.

I will work my ass off and get my damn phone back, even if I have to pay full price. I will work my ass off and get my permit, and get my licence before the year is out. I will get the classes I need, opened or not. I will keep up exercising, including upper body workouts because this is what I need to start getting in shape, not only for myself, but for my goals of riding, both motorcycles and bicycles, and mastering how to do 4 inch heels, as well as having full confidence in myself when I aim for those guys and girls who are a league above myself with their peak physical bodies and chiseled faces out of a wet dream. I will go after them, even more than I do right now because of the fact that I deserve the best of the best, including hooksups. I will do this, damnit. I will finish my goddamn book, no matter how much it hurts me, reminds me, I am so close. 40 more odd pages and I am done with it. I will finish and I will start pitching, I will actually give my all to getting it published and if it doesn't happen, I will spend the rest of my life doing it till I am a writer. I will re-start planning for grad school. This summer is my summer now. Summer, I am reclaiming you and taking you back from fate! Fate can just watch me because she hasn't seen anything yet.

I am 23 years old, it's time for this to be my summer, no matter how much it burned and turn to ashes. I will rise up and make it my summer, whatever is left of it. Weeks left till school comes in, and I got to get ready.

I will become the person I already am, again, and even better. My summer. My life. Mine. I will do this because I know myself and I know my potential. My potential is endless. Summer better be ready, because I am going to rape these last days with my ambitions. Here I come.

Pages

Fuck you book for making me feel this.

fuck you for making taking up my mind and tearing out my heart and just splatter it all over the keyboard as I write into you.

Fuck you book for doing this to me.

I hate you book.

I love you book.

I hate you for the way you make me feel. For what you make me need and how I go out again and look for it in the empty online networks where I find lust and a glimmer of a hope for a girl and even slimmer hope for a guy.

Also fuck you to the guy walking around work who broke my heart a bit just by looking at him.

You were wearing blue jeans, a light white long sleeve dress shirt casually open and I didn't see you till you nearly passed me. What caught my eye was not your face but the fact that you were walking along. and carrying a book, an obvious norton anthology. I froze, realizing that my wet dream just walked past by me and I could do nothing about it.

My heart broke and harden a bit at work because as you left with your clean shaven jawline and neat dark brown hair, the thought that this was going to be my love life hurt me. That I will see him or her walk right past me and never notice, never take a look back, never realized that I was standing right there, less than two feet away with an equally thick book in front of me, reading at work, the only girl in the casino reading.

Will you always be my missed connection? Will I never read what words you are reading? Will you always be just a picture in my heart? Will I always seek out stumps and pretty faces to replace the hole you leave gaping because you will never look back and whenever I find you and your potential, you will just walk past me because you will never take a closer look or even care to look at me.

not much else to do but accept this reality that I am alone and only in my writing will I find happiness, along with the sound of a motorcycle because sometimes the high pitched rev of that engine gives my heart a jolt and wakes me up from the numb state that I fall into and suddenly I am alive and watching it...ride away from me.

Fuck.

& it's a holiday for a hanging, yeah.

i wrote this a couple days ago.

I was supposed to post it on OKC because I haven't updated there in awhile.

But I think it's better suited to here. But I'm not sure it makes sense because this was one of those times that I was writing at like 3 am, bleary eyed, tired, and just being overcome by raw emotion that was killing me. But I'm still alive & here it is.

    I really should be studying, sleeping, reading, relaxing. Especially after my insanely busy day. But I find myself restless and any attempts at studying for a test tomorrow for the past hour or so have been futile. So I am doing the only thing I can do that can maybe quell my mind. I am writing and since I haven't updated this journal in To quote the ideology of one of my favorite writers (Palahniuk, anyone?) When did the future go from being such a promise to a threat?
This summer was supposed to be my summer of reading and writing and just living life day to day and enjoying my family and friends as much as I can because I am going to move out of state for grad school which will be the fall after this one. Some of you are like big effin' deal, you're moving. Well to me it is because I am actually loved (friends, family) by many and they don't love me just because they have big hearts, but because I loved them right back.
I was supposed to have the type of summer that is spoken about in the movie American Beauty when Lester was talking to his neighbor about how he spent all summer working at a low paying job only making enough to buy a few LP's. He didn't care because all he did was hang out with his best friends who worked with him, and party and just lived everyday as the adventure it was. I wanted that. I wanted to go out and have fun and be cool and complete personal goals in between of it, find perhaps a summer romance if I got a chance. Something light, something fun, something just for the summer. My summer, make a little money,
I got my wish. I found a retail job, enchanting every customer coming my way and then just standing around and joking with my coworkers, my partners in crime as we people watch the hours away at work. Having fun, everything going sweet. Having bookclub meetings in between taking on the city and family meals. Writing nightly, making real progress on my third book, while enjoying greatly the work of other authors.
June came along and he came along with it. My summer romance. I was thrilled, I was lust-eyed, I was ready and knew how to play this game too well. He was much more than what I wanted. Just a really beautiful person inside and out. With blue eyes, cinnamon skin, tall, and the part that made me squee with excitement is that he's a rider, writer, and a reader. That just made me play the full game on him because I was not stopping till he became my 'summerboy' (Lady Gaga song, give it a listen and try to understand). I got what I wanted. I got my summerboy, and more importantly, I finally got a lover with a motorcycle that just made me impatient to climb on behind him. So happy just to ride with him, going nowhere on his bike because I knew that it's going to be years before I even get a chance to touch one and call it my own if I was lucky enough to be in that position to learn to ride and afford that luxury of owning one.
I felt like I could breathe, like I could let go and fly going down that freeway, risking everything, going at a 140 MPH. I could close my eyes and be complete in those minutes where the world became a blurred as we both leaned forward to push it. Because only in pushing it, could we find out that we could actually breathe. That we are alive.

Chances gone by.

I'm sorry for every meal we will never eat together.
I'm sorry for every bite of chocolate, popcorn, cherries, grapes, finger food that you would never get a chance to feed me.
I'm sorry for not being able to shared another ice cream with you.
I'm sorry for the hugs I will never get to give you.
I'm sorry for all the times that you won't get to embrace me and hold me strong in your arms.
I'm sorry for every time that you won't be able to run your fingers through my hair. I'm sorry for the mornings we won't wake up together.
I'm sorry for the nights we won't end up together. I'm sorry for missing the phone calls, the texts, the emails, the comments on our social pages that we won't get a chance to miss.
I'm sorry for never seeing all the places we would have lived in together.
I'm sorry for all the plants we will never have a chance to kill unintentionally as learn to take care of our garden.
I'm sorry for missing the pets we won't have that we would have called our children before we might have had children.
I'm sorry for not being able to be there at every birthday, holiday, anniversary year after year, and watch us age together.
I'm sorry for all the gossip you will never be able to bring home to me.
I'm sorry for never being able to come home to you.
I'm sorry for not being able to share another eskimo kiss, a butterfly kiss, a warm kiss, a french kiss, a neck kiss, a brow kiss, a kiss on the cheek, and all the types of kisses we will never share.
I'm sorry for all the miss kisses they would never have the chance not to share.
I'm sorry for all the songs we won't get to hear together.
I'm sorry for not having the chance to serenade you playfully and have you sing to me endearingly.
I'm sorry for all the fun dates and the so-so okay dates we won't get a chance to go out on.
I'm sorry for the walks, the bike rides, the drives that we'll never take together. I'm sorry for the road trips, vacations, weekend getaways that will never be planned. I'm sorry for the times when I would see you show up at my door to come see me, just me.
I'm sorry for never being able to have never-ending conversations about nothing in particular at all.
I'm sorry for missing out on the passion that fueled our kisses and made us see sparks in each other.
I'm sorry for never being able to hear your tone of voice just after you woke up.
I'm sorry for every time I will never get another chance to look into your eyes as you look into mine.
I'm sorry for not being able to touch at your dimple as you smiled even more widely at me so I could be able to feel it.
I'm sorry for not being able to kiss your dimple, and every little freckle of yours.
I'm sorry for not watching another movie with you.
I'm sorry for not being able to get to know you better.
I'm sorry for all the questions, the habits, the dreams, the person that I am that you will never get to know.
I'm sorry for all the times I will never get to cup your face in my hands.
I'm sorry for the times you will never get a chance to hold me.
I'm sorry for never being able to hold your hand.
I'm sorry for all the I Love You's that would never be said, murmur, whispered, shared together.
I'm sorry for missing out on the love we were going to have.
I'm sorry for all the memories we will never have.

Hope dangles on a string, like slow-spinning redemption..

So today's SofD was Vindicated by Dashboard Confessional for many reasons, reasons close to me, reasons I already wrote about to someone else to clear myself and just put them down concrete. I'm okay now since I have made peace with myself but while I was mopping and just going on about my day while listening to that song, I realized that I hadn't heard that song in a long long time and while I was singing it softly to myself it reminded me.

The problem with memories is that it always brings a sense a nostalgia, a yearning that I can't shake away because I do remember.

And unexpectedly who was on my mind wasn't even a real person.

I remembered how I used to listen to that song, hours after hours on repeat, and who I was when I used to listen to that and more importantly what I was writing.

And for a moment today I was reconnected with that person I was, that writer, writing her first book. When I wrote that first book, those characters of mine who are both extensions and not of myself. Those characters that I spent so much time on and who still linger on my mind, who I can see so clearly even though I haven't touch the first book in years and I think it is time. Time to get back to my writing, not just what my current work, but my past ones too, and to move on and start writing that fourth book, and the fifth, and the sixth, and the seventh, and the eighth too.

My writing needs me. My book needs me. I expect so much of myself, so many books to write and I think about it with a sense of peace that I rarely get when thinking about anything else. My writing, it's what I do. If I don't have my writing, I have nothing. I am nothing. I am just another person going through the motions of life, and I don't feel like I'm reaching for anything if I don't have my writing, but I do have it.

It is passion and while there are other types of passion which has kept me away from my writing, it didn't really. I chose to step away from my writing and now that I have lived outside of my books, have experience a different type of passion, still experiencing, I am ready to go back to my writing like before, to my readings, to my life, and the working on myself to be that person I know I am meant to be. I will make my dreams a reality. I feel it and along the way I will reconnected with the old writing and prepare to work on the new.

Just breathe.

So I did it, and as soon as I did it, I removed it from my facebook so no one could comment on it but they can still see it on their newsfeed even though it's not in mine anymore.

I don't want anyone to comment on it. I don't want anyone to notice it. I don't want anyone to question me about it but at the same time, I want to be a bit truthful with it, just thought I would put it out there and change it and see if he would noticed it, even though I know he won't changed his for the same reason I don't advertise my changed relationship status on facebook.

Because he knows, like I know, if we do make that changed, the questions, the need to know from our friends and family would be endless and we're not at that point. I don't know if we'll reach that point, I'm not thinking that far ahead. These days, I'm not even thinking, all I'm doing is feeling and not all of it is good, but even when it's bad, and it's hurting me, I rather feel than not feel. I rather not fall back into that state of uncaring, of numbness, of not being able to do anything because I pretended so hard that I didn't need it. Didn't need a heart, didn't need romantic love, didn't need any of that, that I can reach my self-actualizations and this idea of a person of who I am to be, of reaching my potential all by myself because it was better that way. But. He. Reminds. Me.

He reminds me of how intoxicating beautifully it can be. The feelings that I have held back in reserve, ignoring, pretending, not caring, all come up with such an intensity that I am enveloped in emotions I can't control but wash over so gently that it becomes a comfort, even though he is 'officially' gone. But even though he is, he's still here to me, for me, and he keeps calling me back again and every time I answer, I'm not thinking anymore, I am emotions in form of a person.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore and that's okay. I'm coming to terms with it. Coming to terms with him, with his past, with my past, with everything, and right now I just need to find that balance that will make me feel complete, not just in this, but in my writing, in my dreams, and I will be a form of potential that I thought I couldn't reach because I wasn't being love and now I am.

And because of it, I know what I can do now. I can write that novel that I couldn't write back in November because I felt like a charlatan writing a summer romance novel when my heart was dead. My heart isn't dead anymore, but I'm afraid still to tell him, to have him read how much my past meant to me, and I'm not talking about my ex.

I'm talking about that writer and how he touched me with his words and how much he means to me and how everytime I write I feel closer to him. How certain songs remind me of him and just makes me look back at that photo he sent me of him and that one of us, and I'm reminded of my second novel, SR, and how if I open it, I will see how I yearned to be another person and how much I worked to stand out, just stand out and hoped to make myself shine in his eyes as more than a reader, so he could acknowledge me as a writer and even as I write this, I start thinking about my third novel, of which I am full of hope for and I want to write in it, no matter how ugly it is to write it, how ugly it makes me feel because of the subject of it, and I want to write in it to make myself feel complete and to make him aware of just who I am.

I want to breathe in the ocean air and know that one day maybe. Hope alive, and hope burns. And my heart beats again and I hope, and with that hope I love.

What I need

I'm everywhere at this moment.

All I really know for sure right now is that it's affecting me more than I thought it would.

I tried to play it off cool

as being relieved.

as just wanting to get laid.

as just being friends.

as just another cool person.

As anything else but for how i really felt.

And I don't understand.

How it happened.

How I can be singing again sad songs and taking comfort in their truths because it applies to me.

How I can feel so stupid for being so stupid and allowing myself to fall when I told myself I wouldn't. But then he came along.

Stupid. Just stupid. falling for someone like this. And I know I'm going to be singing more songs softly to myself as the days come along in hope of comfort and remembering and hoping that I'll forget because I know that he will. And I have to prepare myself for that. Because as much as I want to believe him.

I can't. I won't remind him either of me.

I don't want to remind him.

I don't want this hope. This hope which only hurts.

-_- it hurts.

I need

to write about him. My lover. My summerboy. My... 2nd boyfriend. Soon to be ex boyfriend by mutual agreement.

It wasn't for long, not long at all but these past few weeks have felt like I could have been months with him. Such intensity that mixed with our passion and concentration of each other and our temporary serious relationships has me into a whirlwind. BUT

I can't write about this now. Not because it's not the time. I should be.

But because I don't have time for it >_>

BOO.

& I really need to write about him.

Prompt

This post was partly prompted by Mikko's own post of charm.

How he wrote that some people have it and others don't. Simple to it, nothing more.

I don't know why he wrote that post but I have an inkling. But either way it made me think, made me reflect, made me analyzed. I may be a copycat in some ways but sometimes it's just my own way of trying to share my side of the story.

Charm. Such a small one syllable word. A word when used in describing someone tells alot about them.

I have been described by this word, many times. But only in recent years.

I have blossomed into a person, a personality, a perspective that I yearned for when I was younger, in my middle school years. When I was 11,12,13, 14. My most awkward years when I was painfully aware of just what type of person was I. Charming wasn't it.

I dreamed of a better self in those days. Dream of myself as being a charming beautiful woman who everyone adored, who everyone wanted, who everyone thought she was just the bee's knees. Always on the go, always having fun, always lovely, her social calendar full and yet she still made time for people.

I think I have accomplished that. To a point. I know there are other aspects I have to improve on myself to become that ultimate dream of myself as a person since I was young but I won't fully be able to be that person till I am independent. But right now, I am as closest I will be to that person, personality wise, while still being dependent. (Physically, I need to keep working but that's on hold till I feel 100% healthy)

I think I have accomplished that because of the fact that my social awkwardness. Well, it's gone. Nearly. I realized that I will never be that girl who sat alone at lunch anymore. That I will not be that girl who takes herself to the movies or to eat with only her book for company. I do not have to do that. Unless I want it to be that way.

Because now I will always have no end of friends to join me. All I have to say is I want to go here, who's coming and look there's one, two, three, hell sometimes as many as four or five people coming along. And sometimes I know there would be more if our schedules were all so delicious free.

I became that type of girl that I was so jealous of in High school & middle school. That type of girl who made making friends look so easily. Who was always so loud, so overly energetic, so awesome, so perfect.

I am not perfect. I never will be. But in ever other aspect I have become that girl. Too loud, too much energy, too easily befriending people.

I didn't realized that I had become this person but I still remember what it was like to not be this person.

To sit by myself at lunch and not by choice. To crave that whoever would just talk to me.

I sit back and look at myself and just shake my head in amazement at the fact that I do have quite a social circle, even though I say I do not. But it's not a lie anymore. I do have friends who care about me. Who keep me company, no matter how sick or lonely I feel and who I try to take care of to the best of my abilities.

And now I think I just made a new one. Sure it's a guy. It's always a guy with me is what I find these days.

But I think that it's not going to be romantic or sexual. I admit to the fact that he did ask me out. Despite the beliefs of my friends who say he likes me in that way. I doubt. I really doubt and trying to see things truthfully. Looking at it from my side, I see him as someone who could teach me how to ride...A motorcycle that is. But also as a new friend because he isn't from around here and that sucks, being the new kid. Not knowing anyone, not hanging out with anyone. But it's the beauty of it too. Making those new connections. New friends.

Finding out life and what's the city is all about and the people in it. Welcoming the
experience and leaving the place a different person, a different mindset. With the ability to see oneself's potential and direction much more clearly in life. Which is why I love traveling.

So despite whatever my friend's tongues have to wag and wager upon that he likes me in that way, I will not believe it till it is confirmed from him but I will also not delude myself into putting expectations. I will have a friend, a friend new to town, a friend who happens to be a rider,and kind to me but that's it. Que sera sera.

And in the meantime I will concentrate on my goals and ambitions. On being the best person that I can be. Relationship or not, I will define my life and live it the way that makes me happiest and in the manner of living out and being the best person who I can be.

Looking at the brightside.

It's never me.

This was how I felt in high school. Middle school.

Had that crush on that special guy, watch him all year, wanting him, liking him, even though I didn't know him, memorizing the few words he said to me, memories of my happiness shining so bright at the fact that he acknowledged me. That he spoke to me, that he was nice, and that maybe he did noticed me but he didn't want to admit that he liked me because I wasn't like the other girls. Never was. But that was okay, I kept dreaming of the day that he wouldn't care, him and any other guy after I had a crush on. That, maybe for once they would noticed the slightly pudgy but pretty girl who definitely was a brain, and didn't care for the social effects of it. That he wanted her, wanted me, and that was all he cared about.

It never happened. So many times my dreams would be shattered in front of my own eyes, me chatting with a girl in class and see it happened right before my eyes. The guy would come over and I would get butterflies and then he would approached my classmate. And asked her out right in front of me.

I became nothing more than furniture right then, invisible, not acknowledging the fact that although they were flirting, playing, over a few feet was a girl who's hopes were crush by her crush.

And it's still the same. Nothing has changed.

It's shoved in my face, right there. So clear to see that I am invisible.

That he will chose her over me. Has chosen her over me. This crush of mine, so silly. I should have never crush on him in the first place, because I predicted this.

I thought why should I bother? Sure his texts make me smile but since that's all he does, it won't go further, especially since he hasn't hinted at meeting up, but I have patience. Besides there's no one else out there, but I knew the way he (didn't) text me that he wasn't attracted to me.

I knew it.

And now he has all but admitted he likes someone via facebook. And guess who it is? I don't know but I can tell you who it isn't. Me.

But that's okay. No, really it's okay because it's when reality hits a bit closer to home that I tend to lose myself in my writing, in my dreams, in my relating to absent people than those around me.

I'll be fine. I just should have known better. I'll smile when he gets in a relationship and think 'good for him!' Good for her! I hope they're happy because I am. I am and will be happy with myself. I will not fall into the thought that a relationship will be the answer to my problems. It's just temporarily loneliness. And that temporarily loneliness I will used to my advantage. I will used it in my writing. I will give my pain to my characters and they will be complete with it, and after I finish writing, I will be content with myself and smile at what I have done.

Most of the time. But some of the time, it's not that bad really, I'm just letting it out so that I can let in the new, the self-actualizations, the happiness, so I can remember how

Destiny calls me.

And how destiny will have to come after me because I will be too busy, too fast, too much of everything involved in my life to making it the happiest I can make it that destiny and my dreams will have to catch to me. Because there's nothing else I can do but make the best possible life for myself and enjoy it. Enjoy my destiny, enjoy my living in the moment, just face it, and live it. Do it.

And when I see those couples, when I hear those songs, when I see those updates, and it hurts. All I have to do is grin and bear it, and remember how I am me, and I am an amazing person, and that they have made their choice, and it isn't me, so good luck to them, bravo, and I will do just fine.

Mr. Brightside-The Killers.

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.

Down to Zero

It always happens like this. When I come back from a trip that I went by myself or someplace I stayed for more than a weekend, I feel like I come back to a second chance to my life. The possibilities I see are endless, & I want to changed it as much as I can to be able to live the best type of life I can. Even though many would argue that I'm doing really good for myself, better than most, ms.university student here with an obsession to reading & writing, and being there for her friends.

But when I come back, I just want to stop saying "tomorrow", & actually do it today.

I come back breathing a new outlook on my own life, & i'm happy with it, but I'm happier for the fact that this is my life, & those changes that I've been putting off, that mellowness, that depression that I fall into sometimes, that courage that I hid behind, they tend to melt away when I see what I can do & I can do so much. So much more. I know I have potential to be the happiest person I can be & right now I'm almost there.

Just a few things to change, but now instead of saying, tomorrow I'll organized that or planned that outing, or later I'll have time to write, or after this meal, it'll be about portion control so that I can work on my needs work.

But now, I actually want to do those things today.

This is why I love traveling, I come back motivated. Inspired. Loved. & fall in love all over again, with the beauty of my life, and appreciate it that much more.

I'm always telling my friends that are less than optimistic that it isn't about the future, like we're waiting for it to drop down one day & announce itself. It's about the choices that we make today that create our future. I preach it but I don't practice it but I'm starting to now because:

It's not about tomorrow, it's about today.

Don't compromise everything you are

When I was 21 years old to the day, my birthday. I did nothing for it. I spent the morning babysitting, and then Carolina showed up to do my hair. To make me so pretty & she did.

She did something to my hair, place it high in those oh so fashionable styles reserve for weddings and galas. She spent the whole morning with me. She did my makeup, putting on eyeliner which even though by then I was into makeup, but not as much as I am now. I was still getting the hang of it. So she did it. & we were happy. We were both in loved and waiting for our boyfriends to come home from work. & she wished me a happy birthday and left me with a hug and un beso.

I was dolled up and for my outfit, I wore the custom made polka dot dress my aunt made for me. She had cut out the fabric and everything and send it with all her love from LA.

I was complete with my little white heels which were new back then, shining with my red toe nail polish freshly done.

I put on pearls & was complete.

& then everyone came home, my parents bringing me a little cake from the store, my mom blowing up red balloons for me since they are my favorite in balloon colors.

That's when he made the entrance. I heard him from inside. I went out to him and his jaw dropped. I don't think he's ever seen me so beautiful. His parents and whole family were with him, doing I don't know what. They had caught up with him to tell him something. His dad check me out. His brother did. His best friend. I saw the way they looked at me & smile. But I only smile sweetly at him. He was still fresh from his work, smelling of chicken and flour. He took me right there, with his uniform on, food stains on his forearms, and in the classic movie ballroom dances, he dipped me and kiss me.

We didn't go anywhere, even though it was a milestone birthday. I don't think we did anything but sit around the kitchen and talk. I don't remember watching TV or even listening to music. I don't remember my presents. I was 21.

What I do remember was his playfulness. His kindness. The fact that he had made me canolis from scratch. The fact that he must have told me he love me, and that I was beautiful so many times that day, and that he was so very lucky, so lucky to have such a pretty litte future wife to go home to. His Mrs. Bunny.

It got late, ofcourse time didn't stop and he left. Left with promises of a weekend date which he fulfilled. He always kept his words and was never cheap, not with me. I forced him to be cheap because I knew he couldn't afford me. Couldn't afford to take me out to all the places we wish we could eat at. I didn't care. it wasn't about the money, I pitched in most of the time, & later was paying for everything. I didn't care. I was a good girlfriend. I told myself that. If I took care of him, not just financially but anyway I could. he would stay with me. & I wanted him to stay because I truly loved him. I just wish that when moved on without me, that he had given me one last kiss to remember him by. I try to recalled the last time we kiss & it's faded into a blurred of other times his lips met mine.

I miss him still, especially in the dark hours of the night. I yearn for him. Want him when I'm talking to others, try to put him out of my mind when some sweet nothings are being said to me in order to get me to give them what they want from me. They remind me & it hurts at times, but not so much anymore.

But I'm not losing hope, every day, every time I talk to someone new, I know that I am worthy of a person of better character. Of a guy who would stay because he cares for me, not just my body.

I only wore that dress, that outfit that day & once again I wore it when I went out with my friends.

I'm wearing it right now, such a pretty dress which I love so much shouldn't be kept in the closet. I'm pulling out all my old outfits that I used to wear when it was just me. Because they made me happy because I thought and still think, they're just grand, simply smashing, no matter what anyone else thinks or if they're not in a fashion trend anymore. I don't care.

It's time. My dresses, skirts, outfits, they can't stay in the closet forever. Neither can I, hiding behind my sexuality. Now I just need a way to find how to make a golden boy fall into infatuation with me, not just lust.

Morning

Fuck you subconscious! I will NOT let you ruin my day. Not today. Today is MINE.

Fuck you dreams, with your lingering emotions, playing it out when I'm at my most vulnerable, when I can't do anything about the thoughts. The images.

The fact that in my dream. He was standing right there. In line. Next to me. He was waiting for me. He was holding a magazine, and we were waiting to go into the movies so we could see something together.

-_-

No wonder why I sleep late, to wake up late. I do this to myself. So that for at least a few minutes, I can remember him clearly without any emotional fucktardary bugging me. So I can just enjoy him the way we were. & just hold it there, and wake and remember it was just a dream. & That's all it will be.

I still see him when I'm sleeping. That's not fair. It reminds me.

& I need to wake up. I need to write.