restart!

its time to restart.

i need to blog more. why? because i'm flippin' out. i'm flippin' about you-know-what-everyone-dreads-by-senior-year again.

its all that runs through my head, and it makes me upset. hopeful. capable. useless.

one thing i want to say is they need to stop playing games with our minds.

report cards came, basically. need i say more?

i cried. i moped. the whole shebang. it makes me so much more scared than i already am.

movie updates:

transformers 2: eh.

moon :). it wasnt bad at all. i wouldn't say spectacular (though some parts of it yes) but its was overall not bad at all.

up: i cried. and it was really good.

ever think back on your 3 years and think u did nothing but everything at the same time?

i think its so sad that i promise myself to remember things, and i dont. i don't care about superpowers, what i care about it remembering.

i forget what studying was like my freshman year because i now take aps. i forget the part of enjoying what i learn because a teacher helped me with that. example? mr. hicks from biology. he made it so much fun. i didnt have to TRY to like it, i just had a burning passion for biology.

apush, to be honest, was only a bit of that. i had to try really hard to like it, and it was fun. but in a very studious way. anyways, something that has been in my head.

i want to be a history major. or political science.

1. people need to stop giving stereotypes to polisci undergrads cuz its NOT TRUE. its a legitimate major, so people need to stop talking sh*t about it. it makes me like this >:O

2. history majors can do something with that major.

one of the things thats been really hard for me is others not quite understanding that what i love to study maybe isnt something that is the most popular choice. i feel people dont understand me for that, that maybe i've loved social studies my whole life. and didnt admit that i wanted to do this for the rest of my life, until now. i used to read stories late at night about greek philosophers and all the mythological stories because it intrigued me.

you know wat i love about history? you study stories. lives. its like talking about yourself and other people, but its not gossip. its actually about learning how to see someone in a real light, not putting abe lincoln or gandhi on a pedastal. but its about learning people. what they've done, how they have impacted each and everyone of us because they wanted to do SOMETHING. the ones who are the most famous were the ones who were incapable of fitting in. i dont think history is dead just becauase it talks about dead people, history is dead because people stop pursuing intellectual discussions and reading.

that reminds me. i think people should read. we take it for granted. think of all the people who are illiterate and would give their lives to learn how to read a title. watch the movie the reader. it helps you understand- it helped me. that and my sister being an lit major n all that really drives me.

anyways, my passion for the subject makes me the most secure, and the most insecure. i'm the most secure because i found something, i found something to read and learn and study and talk about for hours and hours and it makes googlesearch my best friend (guys, use blackle.com. its eco-friendly.) and i just read more stories. i make ush references to my parents to the point where they think i sound like a teacher. and ask me questions.

i love it to the point where i think i'm a steady relationship with the subject. i red until my head pounds with information. i dont know how to explain how or why i love it, but it feels alive. i didn't grow to love it, i just loved it. and somehow feel like history started loving me back, like one of those instant best friends except you never have to worry about loyalty :). it's natural to me, i may not be the best apush junkie and get a's on my tests (i've never had an a on a test, but i have gotten an a in class. weird.), but it flows in my mind for me. i hve felt out of place my whole life, and here i bury my head in the life of a dead person and his/her society and it feels like i found a place where i belong.

!!!!

fuzzy pillows!!!!!

mm.

i fucking feel like this.
i'm not gonna lie. i'm stressed. extremely, very, absolutely stressed to the point where i feel truly unhappy and am now an empty shell with unsociable, empty conversations. 

i hate my grades, i hate my sats, i hate the way i've been built, and i hate what my mentality has become.

ive lost my personality, my soul into a black hole, and i don't even know where it came from.

no matter how hard i try, i never seem to do well.

it sounds like i'm a quitter, like i give up, and i'm so afraid of people judging me; i feel that everyone around me thinks i'm so unintelligent. 

and maybe i am, maybe i'm not. i know what i want to hear, but it really means nothing. again, it's only what satiates me for a small amount of time before i wallow.

wallowallowallowallow.

you know i hate?

i fucking wake up every morning. like everyone else.

but i wake up, knowing i didnt run a leagues.

i didn't run. I DIDN'T RUN. i didnt runrunrunrurnrurnrurru;lkfdsaj ;lkjfdsa ;lkjfdsa;lkjfdsa

my stupid, fucking, ap test that was completely horrid and it ruined MY season.

i ruined part of my own season, and i admit it. and i'm sorry for that.

BUT I DIDNT RUN. 

i think of gilroy everyday. i remember last year, on a saturday that was 103 degrees and i was on the verge of dehydration. i was tired, sweating out my spandex, and nervous to the point where i wanted to go home.

i hated what people were saying. don't they know i'm right in front of them?

u know i hate about cupertino? that people don't know that there's something about racial identity. 

do you know what people were saying that day?

"why is that goddamn asian here? she's the only one that showed up"

"don't worry, those kinds don't run very fast anyways"

"she's never been here before"

"people like her just got lucky one season"

"shouldn't she be studying?"

"asians don't ever make it here"

these came from people i didn't know, people that took a look at me and decided i wasn't cut out for the race cuz of my hair, my eyes, my body, my legs, my steps, my lack of experience and training because i didn't practice in club like the others did. i told 2 people this before, and they didn't believe me. they said it was a fallacy, that it doesnt happen in sports. i hate them for not believing me.

i wish i could tell my teachers how i feel. it's come to the point where i have headaches and my eyes hurt and i'm tired all the time.

all the time. 

all the freaking time. 

and all i can think of is how i'm not managing my time well. i'm doing this afterall, arent i?

what am i going to do next year? theres not enough time in this world to recover, and i'm so close to snapping inside my head i don't know how much longer i can take all of this.

i cry every homecoming, every rally because of how stressed i am. now i cry because i cant possibly handle asb with class officer and still be onto living my life.

what life?

me and 6 others are trying to lead a system we know is flawed, hm know its flawed, and its so hard to convince myself and others that it something to love. 

i love it, and i hate what its become. and sometimes, i really hate what i've become.

i feel like i've grown from it, yet i feel i've become a shell because of it. i try to be unique, but i end up becoming everyone else. 

you know what i hate? people think i'm all about extracurriculars. people think im academically unfocused. they don't know what kind of jobs and responsiblities i have to handle. 

and i dont realy know wat to think. i feel like i have to handle so much to the point that i'm about to tip, but at the same time...

doesn't everyone handle the same things? how do they possibly do it?

wow i dont fucking make sense and its amazing how much i don't care.

me

this is what they said about me. hmm.

E: Extroverted

S: Sensing

T: Thinking

J: Judging

ESTJ - "Administrator". Much in touch with the external environment. Very responsible. Pillar of strength. 8.7% of total population.

Take Free Myers-Briggs Personality Test

!!

with the ap test, i feel like this. 

this will be my art blog!

dual action!

revive

i am revived.

but in a different way.

i'm not trying to sound cocky, but i believe i've been immersed in a lot of things. i've played multiple sports, been in different music environments, obviously theres school, and just other various activities.

and theres one i've always pushed in the back of my head, maybe because it was so hard on me my frosh year. 

i miss drawing. i miss painting, i miss the thumbprints of graphic design, i miss the musty smell of graphite on the sides of my hand. 

my friend in lit asked me why i quit art.

i didn't really know what to say. 

we have a lit project. its a journal, but i want the cover to look nice. i came up with a design in my dream, a metaphorical basket of what soldiers carried. but with a rustic, war theme. 

its one of the most original things i've ever come up with.

and i'm not talking about the float designs or the rally posters. i don't count those. 

but i count this. 

i color the war helmet with stains of the camo imprinted in my brain, and only wished it looked as good as it did in my head. i imagine the barbed wire, and wince at the thought of using more sharpie.

it looks to shapely.

it looks too cartoon.

i reach above my desk, push aside the nostalgia of pictures, my car model, small statues- small sentimental things i've collected over the years, and let my light saber fall to my worn carpet. 

i see my stacked boxes, unlabeled, and i find in shock that i remember what was in each one of those boxes. i automatically reach toward the long, flat, tin box striped with its cerulean blue. 

its my pencils.

when was the last time time i touched these? when did i put these to use, delicately channeling the graphite's potential onto the rough sketch parchment? 

i barely take a glance at the tin box and already i can see the dust collected at the top. my fingertips brush aside the lint in residue of stripes, and i remember.

i was 14 when i last used these. its been 2 years. i'm 16 now, but it really feels ages ago. a lot happened inbetween those 2 years. 

i've dealt with one heartbreak i wish i never have to relive again.

i almost went to the junior olympics. twice. 

i fell in love with stanford's model united nations. and realized i could write better than i thought.

i realized how much i missed reading, and loved the meaning of education. it's not a right, its not an obligation, rather, a privilege. 

i discovered my passion, my purpose to serve.

and sporadically, i've lost my will to run.

i wish i knew me, but i don't. and i know its a learning process. but i know this.

i abandoned what i really loved for a long time. 

i'm drawing the barbed wire in my head, and my hands choose the 6b.

the moment my fingertips touch that 6b, memories of portraits, sketches fly through my head. 

no, no, no.

7b.

that rustic, rough, graphite feel that i've forgotten what it feels like.

i need something rough around its edges.

i need something that depicts the war.

i'm such a perfectionist, i have the urge to smooth things out anyways. 6b is that perfect compromise. i need something unperfect. 

roughroughroughroughroughroughrough. 

the tip scours the yellow construction paper. 

its so hard to control, its rough, i've forgotten what this is like. 

i really miss this.

and back to reality- i have to study for bio.

not normal.

i ran today. 

and i didnt want to stop running.

i havent felt that way in at least a year.

i'm talking bout long distance running, the kind where you get bored easily and don't know what to look at.

and there were 2 things on my mind. 

replaying over and over again.

and to be honest, i don't remember the last time i felt like this. 

its not bad, though.