In the Mist of Bitter Resentment

A ranting or thanking entry? I don't have much of the latter though I should. But I don't think that this is going to be one of those happy entries. I wish it was. After all, to whoever may be reading this or chance over this while browsing about blogs... I guess I have your ears and understanding for now. Least when my mind is a bit ready and cleared up to make up semi-coherent thoughts, which you may denounce for all I care. Like a victim. It’s all the same.

When time seems so far away and slowly approaching... you realize a bit too late that this wave is no ordinary tide, but a tsunami approaching you at 521 knots. In a blink of an eye, you get hit by realization and washed into bittersweet disorder, twirling and tumbling in its drowning grasp. Without even a moment to embrace such hasted chaos, your mind returns into a state of oblivion. Blank. Empty. Nothing. A forsaken paradise, where your momentary stay is disturbed and corrupted by the cleansing substance constantly eroding our tainted selves. Rocks and rumbles, tears and cries, trying to wake you up. But being pushed by the force of water, you freely fly for once not against the current but with, and crashing through, destitute of soul and spirit... till the waves calm down. You wash up onto a barren wasteland, where once lie a glorious civilization, but now just a graveyard of disbanded homes and forgotten memories. Or were these memories ever forgotten or forcefully secluded from minds? The surrounding stench with lost hopes and eerie uncertainty of the future. So seems the perfect place to end such a juggernaut of a collision. What hope remains in such a place lacking even life? You look towards the skies. You start to close your eyes... flashbacks of every single happy memories flicker like a malfunctioned slide projector within your mind as your eyelids slowly fall once last time. Millimeters before they fully shut, you stop. But why? A tear fallen out of your eyes and dropped upon to a nearby pool of water, resting calmly besides you. Your time has not come yet; your inner voice yearns for life. But how is there still hope? Succumbing to conscience, you awake as if from a dreaded sleep, enlightened under the embracing wings of the clouded skies. Though torn and broken, you manage to pull yourself up. Your head follows your body's ascension. What hope is left in such a destructive world? Your neck starts to loosen its gripping tension. Where can I find it? Your eyes begin to open as if time has reversed. What I am to do? Your body recoils as if jolt of current rushed through your hurricane-stricken mind. Your eyes glaring into space. Your last gasp for air has been revived, as if being granted one last chance. Slowly, your eyes walk down these steps of seeming emptiness to the ground, where you rest. A puddle of water. That’s it! Water! Hope remains within such holy substance. After all, water composites the essence of pure hope. Life around me will begin to restore, just as I will resume sailing life's unexpected journey.

School: A Bush-Like Administration

We, the class of 2008, are the class that gets shafted by the administration. What is this shit? I guess it started when our school decided to add academic patches during the end of my middle school years, whereas the athletic patches came out a long time ago. Therefore, my sleeves look so uneven and may even give the impress that I’m not smart because of such an evident contrast.

As for high school, our annual graduation isn’t even going to take place where it’s traditionally taken place. Their compensation is to "fancy" the school up during our graduation and using their excuse for everything, "we’re making school history." but what about the traditionally values, in which we’ve grown up in such a "home away from home?"

We are also required to take an extremely boring course called ethics, where the underclassmen are now no longer required to take... seriously; everyone falls asleep at least once in this class. Ethics: even teachers host in class sleeping.
Then, there's the construction. Sure, the pool finished early, but the new diving blocks tear up our feet. On top of that, the Wednesday open pool policy has taken an abrupt turn right before AP week. I believe they should keep it open, so the pool serves as a stress reliever. Next, the loud ruckus next to this one building, where construction drilling is heard every day. We are going to school in the midst of a sandstorm. We don't even get the science building till next year, but we would have already graduated!

Senior gift? Our parents’ provide private donations just so the administrators can manipulate our decision to provide something that’s beneficial to the school?
This reminds me. The two lunches. How are we supposed to achieve "class/student body unity" when we're divided because of the school's poor engineering/architectural "developments."

Senior prank? There is essentially none or is considered rather a mere facade for "setting a new trend." I still say we jack all the clocks and Rick Roll’d the school.

Why do next year seniors no longer need to take finals. That’s messed up. They don’t even have first semester finals. This is completely unfair to us.

More to come as the school's one promise to shaft our class is the only proposal that is evidently true and concurred with.

The Last Speech

Or is it...
It true that our roads end at this point of time during our senior year, but in turn, paves a new road, where our lives begin to branch out. I guess it was motivational to people who haven't yet opened their minds and eyes. But in the end of this part of the journey, I would like to reflect on my high school years. I’m glad that I’ve met her and got to learn about her during these years. She, who has become one of the most important people in my life. All my posts mention no names... but the name is there.

Scraps of Time

Pictures! Regardless of its quality, don’t delete them please. There are good memories attached; even if it's a blur.

You have a Friend in Me

The one who stands between her and her complete fault... is me. Grades. Even if we try as hard as we could, we may not always be able to succeed our parent's expectations. Would you rather have your parents employ such derogatory comments such that it puts you on the stand of having to be responsible of everything? Perhaps not. At least you'll always have one person by your side as if it wasn't your fault entirely. At least your parents can conjure up an excuse that it was because of my presence that impeded your ability to getting good grades. At least they won't attack you all out. For those reasons, I’ll be there to share the blame. I’ll be there to lessen the emotional damage. I’ll be there with you, and I stubbornly refuse to leave you. Wherever I might be. Far or near. Always.

"Believe in Yourself"

The choices you make; they come about from a mixture of emotions and logic.
How many times have your parents told you to trust your own instincts and logic to approach a problem? Yet now, they contradict their own words. But don't we all eventually all do that? This is what we grow up with. I don't blame them. I don't see them at fault. That’s what love does to you. It gets you jumbled in your words, fumbled in your thoughts, tumbled in your heart.

The Sixth Sense

It’s not that I can see right through you. My vision stops at that neural synapse, where a surge of neurons rush in utter chaos within your brain's frontal lobe. Disperse into bitter emptiness, and with it, your mind. Where are those hidden fragmented pieces of memories and life? They’re still there. They’re in hiding, kept safe. A fortified cloak, assured to protect from even Nazi Germany. Do not worry. Calm your nerves. You’ll find it slow and steadily. Rushing the searching progress won't help your case. Calm down. You’ll find life soon enough and retrieve those once forgotten memories. Wait through those times of idleness. Afraid if the dogs of havoc are released? My grip will be tighter than ever. Stay strong. We’ll make it through, I’m positive. Together.

After all, how can we pretend something that is real?

Too Young

You’ve heard it. I’ve heard it. I think we've all heard it more than once throughout our lifetime. But when are we never "too young?" those ads for six flags support elderly youth. Even the elderly retains essences of youth. Yes, there's a common correlation between physical youth and mental jubilance and nonchalantness, but don't fall susceptible of such a commonly overseen predicament. Think it through first before openly accepting such an accusation regardless of its accuracy.

Neverending Series of Choices

I’ve made a lot of choices today. I won't regret any. The two main ones I made were... well.
The first is to keep loving her.
The second is disclosed from the public for the time being.

The last choice was to spend the day pensively thinking about life and love, and their relationship with each other. They lie entwined within each and every one of us. Rapid changes when you least expect it. Learn to appreciate each moment as if it may be the last. My mom always told me to find what I’m academically good at. and I think I found it from writing the entry entitled "what love is..." instead of studying triple integrals, quadratic form identifications, and tangential, normal, and binormal vectors (that perhaps serve no meaning in my future), I decided to write about ourselves. Us, in the living flesh. I believe this is time well spent. A moment to reflect and to appreciate is a moment well spent. Writing/typing it is good and all, but thinking is even better.

Heads Up Wishing Well

I believe in wishes.

I wish.
I had no dreams...
Cause wishes don't come from dreams.
[Only nightmares.
At least my nightmares are better off at facing than reality.]
Wishes come from hope.
Find this hope.
Embrace it. Tightly, with all you've got.
Then.
Finally, then.
That hope will one day, in the future, grant your wish.

Cloud
So free...
Soul free...
So lucky.


Hint: Penny. Speech, the last link.

Words are a Powerful Tool

http://gizmodo.com/382026/a-cellphones-missing-dot-kills-two-people-puts-three-more-in-jail
http://www.mothersdaycentral.com/mothers-day-fun/mom-myths/

And for comic relief...
http://www.darkroastedblend.com/2008/04/senseless-signage-part-10.html

What is Love?

That is what I know.
I am not correct... but I am not wrong.

Are you taken? Taken... No, I am not.
I’ve been given...

We, the mere humans:
No one on this planet can describe what such or how this concept came to existence. For all we know, we experience it on a daily bases. The little things, to the exaggerated things. Yet what we feel inside is only brushing on the surface of love. Who is it that explains the true rudiments of such a concept? Surely not the humans. Though we are the superior race and "rule the world," such a concept was around before our very existence. Animals felt such a sensation themselves, long before us. Regardless, no one is able to describe what love really is. Sure, they can admit they experienced a form of love. All these plausible definitions of love are valid. In the end, it narrows down to each and every person's opinion of love and their experiences on it. Therefore, on this basis, every definition ever thought of is valid... but there is just no one "correct" definition for it.

Time & history:
for all we know, love's definition may never come to surface even when we're at that final stretch of the mile, nearing those Elysian plains, a paradise where only heroes lie. We are all heroes of our own nature. Our upbringing has shown us this. With each hero comes our unique perspective of interpreting the world. Heroes are also humans. Rules and laws are created by humans. These sets of guidelines pave our lives. What am I getting at here, you may ask? Humans constructed the first civilization, which has brought with it, order. Order has set the matrix of boundaries, confining and blinded our gridded system of behavior. Outcasts have been shunned upon. An elite society has developed over time and its habits have become law. Law has become to standard for we, the soldiers of such a concentration camp that we've put inside ourselves and our future generations. EVEN love, unfortunately, has been vexed into such a morbid law. Restrictions. Oh, my bad. I mean "guidelines." where failure at adhering to such "guidelines" will result in severe consequences by law or condemnation by the majority. Life has no boundaries. We imposed such boundaries on ourselves though. The result? Chaos.

Parents:
We all know they like to question their child the validity of such a question, thinking that such jubilant thoughts arise within our minds. But I disagree with their train of thought. We constantly learn each and every day. Well, what's the difference with your parents? They, too, constantly learn about life and love. Yes. They do have experience. But even with their level of experience, they cannot possibly claim that they themselves understand what true love is. Neither can they derive an explanation, considered "correct," to match that of what love is. Your parents. They’re just the ordinary human being when it comes to breaking things down to their fundamental values. They’re merely another addition to providing one definition in this pool of idealized conceptions over love. Therefore, by this means, parents themselves aren't truly sure what love is. Go ahead and ask them? Sure, they'll sound positive that they know what they take to be "love" but it's not just for them to claim full comprehension. Regardless of this, they warn us to be wary of asserting such a comprehension of what is love. They believe us to be naive and superficial, linked with the excuse that we are "too young" as a reason for behaving so. But everyone matures in a different rate. Let me rephrase that. Each and every one of our traits develops at a different rate. Child geniuses, for example. It would be hard to predict, let alone judge, the rate of how we come towards the misunderstood question of "what is love?"

Experience:
I put these words in quotes because what is experience after all. There is no one concrete experience that we all share besides birth and death. Isn’t it just chance that one person happen to so have experienced something, and out of genuine congeniality that they share this experience with you. If it were to be a bad experience, then by sharing such information, they hope that you will never make the same mistakes they once faced. Such an act that would, if taken into heart, branch your life's journey. You may never actually encounter such experience unless you haven't been forewarned. There are some common grounds to experience though, but despite this, this would not be the case across every scenario. Take that of parents and high school. Times have changed long since your parents took college. Now, applying to a university has taken a new shift towards a more complicated and more competitive approach. It would be hard to relate the two experiences. Also, parents embrace their authoritative figures by expressing their right to question their children just because they are more "experienced." I do not disagree that they are more "experienced," but their flaw lies within their expression that they have such a right. Of course, we don't question back. This is how we grew up and are accustomed to such hierarchy and fidelity. But understand this. Parents are essentially but a mere reflection of our older high school selves. Think about it. The values and culture we grew up with. When we're high school seniors, we have the feel of having the most experience out of all the underclassmen. We guide them. We bully them. Whatever, yes? But whichever way you decide to influence these freshmen, sophomores, and juniors, is based on yourself and how you lead your life. Sure, they'll go off on their own paths, but they'll forever be affected by your influence. Basically, you lead them into what you, yourself, consider the appropriate path. Therefore, specifically idealized under personal standards. But consider this. There are more than just you as a high school senior. This leads back the framework of the conceptualization of love. Similarly, love has infinite possibilities. However way we are affected to in life, will shape your own unique and individual mind and future. Therefore. Claiming to understand or to describe love is a valid argument. Valid. Not correct. Most definitely not so.

Chance:
This leads us to the final part of my rant, chance. We chance through each and every one of our experiences differently. Entropy. That is how the world works.

So you want my insight on love?
It’s what compelled me to conjecture such an entry, dedicated to my one and only. What's your definition?

Half Truth, Half Secret

Horrible timing? Or bound to happen? Nevertheless, every developing secret will eventually be unveiled. To repress its freedom is to resist temptation itself. Let it build to watch a greater fall. Work it another way; leak bit by bit...

Misunderstood Psyche

Haven’t you ever been in a situation where you find yourself constantly rephrasing what you have already said? Surely, my communication skills must be horrendous. But can people try to understand without having to return blank looks or repetitive questioning? Seriously. I’m not saying the majority of humanity is psychologically incompetent. Maybe they don't realize that such a reaction can turn annoying. Perhaps so. Nevertheless, everyone's threshold becomes evident when it reaches a certain level.

Hold On

Wait.
One moment please.
Needle pricked mind.
Please.
One moment.
Do you think you know?
Do you think you can hold on tight?
And don't let go?
...
Mm.
Thanks.

The Unanswered is the Unasked

Do you really know what's going inside my head?
...
No.
...
Can you guess?
...
Yes.
...
Are you right?
...
Partly.
...
So ask?

Despite a strong sense of confidence, it's impossible to ascertain what another person is thinking at that very moment. We assume things on a daily basis. What is the probability that we'll guess correctly over half the time? I believe it is very close to zero. The fall of complete assurance paves the threshold of misunderstanding. Any specific moment can easily be overlooked as its simplistic facade, though not always the case. I am no mind reader. That I must admit.
Though uncomfortable during certain instances to ask, I will try to verbalize such mixes of emotions, originated from misunderstanding, anytime I begin to doubt an assumption that goes against my sense of confidence. Do not let your emotions fall into illusive first impressions is the key to internal strength.
This is my life.
This is my goal.
...
This is also easier said than done.

Blockles: Rudiments of Life

Of your opponent or of yourself?
As the game progresses after time, the game play speeds up. Your mind races to find a position. Allocating the piece into a mismatched location may jeopardize ten minutes of trying to win. Else, if that is not the objective, the endeavor to obtain another gold medal into your prized collection is. For all you computer-savvy people out there, I find such a recursive loop excessively time consuming. I hope such a method private void addiction (Blockles) crashes into a null pointer exception error upon compiling. For those who didn't understand the previous sentence, the method named addiction takes in the Blockles parameter and returns nothing.
You can think of our lives in terms of Tetris. Our lives appear to start out slowly when we are adolescents. Perhaps inundated with a sense of idleness? As we grow up though, more time is but an implausible dream. Responsibilities start to pile up, and the game of Tetris reaches a seemingly impossible speed to keep up with. What you choose to do before the end is truly up to you. One bad move will abridge time. A series of unfortunate decisions will be severe.
Anyways, it is multiplayer, which attracts hundreds at my school to play together, spending hours and hours on Blockles. How ridiculous. I must admit that I played for 11:03:15; receiving 81 gold, 16 silver, and 10 bronze medals during that time. My friend, on the other hand, played about 24 hours to win around 150 or so gold medals. At first, I considered beating his record. It’s possible. Most definitely not hard. Just requires time. 13 hours to be exact. But on second thought, I put myself in a future perspective and raised various questions undermining the desire to carry through with such a silly goal in mind.
...
What would you achieve?
What is the purpose to wasting countless hours besides achieving occasional ecstasies?
So was it really worth spending [insert hours spent playing] on?
Time is too easily taken for granted. What else could you be doing?
Even though it's fun, is the trade-off worth it?
...
Now that you know the questions, can you find the answer? To conclude, I would like to strongly urge that you consider these questions before falling into temptation. Remember. Your childhood only comes once in your lifetime.

Hint: think first. The answer lies within the questions.


Entry dedicated to a very special person that I dearly care for in my life.

Grains of Sand

Small things.
Tiny, insignificant matters.
...
A twitch.
A slip.
A glance.
A hand.
An act cut short from success.
...
The offer.

I believe there are two types of writers; those who inform directly and those who seclude everything. I am the latter. Can you ascertain these hidden feelings within such a sandstorm?

Like scattered pieces of glass.
Broken shards. You can still see parts of yourself.
The edge of the shore. retreating tidal waves brushing the sand. An evanescent view of yourself.
You look down at your dying reflection.
Peaceful ripples. Just.
Like scattered pieces of glass.
'Twas not rain that spurred the storm.
'Twas not the storm that reeked such blowing cuts.

Emptiness or darkness?

The Half Hidden Starlight (Moonlight Smile)

Never underestimate what a smile can do for someone. People feel down from time to time. Greet them with a smile. Such a gesture gives them hope, motivation to excavate oneself from the bushel of barbed wires ensnaring one's mind. First comes a shinning ray of hope into the depths of their broken down prison-like cells, shooting down from above and into such abyssal darkness.
Frolicking between the line separating salvation and suffocation.
Is there a difference?
Carpe diem.
...
Return protocol to self and resume restricted breathing.
...
Smile for me?
...
Please?
...
Carpe diem.
3.
Look up high.
2.
Close your eyes.
1.
And free your mind.
As if a surge of energy detonates from that shinning ray of hope, a god-sent act sent to cast any trace of sadness and depression, the thorns embedded into my vexed brain, into oblivion. freedom. sanctuary.
The smile.
Your smile.

...
Thank you.

The Facade

Two people.
Two minds.
Two trains of thought.

Quite a coincidentally fortunate collision?
Perhaps.
Possibly hinting at life's irony and illusive truth of unsought pain.