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Archive for December, 2001

on self control

“Stay away from me, I’m bad news.”

I seem to utter those words a lot lately. Why? Is it because I want assurance that whatever I should do, my actions could be justified by a simple, “See? I told you so.” — I’m not a little child. I know my actions and the probable consequences that cant be rendered from my courses of action. I’ve known since I was a child.

Why, then, am I always shocked when the situation plays itself out the way I already knew it would, whether good or bad? Why, then, do I act dumb to my very own thoughts, my very own emotions which I’ve always explored well? Am I truly that messed up in the head that a part of me wants to mess things up? Or can I really not stop myself?

Self-control. That is something nobody has ever taught me. As a child, I had an unnatural amount of self-control. To the point where my parents still tell stories about it and some who took care of me were spooked at how little I played around with things. Perhaps now, I’m making up for all that kicking, crying and fickleness by being the uncontrollable monster I am today.

I feel myself giving into my own whims. I watch the walls within myself collapse as I fall more and more deeply into what is deemed sin and vice. “I can’t help myself!” I always exclaim, my eyes wide. Oh, but I can. . . I just choose not to. I rarely forget, but it’s such a convienience to say that I have. It makes things easier, more entertaining.

Because I proclaim a lack of self-control from the beginning, because I know I will break the conventions of right and wrong from the very start, does it justify my actions anymore than it would if I never new? Would my actions be more right if I truly did NOT know? If I were blind to the fact that I make bad choices, would the choices then be bad at all? Or does the fact that I do know that i make bad choices, yet still make them for myself make it more justifiable? I’ve taken both routes, and I don’t think bad choices should ever be justified at all.

But I do it anyway. I play the dummy, or I issue the warning — the red flag of sorts — so that I can be spared from the feelings of ill will and gain the better hand in a situation.

Sometimes I don’t know the answers to my questions and I never want to know. The questions come and the infinite amount of answers are always possibilities, but never the truth but in perhaps one or two situations. To let things simply take their own course is too simple. That never happens. It’s nice to think about it, though, I suppose. It’s better to think of the past, though, and not the maybe’s. that way, perhaps I won’t make the same mistakes twice.

Hah. Imagine that, learning from mistakes. What a concept.


on those nights that i planned my death, the nights that i thought that i would never again see another day, i try to remember the thoughts and things that ran through my mind as i planned my last breath. but once did i ever write in my journal, and though it was by far the most dramatic time that i attempted to do so, it was definately not the time during which i came the closest. i can’t remember what went through my mind at all. i simply remember feeling cold… i always felt tired — emotionally tired. weak, so weak. and angry. angry at my life, angry at what i was going through, angry at all the shit that had to happen to me. you see, back then i wasn’t yet able to block out the bad memories: they were too fresh, and too new. now, as i’m revisited with the pain, i can still feel the shadows of those feelings rushing over me whenever i talk about them. i don’t feel the pain acutely, as i do with all other feelings of the past, strangely. i don’t think i would be able to handle it. i highly dislike family time; it reminds me all too clearly about the past.

Random Mumblings

The entries that I spend time thinking about prior to writing always seem to be the ones that I find more inspiring to myself later on. This is true for both my online and paper journals. It’s hard to tell whether this is because I have a truer memory of them because of the time spent, or whether it is because these special entries are entries that are more interesting to me, I have no clue.

My writing style changes drastically, pen versus keyboard. Sadly, though the conventions of writing with pen to paper leaves no room for backspace, no way to easily erase mistakes, no way to reword things, I write more clearly, more concisely when I write with pen and paper. Perhaps I take the easy-to-fix features of a computer-typed entry too much for granted and in turn my writing becomes a shoddy piece of crap that even I cringe to read.

Inspiration strikes me infrequently, but I think that when it does, I will have pen and paper at hand so that I can jot down the shit that I need to express.

Christmas is here once again and as I re-read my past entries at this time, I feel a certain nostalgia. I feel the exact feelings to the very most minor details of what I felt when I was writing those entries. My own words transport me back in time. Lo and behold, I’ve created my own time machine. Ha.

I’m considering halucegenic drugs. Not simply because of my lack of inspiration, but because of a dire curiosity of how deeply I can go into my mind and still be the same. Am I the same through and through ? Have I discovered all of myself? What of me is still hidden, still hiding?

I want to know. So curious.

What is it like to fall in love? I thought that I knew that feeling before. Each time the feeling is distinctly different and distinctly sweet in a different way. I wonder if it was love, or only a shadow of love that I caught a brief glimpse of only to have it fly by me, brushing me like the wings of a butterfly. Full of warmth and happiness.

I don’t know. I want to know. I’m curious.

I’m just a curious girl lately, I suppose. A nice person has gotten me interested in the general ideas of quantum physics. I shy away from anything labelled with the word ‘physics’, but the concepts are truly interesting. Maybe I’ll look up ‘Quantum Physics for Dummies’. It really reminds me of the concepts of buddhism.

It’s funny, though, how lately my mother has been trying to preach to me lessons about buddhism that I’ve always inherantly known about reality. It’s even funnier how she can’t understand where I learned it from. At least we have a better understanding about each other now. The other day she said this to me:

“The only reason that you’ve ever suffered is because of me, then. I’m the one that makes you suffer because I don’t want you to suffer. You’ve never had worries except for the ones I placed upon you! Why is it that I never saw this before?”

Sadly, she still can’t break free of old habits and she still makes me suffer. At least she knows that she’s the only one that’s making me feel bad. fuck.

at james

it seems as if i’ll let myself post from anywhere. so nice. i’ve been going through blogger withdrawal during the past couple days. isn’t it funny, how when you’re idle you can think of so many things to say but then when you’re actually sitting down and about to type it you completely forget about what you’ve been planning to say all along.

funny how the same seems to happen whenever you talk to people. you plan what you’re going to say, and you think of witty methods of conversation, how you’re going to lead into the witticism, how you’re going to make someone laugh, or make someone feel sorry for you, or the whatevers… but then sometimes like an actor forgets his lines, you completely forget what you were going to say and do something stupid.

blah. who said ad-libbing was easy? :)


James keeps looking at me funny. Is it because i’m looking too intently at the screen as I write? Is it because I have poptart stuck to my face? or maybe it’s the mochi. Or maybe it’s the fact that I’m eating him out of house and home. hah. Probably all of the above.


Anyhow, I’m getting braver with driving. I drove on the highway for a long distance for the first time by myself — without anybody there to guide me! I didn’t even get lost. It’s a miracle!!

Argh. I really don’t have anything to talk about. This bothers me — how come after a lapse of time I seem to lose what i want to say, when in fact I should have more to say? It seems I always have more to say on those days when I have my fingers perpetually at the keys and suddenly inspiration strikes. Maybe I just need to warm up first.

The bloggin’s gonna get pretty sporadic. Sorry folks.


I feel bad: I think I’m less reassuring about James’s operation than he is. So many negative things rush through my mind at all times and I can’t help them at all. Even when I’m happy I can’t help be be a pessimist. That is the way in which my life sucks. Ha ha ha.

Recent new perspectives make me able to hold onto happy moments more easily. They make me able to enjoy them more fully. And take bad moments more in stride… But it’s still there. That constant worry, that constant nagging that things will go wrong that terrible forboding that’s always inside of me that I can’t get rid of. The thing that would grow and grow until it took me over unless I go out and do things and try to forget about it. The thing inside of me that eats me alive. Blah.

I tend to be dramatic, too, in this stage.

Sometimes I blame it on PMS. No doubt, PMS amplifies all emotions. However, most times it’s just the fact that I’m naturally filled with depression and certain things bring it out in me. My mother. Rainy weather. Being cooped up in my room. Having nothing to do. Etc. Etc.

Alright, that’s all I have to say. Call me up if you want to do something and you’re from norcal and you have my number. yeah. Hah.

being home

i’m not going to lie to you. i haven’t had a very good time being at home. every moment i wish i were back in irvine where i love my surroundings, love the people around me, and most of all am away from the things here that i hate. my room, the place i know so well feels like a trap, a kennel from which i want to break away — and yet guilt holds me back and keeps me at home even though there’s nothing to do. guilt that she is forever laying on me.

I choked for a second on something and coughed. From the other room she immediatly jumped on this and said “You’re sick! You’re coughing, you have to go to the doctor.”
“No, I’m not sick,” I replied “I just choked.”
“No, you’re sick! You need medicine!” she screamed.
I said “I feel perfectly fine.”
“You need to go to the doctor and tell him that you’re sick so that you can get medication for me in case I get sick. Can’t you tell I’m almost dying? Don’t you have any pity? I took care of you all my life and now you won’t help me when I’m sick? Who will love you if I die?”
Manipulative bitch. That was her plan all along and I knew it. She didn’t care about whether or not I was feeling alright.

I don’t think I want to be back. I want to go home to Irvine, or at least be far away from the buddha-filled shrine that my mother calls our home. There’s absolutely nothing to do there. Now I remember why I buried my head into the internet. I remember back at all the times when my mother would not let me go out. All the times when I had to stay inside the house when my friends all went out. It’s all the more apparent now, when I finally am able to break away from it.

i hate being at home.

. . .

James seems different now. More reserved, more quiet, less jolly. I might be perceiving things differently, but I don’t know. I suppose it’s to be expected, considering everything he’s been going through. His surgery is tomorrow. I made him a present… something of a charm, but I can’t give it to him now because it’s too rainy and too stormy for me to drive all the way to San Mateo. I hate it! I can’t get myself out of this hell hole.

This entry feels long, but I think it will be one of the last entries few entries i write for this winter vacation unless I buy myself a modem. I don’t have any way to connect to the Internet otherwise unless I come here every day. Maybe I’ll put that into practice, though. It’ll give me time away from home.

I miss you. All of you.


i wish i could write about the things that have been happening lately… but I don’t even know where to start. i’m happy, though, i really am. :) so anybody who might be worrying can put their minds at ease. though I don’t know about how happy I will be tomorrow when I prepare to embark on my journey all the way back to the bay area.

i can’t wait to see james and chill w/ my friends from back home. good shit.


only a few more days left of true freedom until i have to drive on back to that restrictive place called san jose. boy… sadly, i really don’t miss it, with the exception of a couple people. i miss only those that i really loved during my last year of high school.

funny how that works. how you don’t find what you truly like until you’re about to lose it. how you don’t find your true niche until you’re about to leave.

i’m that way at least. it’s probably because i’m human. bleh.

peace of mind

hi. i feel better now. i know i said that a lot of times, but i really do feel as if i feel better now. it’s as if i finally accepted that something like you could happen to me. i thought that seeing you a lot would crush me… i thought that it would make me cry and make me feel tired of life.

i guess it did at first… but somehow i feel a lot better now. i heal pretty quickly, i guess. i don’t know what it is that’s changed me like this. maybe it’s new friends. new people in my life. maybe its because for the first time in my life i’ve begun to see up close the realities of the way people really are.

i don’t know what it is, but i like it. it’s almost a newfound freedom, except it’s something that i’ve always had. i don’t think i hate people like you. at first i thought i would, forever and ever. but i just smile at my silliness now. i was just mad because i was wrong about you and everyone else was right.

i’m out.

ahh.. :)

Life has returned normal again here at Dave’s apartment. Nice and quiet with only little signs that things were amiss. Like Dave’s throbbing arm. Other than that, everything seems alright.

Fun fun fun till we have to talk to the popo.

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