Thursday, December 21, 2006

On goals

Okay, here's what I want to accomplish next year.

1. If my parents do, indeed, move out (like they've been planning ever since we moved here almost ten years ago), get into NYU or UIC.
2. Get an electric guitar and become kickass at it.
3. Teach myself to sing.
4. Start a band.
5. Finish my novel/project Ripple. I have to finish sometime.
6. Get something published.
7. Get into a relationship that won't fail miserably/be more "exciting and passionate" or whatever shit/be more of a "girl".
8. Be more mature.
9. I dunno, see if I can drop about 50lbs. Ha.
10. Have way more fun.

These are merely goals though, I refuse to label them as "resolutions". That's like fucking kiss of death. So, I'll at least accomplish goal #2 by blowing whatever money I get this Christmas and buying that electric guitar I saw in Pentagrama the other day for $130. Maybe my dad'll pity me and buy me the amp. I could also try teaching myself to sing pretty soon. I have the advantage that I'm the opposite of tone deaf. Hell, I can tune an acoustic guitar by ear. Maybe if I apply that same natural knowledge to my voice, I can at least get to the point that my voice sounds nice, and I can pretend to sing. I could always sound like the girl who does Nana O.'s singing voice in the anime.

As for everything else, I'll just take them as they come. I don't want to let the year slip by, like I've felt this year has. Here's hoping 2007's better than 2006, folks.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

On feelings

I'd already posted this over in Sersapiente, but I don't know if anyone who frequents my blog goes there as well. It's a small bit of a story that came to me on a whim the other day. For something short, I feel it's well-written, most especially because it's in Spanish (and I tend to write mostly in English). I have no idea whether I'll expand on it in the future, seeing as I have three novels that have yet to be finished, and two of which are full-blown projects (since both will be part of trilogies). Still, I liked it a lot, and I feel like sharing.


Hace ya algunos años que te he visto. Para mí, quizás, no parece tanto. Éramos niños. O, para decirlo mejor, yo era un niño. Tú ya eras casi mujer. De cualquier manera, disfruté de mi tiempo contigo. Me acuerdo la primera vez que nos conocimos. Sentí como si yo fuera un héroe grande, salvándote del mal en ese momento. Luego, te prometí que te traería la paz que tanto deseabas para, no tan solo tu reino ni para la mía, sino para el mundo completo. Te prometí que pronto, todo se resolvería. Quizás mis palabras, palabras de un niño de doce años, te sonaron como promesas vacías, pero las hize con toda la convicción que mi ser tenía.

Pero hice esas promesas para tí, para tí nada más. Eras un ángel para mí, alguien que deseaba lo mejor para todos, sin importar de dónde eran or quiénes eran. Mientras viajamos con los demás, nos reímos de nuestros chistes, nos sentamos de noche para ver las estrellas, me dejaste llorar cuando conocí lo que le había pasado a mi padre...cuando conocí lo que realmente deseaba mi hermano mayor.

De vez en cuando, leo sus cartas. Me hacen sonreír de la manera que ninguna otra carta puede hacer. Me siento bien al saber de sus aventuras por el mar, libre para hacer lo que deseas, cuando lo desea. Sin me está iendo su cara, sus expresiones, hasta su voz. Quisiera estar contigo, pero mi lugar es aquí, en mi reino, defendiendo la paz que traímos hace años. Quizás también haz encontrado que su calor es suficiente. Pero no me está mal. Si estás feliz, entonces seré feliz para ti también.

Me miro en el espejo, y casi ni reconozco la cara que me mira hacia atrás, la cara de un hombre casi, líder de un imperio. Quisiera verte, aunque sea la última vez, para recapturar las facciones de tu cara. Pero eres mejor fuera de aquí, libre y sin límites.

Aunque quizás yo sólo era un compañero, alguien con quien compartiste tu amistad, siempre te amaré, de lejos. Viva tu vida lo más que puedas, y seas feliz. Si hay dioses, espero que me hagan ese favor, por lo menos.

If you actually enjoy my writing, go take a look at what I've got posted at FictionPress. My first complete novel's up over there, as well as one of my two projects, and a plethora of short stories/random essays.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

On setting your path

Ha sido la polémica entre mi pai y yo desde hace años. Creo que desde que puedo acordarme de algo, siempre ha tenido una fiebre con empezar su propio negocio. It's changed over the years, what he wants his small business to be, but it never fails for my dad to come up with some stupid new plan of starting a business. And of course, he tries to drag me and my brother along. But usually, just me. He's wanted to start a cleaning business, a car repair business, an air-conditioner repair business, a translation business, a medical record business...the list goes on and on. He even went to Instituto de Banca y Comercio for a degree in air-conditioner repair (and refrigerators too, I don't remember).

Now, I wouldn't really mind these escapades of his so much if he'd just find people that actually share his interest in this sort of thing...excluding myself, my brother and my mother, since none of us care. But ever since we moved here, he's basically been forcing both my brother and I to "help" him with these things. By "help", I mean make us do all the work that needs to get done, without so much as even asking us if we're even interested, much less if we even want to do this. His excuse is that our mother doesn't want to help him, even though he thinks she should so she can be her own employer. News flash, mi querido padre, my mother never has, and never will be, interested in business. I don't know why you even bother.

He's been bothering my brother less and less about it over the years, mainly because he realizes that my brother's an artist, and artists usually don't care for business. On a side note, my brother confided in me that he did want to start his own business someday...just so long as our dad never realizes it. So this leaves my dad with me, his youngest kid and the smart one of the family. Lo and behold though, I'm exactly like mom. I hate business, I hate the idea of running one, of owning one, of all of it. My dad has been trying to get me interested over the years by saying that if I work for myself, I don't have to respond to anyone for anything, that I should major in business, ect ect. I started out as a Theater major, and will now be a Radio major. He tried telling me I could start my own theater. Now he'll probably tell me that I can start my own radio station. He fails to realize that I don't care.

And now, I have a huge pile of mom's old books here. She wanted us to donate them to a library. Instead, the "lightbulb" in dad's head goes off, and he decides to sell them. Fine. I ignore him whenever he talks to me about it for over a week. Then he gives them all to me, and tells me to write up all of them as a list, so we can sell them more easily. Fine. And then, last night, my worst fears came true: he said that this was going to be "our" business, that this was going to be my "part-time", and that whatever he earned, I earned. There's a problem though. I don't care. The only reason I've been working on the list all day today is because a. if I don't it'll piss him off; and b. if I don't even start today, it'll piss him off.

I sincerely think he was a failed business man in a past life. Why else would he be like this, honestly? Being a believer of Chinese astrology, it might also have to do with the complete and total incompatibility of our signs. Rabbits and Roosters should apparently run from each other as though the other carries an incurable plague. This doesn't help anything at all. I don't fault my dad for being a hard-worker, or for providing for my family for forever. Thank God for him. But I really do think that he's voluntarily blind to what really interests me and what I'm passionate about. I want to be a best-selling writer and a radio guru and maybe an actress. Better yet, I secretly want to be a famous rock star. On the rare occasion I talked to him about acting, it's almost never about how I like it. It's usually about how he has this friend of a friend of a cousin who's making a movie of sorts. Or how I should start my own theater once I get my third Ph.D. (because he's also constantly telling me I should get my Master's and Ph.D., neither of which I care about, not until I get my Bachelor's). He probably doesn't intend it to be viewed that way, but it makes him come off as kind of selfish, from my view.

What inspires my passion? The thought of starring on a Broadway play in front of a sold-out theater. The thought of performing live with my famous band in a sold-out arena. The thought of having my first novel become a best-seller and doing book signings, and hearing people give me their individual praises on my writing. Being an awesome radio guru and being cool and mainstream like that. Those are the things I like, those are the things that, now that I sit to think about it, are the things I've always loved. I've always loved writing, I've always loved music, and I didn't realize it till high school, but I love acting as well (and am talented to boot). I don't care to start a business or to be my own employer. I just want to live out my life the way I see fit. Even if I become none of the things I mentioned, it doesn't bother me to just finish college, get a normal job, do normal things, then retire at sixty-something and be done with it. But, I'm afraid that dad might just be trying to live his own failed fantasies through my brother and me, most especially me (since, as it were, we are also kind of similar).

Still, all I can do is write these book lists, hope that he'll lose interest, or, if I lose my temper, tell him that I don't care to participate in this venture of his. If I have kids though, I don't ever want to live my dreams through them. I want them to do what inspires them and what makes them happy, even if I don't agree with it all that much. When you do something that makes you passionate, it makes you happy. That's how I felt whenever I did acting in high school, or when I took guitar classes, or when I started and finished my first novel earlier this year. Striving to do better and to be the best is what makes me passionate, and it's what makes most people happy.

For the record, I'm not done with these book lists. I'll do them after dinner. My back hurts from being hunched over. At the least, I'm two-thirds done, so it won't be so painful or take so long.

Also, I really would change the size font, but I like it this way. I already tried it slightly bigger, but it just takes away the flavor of the current layout. But not to worry, when I feel like making a new layout in a few months, the font will change.

Monday, December 11, 2006

On cutting the strings that bind us

I've gotta say, I love December here in Puerto Rico. The temperature drops to such a nice level that it feels comfortable. I always know that Christmas is officially afoot when a nice breeze starts blowing through my window, the one next to me. Or well, y'know, when stores and malls put out insane sales that turn people into savage animals almost. And for those that think it only happens on our fair island, fear not, it happens in the US too (and at times, is far worse). Seriously, I'm going to find the bastard that came up with the concept of "After Thanksgiving Sale" and punch them in the groin. If the person is male. If the person is female, then I'll punch their breasts.

Very recently, a girl that I spent a summer with, when I was about four or five, messaged me on MySpace, asking if she remembered who she was. She was my grandmother's neighbor, in the barrio of Minillas in San Germán, and some time later, she would move to Sabana Grande. She's some years older than me, I think by about four. That summer, we spent every day playing and doing random things. It was really fun and it made that summer much more exciting than it might've been. Our friendship could've gone a couple of different ways from there. We might've kept hanging out if my father had decided for sure that we were going to stay in San Germán. I remember that my parents even took me to Colegio San José to enroll me in kindergarten. If my family was, instead, returning to Germany (because my father was still in the Army), or if we were to move to Conneticut with my father's youngest brother, then we would've just kept writing to each other. As it turns out, we ended up in Conneticut, mainly because my father left the Army, so my friend and I became pen pals.

After awhile, though, we finally stopped writing, since we were each going in our separate ways. Though I'd think about her from time to time, I figured she might've forgotten all about me. Now, here's were things go a little "wait, wow, really?" Last year, when I was but a Sagrado freshman, slightly confused but not entirely lost (and I thank high school for that), among the many people I met, one of them goes by the name Paco. I suppose the relationship the two of us have are that of brother-sister, kind of. Anyway, the point was, I heard him talking about his girlfriend, who lives in Arizona, a couple of times, but I didn't pay much attention (perhaps because I was trying to sleep in between classes). Later, last Christmas, we had a quickie conversation over the phone, and he says that he's in Sabana Grande, spending time with his girlfriend and her family, who lives there. Though I was curious, I still didn't ask.

Then, I noticed on his MySpace that his #1 was a girl named Zeliann. The name hit me, because that was the name of my friend from years gone by. I had wanted to ask a bit more about her to Paco, but I kept putting it off because I felt that I might be wrong. Then, finally, a week ago, she messages me. And it turns out that I was right; this was the same girl I'd met so many years ago, who was dating someone we both met in completely different ways. I guess you can say I was more than a little surprised. I mean, this is one of those wild coincidences that almost never happen, and yet serve to make the world fill just a little smaller than it might be.

I think that it's a little ironic, though. Since I moved to Puerto Rico when I was ten, I'd done my best to cut the ties of my past. I'd only recently started thinking about it more when I played Final Fantasy XII, and learned about the character Balthier. Balthier is the sort of character that appears to be calm, cool and collected almost all the time, dashing and charming and not the type to permit others to tell him what to do or where to go. Yet, deeper down, he shows remorse for the path he's taken, and an intense desire to run from the path, to cut those strings for good, and instead, his past comes running after him, and is clearly the faster one. I think that's what's happening to me now.

In fact, now that I think about it, why am I trying to cut my past out? I can't even remember the reason. Maybe I just hated the person I used to be, and just wanted to get away from everything that had become attached to my memory of the person. If that's the case, though, then I'm always going to look for ways to severe ties, because I'm not particularly fond of who I am now. Hence, the entire premise and background of this blog, in title, sub-title and what my lil' sidebar now says. I'm trying to fix myself, but at the same time, not really. I simply just put out my usual self on, the one that's aloof and independent and rebellious and absent-minded, and I go about my day to day life. Yet, if and when the opportunity presents itself again, and this time when I'm more mature to handle it, I know that I'd try to cut my past out again, and this time for good.

But maybe, just maybe, I feel this way because I've already learned that home really is where the heart is, and doesn't need to be tied to a specific place or events. If I can say with conviction that my heart is content, wherever it is that I am and whatever I happen to be doing, then I'm home. I think, also, that I'd like to find someone to call home, even if I'm greatly cynical towards that concept at the moment (since I tried and failed miserably at that). Still, maybe I just need to keep on going forward in life, not looking back at the past that will always tie me with a string, until I find the solution that works best for me.

I like the December breeze here a lot, almost as much as the beaches here. Maybe that's home for me. I also plan on seeing Zeliann when she's visiting family in Sabana Grande. We sure have grown up.

On an unrelated side note, I'm still tinkering with my layout. In other words, I need to put in the footer, and make the text a little bigger for the visually impaired. :) I made a more comprehensive about me page.

Sunday, December 10, 2006

On finding our voice

As I flipped through my friends-page on LiveJournal this morning, sleepy from having gone to bed past 1am (I was at a Ragnarok Online marriage -- don't ask), I stopped scrolling all of a sudden. At that moment, I'd just been hit with a question. Why do people blog? Why do people keep journals on the Internet for all to see and read? I mean, really, is there a point? Writing a blog means you're expressing yourself on the Internet. But anyone who's been using the Internet since it became popular in the mid-90's will know that trends come and go faster than you can even type the word "trend". Plus, it's the Internet. It's as big as the universe itself almost. Finding the means to have your voice heard is both difficult and time-consuming. So anyone has to wonder why even bother.

During the time I've spent blogging, I've seen all types of blogs. I've seen blogs of 15 year old emo kids who can't spell to save their lives and usually make 8 entries a day (if not more). I've seen blogs that stream video of themselves. I've seen blogs that pretend to be the blogs of someone's pet. Basically, if there's a subject to write about, a blog also exists about it. It's similar to Rule #34, which is, there's porn of it, no exceptions. I imagine that Rule #34 a. would be, there's also a blog of it, no exceptions. Emo kids who don't do a damn asides cry virtual tears about how their lives suck and how no one understands? There's a blog. Bee hives? There's a blog. That old VCR of yours? If there isn't one of it yet, there will be. Yet, of all the countless blogs that exist out there, precious few will ever be known by a large amount of people.

So then, why? Good question. Why am I even writing? Another good question. I think the most appropriate answer is that we all want to have our voices heard, however insignificant it may be. 15 year old emo kids want to embarrass themselves by crying virtual tears. People want to tape themselves and get a chance to have someone see them (I'd do a video post if I had a video camera, for the record). Hell, maybe pets want to keep blogs themselves, so their owners do it for them. Let's face it, how many of us will ever publish the book of our lives, much less even write it? Let's pretend for a moment that I myself am an aspiring novelist. Anyway, maybe Internet blogging gives us all a chance to have our thoughts and voices heard, however insignificant it may be. In the process, those of us who were wondering where our voices were find them lying buried deep in the ground, and bring them to the surface. Or else we find how different our voices have become over the course of time.

That is the general blogging community. But what about me? Why the hell do I blog? I mean, I maintain about five different blogs. The two blogs that are of most importance at the moment are my LiveJournal and this blog, Can't you just fix me? One is my personal journal, the one in which I couldn't care less if I sound like an angsty 19 year old, and where I frequently display affection for my fandoms (it's the former). The other is the blog in which I write for sentences on end about anything that I think is important, in the most entertaining (or sarcastic, whichever) way I can possibly think of (it's the latter). Occasionally, I write some angst here too, but it's only when I feel I should. One blog is the one I only want certain people to read, because I've been writing in it since I was 16, hence there's immaturity and (shudder) emo (it's the former). The other is the blog that I want to become well-known someday (someday), and it's the latter. But why bother?

Well, I won't go on about why I keep my LiveJournal. As for this one...well, at first, it wasn't even intentional. I'd just read an article in El Nuevo Día about "how to blog" (snicker) around May of this year, and I decided that there shouldn't even be how-to guides on how to keep and maintain blogs. So I made this, with the intention of making each and every entry thought-provoking, even if it only a sentence or two was written. And here I am now, still writing. I must truly think that people enjoy reading sarcastic wisdom from someone who's barely lived for two decades (and only remembers one and a half of it). But see, I don't want my voice to just be "heard". I don't want to just "find" my voice either. I found my voice in high school, thank you, acting. I want to be listened to. When you hear something, you simply hear the random noise it's making. But when you listen to it, you're able to understand what it is that's trying to be said, be it someone's voice, the wind going by your ears, or the muffled ticking of your watch. It's not just random noise anymore; it's a voice. And I want my voice to not be random noise, I want it to be listened to and distinguished from other voices and singled out. I want people to stop and think, "hey, she actually says something somewhat important, let me stop and read this thing for awhile". If all my life, all people do is hear me, but not listen to me, then I've utterly failed.

Of course, maybe this correlates to the fact that I hold the lofty goal of becoming famous. Or maybe I'm just a 19 year old who thinks she knows everything and is really just an immature brat. I don't really care. Even if I'm never listened to, and simply heard, at the end of the day, I like writing here. It's an outlet. And I seem to be moderately entertaining, since I have a small (albeit loyal) audience.

In other news, I managed to completely redesign the layout of this blog, so it looks spiffy now. I even made the header myself. I feel awesome.

Saturday, December 09, 2006

On who we are

If there is anything I dislike reading or hearing about the most, it's when people like politicians, writers or professors, people who believe themselves to be more sophisticated and to be superior to the "common" people, write about how Puerto Rico, and the people who live in it, have no culture. Or, worse yet, when they write or say about how we have no identity.

I will give them the point of perhaps being partially right. We seemingly have no culture. Centuries of being a colony will do that to any place. We haven't had much of a chance to come into our own. That, however, doesn't mean that we have no culture whatsoever. The people who say that have, perhaps, been living here far too long to make that kind of acertation. Of course we have a culture. Any kind of society, no matter if it be a nation or a colony or a territory, has to have a culture. In fact, here's the definition of the word "culture":

cul·ture /ˈkʌltʃər/ Pronunciation Key - Show Spelled Pronunciation[kuhl-cher] Pronunciation Key - Show IPA Pronunciation noun, verb, -tured, -tur·ing.
the quality in a person or society that arises from a concern for what is regarded as excellent in arts, letters, manners, scholarly pursuits, etc.
that which is excellent in the arts, manners, etc.


Culture (from the Latin cultura stemming from colere, meaning "to cultivate"), generally refers to patterns of human activity and the symbolic structures that give such activity significance. Different definitions of "culture" reflect different theoretical bases for understanding, or criteria for evaluating, human activity.


Though we are perhaps not known for things such as literature, art or music (rather, we are known for boxers, beauty queens and rappers), this doesn't mean that we, as a culture, have not produced significant amounts of cultural advances. What about authors such as Luis Rafael Sánchez or Alejandro Tapia y Rivera? What about actors like Raúl Julia or Benicio del Toro? Or painters like Obed Gómez and José Campeche? Are you people trying to tell me that what they've achieved is nothing because we are a mere colony? Or that it's not enough? If it's not enough, then when will it be enough?

Personally, though, I believe that the problem is that, most of the people who tell us that we lack culture are the ones who either believe that the United States is more cultured, or they believe that we have been crushed by having been a U.S. colony over the decades. To me, however, the U.S. aren't any more cultured than we are. In fact, if we are to compare, the U.S. is just as cultured as we are. The U.S. hasn't been around for many centuries to begin with, and they are younger than we are. This is my personal opinion, but having been born in the U.S. and having lived there for about ten years, I don't see how we can't possibly have a culture and the U.S. has far too much. I think we're on equal ground, actually.

This opinion of mine correlates to my opinion of how we seemingly have no identity. I once thought that we Puerto Ricans had no identity either. I've been proven wrong, though, and it was when I was on the plane home from Chicago. As the plane landed, all I could think of was, "this is home, I'm home". Anywhere you go in the world, if you find a fellow Puerto Rican, you'll know it automatically, and you'll fraternize and talk and mutually miss the mother land. We take our pride for our home wherever we go. I hardly see that in Americans, to be perfectly honest. To them, it doesn't really matter that much. But to most Puerto Rican who move outside the island, it's almost like they're simply visiting the outside world. We remember things like how it always rains in August, or family get-togethers at the beach where everyone pitches in to bring beer and food, or the Fiestas Patronales, or most of all, the way we celebrate Christmas.

I think that we Puerto Ricans, along with many other people from other countries, exhibit the trait that I believe Americans have lacked for a long time, and that is pride in ourselves. Yes, our economy's a mess. Yes, our politicians are about as diplomatic as 800 pound gorillas. And yes, we still have problems with things like poverty, unemployment and education, among other things. But those of us who truly believe in who we are as people also believe that if we continue to take pride in ourselves, if we continue to make good literature and music and art, if we keep taking strides internationally in the music and movie industry, if we work together to fix our recurring problems, these are the people who make our culture, and make it even stronger. To say we are culture-less, to say we are color-less even, is to say that we have no pride in who we are, and that just isn't really true at all.

For those who think that the solution to our problems is to become a U.S. state, will that really fix everything, when we are so opposite from the U.S. to even be a state? For those who think that becoming an independant country will solve our problems, how will that work when our economy's in shambles? For those who think that staying the way we are, a mere colony, is the best cop-out, are you truly content with staying stagnant for however long? I'm not trying to make you question your beliefs, whatever beliefs you may have, but solutions come when we look at both the big picture and the smaller details. If we want to prove that our pride in ourselves is not for nothing, then we have to work to make it so.

In the meantime, quit writing about how we're a black hole of degradation and go get some coquito. It's fucking Christmas time.

Friday, December 08, 2006

On the march of time

No, seriously, this is why I really need to get back to updating this blog at least three times a week. I ignore it, and then I have the problem of thinking of how best to organize my thoughts in a somewhat cohesive manner (even though I myself am not a very cohesive person 99.9% of the time). See, I don't think I have ADD...but I do recognize that I have a short attention span. So unless I'm focusing all of my brain, it's impossible for me to be cohesive. Right now, I'm writing this as I write in my LiveJournal and as I consider where I should go next in Final Fantasy XII.

But, then again, there's a good place to start, Final Fantasy XII. For those of you in the audience who play video games and play RPGs (all three of you), you're more than likely familiar with the Final Fantasy series. Most people say it's the best series out there with the best games, ect ect, but that is not my opinion. Personally, the best one (and perhaps the most beautiful RPG ever created) is Final Fantasy VI, for the SNES (with a PS1 remake and soon a GBA remake). FFVII is overrated, FFVIII had a stupid plot, and FFX had crappy characters with a plot that I hate. I don't have anything on FFIX, I love that game. Now, since FFXII had been in development for five years, I had my doubts on this game. But wow, was I wrong to doubt it. I think I love this game almost as much as I do FFVI. It's beautifully made graphically, with the CGs being far better than the CG in FFVII: Advent Children. And the about intelligent and cohesive. The characters are all likeable, and not a single one has made me cringe in a "oh sweet Jesus what is he/she thinking?!"

In terms of mechanics, it plays like an offline MMORPG. This is both good and bad. It's good because it means that battles are very quick and rely on efficiency. This is also bad, because it's as hard as an MMO. I've spent 30+ hours on the game, and I'm not even half-way through, because I need to devote half of my time to leveling up and getting loot to sell to buy spiffy equipment and weapons. I wouldn't have such a problem with gil (FF's currency) if enemies dropped it along with loot, but sadly, that's not the case. As for character's stats and such, all six party members are more or less even, but each character is more suiteable for one role than another. This also applied to weapons (I can't imagine having Penelo using guns, something Balthier uses as default). As for difficulty, this game is not the cakewalk FFX was for about 80% of the time. You will break a sweat trying to beat these bosses, starting from the very first one. Strangely, this doesn't bother be, because I spend $50 for a game, it better damn well be worth my time. So, overall, it comes SO close to topping FFVI as my all-time favorite, but I need to beat the game to decide for sure on that.

Asides wasting time on Final Fantasy XII, life has been moving at a good pace for me. Much of my time has been divided between getting everything together for the January semester in Sagrado, looking for a part-time job in the San Juan area (specifically, Plaza las Américas) and keeping the house together while the family's out during the day. In Sagrado, where I was once a Theater major, I'm now majoring in Producción y Mercadeo para la Radio. I realized that, as much as I love acting and the theater, I'll be living in a box with the amount of pay I'd get from doing it. Radio is something I both like and can give me a steady salary once I'm finished. But I do plan on getting a minor in Proyección Escénica, so my Theater classes won't go to waste. I don't know, but between you and me, I find it strange that I study in Sagrado. It's the most expensive university on the island, and hence, is a haven for rich kids and whatnot. The student body and the atmosphere are the exact opposite of me, which makes me wonder why I didn't just study in UPR in Río Piedras. Maybe I like being weird. That, and the education in Sagrado is pretty damn good anyway.

As for the part-time, I've applied at Borders, Claire's, Journey's, The Children's Place and PacSun. I already had an interview with Borders, and they informed me that they'd call me in January, when I said I was available, to tell me if I've been hired or not. Everywhere else, I'm still waiting. If I don't get hired, I guess I'll just do work-study, because part of the reason I want the job while I study is to help pay off my studies (plus spending cash). I think I might get work-study even if I get hired, because the more I earn to pay off whatever I owe, the better it'll be for my parents. If it ends up like that...I'm more than likely not to even be able to relax till Thanksgiving next year (since I plan on taking summer class as well). Still, I won't really mind, because I like to be busy and do different things.

Another thing I'll be doing (God forbid if I can find the time) is working out at night at Sagrado's gym. I've been working out almost ever since I've come back home, since I realized that the only way to stay the weight I am now (160lbs) is to work out, since I'm actually eating food now. Personally, I'm lazy and I hate sweating, but I'm doing it because I should. I want to get back in shape, at any rate. In terms of what I do 'round the Internet, I've been detaching myself from my usual forums and such, mainly because I won't have time for it anymore, and because I want a disconnect. I still do plenty of blogging though. My LiveJournal is the one I usually update with most frequency, since that's my personal journal. My other blogs vary. I'll be updating this one more often, as I come up with more things to write/rant about. I guess I just haven't had the motivation for it lately, and I simply felt the need to update this blog's audience on how my life goes.

As for relationships and all that, I'm not quite sure what to say. I've got a date practically set up next month when I move back to Sagrado's dorms, which will involve seeing a movie, then probably hooking up and having sex. The guy's cool, and I've known him since 2005, when I started in Sagrado. But there're a couple of problems. The first, smallest problem is the fact that I kind of like another friend of mine, who (as my infamous luck would have it) is taken. I'm not the type of bitch to steal guys who are taken (though I am a bitch in many other aspects), so I'm trying to content myself with staying good friends with the guy. The second, also pretty small problem, is that, with the guy I've got the date with, I'm not sure where I want to go with it, if anywhere at all. I had the same problem the first time around (yes, I did go out on a date with him previously).

And the last, very very big problem, is my current state of unrequited love with my ex. See, I thought I'd be over him by now, because I've always been over my previous ex's after a few weeks. But, here I am, almost two months later, and I can't seem to get over him, hard as I try. I've got a very bad case of unrequited love here, and I'm not sure what to do about it. The main problem here, though, is that I want to be over him, so I can stop being cynical, bitter and (sometimes) depressed (since I'm none of these, most people will tell you I'm a very sweet person). But, at the same time, I want to hold on anyway because I still love him very much, like we humans tend to do at times with people. It's even harder now, since I learned, through a mutual friend of ours, that he doesn't seem to be fine with the break-up either. I thought he would be, since his reasons for ending the relationship were because he didn't feel passion for me anymore, and that he didn't want a serious relationship anymore. I figured he'd be having the time of his life. To learn that he's feeling hurt too...I can't quite describe it.

Finally, last but not least, new music recommendations! Or just recommendation. I've been listening to a lot of The Red Paintings lately. They're an Australian band, and I saw them live at first when I saw The Dresden Dolls at The Vic in Chicago. I'd been meaning to download music by them, but only recently did I see anything on LimeWire. They're amazing, they're the exemplification of the experimental genre, mainly for their usage of visual art in both their CD covers and their live shows. When I saw them live, they were dressed as Japanese geishas, squids and ghosts. And their music is beautiful. I keep listening to their track called Walls, since they played it live. It still gives me the same feeling, the feeling of just being lifted from your body and getting lost. I also recommend World Leader Pretend. It's great indie rock.

I believe that's the majority of what I intended to express. I now leave you all with this.

Come on, it's cute! The moogles in FFXII are adorable. I wish I could ask for a live one for Christmas, but they're not real...

Sunday, November 26, 2006

On snow

I've come to realize that I've come full circle from this time last year. I started a certain way, and now I'm ending that same certain way. So I'm going to write with no inhibitions, and with no fear of what people will say/comment.

I still remember that night, when Rob told me that he liked me. For the record, I'm calling him Rob like everyone else from now on. I might still love him, but I have to break away from those feelings if I want to move on. Calling him Sam was part of that (and part nostalgia). But more on that later. Anyhow...I couldn't believe it when he told me. A guy like him would like a girl like didnt' seem to make sense. But I liked him back. So it was all okay. It was better than okay, it was great. The ten months that happened afterwards were memories that I'll hold close to my heart for a long time. If there is a positive thing I can say I gained, it's that I learned to accept myself a little more. I might not be the best person, and I might be good for nothing, but I am who I am, and I can't change that. There are good things about me and there are bad things about me, but I just focus too much on the bad things for whatever the reason.

I don't think he ever loved me during that time though. He might've liked me, he probably cared about me, but love, probably not. Yet, I believed that we had a good thing going. I believed we'd be together for a long time. Comparing to other guys before him, I felt comfortable, like I could be myself and it was fine. From time to time, he'd say weird things that'd throw me off, but I kept it to myself and let it slide because I felt that they were silly things anyway. I let him come closer to the real me and to my heart than I'd let anyone else. I didn't want to love him because I knew he didn't love me. I just wanted to like him. But I fell in love with him anyway. And I loved him. I gave my heart out, because I felt that I finally could. I hadn't done that with anyone before. That's also the reason I decided my first time would be with him.

But, just as I remember the day he told me he liked me, I also remember the day he broke up with me just as well. I was happy to hang out with him, as usual, doing whatever to kill off boredom. But then he pulled me aside, and told me we had to talk. I knew what he was gonna way before he even said it. He said that he didn't want to be in a serious relationship anymore, that the passion he had for me was gone. He said I was a cool girl, that he'd still support me, but as a friend. I asked him if it was anything I did. After a moment, he said no. But I know he was lying. Of course it was me. I'm always "one of the guys". I'm not girly enough. I don't find it necessary to strike up conversation for no reason. I was no good. We made love, and now I was no good. I wish I hadn't cried in front of him. I should've just run to his room, grabbed my stuff, and left without looking at him in the eye again. What he might not have realized is that, I might be "one of the guys", and I might be tough and strong and independent on the outside...but on the inside, I have the feelings and emotions of any other girl. I get hurt. My heart can be broken. And that's what happened.

But I saw it coming. I could feel him disconnecting since a couple weeks before. I thought he was just having bad days, because that sort of thing could happen to anyone. But that was just a lie I told myself, so I could keep hoping that maybe he still wanted me. Maybe if I'd just asked directly and ended it myself it might not have hurt as much. But I held on as tight as I could, because I didn't want to lose him. I loved him. I wanted us to last for a long time. But why couldn't that be so? Where did I go wrong? Where did we go wrong? I still don't have all the answers.

For at least a week, I didn't know what to do next. I don't think Manda noticed if I was even depressed at all. I'm sure she knew that something was wrong though, especially since I stopped bringing Rob up in normal conversation. I didn't want to think about him. I'd think about his face, his smile, his lips, his voice, and I'd push it away just as fast. But, I already knew. I was too broken to keep on going the way I was. If I did, I'd just get worse and worse...and I didn't want that. I knew that coming home wouldn't be without retributions, but I had to make amends I decided to come home, and pick life back up where I left it as best I could. So I'm home now. In the end, I was right. Coming home was a good decision.

But not a day goes by that I don't think about him. I'll just be daydreaming on my bed listening to music, and our song'll pop up, and I'll think of him again. I still love him. Lots of people have told me things like, "it's his own mistake, he doesn't know a good thing when he sees it", or "you shouldn't let a prick get in your way", or "you're better than him, you'll find someone who'll appreciate you". It's just proof that, really, no one seems to quite understand how hurt I am, nor how much I still love him. If they did, they wouldn't say things like that. I love him more than words can express...but he doesn't love me. He never has loved me. It's all one-sided. It's the cruelest form of unrequited love you can imagine, because you still love the person who broke your heart because he wished to be cruelly selfish and immature.

Actually, I kind of like someone right now. But, true to my luck, he got himself a girlfriend recently. And I think he just loves me as a sister of sorts. I'm just no good, huh? No matter what it is I want, or what it is I decide, it's just not right. It's not just in love or guys. It's in everything. Going to college wasn't right. Moving out wasn't right. I'm back home, and the plan I have is to live, work and study in San Juan, but that will probably end up not being right either. And here I'm just going to continue letting my heart fall apart and just let myself go in worthless one-night-stands with men I won't even remember in a week. I've been quite blessed in life, and extremely lucky, but ever since I graduated from high school, nothing seems to fall into place anymore.

It's just no good anymore. Nothing I do does any good. All I want right now is for him to like me again (not love, he didn't love me). Or for all the memories I have of him to just go away. Or for me to forget it all. Or for me to just stop loving him. You all think, oh wow you're so cool and awesome and amazing and independent and tough. No, I'm none of that. Just realize that I'm nothing. I already have.

So, that was supposed to make me feel better, and it didn't. Hell, I'm going back to FFXII. Also, some time this week, I will write a less depressing entry. More than likely, it will be video game-centered, since much has happened in the industry, and I feel I should rant and verbally beat Sony to death write about it.

Thursday, November 09, 2006

On living

The past three months sure have been strange. But they've also been life-altering. I think, what I really wanted most, deep down, was clarity, and a sense of where to go in life. I didn't have that three months ago. I wasn't sure of what I wanted. I thought that maybe going off to Chicago would give me the answers I needed. And I was right, even if it wasn't the way I was planning it to be. I'm more defined now that I ever was before. I know where I want to go now. I want to finish what I've started. And I'm done being rebellious and being a misfit (mostly).

I've learned that love doesn't mean shit. I've learned that even if you make mistakes in the eyes of others, you can still be forgiven and redeemed. I've even learned that there's still kindness to be found in random places. I've learned that, unless you're a crack addict, you shouldn't work at a Disney Store. I've learned that happiness can be found anywhere if you look for it. I've learned that sometimes, you can go back and fix a mistake, and that not everything is irreversable.

Most of all, though, I've learned not to give up. I've learned and seen for myself that I really do have the inner strength and to carry on, to move forward and to make decisions. I've learned that no matter how many times I fall, that no matter how many times I get stabbed and thrown to the ground, that I still somehow have the resiliance to get right back up. I've learned that, in a few years, I will be even stronger, and that I will have the strength to make my ambitions and dreams come true.

I'm going to miss the people I met here. Even though I've got a love-hate thing for him at the moment, I'm going to deeply miss Sam. I hope that the next time I see him, it'll be him in the front row of my future band's sold-out concert. I'm going to miss the people I met at DePaul, even if I didn't really know them that well. I'll also miss Justin. I wish we could've gotten closer.

Most of all, I'm going to miss Manda, more than I can put in words. I've got a deep feeling in my gut that I'll be seeing her again in a few years, when we're older ('cause she's Nana Komatsu, and I'm Nana Oosaki)...but I'm still going to very much miss her.

You've given me a lot, Chicago. And who knows, I might be back in some years. It was good while it lasted.

Friday, November 03, 2006

On NaNoWriMo

No, the title is not some insane combination of letters I put together at random. They stand for "National Novel Writing Month". November is the month for novel writing, and in its honor is the webpage NaNoWriMo. Basically, you sign up, and for the month of November, are given the challenge to write a novel of 50,000 words. It's all about quantity, not quality, so that, in the end, people who've always wanted to write a novel can say they have. Being a writer already, I decided it'd be fun to participate. Thus far, I have 4,900 words, and I started yesterday.

Now, since what I'm writing is the closest you'll ever get to figuring out how my brain works, I think I'll post the first chapter here. Please note, it's not supposed to be the most stellar work of writing. I'm just trying to get to the 50,000 word goal. But you might have fun reading it anyway.

Who am I? I’m no one. I’m nothing. I’ve achieved nothing in my nineteen year life asides failure and disappointment. I wish I could say I gave a damn about who I was, but I don’t. Why bother anyway? No one really cares. I constantly wonder where I’ve gone wrong in life to get to where I am now, but it’s all a blur to me. There are so many places I seem to have taken the wrong path or where I should’ve done one thing instead of the other. I do remember a time in which I was normal, or at least normal by society’s definition. It was easier then. People loved me and I loved them. So I wonder what ever happened to that comfort, that fallback of fallbacks. When did I start saying, no I don’t want to be normal, I don’t want to conform, I don’t care anymore. When did I think, who the fuck cares about the social norm? Why not just break out of that and be who you want to be and say what you want.

Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind. Have I ever truly found someone who believes in that though? One way or another, nothing is ever good enough for people. I’m too normal. I’m not normal enough. I think and I say and I do, and it’s never right. I’m told I’m fine the way I am, only to be told that I’m too boring in the end, that I wasn’t enough to keep the spark alive. But then how do I be entertaining enough? How do I stop being boring? How do I draw the line of normalcy and extroversion?

I am weird. I’m too weird for most social norms. The only thing that gives me the illusion of normalcy is the fact that I don’t dress in a chicken suit while wearing a towel for a cape singing Bohemian Rhapsody through an elementary school park. But I have considered doing more than once or twice. I just lack the chicken suit to do it. But what’s to say if I did do it? What would society say about me? They’d just say, “hey look, it’s the crazy chicken girl! Sing another Queen song goddammit!” But I don’t know any other Queen song. How about I dress as an alien and sing Stairway to Heaven? I want to climb stairs to heaven and be saved by heaven. But then there’s that bastard Peter waiting at the gates.

“So, what’s your name?”

I’ll say, “my name’s Di.” He’ll pull out his list, take a good look through it, and find my name writing in HUGE, BOLD letters.

“Oh, so you’re Di. Wow. You’ve racked up quite a reputation, Chicken Girl.” And of course, I’ll take offence to that, because I’m quite proud of my chicken title, and I’ll just burst through the gates, towards the huge office God owns all the way in the back. I’ll walk past the hoards of dead people in line, waiting to ask the exact same question. Move aside, I’m not here to ask a question like the meaning of life. No one cares, we all know the answer’s forty-two. My question is far more important. Or, maybe not that important, just different in a very small way.

After about a day or two of pushing past the line, there’s the man himself, sitting in his chair, a smile on his face. I’m inclined to ask as to why he’s smiling, but I push the thought aside. No, I’m asking him this question if it’s the last thing I do.

“Alright God, I know I’m probably not meant to be here in heaven. Or if I was, I’m now going to be directed to hell for pushing past the line. Anyway, I just want to know. Why am I the way I am? Why wasn’t I born normal, or with normal sensibilities? Why the fuck did you make me so fucking weird goddammit?”

And he keeps sitting there, and he keeps smiling, and he says to me, “Well, I made you that way because not everyone should be normal. Normal people keep the world going ‘round at a normal pace, but you see, the weird people like you change the world. It’s yin and yang.”

I stare, and ask, “since when was God a Taoist?”

He shrugs and says, “It makes more sense than Catholiscism ever will. Don’t let others tell you differently. Anyway, I’m feeling nice, so how ‘bout you stay here in heaven? There’s a nice suite right over here…” I shrug and turn back.

“Thanks but no thanks, I’m going back home.”

As I turn to leave, I hear God’s voice yelling back at me, “By the way, the answer to life’s 7! That’s why it’s a lucky number!” Seven…no wonder. Those bastards lied to me! But it’s off to home with me, time to figure out where exactly it was I left off. As I start opening my eyes, I see this huge bright light blinding me. Oh God, oh God, I’m dead, I’m blind, help me Freddie! Wait, I was dead. Now I’m alive again. The light’s just too damn bright. There’s only one place where a light would be like that…and it would be a hospital. Fuck, I’m in the hospital. A doctor’s next to me, even though I’m temporarily blinder than usual.

“Hey Doc, what’s wrong with me?” I can’t quite see, but the doctor’s probably smiling amicably.

“You were tap dancing on a stairway rail. Here, there’s your hat and cane.” Tap dancing? I don’t fucking remember that.

“What was I doing tap dancing?” I ask.

“Witnesses say you were dancing and singing Led Zepplin’s Stairway to Heaven.” Wow, no wonder I made it to heaven! I love you Led! I’d ask you to marry me if you weren’t a fucking pothead! And not already dead from chocking on your own vomit for downing sixteen shots of vodka. Potheads…God I hate potheads. Hey, look at me, I’m doing an illegal drug and getting high and making a fucking asshole of myself! Yeah, so life’s too fucking hard, let’s make it all go away by doing a drug that’ll make you brain dead in ten years, guaranteed. Oh no, it’s much better for you than a cigarette or alcohol. Fuck you, you’re fucking destroying something anyway. A cigarette destroys your lungs. Alcohol destroys your liver. Pot destroys your BRAIN. Do you like being BRAIN DEAD? I sure don’t. In fact, I’d rather die of chocking on my vomit because of too much vodka. Vodka can at least taste good. I can’t taste anything with pot and it just fucks up my head. Go ahead and be brain dead, I sure as fuck won’t be.

Lying in my hospital bed, I hear two guys talking about how a girl’s not sexy if she smokes. “Fuck you two, you fucking hypocrites!” I yell out. God, why is it not acceptable for girls to do some things? Why is it not sexy for a girl to smoke? Because guys do it too? Because it makes her skin wrinkly over the years, because she’ll start coughing and hacking LIKE GUYS WILL TOO? Go fuck yourselves in the asses. I don’t know about most of you, but I’d rather smoke a cigarette than shoot up heroin or crack. People start up on that, and it’s almost impossible for them to get out. They want a way out of it. It’s a similar feeling to what I have now, in my hospital bed.

I want to get out. I don’t know where I’m going or why I’m getting up, but I’m up and walking and heading out the door. I’ll go and go and go and never return. I’ll leap out and fly away, fly like a bird should fly. Why can’t humans fly? I want to at least feel that same sensation. I want to fly and fly and fly. I hate to be trapped in one place, unable to move forward, stagnant and never moving. I hate it. Yet, even if I could fly, I wouldn’t know where I’m going. I’d be lost and directionless, same as always. I hate that too. It’s not as though I need to plan out a direction in life. I just like to know where I’m going, like here in this hospital. At least here there’re signs and words printed everywhere, and I can read where I’m going and see where I’m gong. I’m taking the elevator to the first floor now, and heading out to my car, which is here for some reason, and I’m driving home. But I have no real home. Home’s just a place that I’m still searching for. It’s out there, and I’ll find it someday, but I have no idea when I’ll find it.

As I start driving back to wherever home is, it hits me. Led Zepplin isn’t a person…it’s a band! Fuck, how’d I confuse that one up? I wonder if I can marry a band. Wait, one of the member’s is dead. I can’t marry the whole band. I’d be marrying part of a band, and that just wouldn’t be right. Still though, the way they talk about a stairway to heaven…I wonder if maybe they found a direct path to eternal afterlife nirvana. I didn’t even know that was possible, but this band found it! They had to have found it, otherwise, why else would they write a song about it? It’s like the Elvis Presley conspiracy all over again. And why not? If Elvis can still be alive, than there must be a direct stairway to heaven too. I’d be willing to bet my life on it. Actually, that’s what I’ll do. But where do I start? The song never actually says how to get to the stairway. The song simply mentions it in passing, kind of like how My Chemical Romance managed to make a crappy album and label it “rock opera” in passing. God that was a piece of musical crap.

Scaramouche, scaramouche, shall we do the fandango? My chicken suit tendencies’re still in full swing. Alright then, let’s do the fandango. I figure, though, that the only way to find out for sure where the stairway is, is to die again. I wonder how many people have had the privilege to say that they’re going to die again. Not many people die twice in a row. From what I hear, most people just kick the bucket and stay dead. Not me though. I died, I gave God the ol’ one-two, and I came back. Well, I didn’t really give him the one-two, since I probably wouldn’t have survived that. But I did ask him what I wanted to know and he told me. That, and something perplexed me. God is a Christian deity. So why is he practicing Taoism? What kind of Christian God practices an Asian religion? The only thing that could’ve made it more confusing is if God told me he were Wiccan.

That sealed it for me. I needed answers, and I was going to get ‘em. Now, time to decide how to die. I need to keep my body intact so I can come back, so being run over and things like that were out of the question. Luckily, due to the fact that I wasn’t paying attention to the speed at which I was driving and was too busy listening to Tainted Love by The Clash, I ended up crashing straight through a Starbucks. My brakes were also apparently shot, so I went through not just one Starbucks, but three Starbucks, till finally, my car collided with a pole and it stopped. Damn, I wanted to keep my body intact. Well, all my limbs are still in place. I’ll deal with the collateral later.

So, it’s a stairway to heaven I’m looking for. Therefore, I’m looking for the Christian afterlife. So…why am I reading a sign in Arabic? Where the fuck am I? There’s a man standing next to the sign, so I figure I may as well ask.

“Sir, would you mind telling me where it is I am?” He says nothing, only staring straight at me. I get the feeling he’s a stalker of sorts, so I decide that maybe, just maybe, it’d be a good idea to start running as fast away from him as I possibly could. Thankfully, my feet are one step ahead of me, as I realize that the man is already feet and feet past. But I still don’t know where I am. As I run, I trip on something that’s lying on the ground. I can’t see how, considering I’m running in a place of nothing but flat desert, but as I dig up the thing I tripped over, I realize that it’s a book. What the hell’s a book doing in the sand? I blow off the excess sand on the cover. Finally, the letters make sense to me. It reads “KORAN”. The Koran is for Muslims…which means I’m in the Muslim afterlife. Goddammit! How hard is it to go to the CHRISTIAN afterlife? I was driving my mother’s car! She has a rosary dangling from the review mirror, a statuette of the Virgin Mary on the dashboard, and a cross in the cupholder. It all just screams “I’m a Hispanic Catholic!” And now I’m in Muslim afterlife, which is, thus far, a long-reaching desert with seemingly no end. It must suck to be Muslim. The extremists are all taught that to be granted a path to heaven they have to sacrifice themselves in God’s name, and they get stuck here first.

Wait…I kind of sacrificed myself in God’s name, even though I just died in a car accident. Maybe that’s why I’m here. So, now I know why I’m here, time to figure out how to get moving. And here I’ve been thinking for the past half-hour, that I’ve been completely ignoring the sign that stands right next to me, pointing towards the…well, let’s say north, since I have no idea where I am. Hey, it’s a sign, and as I was always told, if you see a sign, you should follow it. And so I follow. And follow. And follow. Until finally, all energy is sapped from my legs and I’m forced to collapse onto the sand. I can’t move now. And I’m still trapped in the desert. I think I might die here. What a sad and pathetic way to die. But…wait…aren’t I already dead? My eyes snap open, and all of a sudden, I’m not in a desert. I’m in a forest, and a very lush one at that. It’s awesome. But how’d I get here?

“Hey, you’re finally awake!” I jump a little, completely startled. A guy, tall and completely unshaven, hands me a can of soda.

“Here, you look thirsty.” I stare at him.

“Uh…are you Jesus?” He shakes his head.

“No.” I pop open my can of soda.

“Well, if you're not Jesus , than who are you?”

“I'm Jesús.” I stare some more.

“That's the exact same thing as Jesus, only pronounced in Spanish.”

“True! But I am not the Lord Jesus Christ. I'm just a cheap imitation who's been cast away to the outskirts of the various different religious afterlives. I serve as a guide to people who are lost, like you seem to be.” Well, the guy just gave me soda and I’m no longer stuck in some aimless trail along the desert. I think I can take his word for it.

“Fair enough, I guess. I'm not really lost lost though. I'm just trying to find the stairway to heaven, and instead I end up in the Muslim afterlife, what with all the Arabic signs....” Jesús shakes his head.

“No, no, these are the outskirts to the afterlife. Everything's just in Arabic because we don't feel like translating it into English. We're in Eden right now, the gateway to the gateways of the afterlife.” So they have billions of deities of all shapes and sizes, but they can't be bothered to put different languages. Well, it's not that much of a surprise when I think about it. It's kind of like when you go to a Korean airport and everyone's speaking broken Engrish. It's just the inherent laziness in us all. But then I realized something else.

“Hey Jesús...why'd you give me soda? Isn't water healthier?” He shakes his head.

, no no no, you see, soda is the primordial soup of life. One sip is supposed to regenerate all disease and ailments. It's the best thing since sliced bread.” I think I've died and gone to heaven. Well, I'm not in heaven yet. I'm in the outskirts of what could potentially be heaven. But I'm not there yet. Still, if soda is the essential of the afterlife, then I think I can get used to being here.

“So,” I say while standing up, “you seem to be a pretty good guide. Howzabout guiding me to the gate of gates then?” Jesús stands up as well.

“I thought you said you weren't lost. Well, I may as well. Follow me now.” He turns, and begins walking deeper into the forest. As I follow, I'm starting to wonder about this quest of mine. What if it all turns out to be like Dante's Inferno, and I'm being led down the nine layers of Hell? That'd sure be something. I'll wish I were alive again. I hope my body hasn't been buried yet. But, this Jesús guy doesn't seem to be shady. I can trust this dirty hippie. Finally, I see this huge, iron door at the end. I wonder if this hippie can actually open it, but my doubts are unfounded, as he simply pushes it open. I'm still staring, but I come to my senses fairly quickly, seeing as there's no blinding light like there was when I was in the hospital. That was at least one thing to be thankful of. And, to my great disappointment, the entrance of entrances is nothing but a gathering room of more doors, with simple signs at the entrances. Most of them seem to say “Heaven ([this religion's] version)”, but one or two doors say differently, like “Nirvana”.

“This is kind of anticlimatic, don't you think?” I say out loud. Jesús shrugs.

“It's just the entrance. Why bother decorating it if all people do is walk through the appropriate door?” It'd help a little to make the place seem more welcome at the least. But that's not important. “So,” he continued, “where exactly are you headed?”

I looked again at the signs. Not a single one of them was explicitly labeled as “Stairway to heaven”. This could take awhile.

“Well,” I say, “the problem is, I'm looking for the stairway to heaven, and I don't exactly know where that is.” Jesús turns and looks at the signs.

“Hmm...y'know, I've never heard of a stairway to heaven. I don't know if it's supposed to exist, even, especially when you see all the different types of heaven here.” I nod.

“I know. But haven't you ever heard Led Zepplin's song, Stairway to Heaven? If there's a song written about it, there HAS to be an actual stairway somewhere! So, I decided to die again and find it.” Jesús gave me a dubious look, as I somehow expected him to. But he had to listen! And he had to believe! You don't write songs about things that don't exist! There's just no way!

“Well, I think you're crazy and that maybe you should be sent back to your half-mangled body lying in that wreck of a car, but hell, I don't call the shots.” He paused for a second, pulling out a cigar. “Let's go on this crazy adventure of yours.”

Yes! Sweet! Success! I've got an ally now! Victory shall be mine! Heil Zepplin! Or, uh, Freddie. Wait, no, heil me dammit. No one cares about washed-up classic rock bands.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

On who I'm becoming

I hate the person who's supposed to be me right now. I think it's just best to start this entry off with that statement. Before getting as to why exactly, let me at least cross out any potential reasons you (the readers) maybe thinking of. I don't hate the person I'm becoming because I've done something terribly drastic, such as murdering, stealing, ect. If I had murdered someone, I sure as hell won't be writing it on a public Internet blog for all the world to see. I don't hate the person I'm becoming because of some radical shift the world's taken. In fact, I'll just sum this up by saying that I don't hate the person I'm becoming because of my self-esteem or for any physical action I've done. So I suppose normal psychology is out of the picture here.

I hate the person I'm becoming because the change is a very subtle one, to start off. I haven't been making this huge, drastic change overnight. The essence of who it is I am is the same as it's always been, and I doubt that would ever change unless I inherit the mental diseases that seem to proliferate on my dad's side of the family (even though I apparently already exhibit signs of schizotypal...but to me, that's just a fancy version of the word "weird"). The change that seems to be happening is a very slight one, a very slow one, which exhibit no signs on the outside. Unless a person knows me very well, I doubt they'd even pick up this subtlety. Thankfully, only about five people know me very well. One of those is the one who perhaps instigated this change, but more on that later.

The problem with this subtle change is that, in spite of it being not very obvious, it's completely permeated the way I once viewed some things. I'll admit it straight out. Up until recently, I've been a natural romantic. I'm the type who wants to be married by around 27 or 28, and stay happily in married for the rest of my life, and to continuously love the person I marry. Now though...well, now I want nothing to do with the idea of marraige, with the idea of serious relationships or with the idea of, dare I say it, love. My view now is that it's all a huge waste of time that has no merits in the end, other than heartbreak and depression. In the end, the opposite end doesn't want love or happiness, they just simply want something else out of it, and once done, they just toss you aside as though you meant nothing at all to them.

And right now, all I want to do is give a good punch in the face to my ex-significant other, who started this subtle change in me. You make me believe that love actually exists. You make me believe that you'll never find anyone like me or be as passionate about me as anyone else. And then what happens? All of a sudden, you lose that passion, that spark that made everything seem magical. You do the deed with me, and you toss me to the side. You don't need me anymore. You've used me for what you wanted, and now you're going to fuck as many girls as is possible on any given night. If not for the fact that my views on sex and love do not go hand in hand, I'd hate your guts. Instead, I just feel used, which is probably worse.

So then, the person I'm subtlely becoming, is a person who goes on living, who goes on having fun with friends, who continues to love and care for family and friends and is essentially the same as before. The difference is that I no longer see the point in closely attatching myself to one single person (also called "falling in love"). My mentality now is that I'm going to simply use men the same way I've been used, toss them away when I'm done, and just live like that for the rest of my life.

I'm also ninteen, so that mentality could also very easily change soon and when I least expect it. It's just how I feel right now.

In other news, I bought myself Final Fantasy XII. As soon as I'm back home, with my PS2, I'll play it and tell you guys what I think. Word is, though, that it's absolutely amazing. It better be, since I don't want a FFX repeat here (I can't stand that game).

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

On redemption

It's Halloween guys, have a good one. Get tons of candy and get laid too. As for me, I'll be trick-or-treating in just a bit. I figure that, even though I'm going home, I may as well do it, so I can have another fond memory to bring with me.

I realize, though, that I seem to have a faithful audience of readers, but that I myself have been quite lax in reading up on my own favorite blogs. It's seriously on my to-do list though, so sooner or later I'm going to be going through all the blogs I read and do some good 'ol catch-up (not to be confused with ketchup, though embedded in the same processed-tomato goodness). I can't help but feel guilty though. Here I've found my niche of readers, but I don't return the favor as often as I should. Granted, it is a goal of mine to score an interview with El Nuevo Día on its Sunday paper if they ever do a huge feature on Puerto Rican bloggers. I'd have so much fun answering questions. But for me, it's just an issue of common courtesy and politeness. I feel that way about most everything.

But I seem to have a habit of doing that in other situations as well. I'm going home soon, and I'm going to finish what I start. There are a lot of people and things I miss from back home, and I can't wait to see them all again. But I do know that things won't be the same as they were before, since I just up and left with no warning whatsoever. People were happy to see me back in San Juan again in August, and I just left them all hanging. I'm sure most want nothing to do with me right now. And I deserve that kind of treatment. I should've been up front about what I wanted to do and was going to do. I should've told everyone, parents and friends alike. I shouldn't have done what I usually do, making a decision without letting anyone know the context behind it or what it is exactly.

Forgiveness isn't what I want though. I went for something I wanted, for something I believed in. That alone proves that I have drive and ambition, so that when I try again, I'll be better prepared. When I'm doing something I believe in, I do it without a single regret. I don't want forgiveness over what I thought was right.

What I want, though, is redemption, a chance to redeem myself. I want to show that I'm not going to run off again, and that I will finish what I've started. Things won't be the same, and I don't expect them to be. Not everyone will let me have redemption for myself and my actions. But if some of the people I care for the most are willing to let me redeem myself, and if I'm allowed to go back to Sagrado and finish there, then I can show that I've learned and that I'm stronger than I was before. I don't make mistakes twice, and what doesn't kill me makes me a better and wiser person. So I want to show everyone that that's what's happened to me. I really miss my friends at college. They were a good group of people. I just hope they'll welcome me back. Worse than never getting a goodbye is not getting a welcome back.

Boy, but I can't wait till I'm at the gates of Heaven and Peter starts listing off all the shit I've done in my life. That'll be interesting to hear.

Monday, October 30, 2006

On being used

I feel quite hesitant in even writing this, but hell, it might make for an interesting read, even if it's quite personal.

I think when most people sit down and realize that, throughout the grand majority of their love/sex lives they've been used, they usually go insane. I can't speak for these people because I don't know most of them. I'm just taking a wild guess. As for myself, I came to that realization yesterday, while writing a letter to my now ex-significant other. I just began to think of every single person I've ever been romantically interested in/romantically involved in/sexually involved in, and I thought, "goddamn, have I been used a lot". I've been used as an emotional crutch. I've been used as a diversion. And I've been used for sex now. Among other things. Cynical points +200 now. I must've broken the scale of cyniscism by now.

It's not so much the fact that I've been used a lot that bothers me. What bothers me is that, in romantic endeavors, I've been used far too many times than I probably should've been, and I didn't realize it until it was all over. And, once I realized it, I always feel like a cheap, stupid whore. Let's break it down.

1. Being used as an emotional crutch: This has happened several times, but in different ways. Essentially though, the guy would probably see how nice and sweet and cute I am, take advantage of the fact that I was quite open to relieve the pain of whatever past love they might've had, but they never completely commit. At some point, they get better, and they decide to date some other girl, perhaps girlier and more attractive than myself. This, of course, leaves me hanging and quite bitter.

2. Being used as a simple diversion: Meet. Hook up. Leave. That sums it up.

3. Being used for sex: "I'm still a virgin and I don't want to hook up with girls yet. They'll see how inexperienced I am. Hmm, wait, I have a girlfriend. I think we'll just do the deed, and several weeks later, I'll say that the 'spark' is gone and break up with her. Then, I can hook up with as many girls as I want to!"

I think that more or less is the beginning and end of what I can possibly summarize. In the end though, as I think about it, there really is no such thing as love. It's just us humans constantly using one another for a means to an end. It might be to fill an emotional void, or it might be to get off because we just crave sex that badly. Or maybe we just remind one another of someone we once thought we loved. Or maybe we want bragging rights. Whatever the case is, we don't love, we just think we do. We want to label our emotions somehow, and love seems to be the most appropriate for [insert reason]. We want to have an excuse for our subconscious thoughts and behavior.

But, my own personal solution to that is simple: I don't plan on falling "in love" anytime soon. Instead, I'm going to play the game of karma, and start using men in return for my own romantic and sexual endeavours. I no longer want to be the toy. I'm not going to be anyone's toy. Rather, guys will be my toys.

Hmm. This was a rather cynical entry. Wait, that basically describes this entire blog.

Friday, October 27, 2006

On the means to the end

Well, my faithful readers. If you are, indeed, looking at this, then thank you very much for sticking with me throughout my crazy thoughts and rants, since...May, right? How time flies, don't you think? Or maybe it only goes faster when you keep yourself occupied. The past three months have been faster than January to August, and it's only because I've been out of the house, rather than cooped up, doing similar things day to day.

Anyway, if you are indeed a faithful reader and aren't, say, reading this for the first time, or worse, a spambot intent on sabotaging my precious blog with inane advertisements, then you'll know that I've been living in Chicago for the past three months. It's been a crazy ride. I've done things I've never done before (like getting high and not making it back to the apartment till the next day), and I've made it one hell of a ride. In fact, I've become completely enamored with Chicago. I never thought I'd like another city as much (or even more) than NYC or San Juan, but I was wrong. Chicago is definitely the place to be. You'll believe me the day you take the Red line downtown during rush hour and see all the kinds of people around. I also highly recommend walking around the Loop, Millenium Park, and the Belmont and Clark areas of the city. Especially Belmont.

But, I've done a lot of hard thinking for about a month or so (could be less or more, I don't know, my mind has a lot of black moments...and no, it's not the alcohol). And I've decided that my adventure in Chicago is, for the moment, coming to a close. As much as I love living her, and as much as I'd love to continue living here, I think it might be best to just go back home. I don't mention it much, or show it much (asides in my LiveJournal or to very close friends), but it has been quite hard, despite all the fun I'm having. I realize that this is part of the whole thing, and part of the price tag on freedom and fun, but I think I still need more time to mature and grow and learn. So, I've decided to go home, finish college there, and then come back in a few years.

I've talked this over with my dad, and we've decided that this'll be a surprise for my mother's birthday, which is in November. I just hope she doesn't die of a heart attack when she sees me. This also gives me time to get college in order. I plan on either continuing in Sagrado, or transferring to UPR, either in Río Piedras or Mayaguez. I've figured that at least trying to finish college and getting a degree might help me to some degree in the future, even if it's a Humanities/Liberal Arts major, which guarantees that I'll be living in a box someday anyway. Besides, it'll be another adventure in life.

I don't expect things to be the same when I get back. I don't expect all of my friends and family to forgive me for what I've done, and I won't be asking for forgiveness or sympath. Those are things I don't ever ask for in life. But I also don't apologize for myself and the decisions I make. I learn, I grow, and that's that, even if I get more cynical in the process. My decisions and my mistakes are mine and mine alone, and I don't need to apologize or make excuses to anyone. People have their own decisions to make, anyway. So any amends I need to make from here on out for my selfishness, I'll do it, gladly. I set out to do something I wanted to do for once, and I set out to prove something. I did what I thought was right, and I still think I'm doing what's right.

At any rate, this'll only mean that my autobiography'll be quite interesting once I'm famous.

On an additional note, I went to see The Dresden Dolls live over at the Vic downtown. They were fabulous. They put on an awesome, unforgettable show, and they proved to me why they are awesome in my book. It's not just their music that's great, it's the fact that they can put on a good show to go with the music.

I also decided to listen to My Chemical Romance's new album, The Black Parade. I don't feel like giving a track-by-track review, so here's a short 'n sweet summary. Verdict: it sucks. It's a very generic and lame attempt at doing what Green Day did with American Idiot, creating a "rock opera" album. Every single song sounds like something from their second album Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge. Worse still, not only did they rip off Green Day, but they ripped off Queen on more than one occasion through the album. That really hurt. I did like track #3, though the name escapes me for the moment. But Gerard Way needs vocal lessons. He can't sing for shit. I was going to give it a 5 out of 10, for at least being techincally functional. Then I heard the bonus track, which completely ripped off The Dresden Doll's Coin-Operated Boy in both piano style and vocal style. I almost cried. So, all in all, it's a 3 out of 10. Don't download it. Don't buy it. Don't even listen to it unless you can help it. It's just cookie-cutter crap.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

On coin-operated boys

If the title of this note doesn't indicate my excitement in seeing The Dresden Dolls at The Vic this Friday, nothing does. Nothing. I really want to take a shitload of pics, but I still can't find my fucking camera, so I dunno what I'll do. I might bring a disposable and take a bunch, and then just scan 'em in, the ol' fashioned way.

Anyway, I need to start writing here more. I maintain about six other blogs asides this one, but I like this one as much as the others, and it's a shame I don't update more often. Then again, I guess I have blogs because I'm a writer at heart, as well as an actress, and I want to make my stamp in writing, not just with books or in magazines or newspapers, but also in the blogging world. I'd like to someday have a blog as popular as, say, Tucker Max's blog, both in the sense that lots of people read it and love it, and in the sense that I can make money off of it.

But enough of my rambling. Life in general, at the moment, is good, if complicated and with its down moments. But it's all karma, right? All downs have ups and vice-versa, and I just need to keep moving forward in life, regardless. As I've mentioned already, I'd decided at first to skip college for awhile, but, with some encouragement, I've decided to give transferring into DePaul a shot. I hear it's not really all that hard to get into, if pretty expensive. But I've been around DePaul a lot already, and I like it a lot, and I'd love to study there and see how things pan out.

I'm also now looking up apartments, since both dad and I agree that it's just not a good idea for me to keep mooching off Manda. I'm more than grateful to her for her hospitality and for letting me even stay here, but I don't want to keep bothering her or getting in her way. I think I might just be overthinking a lot of things in general, but I get the feeling that there will be no dorm space over at DePaul for the winter quarter, so an apartment seems like the logical choice, and one downtown. I'd need to either transfer to the Disney Store on Michigan Ave. or get a new job. Getting a new job just might be better though, 'cause then I can go find a job that pays better. Either way, I'm starting to move forward there, so we'll just see what happens. And, as Tim Gunn says (and as the Project Runway NERD I am), I just have to "make it work".

So, I'm juggling a lot of thoughts and things and processes at the moment, but I'm pretty determined on making things work out. I don't want to back down, and I don't want to give up. I want to prove that I can do things my way and that, in that thought process, I can also do things right. Not everything should be the way others want it if that's not what makes you happy. Being here in Chicago, the prospect of living, studying and working here, and jumpstarting an writing and acting career...that's what makes me happiest. It's probably very selfish of me, but what can you do?

In terms of personal life...well, lemme take a stab at writing about that, even though I suck at talking about myself. I've made friends here in Chicago, mainly the ones I know at DePaul. I'm definitely looking to gain more friends around here, as the months pass by, because I like being with people and I like having fun. I need to make a huge mental note to get back in contact with friends from back home, because I left them all hanging. It wasn't my intention to do that...but that's how it turned out. Love life is goin' steady. It's just the sort of relationship I want to be in. It has its serious and perhaps emotional moments (not to be confused with angst), but there's also a lot of fun in it. I feel very comfortable in this relationship, and I feel that we fit each other awesomely. I'd like to see this relationship last for quite awhile.

And in terms of Thanksgiving...I really don't know what I'm gonna do for that. I want to spend it with Rob's family, actually, but I've yet to ask. If I can't, then I might just call up my good friend Yestebel, who now lives in Boston with her fiancée and her son Demian, and see if I can spend it with them.

Life's an adventure, and you shouldn't live it any less than that. Or that's my philosophy, at any rate.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

On a 36 hour snapshot

(I've posted this in just about all 5-8 blogs I own, so I figured, why not this one?)

Wow, it's been an, uh, interesting 36 hours to say the least.

So, I'd basically been up since 4am yesterday, and I left for downtown Chicago at around 7:30am, and got to the Loop an hour later. I was going to this transfer student info session at DePaul's Loop campus, so I wanted to be there early, but I was too early, so I just walked around and took the train to another stop, looking for Puerto Rican café that was supposed to be around the city. I couldn't find it in time, so I took the train back and got there in time for the info session. It was basically general info on the university and transfer requirements and stuff, and afterwards I met with a counselor. Basically, he told me that I need to transfer as an international student because the university I was studying at, Sagrado, is in Puerto Rico, which is a commonwealth, which is apparently international. A couple of the friends I've made at DePaul (which I'll get into more in a sec) said that it might actually be easier to get in and get a dorm since I'm transferring as international. Also, in the event I can't get a dorm, dad said that I could try getting an apartment instead, and that he'd help fund it. Hopefully, though, this'll all work out. I'm looking forward to not only being back at college, but being somewhere I want to be, which is here in Chicago.

Anyway, after that, I headed towards the Belmont area of Chicago and [drumroll] got my ticket to the Dresden Doll show! I'm so fucking happy and excited about that still, and I can't wait till the 20th! Then after that, I got Sam up, found something to drink and curled up somewhere to sleep for a bit, till Sam called back after getting himself together. And then the rest of the day. Okay, so no one got drunk cuz we couldn't get hooked up with anything, was still fun even with it's boring moments. Basically, we tried jamming out with Justin, with whom I've become good friends with, but the strings on his electric were out of tune, and two snapped. But I got to play more acoustic, so I'm not so rusty playing anymore. Then, we spent time making out, which was very nice. I can give biting my thumbs a rest. Then, we spent time playing video games, like Guitar Hero and random SNES games. Then we got food cuz I was hungry and could use the nourishment and Monopoly playing pieces. Then I think we lied down for awhile. Then we found Justin and tried to find something to do. Along the way I made a few more friends, namely with Eric, Owen, Ian and a girl named Noel (and her roommate, I think her name's Ali). There were more people, but I don't remember all the names. Then Sam and me went to Belmont, then came back, and decided to tie a shoelace around Justin's guitar for a strap and played music.

Then...we still couldn't find good alcohol hookups, so we decided to go out and smoke up. So yes, I tried weed for the first time. No, not enough to get high, but I was feeling pretty happy, and the happy feeling stayed even as the pot wore off. Justin, on the other hand, got totally blazed, so when we got back to the dorms, Sam and me just watched him since he was pretty fucking hilarious. Then we met up with these other people, did random stuff for awhile, and then decided to McDonalds again (this was like at 1am). After that, we headed back and played some video games, then just chilled in Justin's room, since he let me and Sam (and Eric too, cuz Eric was in sexhile from his room). Ian came by after his date, and Sam bought me a couple of beers, along with two for him. I hate beer, but I wanted some fucking alcohol, so I drank one can, had half of the other can and let Joe (another dude I met) have the rest. Then Eric comes back, blazed as all hell, and I fell asleep for bit but woke up when they (Sam, Justin and Eric) started rambling about music. Then Sam started on the dirt farmer jokes, and I went ballistic on him for over an hour. I wasn't really all that pissed though...actually, I just wanted him so bad, and I know that he knows that, it was so obvious in my eyes. Even Justin noticed, and he asked if he and Eric should just sexhile themselves for half an hour, but I decided not to agree since a. I was a guest in the dorm and b. it wasn't even Sam's room. But we also made fun of Sam and his small penis, Justin and his Jew family, and Eric's Texan heritage. Then we all dropped off to sleep after 4am.

Then this morning, I woke up to go to the bathroom, then to call in at work cuz I was on call-in and tell them I wasn't going in. But I have work tomorrow from 12 to 7pm non call-in, so it's fine. Hopefully I don't get chastised for missing two call-ins, but I really needed the sleep more than any potential cash from work. At around 2pm, we all got up and chilled for a bit, then cleaned up and got food. There was a buffet at DePaul's student center, and Rob treated me, so I got food, and we talked for awhile while eating. And then I decided it'd be best to head back here at around 3:30pm, so I did and Sam walked me to the train station and we said our see-you-laters.

Now that I'm back home though, I feel pretty damn happy like no one's business. I made friends, I was social, I had fun even without alcohol, I hung out with Sam (which is about a million happy points there), I'm a step closer to being back in college, and it's all just good. I'm happy, I feel good, it's awesome.

Phew, done with this entry.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

On talking to God

I thought this was kinda cool, so I'm gonna give it a shot before going to bed. This is me, talking to God, aka praying.

Hey God. Been a few days since we've talked, right? Sorry 'bout that. Sometimes, I do wonder if maybe you get tired of listening to the religion-less, existentialist black sheep that is me. I always get the feeling I don't quite deserve your attention, for all the things I've done in life, but here I am anyway, still ready to talk to you.

Anyway, things've been good. Money's tight, as it's been since I got here to Chicago. I've just been scraping by a living, with just enough food and water and insulin and clothes to make it through so far. Still, it'll make for interesting interviews once I reach my goals. Speaking of, I've yet to truly start on the pursuit of my goals. It frustrates me, but at the same time, I know that I also have to bide my time. I know I'm going to make it, but I guess it's these steps leading up to that moment that frustrate the most. I guess I just need to feel things out and take them as they come.

I got hired, you know that. Work's frustrating, because I can't seem to get things right, and it's kind of a reminder of being at home. But, I'm also trying my best to listen and to learn, even if this doesn't seem to be enough either. This is just something I probably have to go through to learn to like myself more. I've got plenty of self-confidence, but I'm still coming up short in the self-esteem department, as I have for a very long time. I just need to learn that not everyone hates me, and to get over my fear of being alone forever. More than that, I guess I'm scared of losing Sam. Even if he doesn't quite love me yet, I love him very much, and I want to keep him by my side as we both work towards our dreams of fame and fortune. I have the feeling that regardless of what happens, I'm going to continue loving him for a very long time. Love's a very complicated emotion, don't you think?

Speaking of, I suppose my relationship with my parents is starting to get on more even ground. A reason I wanted to move out, among many others, was to just kind of get away and stretch my wings. I wanted to estrange myself from them, and I guess I just want room to truly be myself. That doesn't seem to be in the cards though, since I talk to them over the phone now. Talking to Dad always leaves me as an emotional wreck. It might be because he's usually talking to me in a condescending tone, since he doesn't believe that I'm going to reach my goals, and since he seems to think I'm being brutally woken up to the harshness of "the real world". This is confirmed by how he always tells me I can come home at any time. I'm grateful that he leaves the door open for me, but I wish he'd realize that I left for my own reasons. Even if things're hard, I don't mind because this is what I want. Talking to Mom...well, that usually leaves me worse. I don't know what to say to her. Just the other day I was talking to her, and after I hung up, I cried my eyes out watching the beginning of Disney's Tarzan, watching Tarzan as a baby with his serrogate mother. Despite the emotional hell she tended to put me through, I miss my mother.

I just wish I could've been what others wanted me to be. I wish I knew where I'd gone wrong in life to turn out the way I did. If I'd just been what I was supposed to be, maybe there'd be less problems, and maybe my parents would be proud of me, and maybe I wouldn't have been the black sheep. But I know this doesn't matter. Sam told me himself. Just because I don't fit the mold doesn't mean that I went wrong anywhere in life. It just means that I'm meant to do something different, and who knows, that something different might be something great, something that'll shake the world and change it. I want to change the world somehow. Not in an earth-cracking way, but subtlely, in a way that people quietly remember who I was and what I did. More importantly, I want to make my parents proud, and I want them to see that my decision was the right one in the end.

But that's enough of me rambling. Watch over those I love and care for. And thanks for placing a guardian angel to watch over me. I would've never found my way after losing sight of it if she weren't around. And I'm glad you're watching over me, even though I don't really deserve it.

Love, Di.

Monday, September 18, 2006

On a general list of things to remember/learn

Some rules and things to remember.

#5: Yes, it does slip out. And yes, it's fucking hilarious, so the best way to get over it is to just laugh your asses off and then give one another blowjobs.

#36: The best way to know you're comfortable with the person whom you're currently fucking is if you're having a perfectly normal conversation during the fucking. "How was your week?" "Kinda crazy, yours?" "Pretty okay."

#50: No matter what they say, guys like the dominating latina as much as they like the submissive latina.

#120: If the girl's cooch is drying up more than it should, it means her period's imminent. Really imminent. As in, next day imminent. (Yes, my period came this morning. -Ed.)
a. You can always expect your period to come on time when it shouldn't, and to come late when it shouldn't. In other words, that time of the month's a cunt.
b. On the bright side, if you get it at the beginning of the week, by the weekend, you can have unprotected sex. (And that's the only reason why I'm not really pissed. Those fuckers at Disney better give me next Sunday off (or start me after 2 or 3pm). -Ed.)

#223: Your roommate won't mind catching you guys in the act so much as when the guy you're fucking starts making fun of the guy said roommate likes to fuck.

#224: When your roommate(s) does/do catch you, it's still funny anyway, so it's best to laugh this off too.

#457: When closing your door to ensure privacy, make sure that the cat you let out isn't the deaf, psycho one who lives under the bed. Put on your glasses if you have to. If you, indeed, accidentally let it out, if it scratches to go back in, no matter what sort of sexual position you may be in, let the fucker in.