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).