nihilist theories, transcendentalist thoughts, and a bit of lack of emotion

hello, hello, world. I have decided that I will break the convention of today’s society and not capitalize anything—anything except for those god-forsaken I’s that autocorrect themselves on this audaciously austere computer. (how dare you, computer. no.)

I have returned from my quest against life and happiness and I have neither, I assure you, and I am somewhat well and alive. somewhat.

nevertheless I have enough strength to write a few words (few, hah) on my blog after the longest hiatus on the face of hiatus-universe.

I’ve gone through a lot, I’m still going through a lot, and I will continue to go through a lot (is the gist of what I’m getting from life right now). it’s not really going to get any better, it seems, but hey, that’s life, and I’ve got to take it in—somehow.

 

well. here I am.

 

okay, for nihilist theories and transcendentalist thoughts.

first of all I’ve been thinking (though then again, when have I not been thinking) about life and society and things like that. I’ve been, to say the least, feeling very lost lately. lost in life, lost in society, lost in myself. I’ve been creating an abyss for myself (which I fondly call my own grave) by drowning in my own analyzations (I don’t care if that’s not a word) of myself and people around me. I’m a bit of an idealist and an analyst when it comes to things. so reality doesn’t really work out well for me.

anyhow. that’s not the point. the point is that I’ve come across a very, very important point about life.

it’s that there is none.

(gasp.)

there is no meaning to life, god forbid.

there is. no. meaning. to. life.

call me negative, call me a nihilist, an anarchist, a communist, whatever you want. but there really is no meaning to life. there is no one goal in life. there is no one answer that we will all someday come across and gasp and reach for our foreheads and say, “oooooooh” like it was an answer you had known all along anyways.

no.

(this was my search to un-lost myself. because I was feeling terribly lost, you know? so I tried to un-lost myself. (there is a difference between un-lost and un-lose so deal with it.))

(to me there is.)

the reason so many people feel “lost” in life; so many people feel like there needs to be an answer; like there is something waiting for them out there—a destination, a place. a finish line--

the reason so many people feel lost is because they are searching for an answer that doesn’t exist. they are searching for the finish line that they’ll never reach. they’re searching for a destination that is neither near nor real. they are searching for nothing, and in consequence, they feel an utter sense of loss and confusion in this blind search for nothingness.

let me put it clearly:

people sometimes say that life is a race. some people say that life is a journey. no, no, nonononono. life is a field. it’s a plain old freaking field (I’m sorry, I rarely use such lowly words as “freaking” to describe things, but I felt it very necessary to describe the utter vulgarness and repulsiveness of the reality) with nothing in it. you’re standing in it. or maybe you’re sitting. but it doesn’t matter. because it’s a. freaking. field.

you can get up and go somewhere if you want. you can choose your own destination and get there. you can sit down and do nothing the rest of your life. you can make something out of it or you can not make something out of it. but that’s your choice. it’s not some journey. it’s not some race. it’s a field. it’s a freaking field.

and you’re standing in it, searching for a light switch that isn’t there. sorry, bud, there’s no light switch to turn the lights on. you’re in the dark forever.

(as you can see I am not in the healthiest of mental states.)

 

…now, if that was a bit overwhelming. now for the lack of emotion.

well, I’ve been thinking (again, when am I not)—or rather, analyzing (again, when am I not) myself. and I’ve noticed that I have quite noticeably lost a lot of emotion over the past few months. whatever it is that instigated this I have no idea, but I definitely have a sudden decrease in sympathy and an increase in apathy when it comes to reading literature or watching movies. sad ones, I mean.

I mean, I was watching that one episode of BBC’s Sherlock where—fine, I won’t say. but it was sad, heartbreaking, and moving, and all I did was say “oh, well that happened. okay.” and you know what? not a single tear.

my friend apparently cried for hours after watching this.

I felt a little weird.

then comes the fault in our stars, the modern tear-inducing tragedy of our internet-obsessive, narcissistic generation.

nothing!

nothing at all.

not a single tear.

I swear to you, I was trying to cry. god forbid—I was trying to cry!

but you know what, I just observed the losses, took note of the tragedy, and shed no tear.

(to be honest I wasn’t even sure when I was supposed to be crying.)

is this bad?

 

I have no idea.

I think I’m losing my sense of sympathy.

(but then again, I sympathize literally everyone around me. or rather, pity. these days I’ve been noticing the struggles of everybody around me, which has gotten me deeper into myself and instigated my never-ending thoughts about life and how “beautifully flawed” it is.)

(sighs.)

 

good bye, and I hope you have a mental state saner than mine.

Lunchables

I used to envy the kids in my school who brought Lunchables to lunch.

 

In case you don’t know what Lunchables are, here’s a nice picture:

 

 

They’re pre-made, fake lunches that they sell cheap at stores like Shop Rite or Target (our local Target has a mini-grocery store inside of it). It’s basically the epitome of unhealthy lunching, and when you’re young, unhealthy=awesome.

I envied my friends and the other kids who would bring Lunchables to lunch. It was just so—cool! That you could bring your lunch in that pre-made, bought, cardboard box, and show the entire world that you have a piece of candy for an aftersnack. Oh, how I envied them. It was first or second grade.

I remember asking my mom if she could buy it for me, whenever we passed that aisle at the market. She’d shoo it away like it was some inferior piece of artificial food. (Which it was, but at the time, I was not aware of it. It was a piece of unattainable heaven to me.)

 

 

Now that I’m older, you know, at least five years older, I look back and I think about those kids who brought Lunchables to the lunch tables and had to eat them every day (or at least, nearly every day) for lunch. And I realize how sad it is.

Not sad as in the sarcastic, mean sort of ‘sad.’ I mean sad in the original way. Sad as in, it makes me teary. (Fine. Not teary. But you know what I mean. That kind of sad.)

 

To have your mother buy lunch for you—not just any lunch, but the cheap sort, I realize, wasn’t exactly the ‘unattainable heaven’ I once thought it was. I’m not trying to offend anybody with Lunchables—they’re still cool and everything, but it kind of signifies that you either can’t afford a healthy lunch every day (because, unfortunately, let’s face it—it’s not exactly recommended by the United States Department of Nutrition, you know) or that your mother doesn’t have the time/attention to make your lunch for you. I’m talking about first graders. Second graders.

At the time, I idolized those kids, having no idea what it really meant to bring a Lunchable to lunch and seeing your friends bring out foil-wrapped, ham and turkey sandwich with the homemade applesauce. I wasn’t living in the richest town when I saw my friends and peers (some of them) with Lunchables. And thinking back on it, it kind of signifies a lot of things in life. Some things we take for granted, some things we think too good of, and some things we don’t think of at all. Sometimes, we really do need to sit back and appreciate the things we have. Like parents who care for you. Or a somewhat stable financial position.

And this is regardless of the Lunchables thing. It might sound cliché (in fact, it does, I admit it), but we need a time to give thanks other than Thanksgiving. Because Thanksgiving is, like, Costco’s party day or something. Thanksgiving where we don’t scramble and stress and complain about getting turkeys and making millions of dollars worth of food that some kids at the other side of the world are dying because of the lack of it. I’m talking about a sort of thanksgiving when we sit down, we eat a normal dinner, and then we think about why we’re here, how blessed we are to be here in the first place (and not the other sperm of your father or a different egg of your mother—that’s some intense competition, you know. We’re the chosen ones), and just let it all sink in. The food in front of you. Bam. Gone.

 

The roof above you.

Bam. Gone.

 

The nice, warm, thick clothes you have.

Bam. Gone. (Except for rags. Let’s keep you clothed.)

 

Your smiling parents. (or ranting. But either way they love you deep inside.)

Bam. Gone. (Or on drugs or something.)

 

Your loving brother who pulls your hair out.

Bam. Gone.

 

The nice weather.

Bam. Gone.

 

There you are, sitting in a hot, dry, arid place with no food, no family, and a few pieces of cloth as garments. There are people like that still living on the same Earth that we’re standing on, stomping on, complaining about the slowness of our computers or the suckiness of our school. And while it might be too much to ask everybody to stop (because, let’s face it, I complain, too), we should at least acknowledge and appreciate the things that are always there for us.

 

Like that street light that stays red and won’t turn green on that street in our town.

 

Because there are always people who are worse off than us. (The fact that you’re reading this means that you have a computer, so this is probably mostly true.)

And if not, then think about the other sperm cell that could have fertilized your mother’s egg. Think about how close that was. You almost died before you were born.

(Sorry I was studying Biology.)

(Sorry not sorry.)

 

So yeah. Through that reminiscent memory of Lunchables, I have just given you a rant, a lecture, about thankfulness.

Chew on that.

What's it with Doors?

So you might not have heard about my other blog post some whiles ago.

But just to summarize, our front door is strange. The actual handle, if you're not careful, can be ripped out of the door  (leaving this neat hole for us to awkwardly place back in), and the second lock above that is our only means of security. As for our screen door, it used to be super creaky and open at the randomest moments so that while you were in the living room, you would suddenly hear this creaking from outside (the screen door). Then, after my father 'fixed' it, it would not prop open and would constantly shut itself closed no matter how heavy the groceries were and no matter how limited the use of your meager two overwhelmed-with-groceries hands were after mass-grocery-shopping on an empty stomach at Costco with a bucketful of coupons.

So there's your background information on my family's (and my) encounters with doors.



This is why I have reached a conclusion.
A very vital piece of information that must not be ignored.

Doors are plotting against us.

I'm telling you!
You can laugh all you want, but they are more intelligent than you think. They are secretly plotting their revenge of being slammed, locked, kicked, knocked, and other things people do with doors. They are smiling on the inside, thinking of the soon coming desolation of the human race, at our ignorance in thinking to oversee the numerous intelligent species that just communicate in different ways than we do, sneering at our stupidity and our stuck up specio-centrism (the belief in the inherent superiority of one's species).

"He did not perceive that my to smile now was at the thought of his immolation."

           --Edgar Allan Poe, The Cask of Amontillado


Plus they're laughing at how funny we look. (We're not geometrical!)

They're slowly rising to their deserved spot in the Thing-Food-Chain. They will imperialize all of Earth, and we will be helpless to their merciless punishments and torture. When the time comes, they will rise, they will defeat the human race with their massive, growing army of fierce, brutal doors. Because they are everywhere--they are omnipresent, they are ubiquitous.

(Don't ask me how I know all of this.)


ANYHOW. Back to the initial point:
Not only does our front and screen door not work anymore, but our CAR DOOR has decided to shut itself out from socializing or interacting with us.

Our car is a minivan, a silver one. It's pretty old. We named it, but then I forget his name. (Actually I named it and my parents paused and continued doing their usual conversation-for-5-hour-car-rides-to-some-random-place, and my brother argued with me over what to name it for approximately 4 minutes and 38 seconds and we came to a negotiation that we would mash the name by picking one as the middle name, but then we argued over which name would be the first name, and in the end we just decided to call the car by two different names.)
It has one automatic door, on the right side. The left side is manual (or whatever you call it, I have no idea). To open the automatic door, you have to pull the handle, and then let go. The automaticity of the door will do the rest for you. Pull the handle and it opens up for you, honoring you as its great master. (Technically, the great master should be the driver, and there is no automatic door for the driver's seat. Hmmm.)


Here is the story of how our devoted car door turned against us.

My mother carpooled with a few other middle-aged mothers to some sort of middle-aged-mothers' meeting of some sort (or at least, there were a lot of middle-aged mothers there). They rode in the back seats, and apparently, one of them decided that the door was not an automatic door, despite the numerous times my mother informed her of its automatic nature.
She then decided that she would pull as hard as possible, using all of her upper and lower body strength (regardless of its necessity for opening car doors)--power from her mind, spirit, and body, summoning it all into that POOR LITTLE CAR DOOR--to close the door. Basically she pulled the door shut (even though it was automatic) with all of her strength, right until the moment the car door clicked closed.

Since then, our door has never been the same. It is disappointed in us. It has lost trust. What once used to be a loyal, automatic door, is now a strange, creaky, semi-automatic door. It trusted us, maybe not humans, but it trusted us, our family, that we would treat it right. Yet we betrayed it by letting an outsider harass the automaticity out of the poor little door. And now it has lost faith in us. In humanity. It shall join the door revolution. Humans are merciless monsters of no sentiment. They are ruthless and emotionless. They deserve death. They deserve to meet their end.

So, now that I'm done using a somewhat sarcastic tone to bash on my own species, time to write a short how-to.

How to Open The Betrayed Car Door:
1. Click the Open-Automatic-Door button on the car keys.
2. Door does not open.
3. Pull the door handle of the Semi-Automatic Door Rebel after walking all the way from the door of the house (which is also a rebel of the Door Revolution).
4. Door does not open. Makes weird sound.
5. Pull door handle again, but this time use all of your strength to pull it open.
6. About a 1.5 second delay until Semi-Automatic Door Rebel responds.
7. Semi-Automatic Door Rebel responds.
8. Door opens.
9. Surprisingly, it opens automatically.
10. Get into car.
11. Click automatic door closing button near the Semi-Automatic Door Rebel.
12. No response.
13. Click it again, and then try to pull the handle (an attempt to see if clicking the button and pulling the handle will together do the job of making the door succesfully automatic.)
14. Makes weird noise.
15. Give up and just pull the car door with all of your strength until it finally gives in and decides to close.

(Will you believe me if I told you that I used Copy+Paste for typing "Semi-Automatic Door Rebel.)


So... yeah. That's the sad story of our once Automatic Door, whose soul is no longer with us. It has left the cause and decided to join the monstrous army against the human race.

Beware, fellow humans. I tell you. Keep your weapons ready. You never know when they might strike.

Still Alive, yep.

Thought I’d died? (which is probably similar to a lot of first-lines in my posts xD)
It’s okay, you can save my eulogy into your My Documents folder and save it for later. Password lock it, my suggestion. I think Word has those options.
I did that once (only to forget the super complicated password).

So anyhow, I have this super over-due request to draw Bebe and her glameow from Pokemon.
Plus I have a few other stuff to do that isn’t really drawing-based or hobbyistic, if that’s a word (prolly not because it has the red squiggly line under it).

So how’s high school, you ask?
It’s okay, it’s interesting. I guess. It’s actually really fun—I’m really enjoying it, you know. The classes really intrigue me and I always have a thirst for knowledge now--
naw I’m lying.
It’s school. What can you expect.

But it’s nice to have a really interesting art class at the end of the day. My table, consisting of three people excluding me, is quite an interesting group. Two juniors and a sophomore. (And me.) It’s interesting how the chemistry of this combination works out. Never realized how strange you become when you go to high school.
Half the time they’re insulting each other, the other half they’re coming up with new insults and sarcastic remarks. No kidding, but it really makes my day interesting. It’s really amusing watching them, you know. We have a name for each other, too. Really random, actually. Supposedly I’m Chives. Who knows why. But it’s really a strange yet interesting experience, sitting at that art table. People around us prolly think we’re strange in the head, though. xD The sophomore once somehow ended an insult-session by using “land mammal” as a derogatory term. Ended mostly because of the bafflement, the excessive laughter, and the confusion between the rest of us, actually.
Plus painting is fun. It’s nice. We’re painting ink bottles sitting on a mirror. Shading with the monochromatic scale, that is.
Yes, I’m healthy and well, you can save the eulogy onto My Documents. Don’t email it to me—I haven’t even written a will yet.
Nothing much to pass down, anyhow (besides the thousands of dollars—what. what. You didn’t read that. What thousands of dollars? Noo, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Nope. Nope, it’s not in the bank, no, no, really, no. I don’t have money. Don’t ask me for money. I’m broke.).
…
I’ll just classify that as a minor fart at the back of the brain while it was still (mal)functioning.


:D BYE!

For the Good of Mankind

I feel so accomplished and like a new person. I have made someone’s day brighter. I think. But all the same, it feels so warmly good to know that someone will be happy because of me, and that they shall continue pursuing their dream because of me. I haven’t really done much, but it’s a lot to others.

You see, I remember in around fifth grade when, on Valentine’s Day, the teacher made us each write a compliment to each of our classmates and then put it in their little “mailbox” on their desks. When I got my twenty four compliments (let’s just assume I had 24 other kids in my class), reading through them, I felt this swelling feeling of happiness. They weren’t even so sincere, and they were just simple compliments, yet it made me feel so,,, worthy of being here, and so belonging. It was, whaddaya call it, the opposite of lonely.

And in sixth grade, we had to present something, and the teacher had made us write a “critique” of every person’s presentation and give it to them so that they could improve next time. Well, being the little children we were, we all wrote compliments, except for the occasional, “louder voice,” or “eye contact.” But reading through it, with critiques and encouragements, I felt that I belonged in that classroom again, like life was worth it. (Which it is.)

So when I was on deviantart, and I saw that today was someone’s birthday, I decided to spread that happiness, and I went to their page and commented on their page and wished them a happy birthday. But I knew that just writing Happy Birthday wouldn’t mean much—I mean, tons of other people wrote that, too. I wanted them to know how good they were at drawing, how much I admired their drawing skill, and how I feel about their drawings. so I did. I wrote about four sentences, just telling them and complimenting them on their art.

A day later, they commented back, saying that it really made their day, and they thanked me for it. I mean, when I first read that, I thought of back in sixth grade, when I was reading through the critiques from my peers, when I felt that swelling happiness. And knowing (or at least, I think I know) that someone else had that same feeling—made my day in turn.

And who knows, maybe I encouraged them to continue drawing and maybe they’ll become the next Picasso.

…I don’t know about that.

But anyhow, I feel like I’ve done a great deed.

Who knew complimenting someone would make you feel so good? (:

Doomsday Eve

So I’ve realized that there’s a correlation—if not direct, then indirect, but all the same, a correlation, between road-blindness and jobs.

I have this sudden, weighty, heavy feeling that’s keeping my heart stuck to the ground, that yes, I will get lost in school tomorrow. Because of my nearsightedness in terms of maps and places and getting-somewhere, I will definitely have a hard time finding my locker—Imean, on the day of the orientation, I said to every single locker that was at the edge, “Hey, that’s mine!” (Checks) “…Never mind.”

And I’ll be carrying my map around like it’s my new Bible or Word of Law or something, and I will follow it like High-schoolers follow their teacher’s directions. (Let’s assume they don’t.)

(It’s a GIF, by the way. Might not work, though.)

But anyhow, I must find my map and study it like tomorrow’s the final, which it isn’t, thank Goodness, but anyhow, I must study it all the same.

I shall also study my summer reading books, and I will also get my backpack ready.

Then I will be ready.

Technically.

Of course, the virtual day at school, will include lots of words such as “Lost” “Can’t” “Find” and “Late.” I hope there are lots of friends in my classes. I really, really hope so.

 

So I’ve gotten ready and all, for school. I have my summer reading books, I have my books and stuff (sort of, they never gave us a list…), and I’ve got my backpack, some clothes, new shoes. Then why, why do I think I’m not ready? Why not?

I really can’t get it registered into my head that TOMORROW I’m going to school. I kind of feel like I’m going to wake up at ten o clock tomorrow, as usual, and then go on the computer, and then eat something when my mom wakes up, and then practice piano, and then sulk around and then draw and do computer some more. (That was basically my summer life.)

I mean, as reality goes—at ten o clock tomorrow, I’ll be eating lunch! (Yes, humans of this Earth. Pity me. I have fourth period lunch. Again.)

(Though I’m kind of planning to eat a super light breakfast and call it 4th period Breakfast and then come home at 2 o clock for a late ‘Lunch'.)

So, back to my first subject. The correlation between road-blindness and jobs. Well, as my virtual school day goes, I’ll wake up, just barely get on the bus (nowait, my mother’s driving me there early.). Actually, I’ll get to school just in time, because I just couldn’t bear to wake up at six a-clock (versus the usual eight or nine o clock in the summer—mostly ten or eleven, but this week, my Mother’s been set on shaking us awake at the early hours of eight or nine). Then, I will somehow find my locker and be two minutes late to gym, which the teacher will kindly nod off, because it’s the first day. (Of course, as this becomes a regular sort-of-schedule, she/he’ll kind of get mad later on in the year…) I will manage to keep my eyes open during first period (did I mention, I sleep with my eyes half open), and then wake up at the bell and get to science, which I shall find with much troubles and upside down maps.

From there, I will probably trip on the stairs once or twice at least, and then stumble on to English, where I nod and forget to be an ‘active participant’ in class (something I resolved to do starting in high school). The teacher shall forever mark me as the ‘Short Asian Girl Who Seems to Not Belong Here And Rather In Bed Or On The Computer.” Then, I will get to lunch, where I sneak into the Band Room to find my Pep Band Music, because I forgot to bring it home last week, and again at the orientation. I will have nowhere to sit or eat, and therefore, crouch in the corner of the band room and skillfully avoid any furtive glances and ominous glares from the band teacher, avoiding all sorts of eye contact.

Then, I will manage to go to Spanish, where I shall be late, because I didn’t know how to get to the Spanish room from the Band room (not the commons), and so the teacher shall forever mark me as ‘The Short Asian Girl Who’s Always Walking In Scared-Looking and Late and Can’t Speak Spanish Well Anyways.’ I will manage to decode two words from her rapid Spanish welcome speech, and then slump on to Social Studies, which, I shall have a hard time finding (because I don’t even remember where it was or what it looked like from the Orientation night—did we even go there?). I shall observe my History teacher and fall asleep in the process, and then be awakened by a fellow sympathetic student who nudges me on out of class. From there, I shall go to Art and then listen to the teacher (more like, look like I’m listening) and look at the cool drawing stuffs around the room, and also think about how my friends are in Band.

From there, the year will plummet to the negatives, and I shall have the worst impression on teacher any student can ever give, and then from there, I shall not get an awesome job.

 

Sorry, this was more a complaint than a rant, I’m kind of half awake (even though I saw the news and then took a shower, hey, I was awakened at seven thirty, whaddaya expect). I really hope this is a complaint/rant and all it shall be, nothing to do with nonfiction, I truly hope, but right now, I am pretty sure I’m going to get lost on the first few days of school. I’m worried about my road-blindness. I’m not even sure I know how to get to my house from school. And how long have I been living here—for five years. Yes, I am road blind.

I hope I’ll manage to survive and know the school within a week, at least.

What Awaits.

Darn it I’m road-blind, meaning I’m also hallway-blind, if you know what I mean.

What do I mean?

We went to the high-school orientation yesterday.

Yesterday, a day when I was literally stumbling everywhere, no idea where I was, and just following a fellow road-blindee also known as my mother. I mean, enough with the boring PowerPoint and droning on about our school’s ‘proud statistics’ and whatnot, but this school was probably BUILT TO CONFUSE NINTH GRADERS.

Or road-blind people.

Then again, that means every building is built to confuse (ninth graders, or whatever-it-is, whoever it is that is road-blind) a road-blind person.

But anyhow, I went home after blindly running into walls and lockers and windows, and had to map out everything and virtually go through the school day with fellow road-blindee, and finally figured out, after a struggling ten minutes looking at the map upside down, that the entrance was here and not there. OOOOH so that means that that’s where the parking lot is—I get it! And the entrance is here---OOOOOOHHH… Hey, it’s not that complicated, huh?

…Yeah, well, I realized that the ‘parking lot’ was included in the map.

Hah. Hah. Hah. This is calling for a terrible year.

But I went to the orientation thing and met friends (considerably less—the rest are in, ahemahem, other schools ahemahem), which was good, I guess, because it kind of makes me feel less terrible about going to school. Only, my worries have been brought up more than they were before, because now I realize how terribly lost I am in this high-school world.

How will I even find my LOCKER?

Imean.

REALLY?

I’ll get to school like ten minutes early (it’s the first day, I’ll somehow manage to convince my mother to take me to school…), and then find my locker in seven minutes, and then find a friend within two, and then follow them to class in one.

Hahahaha. Plan set.

 

…No, but seriously, what about the classes where I’m alone? So far only four people I know are in my classes, and some—I have no idea. Which is terrible, because I really, really don’t remember anything from yesterday.

 

aha. aha. ahaha. …ha.

Yeahno. I’m still not mentally prepared for this devastating event.

I still need about ten years of books, pencils, papers, and computers (computer is an essential). Maybe after ten years I’ll be mentally prepared. (Maybe less mentally prepared.)

But not now. Not tomorrow, and not the day after that.

 

Darnit well this thing called ‘reality’ is like “WELL WHO CARES SCHOOL STARTS AND THAT’S IT.”

D::::: Darnitdarnitdarnitdarnitdarnitdarnit.

Oh, well.

I hope high school doesn’t bite.

 

(Yes it does probably.)

LOL I AM

Yes. LOL I AM.

Hey it sounds catchy. I shall make that a label now. :3

But.

LOL I AM

becoming a manga freak.

^.^** Well… it started with Death Note, which was not too long ago… maybe two or three months ago. It was just a simple interest, because at lunch, a friend was reading the Death Note manga, which she had borrowed from another friend. I spent half the period reading the first part of it, which I found very catchy and interesting and creepy.

Of course, about a month later, I was very interested in the ending, so decided to read the rest of it…

which I did…

almost.

(That’s another story.)

 

Then my interest tapered off, because I got interested in other things, like summer, and drawing, and Avatar, and ATLA…

But anyhow.

Then, my cousins came, and being in America, America being the most boring place you can be (if you go to K you’ll understand what I mean… .-. locked inside of the house almost—can’t go anywhere fun unless someone drives you there, and then has to ‘chaperone’ you, which takes out half the fun, according to my cousins (and I might have to agree… ^^)…). They got so bored they showed us One Piece.

Acutally it started when I showed Alex (my cousin) my deviant-art page, and I asked him if he read any mangas/watched any animes (thinking of Death Note), and then he said “yes I watch One Piece” (except in K) so I looked it up for him and then he spent like ten minutes looking at one piece fanart until I told him I needed to use the computer. xD

And then later on, he showed us a One Piece episode, then another, then another, until our parents were wondering why the house was so quiet to find us all aligned along the bed, watching One Piece from our laptop. (lol the only times the house got loud was when the video was buffering.)

ANYHOW, so I got interested in ONE PIECE, which obviously took off my interest of Death Note, because yeah, that’s how I am, ADHD style. And anyhow, then I started getting the manga-itis spreading through my body, so I downloaded an app, a manga reader app.

Then, I was just browsing through the manymanymany different manga titles, I looked at the ‘top Shippuden’ mangas, and found Naruto at the top of the list, and then wondering “what makes it so famous” (thinking of numerous Narutard friends) and then the rest is history.

 

(If you want to know history, it’s pretty much as follows: I became obsessed in Naruto. The end.)

 

And you know how I am. If I like a manga or something, I draw it. .-.

^^EHEE NARUTOOOO^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ (that’s a happyface times 10, btw)

Travelling Troubles

Okay, so, we went to New York City (Central Park, Apple Store, Times Square…), Washington D.C. (You know the places—museums and the White House and the Washington Memorial and whatnot), and Boston (Harvard, MIT…).

Let me tell you what happened on those three trips, and why we have the worst luck possible in picking dates for ‘travelling,’ and why I’m scared to go to the Statue of Liberty in a few days.

New York City

So, when we went to New York, we rode the car (not train) all the way to NYC, and then we walked to Central Park. It was drizzling. Then, we walked for about an hour in Central Park, because my dad said he knew where the lake thingy was, but apparently, between him and his iPhone, something went wrong, and we ended up walking in circles. When that tired us enough, it started raining more. And when I say more, I mean, POURING. RAINING CATS AND DOGS. (Plus we were hungry).

We ran all the way to the edge of Central Park, meanwhile getting soaking wet. Seriously soaking wet. Our hair was like we just stepped out of the shower, and our clothes were sticking to our skin like we decided to jump into the pool with all of our clothes on. Literally.

So we stood under a ledge of a big building (and it wasn’t a ‘big’ ledge, so to say), and waited for the rain to stop, while stuffing KimBap into our mouths.

But thankfully, the day got better after that, because the rain eventually stopped, and we went to the Apple store and Times Square, which was really fun.

 

Washington D. C.

A bit farther than New York’s distance, so we woke up at five and then left at six forty four, forty four minutes off schedule (we had planned to leave at six o clock sharp, but you  know what always happens..).

We hadn’t eaten breakfast, because my mom had made a beautiful breakfast meal and put it in the icebox for us to eat along the way (as in, stop at a small park with those wooden tables and stuff to eat, on the way to Washington). So when we were pretty much in Washington D. C., we stopped at a small park, as scheduled, and happily went to the back of the car to pull the icebox out of the trunk--
that wasn’t there.

We had, in the whole hurry of being forty four minutes late, left (one of) the most important things of the trip—food. Of course, we had rice. And seaweed thingy (kim). But the BANCHAN WAS MISSING. 반찬. So we happily ate rice and kim. (Because rice and kim don’t need to be cold, we had that in a separate bag that we brought.) Good thing we at least brought the rice. .-.

Anyhow, after the fulfilling breakfast, we then arrived at Washington very early, and parked the car and left to walk here and there and have a nice day at Washington D.C. Of course, it was scorching hot that day, and we were already sweating rivers of sweat and sizzling in the heat within an hour.

(Plus, my cousins aren’t the ‘can-endure-lots-of-walking’ type, especially if it’s under a ninety eight degree sun.)

So we walked here and there, noticing how far each memorial was from each other, and looking in envy at people with cold water and ice cream (while we were holding nearly boiling bottled water) (nah it was just really warm). We did stop by once to buy two bottles of Gatorade, but in our hurried fight to drink more of the refreshing drink, we forgot to let our parents have a sip. (Sorry, Mother and Father. ): )

We then went home in the night, and in between the long car ride, we stopped at WaWa’s in Maryland. That was probably the best part of the trip, because that WaWa’s place was really clean and organized and their food was DELICIOUS. (Sandwich). (Maybe it was because we were tired and hungry.) I don’t know, their strawberry smoothie and sandwich was probably the most remember-able part of the trip. OMNOMNOMNOM.

 

Boston

So we left for Boston at around ten or eleven, thinking we wouldn’t spend much time there and stuff. And plus, in the morning, we were busy trying to convince my dad not to go to Boston so we could rest and stuff. So we dragged time quite a bit.

Leaving late means arriving late. And of course, we spent seven hours in the car (lots of traffic…) and arrived at Boston around five or six. Really late.

We went to Harvard, and the place was AWESOME. So was their bookstore—it was like Harvard Coop or something like that? I don’t know, but when we stepped in there for the bathroom, I saw much more than a bathroom there. I wanted to stay there for a while (but we had to leave) and read all of the books (that I wanted to read that were) there.

But because of the time constraint (we can’t leave too late, because that would mean we would get home in the morning), we hurried from Harvard to MIT to the Quincy Market thingy. And it rained a lot (not as much as Central Park, thank goodness), so we were all fighting over three puny umbrellas while trying to pose for pictures.

By the time we were at Quincy Market, it was about nine thirty, and all of the food-giving places were closed. Except for the bars and super expensive restaurants. (Well, not super expensive, but expensive when it comes to paying for seven hungry people).

We had no choice but to go to McDonald’s.

…

Yeah, I know.

And the best part is, when we left the place, we noticed that Chipotle’s was still open, and also another sandwich place (I forget, it was either Seven Eleven, Quick Check, or Subway’s).

Amazing.

We got home at two thirty in the morning and passed out on the floor (or bed, depending on where we slept).

 

And in those three trips, we ate lots of: soda, fast food, chips, Oreos, and other fattening, unhealthy edible items.
I’m worried about our health. D:

 

Well, besides that, it was actually pretty fun! :D I just hope that our trip to the Statue of Liberty won’t have any weather-like constraints and troubles. For once. ^.^

Soaking in Memories

SO… MY COUSINS CAME! Did I already tell you? I don’t remember, and I don’t exactly feel like checking. But anyhow, I have three cousins, whom I shall cleverly nickname Andrew, Steve, and, uh, uh, uh—I forget.

(That’s not their real names, which is obviously why I’m giving you a full name instead of a letter. We ‘named’ them English names just for fun, because the names really do match their personality. But, I forgot what my youngest cousin’s English name is. We’ll just call him H.)

A, S, and H. A is a junior in high school—I mean, in terms of American ways, he’s going to be a senior, but in the country I’m from, it’s not the end of their school year yet, so--

nevermind. He’s a senior in high school. There.

S is the same age as me, freshman.

H is in seventh grade.

They’re all boys.

Which is awesome, because they’re not all dainty and awkward and sit-down-and-study-like, and they’re really fun. A is really good at sports—I mean, we went to the park the other day to play tennis at the court, and you have to keep in mind, my brother and I have gotten lessons for a year. And A never played tennis before. But within three hours, his skills were by far much better than ours. And he’s super nice. Yeah. To me. (Not sure about to his brothers.. xD)

S is really truthful, sometimes too truthful, and he talks a lot. But it’s not like a sassy sort of talk-a-lot, it’s more like, that when you’re talking to him, he talks back and doesn’t exactly not answer. GRAH I don’t know how to explain it. But he’s really nice and fun.

H is really funny, and silly. He plays with my brother a lot, and now, they’re like best friends, hitting each other and fighting one moment and then playing Minecraft together the next. He’s always got a joke or trick up his sleeve, and he, too, talks a lot. In fact, He, my brother, and I share one room to sleep in, and all I hear up until 3:00 in the morning is them fighting over their ‘sleeping territory,’ and then changing subjects to a fart contest (who makes the weirdest fart noise). All the while I’m telling them to please ‘shut up.’ But it’s funny.

They came on Tuesday, and now it’s Sunday, meaning they’ve been here for a total of six days. (OMG ALREADY  NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO A WEEK HAS PASSED ALREADY!?!?!?!!?!?!?!)

So anyhow, back to the point.

(I never told you the point.)

We went to New York yesterday, and my dad was all stubborn and wanted to take them to Central Park, which honestly, is not a very logical decision, since the weather’s supposed to be, to be subtle, ‘rainy.’

Anyhow, we drove to New York (yep, can’t really go places too much on a train when you have seven people), and we walked all around to Central Park. When we finally got in, my dad wanted us to go to this big lake place, so of course, he pretended he knew something (or maybe he actually did), and made us walk for about an hour. (Of course, after about thirty minutes, we realized we passed ‘this place’ before, in the beginning, implying we were pretty much walking in circles). All the while, there was a light drizzle, enough to have droplets annoyingly plop themselves into my eye. (Glasses don’t help. In fact, they fog your vision more. Droplets on your glasses=demented vision.)

Then, we gave up (or did I already tell you that), and so of course, mother Nature decided to make it pour. Like crazy. The sort of rain that you only see in dramas, where there is a couple who is about to break up and leave or something, I don’t know, one of those cheesy sad rainy scenes. Super DownPour. Literally. We were soaking wet from head to toe.

And it does NOT help that my shoes (flats) were all itchy and full of pebbles and dirt and water. (Turns out my feet were bleeding—the ankle-edge-place, you know. Figured that out AFTER we walked all around Central Park. smart.)

We waited in the rain (while eating rain-soaked KimBap), but then when the rain wouldn’t stop. So we cleverly put the vinyl (from wrapping kimbap) and the lids to the kimbap box, and backpacks, and everything and anything we could get a hold of, over our heads and rain blindly out of Central Park.

We just ran to the Apple store (which is pretty far, in terms of how long we walked). But when we left Central Park, it stopped raining, so it wasn’t THAT bad. I mean, our hair was soaking wet, and so were our clothes and feet, but besides that, it wasn’t THAT bad. Even though seeing people nice’n’dry with umbrellas was the most jealous feeling you could feel at the moment.

The apple store was awesome, because they let you use the new MacBook Pro or something, and it was absolutely exquisitely superbly gourmet a technological meal.

Did that make sense. Who cares. Whatever. You get the point.

And then we went to Times Square and went to the Toys R Us store, bought candy, went to the Disney store, cooed over super cute stuffed animal-characters, and went to some other places, and then went home. By then, we were all semi-dry, smelly, and our legs hurt.

What a beautiful way to spend a day at New York City. I’m sure they’ll remember the place fondly.

Today.

Dah. dah. daaaaaa~

Today is the day that

my cousins are coming.

:D

yay. What do we do.

1. card games

2. board games

3. computer games

4. work

5. piano

6. …

Is this how we’re going to spend three weeks?

I hope not.

7. Pillow fights (not probable)

8. XBOX games

9. DS games

10. Kinect games

11. Compu—oh already put that.

12. Eating games (aka breakfast, lunch, dinner)

13. Silent games (not probable. at all)

14. …drawing games…? hopefully, but I doubt it.

15. sit there and laugh awkwardly games (definite.)

16. wonering what to do games (definite also.)

17. youtube games (aka go on youtube and watch random videos).

18. introduce America games (O.o)

19. No games

20. Okay bye.

TOMORROW

OMGOMGOMAOWIEHRALKJSDGOIUWEGH

My cousins are coming tomorrow.

Why am I overexcited?

I don’t know.

And if they come, that means that time will fly and summer will pass by quickly, meaning I won’t be ready for high school, and I haven’t even looked at the Algebra II summer assignment (partly because I don’t have it.. –.- should get it soon…)

 

Yeah, that’s about it.

Bye! :D

 

Update: I’ve spent like three hours on Google Sketchup and now scrolling gives me this 3-D feeling, and I feel like I have to orbit around to get to the right spot. ><”

THREE DAYS

Three days ‘till what? Maybe you don’t care, but I DO! :DDD  MY COUSINS ARE COMING YAHHHH AKJHGALSOEIYGKJWNGLAKIHlkgi]uqy2p498ehslkjdva sdj
…
Sorry for the keyboard spasm.
But I don’t feel like deleting it. >:P
So these days I’m living in deviantart, which is an awesome place if you like drawing and stuff.
And there are lots of awesome artists out there. :D
I’m wondering what to do when my cousins are here. I mean, there’s not much to do when you’re stuck at home besides the computer. And we can’t have five kids crowding around a computer. So what do we do?
I mean, they’re all boys, so I can’t make them cook or something. We’ll probably end up spending three weeks on Starcraft and other videogames, especially on the XBOX. I wish they were awesome at drawing (who knows, maybe they had such hidden talent that they never told us of) so that we can all draw together, but I doubt that..
We can play card games (funfunfunfunfun) and board games (a bit less fun), and maybe teach them English (for maybe obvious reasons). Because they’re from ***(Insert censored Country Name Here)***.
Do we all sit on the couch and play the ‘get up first and you lose’ game?
Or do we--
I dunno.
I just hope we don’t end up sleeping three weeks straight or something. Something fun, I hope.
The time will come.
Three days.
…
MUST GROW SO COUSIN NOT TALLER THAN ME BUT I DOUBT THAT BECAUSE APPARENTLY HE GREW A LOT OVER THE YEAR AND I DIDN’T NOT MUCH.

This is a sincere prayer:
O Dear God, let me miraculously grow three inches in three days. Thank you. In the name of Jesus Christ our Lord,
Amen.

INVASION

(By the way, I made a deviant art account. it’s indigo-san.deviantart.com. EEHEEEHEEHEEHEEEEE)

 

Our house is full of flies.

Eugh.

I mean, it’s not literally full of flies, but there’s more flies in it than there were last year. And last year, we didn’t have any. Like most houses, you know.

So what have we been doing wrong? Have we been secretly hoarding slowly rotting foods in the corners of our house? Have we been cultivating fly farms in the basement?

What have we been doing wrong? No, nothing, nothing but opening the door every once in a while to get in, and out of the house. The usual.

But during that short span of time, a fly flew into our house.

And it was no ordinary fly. It was a fly with an evil plan on its mind. A fly with devious, ominous intentions. It was ready to take over. It was no longer the era of Human tyranny. It was time for the flies to rise to their true level of authority—at the top. It was time, to…

invade.

 

Actually, I’m not sure if that’s what they were thinking, (or if they think much at all), but a special fly did get into our house. A, whaddaya call it, a, motherfly?

 

You know, those annoying times when a fly somehow catches the perfect timing to fly into your food-filled home. Well, we were unlucky, because a fly with more flies within itself flew into our home.

And…

They are colonizing our home.

GRAHHHHH!

CLOSE THE DOORS WHEN YOU SLEEP. CLOSE THE DOORS WHEREVER YOU GO, SO THEY STAY IN THE LIVING ROOM. GET YOUR WEAPONS READY, MAGAZINES AND NEWSPAPERS AT HAND. STAND ON THE COUCH, SO YOU CAN SLAP A GREATER AREA OF FLIES (IF THEY COME BY) AND ALWAYS BE ALERT. YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN THEY MIGHT MAKE THEIR NEXT STRIKE.

They’re like, buzzing around in the kitchen.

There’s about three or four at a time, and our (my brother’s, my mother’s, and my) fear for flies is no help at all. While we’re flinching every time a fly buzzes near (my brother screams and roars and flails his arms wildly), my dad’s limping around, hopping around, trying to catch the endless flies that are popping up. For every fly we kill, another one pops up. I never knew flies could grow so quickly. D:

And we put the air-conditioner on sort of low, (I mean, not unreasonably low, but just low) so the flies are all fat and woozy and slow. They’re slumping around—if you can slump and fly at the same time, that is. Once in a while, a quick and speedy one pops up, but we know what to do with those--

GRAHHHH MAD FLY CHASE--

smack.

Ugh. I hate flies.

AVATARRRR 2

YAYYAYAYAYAYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAYAHYAHYAH.

I spent a lot of the morning (afternoon, acctually—woke up at twelve. O.o) drawing Avatar peoples. :3

Here are some more avatar peoples.

(Don’t ask.)

AVATARRR

So You don’t know, but I like Avatar: The Last Airbender.

And so Obviously, I saw the first book (Air) of The Legend of Korra.

YAAAHHHHHHHHH

So I was obsessing over them.

 

And at the side I was drawing a ‘comic.’ Which I will not specify any further on.

Anyhow, I somehow got to my senses one day and put one and one together and thought, “HEY! Why not draw Avatar characters?” (Thanks to my Dad’s subtle suggestion to ‘why don’t you try drawing them? I did that a lot when I was your age…’)

GRAAAHHHHHHHH THOSE PEOPLE ARE SHOOTING FIREWORKS ON THE THIRD OF JULY. THIRD OF JULY. Okay Sorry. People are super patriotic. A bit early-patriotic actually.

ANYHOW…

So I tried drawing them.

 

Please keep in mind this is the first time (aaaactually maybe second) copying a drawing from an ‘anime’ that I like, sooooo…. if it looks hideous, please don’t die.

It’s a caution/warning.

Here goes.

 

(By the way BOLINBOLINBOLIN)

Yes, Sokka looks terrible and so does Tai-li. THAT’S HOW I’M GOING TO SPELL HER NAME BECAUSE I DON’T LIKE THE WAY THEY SPELL IT.

I didn’t need to get all caps locky. Sorry.

Actually Tai li looks fat and disoriented and all twisted up because the pose I drew her in I really couldn’t understand, so I kind of just copied the picture, which might not make too much sense to you, either.

AAAND Katara’s fat and chubby, I know.

ANND Aang looks really creepy.

BUUUUUT yeah.

I have creepier drawings I’d like to keep to myself. :3

 

Here they are. I warned you…

(I promise I drew all of them.)

 

eeeheeeheeeeeeee C::::::::::

 

 

“I will make no such promise.”

I know, the pattern of the ‘yes’es and ‘no’s aren’t exactly the same, and neither is the number of trees.

 

The ‘ew I know ><’ part was directed to the skill of the drawing, not Pabu himself.

 

I know. Sokka looks nothing like that. Whatever.

AND his hands are deformed! D:

 

I’m actually having second thoughts about ‘publishing’ this one onto the blog. D:<

 

Don’t say anything.

 

She’s an acrobat person. It’s her feet, not bunny ears. Don’t ask what the lump of red clothing is, behind her, because I honestly don’t know what that is.

Graduation [2]

We had a nice casino-themed graduation party. The teachers/decorators went to great lengths to bring out the casino-feel to the party. In fact, they put balloons with “Casino” written on them AND scattered cards over some tables AND even put chocolate coins on some!

I mean, don’t you think that’s just a bit TOO much work? They did so much for us, and all we did was cause so much trouble for them, just like any other graduation class.

 

And plus the music hurt my ears, because it was so loud.

And plus we played a card game that I’m still trying to figure out.

And plus we ‘danced.’ As obliging Asians, we did the ‘toss the rice’ dance from David Seo. Or however you spell his last name.

 

And plus that’s probably all I feel like writing now.

The last ten minutes of the party was pretty---

huggy.

 

I tried not to cry. And I did not. I kind of was amused actually, how I didn’t. But I got less amused in the car when my parents were awkwardly sitting in the front seat hearing their daughter sob her eyes and throat out.

WHY YOU LEAVE ME.

 

Okay I’m done. Nobody read that. Kaythanksbye.

GRADUATION [1]

AWWW I WILL MISS YOU EC AND TC AND AJ AND LL AND RTH AND VL AND EH AND HM AND JW AND ALL OF THE OTHER FRIENDS WHO ARE GOING TO OTHER HIGH SCHOOLS OH OHOH OHOHOHOHOHOH NONONONONONONO

 

Okay I’m done.

But literally, I was sobbing for quite a while after I came home, starting from the car.

ANYHOW.

 

Graduation is a terrible thing for me because it means saying good-bye to people I don’t want to say bye to. I think this is the first time I’ve actually had to say a serious and solemn good-bye to people.

I mean, besides in second grade when I burst into salty water when I had to move away from all of my friends, but that’s a while ago.

And the time I had to move away from my friends in third grade.

And in the beginning of fourth.

…But that’s not that big, because I didn’t really make much of a big deal of it, anyhow, the longest I’d been with any of them was three years, and that was just from kindergarten to second grade. But this--

after I moved here in the beginning of fourth grade, and up till now, which is eighth grade, which is four years (one more year than the kindergarten years, I know, but still). I had lots of great friends and lots of funny memories (wow this sounds so cheesy. I bet my side comments make it even cheesier. Ugh I wish it didn’t sound so cheesy.) and lots of laughter and stuff like that.

But now that I have to say ‘bye’ to them—that’s just terrible.

I mean, I’m sure we’re going to see each other in the summer, meet, and have fun somewhere other than school (obviously school’s not the only place you meet your friends). But I know that as years pass, they’ll make new friends who they’ll meet more often than they will me, and they’ll gradually drift farther and farther away from me, and my name will go farther and farther from their center of memory and thought.

Soon enough, we’ll meet somehow and then look at each other, all the friendship and kindness and cheesy memories gone, just strangers to each other’s eyes, and we’ll be as awkward as one is to another in a first meeting.

Thinking of that, just having said goodbye to my friends less than a week ago, breaks my heart.

(Wow that sounds cheesy, too. D:)

I guess with ‘facebook’ we’ll know what we look like, and we’ll know that we’re alive, but that’s all how it will probably be for a long time, before we’ll be thinking, “Oh yeah, what’s her name?”

And their names will be farther from the center of our minds, too.

This is what makes me so sad, and this is what brought the flood of tears onto my pillow.

Wait I didn’t say that.

What pillow? What tears?

No, no, I deny it all.

 

SO ANYHOW.

 

I really will miss you all, Allison and Lani and Tiff and Eunice and Rachel T. and Victoria and Jonathan and Keira and M(******) (might not want her name mentioned) and Emma and all of those whom I have regarded as my friend.

It’s out of honor that I had to write your names in (except for M, because she wants her unique name anonymous C:), and that I will try not to forget all of you even if you all forget me.

Because all those fun times during lunch and gym and science (COUGH MRS. Y) and DC and math and Spanish and just

yeah.

I hope that all of you, when you go to the high schools that you’re going to, will find your hopes in life and whatnot (all of those wise adulty stuff), find the meaning of your life and pursue your dreams and stuff, and you won’t give up and you’ll achieve that dream and you’ll succeed and you’ll be happy because technically if you’re sad your whole life that’s pretty depressing but that’s just weird and I’m kind of getting off track so I’ll just stop.

But you know, I hope that you all have a nice life after high school.

And beyond.

And good luck.

And bye.

And--

SOBS INTO KEYBOARD.

Really, I will miss you all. I hope last Wednesday wasn’t the last time I saw you guys. I hope that in ten years, we’ll see each other in a coffee shop, and neither of us will tilt our heads and say, “I’m sorry, do I know you?” When the other comes to greet an old friend.

I admit, some of you I have known more than others, and whatever it is, chances are slim that in exactly ten years we’ll be in the same coffee shop, out of all the places in the world, but we get those chances and I hope we won’t miss them.

 

Yeah, so,

good luck in your careers.

I hope you’ve all made the right choice.

I hope I’ve made the right choice, too.

 

For now,

bye.

 

TY A HAND.

~
Celine

SUBSTITUTES

So I’m writing this post actually on June 22, but to keep posts chronologically correct, I’m putting the post date as few days before June 20th, which is the day of Graduation, which is what I will write about after I finish writing this.

I have a lot to write.

I haven’t posted here in quite a while.

Anyhow.

 

Substitutes.

It’s a while ago, but here’s the story I HAVE to write.

 

So, here it is.

 

Substitutes are poor creatures. They have to stand up in front of a classroom full of strangers, who resent you because you’re in charge and you’re probably going to make them do boring things. You’re already on their bad side, you have no idea what they are like. But the strangers in the classroom have dealt with teachers since they were in first grade, and this is their eighth year of experience. You lose.

I never thought that this would be true.

I mean, I just thought that substitutes were there to take the place of a teacher in case he or she decided to ditch school for a day or two. The obvious definition.

Well, I learned that all is not what it seems.

One fine day. I have Science first period, and it’s first period, so I walk into the science classroom. My friend E and R are already in their seats, because their homeroom classrooms are closer to the science room, meaning they get there first.

I look to the front of the room, and see that we have a substitute teacher today. Mrs. Y, let’s call her. So much for ‘I’m not absent often.’ (Quote, from my Science Teacher.)

Anyhow, I sit down, expecting the kids to torment the substitute as they usually do. And this time, I’m also half expecting her to burst into her speech about her community service thing.

You see, I had this particular substitute, Mrs. Y, as an art substitute before (or was it science? I don’t remember). But she had spent quite a lot of time telling us about her community service group that she made, something about Savoring One’s Life or something like that, and telling us that we should really join the group and telling us ‘advice’ for high school. AND about her book that she wrote, that honestly, nobody will probably want to read.

So anyhow.

I sat down in my seat, next to E, because that’s my assigned seat. We’re the first ones in the classroom, besides this chubby kid who sits in the back corner and doesn’t say anything much.

The teacher’s all cheerful and nod-y and happy. Guess she doesn’t know what she’s in for.

So more and more kids come in, and as usual, the ‘silly’ kids, the ‘popular’ kids come in last, because they’re out in the hallways talking to their friends and whatnot.

As they come in, they see Mrs. Y and when their back’s to her, they grin this evil-teenager smile like they’re plotting something. I just roll my eyes (to myself) and think, “what now.”

Because my science class fellow classmates have a gruesome history of torturing and ripping apart substitutes’---

sanity.

So the bell rings and we’re all obediently sitting in seats, never mind the fact that half the people aren’t sitting in their ‘assigned’ seats. They’re all neat and happy and looking at the board and not talking and folding their hands like they’re actually deciding to be OBEISANT for a day, but I know better they’re probably plotting something even worse than introducing themselves to the teacher and then shaking their hand and saying “Nice to meet you, (insert substitute victim name here),” and doing all sorts of stupid stuff you don’t do in a classroom.

The teacher clears her throat and says, “So, guys, you have a lot to do today, you have two packets to highlight and finish, and Mr. S (our science teacher) wants you to do this—“

She peers from behind her glasses at the student in front of her, slightly startled. The student is raising her hand ever so patiently yet very eagerly, waving her hand a bit in the air.

“…Yes?”

“Mrs. Y, can you tell us about your book?”

And from this, the whole class catches on.

“Yeah, Mrs. Y, we really want to hear about your book.”

“Mrs. Y, please?”

And I guess she’s never had so many students so interested in her book. She kind of smiles, and says, “No, guys, we have so much to do—“

“Oh, Mrs. Y, Mr. S said that we can do this tomorrow!”

She looks at the student, let’s call her S. S is nodding as she says this, probably a smile on her face (I can’t see her face, she sits in the front).

Mrs. Y is not thick-headed. “You’re lying!” she says.

“No, no, I swear,” S says, probably putting on a solemn face that can even swear on the Bible, if asked.

Okay, so maybe she is thick-headed. “Are you sure?”

I watch in disbelief as the class nods and shouts out ‘yes’ from different disobedient corners of the classroom, and even more incredulous astonishment as the teacher FALLS FOR IT.

Mrs. Y, probably so moved by the newfound interest in her otherwise pathetic book, says, “Okay guys, just five minutes. Just five.”

And even the kids who have coaxed her into this are looking back at each other, not believing what is happening. Has ANY teacher been so ignorant?

So the class is all hyped up at this.

And Mrs. Y is a talker, so she rants on for ten minutes. Everyone isn’t listening, but that doesn’t matter. The main part is that we’re not doing the boring work we were supposed to. That fact, in itself, is enough to amuse us and help us endure the boredom that Mrs. Y’s speech itself is emitting.

Near the end of the ten minutes, she mentions her “Savoring One’s Life” community service group thing. And the way she phrases it is as so: “…you know, Savoring One’s Life? You’ve heard of that, right?”

And of course, the students catch onto that question like it’s an inviting treasure. They rush to it like it’s a magnet, cling onto it like they’ll never let go. It’s an opportunity they could never miss.

“NO, NO WE DON’T.” S says.

Mrs. Y looks at her and says (again), “You’re lying!”

(I don’t know if it’s because she wants to end the conversation and start class, or if she can’t believe anyone hasn’t heard of her SOL (I’ll abbreviate it) community service thing.)

But the whole class says that they swear, they haven’t heard of it before, and somehow convince Mrs. Y that we can do the packets tomorrow.

And we spend thirty minutes listening to her rant about her SOL thing and her book and her brother, whom I do not want to condescend on or be mean to, but you know, things CAN get boring.

And then she realizes there’s like fifteen minutes left of the period and she says, “OH MY GOD WE MUST DO THE PACKET.”

And literally.

We highlight and take notes on the packet in.

Literally.

Three minutes. No kidding.

She tells us, “Now, guys, when you’re in high school, you have to know what to highlight, so that you can only see the important key points. DUHHH!”

O.o

And then she reads all of the ‘supposed to be highlighted’ words of the packet all in one breath (almost), pausing to say, “DUHHHH” in between every few phrases, just to make it seem like she’s teaching us something. And the sillier kids of the class catch along with her mood and say “DUHHHHH” with her.

Other kids are just rolling their eyes and highlighting almost three sentences per second.

After that, because we’ve done everything (and finished the questions in the packet, more like, wrote down the answers she gave us—“Gee, guys, you’re smart kids! Smart kids!”), we have time left.

So what we do is--

we look at pictures of her brother, who was the center of the whole SOL community service thing, and also was disabled after an unfortunate car accident. (Sorry, Mrs. Y’s brother, we don’t mean to hurt you, but it’s just to say.)

Obviously, my friend E and R and I are not interested, but the rest of the class sure is, and they all go up to the computer to look at her slideshow of her brother.

You see her commentating here and there, even once saying, “OH. You’re not supposed to see that, you’re not.” And you hear S say, “No, it’s okay, we see a lot worse” or something like that.

…

Oh, substitutes.

I have so much more stories, but I’m lazy, and there’s a lot. But trust me, things can actually go as movies illustrate. Which actually surprises me, because most people say life isn’t like 'in a movie.’

Oh well.

Sleepyhead

So today I woke up late.

More specifically, I woke up the time my bus cones.

I missed the bus.

The school bus.

Not the High School bus.

There were no more buses coming to our house that would take me to my school.

And my brother was late to his band class.

So my mother dutifully yelled us awake, and then took us to school.

So on the way to school, me in one seat and my brother in the other, me thinking to myself, “Why, I’m late. I’m late to school.” and not really thinking through about it,

my mother says,

“If there are any detours on the way to school, that will be the. worst.”

Because recently, the construction worker people have been obsessed in blocking usual routes to school, meaning my road-blind mother would have to find her way through the town to reach my school.

And there would be detours one day, no detours another. You really couldn’t know the schedule. It wasn’t too… organized.

So we say, “Yeah. That would be terrible.”

I mean, Lateness-to-school PLUS Detours PLUS Roadblind-Mother equals…

Disaster.

We’re reaching an intersection, and I say, “Dear God, Please let us not be late to school. Amen.” (Because if we’re good enough, we can get there on time. At least, I can.)

Two split seconds later, we stop at a red light.

!?!?!?!?!? God, I thought you were all forgiving and merciful! And school is a very educational place!

Well, He has His reasons.

ANYHOW.

So now we’re getting more and more late, thanks to the red-lights, and we reach a detour.

A DETOUR.

But my mother drives on INTO the detour road, so that we have to swerve into another road, where there are lots of houses and stuff, and then my mom’s freaking out while I’m getting the GPS (turns out, it’s out of battery. Dx we had to charge it), and finally after turning it on,

it says,

“Acquiring Satellites.”

And it ‘acquires satellites’ for quite a while. In fact, it kept on acquiring satellites. All the while, my mother is frantically driving here and there randomly, waiting for the GPS to hurry up and finish acquiring the satellites.

Then, we pass a familiar sort of path.

It doesn’t ring a bell until we actually find ourselves at school. Miracle!