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.

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!

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.)

Synthetic NOOOOO.

CURSE YOU, SYNTHETIC DIVISION. YOU MAKE MY HEAD HURT.

actually my neck, because I’ve been bending it down so long.

SO MANY PROBLEMS.

GRAHHHHHH

 

The end.

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!

Who Knew?

Oh, I think this title is so well title-d. It fits the situation perfectly. Who knew. Why, who did? Well, nobody. Except for my mother, but she didn’t exactly know, more like, she expected. Hoped.

So, remember that post I made where I talked about the Sejong Writing Competition?

Here’s the link: http://sugarsweetlemons.blogspot.com/2012/03/on-top-of-world.html

You know how I said “I don’t think I’m going to win”? Well, I did.

OF COURSE NOT FIRST PLACE. Dang, that’s way too high for national competition. I got ‘Honorable Mention.’

Quite exciting way to find out about it, I had.

You see, after sending the essay for the writing competition, I really didn’t give it a second thought, not that much. I just thought to myself, “Well, I’m not that good at writing, and besides, it’s better off if I vilify my expectations in this so that I don’t get upset whatever happens.”

And I forgot about it. It was totally off my mind.

So, going back, when I sent the essay, they made you give your email, and also your teacher’s email. Your English teacher, because apparently most kids enter the contest via their school’s requirements or something. Of course, I didn’t. It was more of an on-my-own thing.

And so I put my English teacher’s email in, and mine, too.

And these days, with Washington and all, I didn’t really check my email much.

So today, Monday, just another day to drag yourself to school, I went to English class, disappointed that the Graduation Practice had been cancelled, because that would mean we’d miss two periods of class (including English). I plopped myself down into my seat, and listened to my English teacher rant on about his philosophies in life and the way Honors English should not be called Honors English, particularly. It was a normal, boring day for me.

So then, my teacher realized there was a LOT of time left, so he just waved us off and said, “just study for the grammar test,” which is open notes, by the way, so I didn’t study at all. I just sat there, and in the midst of explaining the difference between “Lie” and “Lay” to my friend, my teacher yelled out, “CELINE! WHERE ARE YOU!”

Psh, like the room’s that big he can’t find me.

But I stand up anyway, my eyes all wide and stuff, wondering, What did I do?

He says, “Come over here!”

So as an obeisant student, I saunter over to his desk, which is conveniently located across the room, and look at him all confused, because obviously he isn’t calling me over to give me my vocab test—already got that five minutes ago (got a 100, thank you very much).

He peers at me, like a coup d’oeil, from the edges of his old-man glasses, and says, “Whatcha win?”

And then I’m doubling back, thinking, “What in the world is this man talking about?”

And apparently my thoughts are visibly shown, because he says, “You know, that thing—the Korean thing you entered! Did you enter a contest?”

And then it begins to dawn on me. Korean thing… Contest…

“I—uh, I think so…”

“What’s your last name?”

“Choo.”

“Yeah, you won something!”

At this I look at him, because the truth is finally uncovered in my brain. I won something in the Sejong Competition?

What?!

And then he says something about a teacher wanting to read my essay to the class, how, quote, ‘all the teachers are talking about you.’

And I think, What in the WORLD!

But then again, the world is pretty big, so you never know what to expect.

Anyhow, he says something about me going to the teacher’s room and telling her that I’d like my essay read to her class, thankyouverymuch. (Not exactly in that tone, but I wanted to use “thankyouverymuch.”)

Then, realizing I didn’t know where this teacher’s room was, and that my friend was hovering over me, I said, “D’er… Idon’tknowwhereherroomis. I need someone to help me find it…”

And my teacher rolls his eyes and says, okay, R, you can help her.

And just as I’m about to leave, he booms out to the class, “HEY GUESS WHAT C WON SOMETHING IN A WRITING COMPETITION!” or something like that, and I’m backing out of the room with my eyes wide at the widespread attention suddenly dumped onto my shoulders. I’m not good with public attention, you know.

So R (my friend) and I go to her room, which is two hallways away, so we have plenty of time to think about it. At least, I do. And all that’s racing in my head is:

Whatwhwat? what? what? What? What? WHAAAAAAATTTT?

And then I tell the teacher, let’s call her Miss W, that it would be kind of her if she could read it to the class, but I had to sort of yell it out because she was sitting in the back, and we had entered through the front, and apparently she felt no need to walk over and talk where we could hear each other.

Then, the air conditioning got way too loud (or I was too soft), and my friend had to translate my words and yell them out to her.

Then, still in a What-y haze, I went back to my English class and spent the rest of the time talking/thinking about it.

 

YAYZERS!

Well, anyhow. I would like to post it here so that the memory will stay longer than it might without it being written down and published.

Have a nice day!

WASHINGTON!

AND ENDER’S GAME!

So for our Class Field Trip, we went to Washington and stayed there for two nights and three days. We wake our drowsy, unwilling (and yet willing) selves up out of our beds and drag our drowsy selves and heavy suitcases or whatever to school at FIVE O CLOCK.

And anyhow, we stayed there (got there Wednesday) and then came home today, at approximately six or five thirty in the afternoon.

It was fun, but most of the fun-ness was with friends, not particularly anything about Washington. It may have just been any other place in the world and we would have had just as much fun. We played Asian Mafia, ate Ramen, talked, ran around, played finger puppets (for like two minutes), and other worldly things.

ALSO.

Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card is the best book you will ever read, whether you know it or not. Ender’s Shadow is good, too. And it’s not like Harry Potter or the Hunger Games, because it’s much deeper than that.

In fact, so deep that KIDS IN HIGH SCHOOL READ IT FOR THE STUDYING SORT OF THING! So before reading it in school and thinking it’s so boring and dreadful (like most books turn out to be when you read them in school), read it on your own so you can fully enjoy the wonders and perfections of this book AND spoil the ending for everyone when you’re reading it in school! (If you are, that is.)

Ender’s Game I’ve read two and a half times already, and now I’ve re-started so that I have read it two and two half times. (Because reading the first half twice does not mean that I’ve read the whole book once.)

AND PLUS they’re making a movie in 2013. But Ender is the actor from Hugo, Ava something or something like that, and he doesn’t look ANYTHING like Ender. YOU PEOPLE.

Then again, how many actors are there out in this world who can look and act like a six year old and yet have a charismatic aura about them, as well as some genius intelligence?

Not many.

BUT ANYHOW IGNORING ALL LOGICAL EXPLANATIONS WHY COULDN’T THEY CONJURE UP SOME CHILD WHO LOOKS LIKE ENDER.

 

You know I really didn’t mean to make it caps lock, and I’m not all that mad, but my pinky finger disobediently pressed the caps lock key, and by the time I realized how angry it seemed I was (in the text), I wrote too much and I didn’t feel like erasing it and re-typing it un-capitalized. So I am sorry if you are shrinking back in your seat because of my nonexistent wrath and fury.

 

Kaythanksbye.

Freedom

FREEDOOOMMMMMM

 

NO LIFE SKILLS

NO LIFE SKILLS

NO LIFE SKILLS

NO LIFE SKILLS

It’s a beauty.

NO LIFE SKILLS!

Away from the teacher (I’m sorry, but you kind of scare me. ); ) and away from the annoying people at my table who make me do all the work (except for S, who is not part of the ‘annoying people’ group I was speaking of a parentheses ago).

HERE COMES ART. YAHHHHHHHH

Post Pi Day

Of course, although it may be a bit late, here it is.

I was told, by a friend, let’s say, her name is E. Well, E told me the day before, that she was bringing two pies. TWO WHOLE PIES. Key lime, and peach. The wonders!

And it was also known that another friend, let’s say, J, was supposed to bring a cookie pie. (Yes, human beings of this world, there is such thing as a cookie pie. I just found out on Tuesday or Wednesday. Don’t worry, you’re not that behind in modernization.)

So just then, I knew that there would be three pies at the Pi Day Party. That is—if Mr. V would allow us.

We did not care. Bring pie to class, watch our teacher shake in rage, fume, and break out into a spasm—a spectacle!

Bring pie to class, watch our teacher look at us helplessly, give in, and eat pie—a wonder!

So either way, it was a win-win sort of thing. Only… the second win was a bit more winnier.

 

The thing was—there was no plates.

What were we to do—eat off the table? eat with our hands? Paper plates—literally?

With this in mind, I went to school. I then, came up with a sort of brilliant idea—to take plates from the school cafeteria!

Only—I couldn’t just take eighteen plates off the table-thingy. It would be kind of--

strange.

So what was I to do?

The only way to get plates without being noticed, was to buy pizza.

Only—if I put the pizza on the plate, it would be a dirty plate.

So—could I ‘accidentally’ take another plate, under it?

But could I ‘accidentally’ take eighteen plates?

This raced through my mind on the bus ride to school.

At school, I realized, that with a few of my friends, we might actually achieve this ‘accidental’ stealing of plates. If they all bought pizza, that is.

So at lunch, we did just that. We casually walked over to the pizza place thingy majiger, took six plates, and put pizza on the topmost plate.

We passed by, buying the pizza, with no suspicion.

It was hilarious, because the lunch person who was looking at our pizza, thinking, ‘Buoy, these kids are loving pizza today,’ don’t actually realize that there are five plates under the plate she was looking at.

And then we found that we were four plates short. Obviously, we couldn’t just go up and buy another pizza, and neither could we go up and just take the plates and walk away—could we?

So, we found that a table away, another classmate was sitting with his friends—only he wasn’t exactly the best of friends with us, you know…? It would be awkward to ask him to take four plates.

But of course, one of our friends is very—socially unawkward, to put it that way, and just shouted, (let’s call him ‘JL.’) "HEY JL! JL!”

And he turned around.

“HEY JL, GET SOME PLATES FOR PI DAY! GET SOME PLATES! OVER THERE!”

Obviously, if you hear someone you barely know (not even in your math class) to steal plates from the lunch line, you don’t suddenly oblige. Obviously.

So most predictably, he did not.

She then caught his attention again, and shouting again, “JL! JL! GET PLATES! JUST PLATES! FROM THE PIZZA LINE!”

And the whole time, I was saying, “Comeon, that’s mean! Don’t make him do that.”

And suddenly he got up, went over to the lunch-place-thingy, and seemed to go in the direction of the lunch line thing, and walked over to the pizza-area where the plates were--

and walked by, went to the line, and bought chips.

At this aggravation, my socially unawkward friend said, “HEY JL! WHY DIDN’T YOU GET THE PLATES?”

And he replied, “There aren’t enough for eighteen.”

She said, “We only need four! Four! Four! Just four!”

And suddenly, he got up, went to the line, took four plates, and just walked back.

I guess the lunch aids are nearsighted. And so are the lunch clerks, because he came over, unnoticed, with four plates.

Wow, did I even think that he would be the one abetting us in this sort of deed.

Well, point being, we had our eighteen plates.

We then continued on our “Operation Pi,” which I appropriately named just as we were on our plan B.

Plan B, was that a friend and I would ‘sign out’ to ‘Band.’ (We’re allowed to do that.) We would be the ‘usual band-geeks’ who go to band nearly every day (well, before the audition, anyway).

We would then walk outside with the eighteen plates and ‘go to Band.’

The question was, would the lunch aids question the number of plates at hand?

Why, I brought it from home!

And what could they say? “YOU STOLE THEM FROM THE PIZZA LINE!”

Obviously not. It would be absurd. They wouldn’t dream of that.

So we confidently signed out to band, me holding the eighteen plates, trying to look as innocent as possible. We then left the lunch room, turning left, which is the direction to the band room. When it seemed that it was ‘unsuspicious,’ we crawled under the windows of the lunch-room doors (so the lunch aids don’t see us walk the other way), and ran full-speed to the lockers. (There was a teacher there, walking down the hallway. I wonder if they suspected anything. Oh well.)

On our “Operation Pi,” my friend and I casually walked over to another friend’s locker, who was also part of “Operation Pi,” and had the closest locker to the lunch room.

Having memorized her combination, I opened her locker, stuffed the plates in, and then we ran back to the lunch room, prepared to say “The band teacher didn’t want us there—he had a high school band lesson” if the lunch aids ever questioned our return.

Operation Pi—DONE!

Well, the first part, anyway.

 

Ninth period, during math, I walked inside, and Mr. Vallo was helplessly handing out the plates (how funny was it that just five periods ago, we were taking them from the pizza line thingy), and handing out the cookie pie that J had bought.

Now, my other friend E, as I said, had brought in two pies in consideration of the wonderful occasion, but our wimpy math teacher said, “No, no, this is more than enough. More than enough.”

He looked all bewildered and scared.

It was strange.

 

AND AN OUTRAGE! THINK OF THE POOR KIDS IN AFRICA, WHO DON’T EAT PIES!

And think of M, who did not get to eat pie!

So, this occasion was a half-success (in stealing plates, which was actually fun), and a half-fail (we did not eat the TWO WHOLE PIES.)

So the half success and half fail cancel each other out, so today was an ordinary day.

 

whew- I got that story out.

Happy late pi day! Let’s hope Mr. V won’t stay a wimp his whole life! :D

PI DAY

Here is the long history of Pi. On March fourteenth, also the birth date of the great EINSTEIN, is the day to commemorate, remember, and acknowledge the wonders of Pi.
Pi is circumference divided by diameter.
This wondrous definition not only defines what it is, but it was also a subject in which we learned in Math class. Yes, human beings, we are in Honors Geometry.
Here is a nice statement, derived from a few others, and concluded through transitive property of equality.
Geometry=shapes.
Shapes=circles.
Circles=diameter and circumference.
Diameter and circumference=Pi.
Pi=Geometry.
Geometry=Pi.
Therefore, would it not make the most sense to celebrate Pi Day, on March Fourteenth, in Math class? IMEAN—The Algebra class is celebrating it, and they’re learning polynomials! (This very good argument and reason was stated by Rachel X. Must give credit.)
Then why, why, Mr. V (Let’s just use this letter, V, to represent my math teacher’s surname. To keep his and our privacy at the utmost restricted-ness.), are you refusing to celebrate pi day?
Is it not relevant? Had we not all failed the circles test a chapter before?
Are we not good students? Do we not deserve a nice day off, with some Pi, circumference, and diameter? And pie?
Of course, our beloved teacher Mr. V, says in the most monotonous, humdrum voice ever—“No.”
(Actually it was more of a bewildered, nervous ‘No,’ but I’d like to keep things at a dramatic level.)
We were aghast—devastated by this reply. We had only been expecting one of two answers—maybe even both—either “OF COURSE!” or “Why not?”
“No” was not an answer we had thought of, at all.
Yet, the truth was bleak, and we were to have no day reserved to worship Pi and its wonders.
But we did not give up! I, proud student of Geometry class, decided to make a PROTEST. A PEACEFUL PI PROTEST for Pi Day. What we would do, is create picket signs, and march down the hallway to the front of Mr. V’s room with our signs, chanting “PI DAY! PI DAY!” Like they do in football games, or when you want someone to go up in front of the class and do something, and everyone starts chanting his or her name.
With this wondrous dream in mind, I went to my Band Lesson, ignored the meaning of the term ‘Band Lesson,’ and gathered supplies. I took my band teacher’s stapler, and his sharpie, and some paper. My two friends and I dutifully marched into the lunchroom (not seen, thanks to the Lunch Aids’ nearsightedness), grabbed a whole bunch of plastic spoons off the rack thingy, and then marched outside and ran at full speed to the band room. Spoon-stealery is not the best of crimes, you know.
We then unwrapped twelve spoons, decorated and created the signs on paper, stapled them to the spoons (actually, we folded the paper in half and stapled the edges so that the spoon, which was in between the folded-paper-halves, would not fall out). We created twelve magnificent Peaceful Pi Protest Picket Poster Signs, full with reasons, demands, and wishes on them. Creativity, determination, and hard-work.
We then took more of the band teacher’s items by asking for a plastic bag (which, was initially a joke, but it turned out he actually had one), and putting the signs in the plastic bag to use on the glorious day of the protest. I then informed (almost, except for the obnoxiously arrogant genius match peoples, who did not seem to care whether they had class or not) all the Geometry Students about the Peaceful Pi Protest and the Picket Signs.
They seemed halfheartedly delighted, so I was happy.
Word spread around the school (among the nerd-Asians in my grade), and soon, most of the people knew of the Protest. I then passed out the signs we had created, gave them the directions on how to execute our plan, and then hoped for the best.
The following Monday, I walked out of Physical Education Class with anxiety and hope. I was late.
All of the kids participating in the protest were dutifully standing awkwardly outside of the door, not sure whether to go in or not. They all had their pathetically small signs with sharpie scribbled over them, and they were laughing nervously and awkwardly, asking “Where’s (My name here)? Where’s (My name here)?”
And upon seeing me, they were ready to PROTEST. It was just in time, because Mr. V, who was wondering where three fourths of the class was, came outside to see us standing awkwardly, waiting for directions from a protester.
Seeing Mr. V, I nervously said, “Pi day protest……?”
And we were all half-heartedly, laughing-ly, un-seriously saying, “Pi day. Pi day. Pi day… Pi day…. Pi day….?”
We were laughing, because it was so awkward, and the voice was not strong. It was weak. For our math teacher asked, “What is this?”
I was horrified. Did he not recognize this act of peace and negotiation from his students? How could he not recognize a simple protest? Was our protest that weak and bad?
The bleak truth was that, yes, it was. It was awkward, and quite unorganized. We were awkwardly crowding around the door saying “Pi day.”
He then asked, “Are you guys coming inside now?”
Then, after a moment of hesitation, a protester said firmly (with a slight giggle) “No!”
“Do I have to give you the answer?”
“Yes!”
“…I’ll think about it.”
“No, that’s not an answer!”
“Guys, you have to come in!”
“No!”
But we went inside anyway.

This was the Pi Day Protest.

And Mr. V did not keep to his word. We planned the Pi Day celebration, yet he did not keep to his word. (Today, 1/4 of the class was gone, because of a field trip, so we agreed to celebrate it on Thursday.) Today, he said, “We’re not celebrating pi day.”
Because we had taken some food and Pie from another teacher, who, even at the end of the day, had two whole unopened pies.
Can we believe it? This rash act of betrayal and ignorance? How important is Pi Day to us Geometry Students?
VERY.
(It means missing a period of class, for food. :D)
So, we secretly agreed to bring the food tomorrow anyway, because we already bought the food.

I will tell you how it goes tomorrow.

Complaint: Speeches

I would like to file a complaint to the manager of Speechgiving--

Recipient: Manager of Speechgiving
From: An Annoyed Student
Complaint:

WHY!?!?!??!?!?!?!?

I hate speeches.

And especially if I have to practice it for a week. Or two.

So this is what happened: My teacher, Let’s just call him Mr. A, just to fill in the blank.

Mr. A, my English Literature teacher ( C: it sounds so official.) told us we had to give a speech on anything we liked. He told us this on, let’s say, Monday. Or Tuesday. I forget. Whatever.

He then gave us time in class on Wednesday to research on the topic. Then he spent Thursday and Friday somewhere else with us stuck with a sub.

He told us the speeches were due Monday. That gives just less than a week to research, write, and practice a speech! For a “major grade.” D:

So we all (hopefully everyone) stressed out and practiced over the weekend. I did, at least. I spent Sunday, in a car going to New York, mouthing my speech (because if I said it out loud, my brother would recite along with me, which is not convenient at all).

I was all, “I’M READY FOR THIS. (…not.)” by Monday.

Guess what?

We walk into class, Mr. A goes, “Hey, guys, your speeches are postponed to next Monday.”

Naturally, I felt a combination of anger and happiness. Anger because I COULD HAVE SPENT ALL THAT TIME IN THE CAR PLAYING GAMES and not reciting speeches on Death Penalties, and I was stressing out over nothing. And it meant another week of stressing out and practicing.

And happiness because, well, I didn’t have to go up today. Or tomorrow. Until Friday.

SO I was so happy that I didn’t practice. And therefore I was not ready the following Monday.

He called up volunteers on the day of the speech-giving. And apparently, many of my peers felt the same emotion as me, as they wanted to get it over with and stop getting stressed for two weeks.

Then on Tuesday. I did not go up.
Wednesday, I did not go up.

Thursday, I was planning to—but a person who was very good at speech-giving engrossed us into a speech and somehow tricked us into thinking this was a college course and we were free to ask questions for the whole period. So basically, Thursday, we spent class time asking questions about how disgusting McDonald’s really is (not the taste, the health).

And Friday we had off because of President’s Day Weekend.

Therefore, Here I am, much stress on mind, for around three weeks. And still not ready. If only he had not postponed, I would have been ready to give the speech. And I would not be filing this considerably very long complaint.

 

Anyhow, Mr. Speech Manager,

Please prohibit speeches from all classrooms around the world. That is what I would like to suggest.

Nawjustkidding, because when I go up to present when I get a job (if I get a job, that is), I’ll probably have no idea how to present.

But just for the fun of it.

 

Yeahnevermind.

Sincerely,

An annoyed student who doesn’t like speeches and public speaking.

Midterms

EEWWWW.
Midterms.


I HATE YOU.

The worst day of 2012 so far. D:

Because of the unexpected half-day-scheduled-whole-day, I was starving. If it was just a half day, I would have come home at like one o clock and eaten. If it was a whole day, I would have time during lunch, so I wouldn't starve to death.
But it was an unexpected half-day-scheduled-whole-day. It was the most unexpected of days. Imean, I didn't even know they existed! A mutation of the combination of a half day and a whole day. It was a whole day, alright, but the periods were scheduled as half days. Meaning, all the classes would be thirty minutes long (or however long the half day periods are), which would result in two hours left of nothing after last period, because usually, on half days, they would let us out late, but today was a half-day-scheduled-whole-day.
/
Those two hours of nothing, we were each assigned classrooms to go to, based on what period we had whom for social studies, and we would force some school spirit out of our tired minds.
For about ten minutes, the teacher, (whom I do not know, which is kind of difficult, considering I keep forgetting her name) looking at the unresponsive class, asks for the umpteenbillionth time, "Seriously? No ideas to how to decorate our school banner? Team banner, I mean. This is for our team! We're in competition against the other teams!"
Which makes us all the more lazy, because honestly, who heard of teams versing each other? This is teamwork we're going for, and the team is the school. Making divisions among the population of our school will create only diversion and hatred. And pride. And shame.
But of course, the teacher whose name is easily forgotten, decides to force some school spirit out of our "boring minds." She draws this hawk on the board (which, if you look at it, looks more like a hot dog with bat wings) and a square around it, and tells us to each go up to the board and add our ideas.
OUR NONEXISTENT IDEAS, SCREW THIS.
/
/
Then, she goes, "OH! Why don't we try doing __________?" And says some decent idea, and we all nod, because it's better than that hot dog bat on the board. She does this two more times within the time of fifteen minutes, with a five minute span in between the three "ideas."
She then looks at us and says, "Come on, guys. You can't be this boring. I can't believe from this big a class, you can have such little ideas!" (We're the smallest social studies class our social studies has. Seriously?)
WE ARE THIS BORING, WOMAN. WHAT DID YOU THINK CHILDREN WERE? HYPERACTIVE CREATIVE CHILDREN WITH IDEAS TO HOW TO DECORATE SCHOOL BANNERS ON THEIR MINDS?
And so went the two hours.
But actually, we came up with pretty good ideas and made a pretty good hawk with a pretty good decoration and pretty good drawings. So overall, it was pretty good.
/
/
But not the starvation.
Godsh, I thought I was dying by the end of the day. Three o clock or something around that, and I can't hear anything because my stomachs screaming nonstop.
Even better! I have to stay after school. Meaning all I'll have since nine o clock is nothing, besides the scraps of chips I gather from friends who (cleverly) brought money to buy stuff from the vending machine.
/
/
I stay until five thirty. Meaning I went from nine to five thirty with six chips. One Sun Chip, one Lays salt and vinegar, two Hot Fries, and one nacho Doritos. Or was it two Doritos? I'm not sure.
Either way, that was not enough to satisfy my ravenous mood.
Then, as psychology often proves, everything looked like food. Not literally, because how can and drill suddenly look like candy, or wood and styrofoam look like--pizza, I don't know. Just small things. This really cutely decorated basket full of green fluff fuzzy stuff looked like ice cream (the sort in the bowl, yaknow? Like Breyers ice-cream?) all of a sudden, and I kept thinking of that kind of stuff.
Then, my stomach hurt, which did not help at all, because I then knew I couldn't steal any more junk food (anyhow everyone ate their's, so...).
/
/
Then, at five thirty, I went outside to wait for my mom, except it was FREEZING. I didn't feel like being alone next to all of those annoying basketball boy peoples yelling at each other and jumping around inside, so I stayed outside when my friends went outside to get picked up by their moms and dads.
/
Then, I saw this boy who was yelling at someone, and I thought it was my brother, so I ran over to the car with the boy sticking his head out the window, only it turned out it was some other dude. So I looked over the car, pretending I thought the car behind it was the car I thought my mom was in, and then casually turned around and walked back, my cheeks redder than they already were.
I was in an extremely terrible mood.
And so as I was waiting, I was more and more and more angry, and when my mom did come (after all of my friends left), I was fuming, except it would have been nice if I were literally fuming, because that would mean there would be some warmth in my body. So I was freezing fuming.
Anyhow, I climbed in, and said, "why did you come so late? I was freezing."
/
/
And, the rest is history, as some people may say.
I got yelled at.
/
/
Well, adding to my more terrible mood, I stomped to the basement, and didn't even stop for goldfish, because I'd have to cross my mother on the way to the goldfish, and she would ask why, and then I'd have to tell her about the unexpected half-day-scheduled-whole-day, and then I would feel better. But I didn't feel like feeling better, so I didn't get goldfish, and I didn't cross my mom until dinner, where I shoveled the food down my throat because (1) I was so hungry, so hungry I could eat my mom and brother in two bites (half a bite for my brother, one and a half for my mom), (2) I was so mad, because not only was I yelled at, but I had this annoying half-day-scheduled-whole-day, and I was starving and I was cold, and (3) I felt like it.
/
/
And now, my stomach feels all cold and weird, probably because I stuffed too much food way too quickly down my throat, swallowing at mouthfuls at a time.
But it was SO GOOD. Imean, it was delicious. I was so hungry, but all of that food--omnomnomnomnom.
Food is best. C:
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Moral of the story: Today was the terriblest day of 2012 so far, and the dinner was AWESOME.

Winter Break Complaint

I would like to file a complaint to the guy who just made my winter break pass by so quickly?
Yes?
YOU MEANYPOO.

It's terrible. Imean, I had all these wonderful plans--to wake up early, to do all of my stuff (homework, math, piano, whatnot) before lunch, and then do whatever I want for the rest of the day.
Whatever I want meaning: reading, writing, watching some Asian TV, cooking (cookies), drawing, going on the computer, sitting and lolling about, you know.
But, no. The minute I wake up, it's already Monday night, and I'm going to school tomorrow, and I feel as sick as a bunny (if bunnies are sick, anyhow). It's terrible.

Here is the official complaint:

Complaint title: Winter Break Complaint (Creative, eh?)

Complaint to: Mr. Time

Complaint message:

Why did you make time go by so quickly? Why do you always take that time away just when I'm having fun? Why do you always have to take things away from us?

Complaint sent.

SCREW THIS.

Time might take things away, but time will also bring about the new.

WHATEVER.
The sole meaning of me living is now deprived from me--those hopes, dreams, and aspirations of what-to-do during winter break--gone.
Just flew away, like time does.
All that is left of my life now is school. School, school, school. Study, study, study. Rip your head out because of tests, projects, and essays. And homework. Sleep at twelve, sleep at twelve, sleep at twelveandanhourpastthat. AAAND wake up early, early early. Until I fall dead one day, and everyone will finally say SCHOOL IS BAD FOR YOU, but it won't be use to me, because I'd already be dead. So everyone will have fun after I die.
No point in life, no point in life, no point in life.

Yes there is!
WHOSTHAT.
Oh, yes there is!
WHOSTHAT.
Want me to prove it?
Whoever you are, prove it all you want, but it'll still be over. Over.
SPRING BREAK!
GOOD POINT! :D

Cairo Comic

Yeah, I know. Primitive. Lame. Stupid.
But I made it for a project, and hey, what's the harm of saving it?
We're learning about the Egyptians and Hebrews, by the way. (Not together--first we learned about the Egyptians, now about the Hebrews.)

And it's part of a project. :D

 

The Adventures of Penny, PENY, and AMIE. :D

So I got bored this morning, and instead of studying for something, I made this little 'comic' (more like a (very long) useless doodle) about Theorem 5-5, for my Geometry Class. :D

 

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