Regarding the CT Tragedy

There are so many people who are saying that "I give my hearts out to those who have lost their loved ones" blah blah blah... and I guess it's my turn to say that, too.
We're all so horrified and saddened by this heartless tragedy that I never imagined could happen. (Though so many people are saying "my heart goes out"... maybe it's the right term that you're supposed to use? Anyhow, it's actually the first time I've heard that phrase..)
I feel terrible that so many people are resorting to violence to express themselves,  as if they have no other way that people would understand. I feel bad for the man who killed so many people, for the people who were killed, and for the kids who survived.
And this goes along with the theme of depressing books we're reading in school these days--we actually recently read by William Golding (sorry unable to use underline or italics right now). Imean--I feel bad for the kids who had to go to heaven so early in their life, but I also feel bad for the kids who are still alive. They had to go through that hell, just like everyone else in the school--and then survive to have that memory with you for the rest of your life. In that day, their whole lives were changed. Can you imagine--being a seven year old, with yet to learn, cherish, and laugh in this world--can you imagine being seven and seeing your friend bleed to death? Can you imagine realizing that your best friend, whom you were planning to invite to your birthday party--was now a lifeless body among so many others? What kind of impact would that make on their minds? What kind of impact would that make on history? 
It makes me so angry that someone would go as far as to trespass into a school--an ELEMENTARY school--to recklessly shoot and kill. And not only that, ruin a bit of history by denting so many young minds who could have changed the world. Who could have lived a perfectly happy life, with no dark shadows engufing their minds. 
Everything's for a reason, I think, and I don't think that the man went to the elementary school just because he wanted to, or just because his mother (mother, was it?) was a teacher there. There obviously must be some sort of grudge in his past that lead him to acting this way. But whatever it is, I'm becoming more and more disgusted with humanity these days. 
What's with all these shootings? What's with the violence? 

And some people keep changing the subject back to gun control. And yes, I have my opinions on that. But putting gun control aside, what's been making so many people /use/ that gun so much these days as opposed to, say, ten years ago? I grieve for not only the lives that could have been lived, but the lives that could have been lived freely, and the life that could have been happier.

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. ><”

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

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

YG

So recently I got some new songs on my iPod. It’s because of KPOPSTAR, which is a TV show/program thing in Korea to find and ‘raise’ potential super K-pop stars. And in the program, are three ‘judges.’ They are from the three major Kpop companies—SM, YG, and JYP. From SM is representative judge BOA, from YG is 양현석, and from JYP is, obviously, JYP (박진영).

I found out more about the kpop groups—Super Junior, Big Bang, you know. This was all in my mind.

On one fine, boring day, I wanted something new to play on the piano. So I went surfing on the web for some good sheet music. And I found that this user-name person, something with Star7something, whatever. He/she had created a sheet-music piano version of Lonely by 2NE1. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not a K-Pop freak. But I’m not anti, either. Imean, I’m Korean! How can I hate my own culture—or what’s becoming the culture? I actually like K-pop, but not K-pop. I don’t say, “I love kpop” like some people do. Not that it’s bad. Just that I don’t do that. I like certain groups or singers in K-pop, more so near just Korean music. And they have to be able to sing. And honestly, boy/girl groups with like ten billion people in it and stuff—they’re all pretty or handsome and all, but you listen to their music.

I like music that actually means something to me, or sounds good. Something with a melody, so that it can get stuck in my head. Imean, I’ve never had a rap stuck in my head before.

Despite these restrictions, I’ve found myself quite interseted in 2NE1, from YG. Especially their song, Lonely, and also Ugly. It’s quite good. I listen to it a lot these days.

And branching off into just generally the YG company-ness, I remembered (I can’t say ‘discovered,’ because I already knew they existed, liked them quite a bit already, actually) Big Bang. Their songs are very very good, and they are very very good at singing, and I have to admit, some of those people aren’t the ugliest, either.
…forget that last fragment.

Anyhow, I found that their recent music, like ‘Blue,’ ‘Love Dust,’ and ‘Fantastic Baby’ are pretty catchy. I’m tone-deaf, but if you could see me at random intervals of the day at home, I’d most likely be singing. Because in front of your family, nothing’s embarrassing. (Except perhaps, yourself in your birthday suit.)  These days, it’s either 2NE1 or Big Bang.

And I’ve cleaned out my iPod of old songs and stuff, and I got some new 2NE1 songs and Big Bang. I was looking through the iTunes store for what they (2NE1 and Big Bang) had out recently.

Pretty good songs.

I like those two groups. Very decent.

Listening to my iPod on the high school bus these days. Day-light’s savings makes it scarily dark outside, so music is always a friend of mine to stop me from looking behind me for potential murderers every five seconds.

Actually it just helps me a little, because I look behind me for potential murderers every ten seconds. But it’s exercise for my neck, right? Let’s be positive.

…yeah right.

 

Oh, and. Happy Pi Day!

The Closest I’ve Gotten to an Adventure

So—here is an account of the closest I’ve gotten to an adventure. And it’s all thanks to me, my mom, and my anger problems.

One day, my mom and I were in a fight (wow that sounds violent)—Imean, I got mad and she got mad and we had to go into the caps lock level of hollering in each other’s faces—waitno. I didn’t exactly holler. I just sort of raised my voice a little bit, and it was right before she had to take my brother to a piano lesson.

This was on… Wednesday?

Anyhow, she was standing at the door, and she spat something mean and bullyful and make-fun-ofsful and super mean thing to me, something very un-mother like, because usually mothers don’t make fun of you or anything, they just give you a full diatribe and reprimand on how you should improve (insert flaw in personality/complexion/intelligence here). So, there I was, my mother already in the car and driving away, me, fuming, sitting on the floor and ready to burst any minute,

and I came up with an amazing idea.

Why hadn’t I thought of this before?

It was the smartest thing I had ever come up with. It was brilliant—flawless.

I would run away!

At the moment, I felt a surge of triumph and contempt toward my mother, thinking ‘Hah, you can’t stop me now!’ Because I’d leave, and she’d be devastated, and she will regret doing such horrible things to me. She would say, “Oh, I should have been nicer to _, I should have understood her more, Oh, Please, Why did I do this?” And she would be sad forever. It was the best way.

Then I stared at my jacket, which was casually flung over bottom stair (that leads to upstairs) that I had put there after school that day, thinking, “In a few minutes, I will have picked that up and it would be all the way across the street along with me.”

Then, a feeling of anxiety began to bubble up from my stomach.

I didn’t feel like I was up to it.

But then I thought, “Well, you always say you’re going to do something, and you never do it.”

So I dared my self. I triple dared myself. I double decker doctor pepper super duper dared myself to take that jacket, put it on, shove my boots on, and run out the door.

Then I thought about it, and I decided that running away was overrated, and it wasn’t ‘the thing’ anymore, and that I’d just walk around the neighborhood. And then I’d walk in just as Mom would walk in (she only drops him off and comes right back), and she’d ask what happened, and I’d say that I wanted to run away, then she’d feel bad—not the same amount of impact as running away, but still some, at least.

So in a mush of anger, triumph, confusion, and anxiety, I stomped over to the coat, snatched it up, put it on, put on my scarf, put on gloves, shoved my boots on, and then looked at the door.

Then I started observing it.

Then I sidetracked and looked out the window, peered out, and someone had just come home from work, it seemed, their car door was open and they were leaning in to get something from the back seat.

So I waited.

I can’t go out now, because then they’d spot me, and I’d run out, and they’d yell ‘WHATCHA DOING, LITTLE GIRL?’ and then I’d have nothing to say but ‘I was running away from home’, but since the person saw me in unsuccessful attempts in doing so, I’d never be able to run away, meaning that every time they see me and I see them in the morning or afternoon, they’d always remember the ‘deranged child who tried to run away at around seven o clock.’

So I waited. Then I just sort of peered out the door, looking down the sidewalk into the parking lot (we live in a townhouse), watching the person TAKE THEIR TIME in doing whatever they were doing. And when they finally left, I felt fear filling my lungs, heart, mind, everything. I looked into the parking lot that was growing ever so darker, and then I thought to myself, “I bet you’re just going to do this and waste some time and then Mom would come in and see you all dressed up at the front door and be like ‘WHAT THE CAULIFLOWERS WERE YOU DOING?” and I’d have nothing to say, and every time Mom would see me in the morning or afternoon, she’d remember the ‘deranged child who tried to run away at around seven o clock.’

So I double doctor pepper super duper dared myself to take that door, swing it open, then take the screen door, swing it open, then run outside.

So I did.

I swung the door open (not as dramatically as it may sound or as you may think), and then ran out the door (more like, creeped out the door). Down the sidewalk, run, run, run, away from home, away from home—end of sidewalk. Then I stood there, staring at the end of the sidewalk and the beginning of the parking lot.

And I saw a car coming in the parking lot, and I thought to myself ‘OHDEARLORDPLEASEFORGIVEMEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE’ and I ran in at 100 miles per hour, past the screen door and door and into the house.

Then after about three minutes, I realized that the car was not in fact, my mother’s, and I opened the door a little bit, and I realized that the person was gone.

Whew.

Then I stared at the parking lot, and then double doctor pepper super duper dared myself to step INTO THE PARKING LOT.

 

OH GEEZUS LOUISEUS I JUST DARED MYSELF DO TO SOMETHING POTENTIALLY FATAL AND DANGEROUS.

But I swung the door open (quietly, because if I did it loudly, it would arouse attention from my father who would, most likely, be half asleep and doing computer work in the basement) and ran out the door and ran to the parking lot, stared at a person who just happened to open their door to walk outside, and then sped right back into the house.

I felt like an idiot, but at the same time, felt a surge of triumph (very similar with when I came up with the idea), thinking to myself, “I did it! I did it! Now, all I have to do is walk all the way behind the house and near the woods, walk all the way around, to the play ground, then walk around and come back home. It would be an absolutely rebellious adventure! I would take my phone as light and as an emergency, in case I got kidnapped or wounded by a nearby lurking wolf, and I would go through all that darkness and then COME BACK HOME! WITH A NEW SELF AND NEW TRIUMPH AND AN ADVENTURE TO TELL!

So I took my phone (after looking for it), then marched out the door. I then realized that to my right, my neighbor was talking to whomever it was at the door for like hours, and to my left, this man was leaving his house and going to his car and going back and on and on and on.

This would require maximum stealth, because in order to get behind my house and travel that far, I’d have to pass either of them.

So I took my phone, ran to the sidewalk, and suddenly decided that I’d save this for another day, so I ran back inside, except I didn’t feel like opening the door to get back inside. It was a waste, all that time of going from house to sidewalk to house to parking lot to house to…

so I sat, right in front of the door, outside of the door, looking out onto the street. There were two bushes to the side of the door, so I could be easily concealed from my two neighbors who refused to stay inside the house.

I felt so rebellious, triumphant, and HIDDEN. I felt like I could sit here all day, because I had done something I had never done before, and next time, I might even wake up in the middle of the night and go on an adventure—maybe I’d even tell my friends to come, too—my neighbor friends, if they agreed.

Yes!

Sorry, buddy. You can't get an awesome job.

Now, I must wake up early--I must--it has become a mandatory something now. Every day--I have to wake up at six--by myself.
Oh, the horrors--
no human alarm to shake me awake and scream in my face to WAKE UP ALREADY, YOU'RE GOING TO MISS THE BUS.
(Those are the most efficient types of alarms--they're also known as grumpy frustrated mothers.)

Because today, I missed the bus (previous post), and my mother is thoroughly frustrated and mad. She says she will not take me to school if I miss the bus. Meaning, I'll have to skip school--which is awesome.
But there's more. (There's always more.) (No, sometimes, there actually isn't any more, because at one point, you'll have to stop. But in this case, there's more.)
Anyhow,
the 'more' is...

She won't call the school, either. For an excused absence.

And apparently, if you miss school with an unexcused absence, then you get suspended or something (which is what my mother says, but then again, she's not the school rulebook--I'll have to look that up).
Meaning, that'll stay on my criminal record for the REST OF MY LIFE.
Which is pretty scary, if I'm, say, applying for this really awesome job (which is scary, because I haven't thought that far into the future yet--I can't even imagine what job I'm applying for), and they look at my experience--decent; school/college--decent; blah blah--decent; criminal record--OH NO SHE GOT SUSPENDED FOR SKIPPING SCHOOL! WHAT IF SHE SKIPS A DAY OF JOB/WORK!?
And I won't get a job, and I'll become bankrupt, and I'll live on the str--

Actually, I'll just have to apply for a little less awesome job, but it's missing the chance to get into the awesome job. Anyhow, it's always more exciting to exaggerate a little bit and let others have more sympathy towards you.

Anyhow, even if I do miss the bus, and I can't go to school, what am I going to tell the principal/teachers? "Well, my mother refused to take me to school." What a REASON.
Even if it's true.
I bet the teachers would TOTALLY understand and say, "Oh, I'm so sorry, Celine, you have such a lazy misunderstanding mother, she didn't take you to school... Well, we'll let this one go, but if you SKIP SCHOOL NEXT TIME YOU'RE GOING TO GET SUSPENDED AND IT'LL STAY ON YOUR CRIMINAL RECORD THE REST OF YOUR LIFE AND YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO GET AN AWESOME JOB."

Oh, joy.
I'm going to be so scared every morning--to miss the bus.
One day, I might just burst and finally crack and start screaming and hollering and running out of the house without my backpack or something.
Maybe not.
But anyhow,
I'll always have to wake up without that oh-so-efficient human alarm. D:

At least I'll be prepared for college--no human alarms there.

Today I missed the bus.

Every day, I wake up late.
Because every night, I sleep late. Almost to the extent that I can say every morning, I sleep late.
But sleeping late results to waking up late, which results to many things.

Like missing the bus.

Every other day, I have to go to band--riding the high school bus (oOOH HIGH SCHOOLERS). I'd drag myself to the bus stop, half awake, then drag myself onto the bus, search wearily for an empty two seater (unless my friend is there, in which case, I must find a three seater---and it's always me who has to find the seat because I get on the bus first), and if I do (which, most of the time, I do), I sit there.
And to tell other people that they are NOT going to sit next to me, I put my backpack there. Or I sit in the MIDDLE of the two seater, so only two half-people can technically sit next to me, and nobody there is a half-person.
Most of the time, that works.
Except for this one time I forgot to do that, and this high schooler (girl) suddenly almost sat on my lap, so I couldn't help moving over, and I looked at her--she was smiling at me.
I was thinking 'do I know you?' But of course, I kept quiet, because what do you know--high schoolers might do anything sudden, such as yell at you or suddenly start reciting a stream of profanity.
Anyhow, besides that one time, the two-seater thing worked.

So I went to the bus stop, and my friend wasn't there, so I thought, 'Oh, well, I have to find a two seater today, then.'
And I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And the bus came, and it PASSED RIGHT BY ME and I put my hands up like 'WHAT THE FLOWERS! GEEZUS LOUISEUS HELLO I'M RIGHT HERE!'
But it passed by, and as it did, I caught a glimpse of the bus driver--a scrawny looking man, instead of the usual chubby old lady who would slump in her seat and grunt 'good morning' the moment you laid a foot on the bus.
So it wasn't my bus. It was another school's bus, because I knew that three buses came to our neighborhood--that bus, our Holmdel High School bus, and the short bus. I'm sure there are others, but that's the only ones that come during the time the Holmdel bus comes.
The bus that passed by me today and totally ignored me usually came AFTER the Holmdel bus, in which case, told me that I'd missed the bus today.
And the short bus comes before the Holmdel bus comes, and it stops right in our court. I've never seen anyone get on, but I assume it's for people with disabilities--the short buses usually give that purpose.
Anyhow, I saw the bus driver, and it hit me--I'd missed the bus.
But, unlike any normal eighth grader would have done, I waited a bit more, in desperate hopes.
And...
the bus didn't come.

So I dragged myself back home, which, in the state of the situation, I was a bit alarmed, so I was three fourths awake (very awake, compared to the usual ratio of awake/asleep-ness). And I walked inside the house, imagining the possibilities, the reactions my mother would make--
Too late, I had already opened the door--no time anymore to prepare myself for her reaction.
"MOM I MISSED THE BUS!"
I waited, very patiently, for footsteps stomping down the stairs.
But no.
This is my mother--
from her bed, "YOU GOTTA LEARN A LESSON--I'M NOT TAKING YOU TO BAND."
And what choice do I have? Walk to school? Drive to school?
or...
Wait for the Satz bus to come.
I had no choice but to wait.

Now that I think about it, I think my mother said that 'I have to learn a lesson' because she just didn't feel like getting out of her bed at the time. Maybe... :D
So, as I was waiting for fifty minutes, I wrote this post--and finished it when I came home--which is now. :D

SO, that's what happened today.