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Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Superb. Awkward Little Kid.

He approached the two of us with a visible confidence, maybe even a tinge of egotism and possibly the phrase "I love myself" written all over him. Although I hated his overly raptured ego and for leaving us after we declined his offer to grind-dance along with the Barbie Girl song, he was definitely good-looking (and i guess now, he had all the right to be conceited)--I was hyperventilating heavily (in my mind) and thought I've missed out on a good catch: a decadent grilled halibut panfried with peperonata. Hmm. Delicious.

It took me seventeen years to realize that wooing the opposite sex using a womanly technique is completely foreign to me; when other females have an easy time making guys sweat and quiver and getting them afterwards, I am having a hard time to even converse to any guys I like(disregarding my usual judgementality crap: "oooh he's hot. i like him already, baby!" ?? ). I do have male friends but I always feel different and awkward the first time I meet them. I have had 3 chances to get to know someone new the past weeks but I blew it within 10 minutes by my fake shyness that always comes as possibly a cold, "uninterested" attitude, a Berlin Wall barrier against rejection and judgement.

I met my friend's brothers last week in May and although I had a great time hanging out with them at the movies, my friend did not want me to date her older brother because quote-unquote he's an asshole. The last time I've checked however, any guy is an asshole; this, according to the popular belief amongst women that men, in general, are unsentimental jerks who are afraid to portray emotions and be called homosexuals. Men want their masculinity to prevail but I don't really buy such mentality. I think deep down inside such men are sensitive human beings not afraid to cry during Bambi and get mooshy in the middle of a chick flick. Anyway, I wasn't really planning to date him although I thought it would be good for me now to go beyond friendship when it comes to guys (after all i'm not getting any younger ahaha). Strike 1: I listened to my friend.

I might have scared off another guy from the tennis court my friends and I usually play at every weekend. I would have never noticed him if he didn't start to show off his sickening tennis moves. He would be able to strike out his opponent then give me a look as if I should be cheering for I am his number one fan. Well, I was impress alright and I thought staring equated our very lame attempt to flirt with each other until after his game, that is. One of my girlfriends ask for his name then eventually told I like him and unconciously, I said "Eeewww, noooo". God, didn't it sound so stupid or what? I thought so. Strike 2: I am not girly enough. I don't laugh like a whore. I'm always in denial.

Then there was Mr. Egobighead at my Graduation night, trying to get a move and a flat booty to grind with. When i tried to get away from the dance floor he asked Ama_n if i was scared to dance with boys. I went back after 5 minutes however, he took my hands and made me do a twirl--and so i did. Although after 15 minutes of no distinguishable action coming from Ama_n and I, he randomly left and started dancing with a white girl, exploiting some sexual moves that can possibly get anyone pregnant just by looking at them get down and dirty in the dance floor. He could have been mine if I knew how to dance--seizure dance. Strike 3: I'm stiff like a stick.

Solution: Join the missionary, be a nun.

P.S. I'll be in the Philippines for 6 weeks. My flight is tomorrow night, PI Airlines. I don't know what to expect but i'm going down there anyway. Thank you, Jimmey.

My mind's unweaving/ 10:32 PM

Thursday, June 21, 2007

High School Liberty

Painting my toenails with a very deep purple-pink nail polish was the hardest part I had to do yesterday. It was like putting make-up in a homosexual face that is traced with pimples and bumps over the years and had been working under the sun for too long, sunburnt with a reddish-black color. My own feet makes me hurl not because it has smell to it but because how ugly they look like--typical man's feet...or worse, monkey feet that even the slightest tinge of color cannot give justice to. And so, my battle for my feet insecurity continue as I reluctantly painted my nails with a bold color that looked drag-queeny soon after.

Yes, my graduation ceremony was yesterday with all the lameness you could possibly imagine. I managed to make myself look dignified with all the make-up I put myself under and a very cinnamony dress I bought at the mall for a bargain. My wonderful locks had to endure a seemingly good full cups of mousse, a European one for that, as it smelled nothing fruity the whole night--although it certainly had a smell. The chemicals was not able to keep my hair still and pretty, however and I blame the strong summer winds (the weather) for not always obliging to my wishes during special occasions. I ended up looking like I just got out of bed after the long procession of woop woops and toot toots that was akin to the star spangled banner only with proud people who could not contain their excitements for all the green and whites aligned identical to a church choir.

It was a death march with the infamous graduation song, I tell you. The program started with all of the graduates walking towards the grassy football field, welcomed with a good amount of our endearing mentors who supposedly witness us grow within four years. Was there any truth to it? Possibly, although a handful of the teachers wanted us to be out of there as soon as possible for I guess, I, for one had cause a tremendous amount of white hairs as I failed to awe them with my asian smartness telepathy. But I will miss some of my teachers too, especially the ones who believed that I can do so much more, had push me in the brink of despair, or completely made my days at that school a tad bit ironic. I wished I could have sugar coated my existence more and sucked up to them like blueberry lolipops--lickity lick lick, yum.

Having possibly 400 people out there brought me to another reality check: that even how we each want to feel special so badly, we are only a bunch of single grains in the shore amongst countless sands, some ready to take a plunge to the great big sea and others waiting for the waves to be taken away. My school's class of '07 was impressive..still is, although there are many other Harvard bound students out there, other Keekee's, and bunch of smart Erikas ready to compete in a more combative environment whether it be in the east coast or in my own LA backyard. Ironically, this graduation hasn't hit that many people. I think the heat had something to do with it yesterday as we all basically got bake with the culminating Valley weather. The thought of the dorky mortarboards dominated our brains and the long boring procession of getting our diploma cases killed our excitement all-together and thus, no teary-eyed--not even from a cry baby like myself. Although the drama will get around eventually, sooner or later.

After the last words from our Class president, we randomly threw our caps towards the sky, a true sign that we dreaded the mortarboards or we're captivated by the prime moment of being able to stick through in an ascetic 4 years of training.

It has been four special years and a special day while Taco Bell, the sudden stares from fellow male graduates who had never given me any look before, and friends hugging and sweeping me off my feet afterwards made yesterday definitely a seemingly wonderful ending for one of the most ridiculous chapters of my life. Thank You.

*picture was taken during Grad. Practice

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My mind's unweaving/ 9:15 PM

Saturday, June 16, 2007
GRADUATING: At long last! Thank you for the $#@T.

I laughed, I cried, but mostly I spent my time laughing so hard and ended up crying afterwards. That's how my school year has been; I, in the most awkward positions but laughing or crying in the middle of a serious conversation, a funny joke, or nothing to be happy or sad about-moments. I seemingly enjoyed every minute of such crudeness--from getting scolded for not bringing my artworks during due dates, for hiding from Mr. Stew even though he was right in front of me, and for getting arrested for "not-being-in-school" that Friday afternoon I was running late for school (wayy late). Now, I am given another opportunity to enjoy a tear (a couple maybe) for I've reached another chapter in my emerging life: I'M GRADUATING, BABY!!

As you can see, my happiness comes in small packages although this year has truly been a struggle for me. I think getting through a very tiny loop hole is something to celebrate about and thus i'm deliriously happy, like a million dollar worth for managing to get out of "the" jungle alive as well as a proud owner of a silver tassel and an achievement award from my very awesome Art teacher. I remember loathing Art and swore that I am deserving to get a recognition for choosing it over other things (Like journalism! arrr) but now that I did, I am contented. The whole art experience and knowing that I truly have a knack for the arts is enough for me to ignore the negatives presented in my class; it was then later this semester I realize I have so much more to offer and that is enough to make me feel like I'm worth more than the $5 bill I have right now.

So yes, yes, I'll be walking up the stage (finally!) with my own trademark smile and "I told you so" echoing in my mind, maybe even picturing everyone naked and laughing my ass off for their belly flabs (or not). Like I have reiterated over and over again, I am very eager to get out of high school, reason being the gagy mushy stuff fake friends tell over other fake friends, the KIPs on the yearbooks, and just all the last days debacle of being friends till death do them apart crap. I'm pretty sure however, that I have made genuine friends through out my four years in CP. I've lost some, gained, and made my bond with a few, stronger, in a course of two years. Now, I'm more than $10 richer, don't you think!?

At commencement you wear your square-shaped mortarboards. My hope is that from time to time you will let your minds be bold, and wear sombreros. ~Paul Freund

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My mind's unweaving/ 7:21 PM


Warning: This personal blog can be fatal to your health; read responsibly. Fasten seatbelt when doing so.

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Tis written unlike no other in my attempt for creativity. Here, you'll find *fragmented fictional and real stories that are relevant to my life in some ways. I don't enumerate things that happens to me everyday nor do i purposely rant about lame, stupid "teenage" cliches. My entries are from memory, past experiences, reviews (food, book, movie) and my opinions on current issues--and no, no politics whatsoever. Grammatically incorrect to a degree but nothing that can make you squirm (or so I hope not).

P.S. Put in mind that I'm a scrumptious-looking cupcake and you know you can never, EVER, resist me...so no hating or you'll never get to eat "us" again! lol

an AA

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