love, read, write

 

Greetings, readers and writers of the world. I welcome you to my undernourished and famished blog.

Recently (today) I started reading Anthem by Ayn Rand, which I assure you is a very very interesting book, to say the very very least of it. It… hm… I have not quite finished formulating my thoughts on the book, due to the fact that I have only reached the halfway mark of the book. It, however, got me thinking even when I was traversing the first few pages. I think that reading the book will give me decisive opinions about the book and its content, but for now I will leave it with a question mark ?

Here is a writing response I wrote on a lonely blank Microsoft Word document once I got home (I was reading this book whilst waiting for my mother to finish doing her religious duties). I read it over and realized that it quite nicely summarizes what I have gotten out of the book so far.

I encourage you all to attempt to read at least the first page of this book (excluding the Author’s forward and Editor’s note because neither the Author’s forward nor the Editor’s note will get anybody remotely interested in reading the book. Though I must say, the Author’s forward was interesting considering it being an Author’s forward. But nevertheless what I mean to say is that you should read the first page of the actual book, Chapter One of Equality 7-2521).

  

  

A man once said, “Every man for himself.” But today, no man is for himself. No man is for the self. Man is for the society. Man is for others. Man is to do what other man is to do. Man is to smile, man is to laugh, but man is not to smile and laugh at what society thinks man should not smile and laugh at. Man is to do what man’s neighbor does, as long as man’s neighbor does what his neighbor does. Man is to think about his role in society. Man is to give up some ideals for the good of the other man, and man is to wonder if man should pursue his dreams or pursue money. Man is to think that he is living a life full of freedom and liberty and choice. Man is to live happy, man is to live free, and man is to live content. Man is not to think about why society is created. Man is not to question the rules in which all man follow. Man is allowed to dream big, but not dream far. Man is to assimilate into the crowd, and man is to stay that way, blending into the sea of monotonous unicolor revealing no personality and no opinion. Man is to think about what others might think of him, and man is to resist from doing his own wants which lay outside of the social norm. Man is to be social, but in the way society wants man to be. Man is to do what he thinks will make other like him. Man is to do what he thinks is thought of as normal. Man is to be normal. Man is to obey.

A man once asked a crowd, a crowd of supposed diversity, a crowd of many men, a crowd of individuals, a question. And such a question held not one answer, but many. Yet it was a question which required knowledge of the social norm, which required an answer which was open to many but accepting to one. It was a question which tested the very essence of Man, is Man for himself, or is Man for society? Is man for his own opinion, or is man for pleasing others?
A man once asked a crowd, a crowd of supposed diversity, a crowd of many men, a crowd of individuals, a question. The man blinked once and soon he was simply asking one man a question, and he replied with one answer. It was not any man, but Man. Man did not hesitate and Man did not think.
A man once asked a crowd, a crowd of supposed diversity, a crowd of many men, a crowd of individuals, a question—only to realize he was mistaken, for he was simply asking one question to one Man for one answer.

 

 

(Note: the Man and Society mentioned in my writing above do not correspond with the Man and Society in the book Anthem by Ayn Rand. Though it very closely relays the ideas of the society in the book, this writing is actually my thoughts and opinions on our society that we live in today.)

Hi all! It's already the summer, and I'm going through my daily routine (which I planned out down to the minute) that is busier than school, possibly. But whatever. I made it so that by 3:00, I'm done with everything and I can do whatever I want after that point.
You'll all be glad to hear that I put BLOGGING in my schedule! I set aside a whole hour to blog. From 7:30 to 8:30! I can blog on my innumerable annoying blogs (many of which I have not posted more than thrice on) for a whole entire hour! (Although I'm probably going to erase the majority of my innumerable annoying blogs due to their inactivity and vestigial purpose.)

So yesterday, I went on a trip to the library and got my summer reading books. Thank goodness I live on the edge of town--the scramble for the summer reading books had already begun. It's inevitable that most kids are going to go to the library to borrow the summer reading books (unless some people decide they're worthy of purchase), and there's obviously more than five people in my grade. This means that by perhaps the first day of summer vacation, all of the libraries are out of that specific book and it's on hold for so many people that they're not sure when it's going to be available again. (This actually happened.)
So again, thank goodness I live at the edge of town. The library that we go to is in another town, who doesn't have the same summer reading books as us, meaning it's available. (:
Unfortunately, though, there are more students living at the edge of town than just my family, so quite a few books were on hold for 'an indeterminable amount of time' as well. But still. One book was still not checked out! (The Book Thief by Markus Zusak)

I am going to try to stock up on some good books this summer. I've gained interest in non-fiction books, as well, which is strange, because before, non-fiction never really seemed to appeal to me.
(I'm going to have to decipher the Dewey decimal system, though. I really can't find my way through the library. All that stuff from second grade. Have to pull that out of the back of my brain again.)
I think I should start reading a lot more biographies, since I'm at the age where I have to start thinking about professions. Where else to start better than in books about the successes of human history? (Or the tragedies, for that matter.) Perhaps they will serve as an inspiration, give me an idea of what some jobs are like, and also give me courage for my future.

Aaaand, I've found a new interesting author to search for. John Green! I've been watching their (John Green and his (awesome) brother, Hank Green's) CrashCourse videos (which are short, concise, entertaining, yet very informative videos about a range of subjects such as Biology, Chemistry, US history, and even Literature) on youtube, as well as their Vlogbrothers channel. It's funny, seeing 'nerds' vlog and rant about nerdy things. I've also heard about how great an author he is (or rather, how great his books are), so yesterday, before going to the library, I checked on the online catalog if they had any John Green Books. (We do that a lot--before going to the library, we check if they're actually in the library in the first place.)
So apparently, a lot of people think that John Green is a great author. A LOT. Because ALL of his books, and I mean all were checked out--not only checked out, but PUT ON HOLD for an "indeterminable amount of time"!!
Thankfully, one book was just on hold by one person (and not, cough, an indeterminable amount of time-amount-of-people COUGH), so we put that on hold, too. I have a feeling that it's going to be on hold for an indeterminable amount of time in the near future, as well.

Welp, I commend you, John Green, for driving me crazy, and making our library busy with your books. And giving us only two weeks to read the book when other people put the book on hold after us (heh, we usually renew the books for nearly months, until it's too late and we forget and we have to pay a fine to the library).


Happy reading!



PS. Oh, and regarding how my "very loose" English essay went, she actually gave me an A! Which is the weirdest thing. I guess some people like my sarcastic tone. Yay! Huzzah! (I've always wanted to say that. Huzzah. Heehee.)

Hi y'all! I'm actually on time this time! It's Sunday, and I am dutifully posting the weekly post. ;D

This time, since I'm really busy and I have to go somewhere in approximately ten minutes, I'm going to have to make this a quick post. But thank goodness I actually have something to post about. Heh.. Otherwise I'd be rambling on about nonsense and going off tangents and wasting too many words.

I hope you've all noticed the slight change in the blog theme/color.. I thought that the blog design before was a bit too dark and very cluttered and not neat and very... uh, incompetent. I don't know the word to describe it. I just didn't like it. So I changed it. I like it a lot more, now. It's very neat and simple and not too-ordinary, but not too extravagant with a bunch of drawings everywhere, if you know what I mean.

I also like the color theme. It's nice and calm, with a light pastel-ish (not really) blue and a maroon-ish red... Before, I could barely read the words because of the dark background...
Simple. I like simple.

ANYWAYS.

Looking back...
I've been looking at my previous posts these days--and I mean way back. When I first started my blog. And it's so strange reading them, thinking that at one point in time, I was writing those same words about those books. It's weird. My writing style has really changed. Back then, it was a lot... simpler. And... I don't know.. How do I describe it? A lot more polite. Not to say that I'm rude now. Oh, I hope I'm not writing rudely now...

It might sound strange, but it sounds a lot like my brother's writing style, his writing style on his blog. (He's in fifth grade.) I can't describe it. It sounds very far-away and less personal, and... hmmm... a lot younger, should I say? I don't know..!
But it's nice reading them again, thinking of the good'ol days.
And it's very interesting just skipping through the posts, reading them in time's progression, and noting the slow yet noticeable development of my blog-voice. You know, that slightly sarcastic tone of voice that I often use? I don't know... But my voice has definitely changed from the beginning of 2010 to now, May of 2013. Wow. That's three years. Its a pretty long time, actually.

This blog is three years old.

Whew.

I didn't really take that in consciously until now.

...wow.

Well, it's getting late (I came back from the-place to finish the post), so I must go to sleep now.

See you all next week.

Au revoir.

Once again I am sitting in a dark and dusty corner, reflecting my terrible deeds of these past weekends. Despite the notification set on my phone to vibrate and scream "BLOG POST BLOG POST BLOG POST" every Saturday at 4:00 PM, I have neglected my blogful duties and descended into the low levels of nothingness.

However, here I am, a new human, a new being, reborn from the filths of procrastination and ready to face the new life that is ahead of me. What gave me this life changing awakening, you ask?

Well for one, a friend who has asked me why I was not posting (which surprised me to think that someone actually checks my blog ^^), and also that pang of guilt when you see your blog in your bookmarks bar while you're searching up articles for your research paper due Tuesday.

Speaking of my friend, she made a blog! You guys should go to her blog, here. It's about reading and she posts every Friday about the books she read that week and opens the comments for discussion. Definitely check her blog out.


AND.
I am back to my blogginess.

Recently, I have come up with a fanstastical story idea that I will not reveal and only keep to myself. Because I need to develop it more. Plus it's not something that I'm ready to share yet. Heh.

Also recently, I came up with another fantastical story idea that I promptly forgot afterwards, putting me in this chronic state of stress that will most definitely linger through the week. I need to find another story idea !!

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Now, to move to the real bulk of this post. It

Barnes and Noble is my synonym to awesome. It is the place that pops up in mind when somebody says Heaven. It is the very essence of my being. It is the core of my heart. It is where I belong.

Yes, I may be over-exaggerating, but it has been and probably will always be the place that I love to go to, that I will probably go to most when I am old and have lots of free time and have a nice job with not too many work hours and a substantial pay and I have some time to spend happily. I have always dreamed of my future life (I'm sure everyone has), and every time I think of it again, I add new elements, new items to my list of "What-I'll-Do-When-I-Get-Old".
Here is my dream day:

It's been a long work day today, and I decide to go to a little cafe to buy a blueberry muffin and a coffee (or maybe tea, green tea). I sit down next to the window, looking out to the busy city and people briskly walking by, so immersed in their own lives and oblivious to the beating hearts all around them, pushing their way past to rush to their destination. I sip my coffee (or green tea) and finish my muffin. I sit, looking at the clock now, emptily looking at the little second-hand hesitantly ticking continuously and endlessly, remembering to pause a little at each second. 
I blink, and looking at the time, brush the crumbs off my lap and pick up my bag, swing it over my shoulder, and lift the warm coffee (or green tea) cup off the table. I throw the napkin away on the way out, letting the tiny bells jingle behind me as I push myself into the busy streets of bustling busy lives. 
At the next corner, I turn right and open the door to walk into a cool, air-conditioned building. I am met with a pang of silence, contrasting from the noise and hassle and beeping and honking echoing outside. I look back at the streets through the glass doors and windows of the building with the words "BARNES & NOBLE" inscribed backwards on the surface, so that the busy street-walkers outside can read the words appropriately. The noise from outside is muffled, and for a moment the bookstore is filled with the loud beeps and honks of the outside as another person walks inside. 
I turn back around as the door closes again, and I walk to a small circular table amongst other wooden tables set aside for the Starbucks' customers, set my coffee (or green tea) down, and place my bag on the table next to it. 
Pulling the chair back, I slowly seat myself and pick up the coffee (or green tea), now cooling from the time and temperature. I take a sip and close my eyes, listening to the soft music rippling from the speakers at the corner of the store. 
I pull out my laptop from my bag, place the bag on the floor leaning against my chair, and set the laptop on the table. My stories are still open from yesterday, and I continue it, typing away for another hour or so. 
Afterwards, I close my laptop, put it back in my back, sling it over my shoulder, and throw out my finished coffee (or green tea). Looking around, I walk towards the escalator situated in the middle of the store, sloping upwards to the second level where nonfiction and historical fiction are harbored.
Another hour passes while I skim through World War II, the Korean War, the Renaissance, and other events with capital letters and important people.
I leave the bookstore with a second bag now in my left hand in place for the coffee (or green tea) that had warmed my hand earlier, and I catch a subway to the nearest train station to the outskirts of town, where my tiny house is.
In the train, I sit at a window seat, with my two bags on my lap, and untangle my earphones to listen to some Chopin nocturnes or perhaps some Beethoven sonatas while I watch the scenery pass by my window. 
I walk home the last mile and unlock my way inside, putting my bags on the chair pulled back in a hurry from the morning, and put my keys on the hook hanging from the wall.
I walk to my office and emerge with a huge canvas and a paint kit, step out the back door and set my canvas down on the easel that has made indents in the ground from the months it has been blocking the grass from growing. 
I sit down in the chair and pull out the paints and begin painting happily until the sun sets, when I close my kit and walk back inside, letting the canvas dry on the table next to my window and putting away the canvas that was there from the day before.

This is sad. I am beginning to feel very cheesy and very 'eugh', if you know what I mean. Everything's so mushy and happy and it's actually making me feel appalled because of the extreme happy-rainbow feeling of it.

Anyhow, that was a small story that I wrote to accompany my idea of Barnes and Noble and the calm feeling it has (plus a few other cheesy accessories (paintingahemahem) that reek of the stink of blue cheese).

I quite often spend my time at Barnes and Noble, especially when my mother has lengthy meetings after Korean School. I'd ask her to drop me off at Barnes and Noble so that I could spend a good two hours wallowing knee-deep in the rich information and mind blowing stories that they nurture in their humongous sanctuary of novels and memoirs and pages and covers. First, I'd wander to the escalator because the first floor doesn't have too much books (New Releases, Top Selling Books, informational How-To books, New Nooks/eBooks, and Starbucks). From there I would basically wander without much purpose. I usually go to the nonfiction section first to look for some interesting books that I can read. Last time I went I found a particularly interesting book on Asperger's Syndrome, which I read about for an hour and a half, for example. There's not one specific section that I usually go to (though I do tend to always visit the Arts section at least once every visit), and I search through the shelves for interesting titles or topics or authors until I get about two or three that I can read for a few hours. I'd always sit right next to the window that stretches from ceiling to floor, facing the parking lot outside (I know, it's not such a great view, not like I'm looking at the Eiffel Tower standing majestically with my peripheral vision) and read the books with the sun as my reading light. My back would be to the Romance or Science fiction bookshelves (those are the bookshelves next to the windows). And there I'd sit for hours on end, jumping from nonfiction to fiction to How-To's to Biographies until I get the annoying Rrrrrrrrrrring! Rrrrring! ringtone that can only mean that it's time to recall where the books belong, put them back, and get ready to go home.

So yeah. Moral of the story is.
Barnes & Noble is awesome.


(You know, I should be getting money for this. I'm practically advertising the awesomeness of this store.)

(...)

(Naw, I'm just joking around. I don't need money for the awesomeness of Barnes&Noble. As long as it exists I'm fine.)







I hope you wallow in the cheesiness of these stories and also have somewhat of a good day.
(Somewhat. I emphasize the somewhat.)

Bye!

I know; I didn't post last Saturday (or Sunday, or whatever). But I will make it up by posting twice this week. Early and late of this week.
But forgive me, I'll be quite busy on Saturday due to a piano competition. I might post on Sunday.

Today's writing will be

ohh.

I have no idea.
This is strange; I've never not had an idea in my mind before.
Ugh.

(Maybe I've forgotten yet had a faint idea, but not really blankness.)

Oh! I know. It doesn't have to be writing, right? So I'll write about the book we're reading about in school.

We are reading a book called And Then there were None by Agatha Christie. It's a mystery novel that she wrote quite a while ago, whose title was changed twice due to its politically incorrectness and offensiveness.

Okay. SPOILER ALERT.

There. That was a nice and clear admonition. Those who have not read it, you really don't want to read any farther than this, because this is a mystery novel, where 'who dies' and 'who doesn't' really matters.

Anyway, I've already read this book before, quite a while ago, actually, around fifth or sixth grade. So I knew the ending.

Well, basically, it's about a bunch of people who indirectly killed someone. They 'killed' them in such a way that evidence couldn't be brought up for or against them, and they were claimed innocent of the crime. Those people are brought to an island, each invited by a friend or an acquaintance who was temporarily out of contact with them (meaning that each person couldn't exactly talk to the person and ask them if they sent it). They get to the island, and realize that the place's atmosphere is not one that was referred to in each of their invitation. One person was invited by a friend so that they could talk about old times, one person was invited to come to be a doctor and try to help someone's health, etc. Each come for vastly different reasons, yet they get to the island (called Soldier Island) and realize that the other people on the island are people they have no relations with and have never seen or met before.

After this, they begin to realize that somehow, they are trapped and the boat (which usually come regularly every morning) stops coming. They are trapped on the island with only the ten of them. (There are ten people.)
Slowly, one by one, they each die and they realize that the "Mr. Owen" (the person who invited most of the people on the island) is responsible for all of this.

And in the end, they realize that it is one of them. Someone among those ten people is this mysterious "Mr. Owen" who kills each person following a grotesque poem titled "Ten Little Soldier Boys."

Yeah. I just pretty much wrote a summary.
And I don't know why I wrote "spoiler alert" because now that I look at it, there really aren't any major spoilers.

But anyhow, just in case. If you haven't read the book and you're still reading this post, then I'll tell you: you really haven't gotten too much of the book spoiled, so don't get too upset. All of the scary/creepy/mysterious details are in the book; it's still worth reading.

So yeah.

Bye!

Thought I’d be the usual irresponsible person that I am and forget about posting?

Well..

HAH.

:D

I remembered!

Which is because I set a reminder on Saturdays to post on my blog, but yesterday I was all busy and stuff (not to mention I got home and just sat on the couch blankly for about five hours hurhur).

Then I remembered today about posting. Yay! Plus, today I have decided to do all of my homework and EVERYTHING possible so that tomorrow, which is President’s Day (a school holiday), I shall relax without anything bothering me (such as frantic thoughts about doing homework at 11:00 PM).

Which is actually what I plan every day before there is a school holiday. I usually end up procrastinating anyway. Oh, what’s the use. This is an era of procrastinating adolescents. What can I say.

 

Today’s writing is…

hmm.

Frustration.

(No, it’s about frustration. I’m not frustrated. Heh.)

 

“I’ll be back around four thirty!” I shout. Slam the door. Walk down the steps. Don’t even look back, no use waiting. And, of course..

The door swings open.

I don’t look back. Keep walking.

“No you won’t!”

Keep walking.

“You’re coming back on the first bus. You need to clean the house before the landlord comes!”

“You do it,” I say. Mainly to myself. Too loud. She heard.

A few curses, something hits my backpack. Slipper, probably.

Don’t even care about what the neighbors think anymore. Just keep walking.

“Have an important meeting at school! Be back around four thirty!”

I imagine a nice mother, smiling and waving, saying “Sure, honey! Have fun!” Or at least just wave and disappear behind the door.

Some curses. None that I haven’t heard.

Another hit. Other slipper, probably.

She has good aim. I chuckle. Could’ve gotten somewhere with that.

Actually, no. Not with that personality. Couldn’t have gotten anywhere, not with that personality.

. . . . . .

“Mom, I’m staying after today. I have a Green club meeting today.”

“Don’t you have the other meeting today, too? I thought you in Math club, too!” She says, in her broken English, strong accent. I’ve gotten used to that—you kind of have to. But sometimes, it’s scary. The only time she speaks in English is when it’s important. And usually, her value of importance is different from mine.

“Oh, yeah. I know.. But… The Green club meeting is more important.”

“No! No it’s not! The Green club is the small club you join for fun! Pick up trash at park for community service! Not the serious club! You need to be on math team!”

“No, but Mom—it’s really important today. We’re planning new ideas for the club! I want to be the President of the club next year!”

“Why you wanna be the president of the Green club? Why you not be the president of math team? Math team is better! You go farther!”

“Mom. There is no math team president. You just try out.”

She stares at me, indignantly.

I decide to tell her, then. “Besides! I didn’t even make it last week!”

Her eyes widen. “What!? You didn’t make it?”

“What, I’m not a math person!”

“Not the math person! Not the math person! Why you so stupit? You have to study, study hard. I came here for better life, for you, and what? You not study hard! I gave you the textbook to study! You have to work harder! What you want to do when you grow up? Be the hobo?”

“I want to be a vet!”

“You wanna help animal? Be the doctor and help human! Make more money!”

“Mom, I have to go. The bus is coming soon. And I’m just going to the Green club meeting.”

“No, go to math team! I write the letter to teacher for you. Let you try out one more time.”

I sigh, exasperated. “Mom!”

I open the door to leave, but she suddenly stops me, shoving a humongous lunch box in my face. “You forgot the lunch!”

I look at the huge bulk. “What is this?”

“It’s the good food! Help you grow stronger! Taller! Have to eat it all! Not one rice left!” And she pats me on the back while pushing me out the door.

“Have the goot day! Go to the math club!” She shows her teeth in an awkward smile, and waves half-heartedly.

I sigh.

. . . . . .

Cold outside. Sitting alone. First two seater right behind the doors. I put my head on the window to sleep, but the broom wedged between the seats and the window (probably for cleaning the bus) is poking into my arm.

Pull out the permission slip in my jacket pocket. All wrinkled. What am I gonna tell the teacher.

She won’t sign it because I have to wash the dishes for her.

She won’t sign it because she’s an insensitive human who won’t do anything herself.

She’s a parasitical idiot who I refuse to admit as my biological mother.

She won’t sign it.

She’s in the hospital?

Mind is blank. What should I say?

I really need to go this time. I really want to. Important for my career. I want to try this out.

Test if this is right for me. If this is where I’m meant to go.

. . . . . .

I’m sitting squished in between two random seniors, barely awake, when I remember. We’re getting our midterms back today! For math!

I sigh. I’m barely managing a ninety in that class. I didn’t understand two of the chapters so far, and right now, I feel really behind. A feeling of anxiety crawls up my back and bites me in the neck.

What if I get a low grade? Even an 85 will bring my grade down. What’ll Mom say?

Could I maybe ask for a retake?

But what if I do worse?

Maybe to ask for extra credit?

But he doesn’t do extra credit.

What am I going to do—I couldn’t even finish the whole test!

She’s not going to let me go to Green club anymore then.

What am I going to do?

. . . . . .

Best thing is, I have World History first period. Don’t even have time to think about any lies.

Looking through the window—door’s closed. Purple tie today, Mr. Ellis. My least favorite color.

An omen, perhaps?

Should I walk in? Then it’s more time to talk privately. More time to reveal that I can’t go.

But. Less time for excuses.

Walk in? Don’t walk in?

He sees me through the window. Dang it.

Opens the door. Smiling.

“Heeey, how’ya doing? I see you’re early today. Come in! What were you doing out there, standing awkwardly? Don’t want to be in World History more than the required time, eh?”

He laughs.

I smile. Awkwardly.

Expression changes. Probably means he remembers—

“Oh, right! So, did you think about going to the Politics Convention? You know, I think that trip is perfect for you! You’re very involved in the political area, you know. And I see that you have a lot of opinions and insight.”

I think. Think. Think think think.

Blank.

Hospital? She’s in the hopsital?

But he might call her.

Sick?

Tell him she changed her number?

Make him call my aunt?

“Are you okay?” Different expression. Worried.

“Mmm, yeah, I’m fine.”

“So what do you think? Did you get it signed? Can you go?”

Think think think. The truth?

Maybe that’s best.

The truth.

“Mr. Ellis?”

“Yes?”

“The truth is…” The truth, the truth. The truth!

“The truth is—” I can’t. No. I can’t tell. “I can’t go.”

“Oh, Amanda! Why not?”

Think think think. Why not. Why not? Why not why not why not?

Something I can’t help. Something, something…

A funeral?

“We have a funeral on that day. I’m sorry. I can’t go.”

“Oh, Amanda, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Maybe next year, right?”

“Yeah…” Look down. “Maybe next year.”

“What does your mother think about it?”

“Oh, my mother?” Think think think. So he won’t have to call her. Something, something. To make him not want or need to contact her. “She thinks it’s a great opportunity for me. She likes it.”

“Glad to hear!”

“But she’s not sure if she can afford it…” I add. Ease the excuse into it.

“Oh! Well, always remember—we have financial aid, when you need it!”

“Oh. Well—”

A kid walks in. “Good morning, Mr. Ellis.” (With a nice, cordial reply, “Good morning, Eric, I like your shirt today! Abraham Lincoln. Haven’t seen him in a while, have we?)

“Well—”

Rrrrrrrrrrrrring!

Kids pour in.

“After class, okay?” Smiles.

Smile back. Awkwardly. Sit in seat.

 

And I walk straight out right after class.

 

. . . . . .

I have math fourth period. It’s excruciating. For three periods, I am frantically looking at the clock, wondering whether I want to see my grade soon, or I want to have it an unknown number for as long as possible.

The time passes by so slowly, I’m starting to think that the school might be doing this on purpose, making the clocks slower so that all math students can feel the extreme pain of the suspense dangling in front of our eyes.

First period.

Second period.

Third period…

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrring!

I rush out the door, dash right up the stairs, nearly run into about three people, and burst into the math room.

The teacher looks up at me, surprised. The room is empty, it’s bright, the walls are white, and it’s kind of blinding me in comparison with my third period class, which is psychology, where there’s only one window and the room’s really dark. It’s quiet, except for the rustling of papers at Mr. Lindberg’s desk.

“Never seen someone so eager to get to math class early.” He chuckles.

He’s sitting at his desk, with a pile of packets. Is that our midterm? I wonder aloud.

“No, it’s your midterm preparation packets. I’m almost done grading them.”

“Are we getting them back today?” I ask.

“No, probably tomorrow, I still have a few classes left. He pats the pile that I had been looking at.

I stare, confusedly, but then I realize that he has misunderstood me.

“Are we getting the midterm test grades back today?” I word it carefully.

“Oh, the midterms? Yes. We’re going to go over the test today. You won’t get to keep it, though.”

Oh.

“How did I do?” I can’t help it. I’m dying to know.

He smiles. “Kids ask me that all the time. I have no idea, Jess. Everyone asks me that, but I always answer, ‘I don’t know, as the Grading Machine.’ It was multiple choice. I’ve only graded the open ended, and besides—I’ve graded practically 100 of them. I don’t really remember. But you’ll find out soon enough.”

I sit at my desk.

The bell rings. Kids pour into the classroom. And I’m drumming my fingers on the desk.

“Okay class,” he walks up to the front of the room as the class settles down and some announce that they “heard from so and so that we’re getting the midterms back today.”

“You’re right,” he smiles to the girl in the back. “We’re getting them back today.”

The class stirs in reaction to this.

“I’ll hand it out alphabetically.”

Great, I’m about the thirteenth person. I’m sitting, looking around, hearing people with their “Yess!”s and their “I’m so stupid!”s.

He passes by and puts the packet face down on my desk.

Face down.

What does that mean?

I lift a corner, slowly. I peek at the grade.

Eighty three.

I sigh.

I lean back and cover my eyes.

I’m screwed.

. . . . . .

My heart is only half of what it was last week. When Mr. Ellis told me about it.

I can’t go.

I can’t go this year. Not next year.

Stupid mom. Not even a mom. Doesn’t even care.

Sit down at lunch. Halfway through the day. School food. Ugh.

. . .

I’m holding my books for the classes after lunch, but for some reason, it feels heavier than ever. I’m dragging myself to lunch, and I see Manda’s sitting at the table, picking at the school food. Chicken nuggets with peas and corn. Who serves chicken nuggets with peas and corn? Ugh—I hate it.

Until I remember, I have my packed lunch. Probably has some sort of oriental medicine to drink. The ugly-tasting one, the one I hate.

I sit down.

“Hey,” I say.

She nods.

“Something wrong?” I ask.

“Nah.” She continues picking at her food. She looks a little mad. I don’t know.

I open my lunch box.

“I hate math.” I say. I hate it, I loathe it, it’s so despicably ugly.

It’s always in my way for so many things. I just can’t understand it.

. . .

“Why? Did you do bad on the midterm or something?” Still thinking about Ellis and Politics Convention, though. Could’ve changed my life—but stupid Mother had to rip it up. I’d taped it up anyway. No use, though.

I can’t go.

After all of that excitement.

Stupid mom. She doesn’t help me, she doesn’t encourage me. Just brings me down.

Doesn’t care. Doesn’t give a flying Frisbee about anything I do. As long as I’m her stupid servant.

Just keeps me from getting anywhere in life. Throws obstacles, that’s what she does.

Hates me, that’s what she does.

Just there to do the dishes and make the food.

Probably doesn’t want me here, anyway. A nuisance.

Why can’t I have a mother who cares about what I get on a test.

Or just not have a mother at all. She just brings me down.

. . .

“Ughh… I didn’t even do that bad. I got an 83. But it’s going to bring down my grade down to a B, and my mom’s going to KILL ME!”

I sigh. I can’t even imagine the look on her face. Why can’t she just encourage me for who I am? Just try to let me to in the direction that I want? Not everyone has to be a doctor!

I want some freedom, some independence to think and go in the direction that I want. I just want her to stop caring about my grades, for once. Just let me do my own thing in school. Find my own path.

. . .

“You always say that.” Kill her? Mine will. Not yours.

Already throwing slippers, throwing dishes. Making me clean them up.

Who’s the mother who’s gonna kill?

Wants me home to clean the house.

Pshh.

Clean it yourself, woman.

Making the mess yourself.

Probably won’t even let me leave the house after college.

. . .

“Yeah, because she’s such a nosy mother. Why can’t she let me be? I’m me, and she’s her! This is my life, why does she care? If I get an 83 in math, I get an 83. But I’ll just do good in biology and English and it’s all fine! I can be what I want. But she doesn’t really care about what I want, does she? She just wants me to be a freaking doctor!” I’m so overemotional right now. All of this anger towards my mom suddenly heightens. Why can’t she just let me be an independent high schooler, so I can make my own choices?

At least you can make your own choices. At least you get to go to clubs you want. At least your mom doesn’t look at every single homework grade.

. .

“At least she cares.”

What do you know about mothers who don’t care about what you want? What do you know? Have you ever been hit by a slipper? Have you ever had to skip school because you had to clean the house all day under the threatening of ripping your binders and notes?

I didn’t think so.

You have a mother who packs you lunch, who cares about your grades, who wants you to do better. And me? My mother?

“Shut up.”

. .

“Seriously? Shut up? I won’t even be able to make my own choices, because she’s just forcing me to do everything!”

Have you ever been spanked and scolded because you got a C on your test? Have you ever been grounded for leaving your homework at home? Have you ever gotten a degrading lecture about your stupidity and ignorance?

Do you know how it feels to have a mother who forces you to do things you don’t want?

. .

“Look, Jess. Your mom cares about you. She wants you to succeed. Be happy she cares.”

If only you knew.

. .

“She cares? She doesn’t care! She doesn’t care at all! She doesn’t acknowledge that I have these feelings that are depressed when she bashes on my ignorance, that I have dreams that are crushed when she forces me in other directions, that I have dreams to do and be things she won’t let me do, no, not in a thousand years!”

.

I can’t take it. Whiny Jess today.

Stand up. Go to the library.

Need some peace.

.

Fine, then. Someone’s a little moody. Leave me. Not that you’ll ever understand. You, what with pursuing your dream. Fine. Fine, then. Go.

Soo... I completely forgot about this.
And it's February.
And I'm already neglecting the resolution.

It's really a disappointment.

Well, I'll start now.
That's gotta count for something.

Here's smwriting.
(Hehe say that aloud.)

"You had to sit next to strangers?" She exclaims in disgust, her face twisted from the repulsive thought.
"I did," I say. I smile, looking into her deep blue eyes, eyes crinkled from confusion.
"Wait..." She scratches her head, her red pigtails bouncing up and down. She's bouncing on her feet lightly, tilting her head, contemplating over the idea of this. "What if you had a cold?"
"I would either stay home, or I would have to go to school on the bus anyway."
"Does that mean if you stay home, you don't have to do your school work or do your Lessons or your Works?"
"Yes, it means that I just stay home and feel better."
"I wish I could do that!" She does her little skip as her pigtails spin in a full circle, dipping down and swishing up as she jumps excitedly. "Stupid Emerald!"
I smile. "But the next day, we had to make up the work we missed. Sometimes, if we missed a test, we'd have to take the test after school."
She stops bouncing. "After school? Do you mean after you did all of your Works?"
"Yes. We had something called periods, where the school day was split into little sections so that during one hour we would do our Math Works and another hour we would do the Spelling Works."
"Oh! Then did you stay after all of the periods ended?"
"Yes, exactly."
"How did you hand in all of your due Works that you missed?"
"I would go to school and get the worksheets and bring them home."
She looked up, sitting cross legged on the floor, tugging at her jumpsuit hanging loosely on her--she had just turned seven, and had a small complexion for her age. She had yet to grow into the uniform.
"Worksheets?" she said, her head bent down in concentration as she tried to fold up her sleeves with one hand.
"Yes, we used to do our Works on paper, and we would have them in piles. They were called notebooks, or packets, or binders. We collected all the Works for Math in one notebook and all the Works for Language in another notebook."
She looked up in horror. "Paper!?"
I frowned. "What is it?"
"My friend Beth told me that Paper was a very very very bad program! It killed lots of trees! Granny! Why did you do that?"
I laughed, a sweet laugh I hadn't felt in quite a while. "Oh, Annie! Paper wasn't a program!" I paused, to breathe more easily.
She frowned in confusion and worry. "Was it a robot? Or a virus?"
"No, Annie, it wasn't technology."
"It was an animal!?" She exclaimed.
I laughed again, and heartily at that. In between my sputtering laugh, I managed, "No, Little Annie, why on Earth would it be an animal? It's wood!"
She paused--I could see it in her face. Her rapid thinking and worriment suddenly stopped, and she looked up with a confused, empty face.
"On wood?"
She sat down.
"On wood?" She repeated, clearly trying to visualize this.
"How did you insert information?" She asked, finally.
"We used pencils. They are like styluses, but instead of being virtual, they actually make a mark on the surface."
"Whoa! How does that work?"
"It was a stick made of a special material called graphite. When you scratched it on a surface, it would make a mark. We sharpened the graphite pencils so that we could make thin lines, like the stylus does."
"A mark? Could you make the mark anywhere?"
"I could."
"Even on your hand?"
"Yes, anywhere."
She looked at her hands. "Whoa.."
Suddenly, her face changed expression. She looked at me slyly. "Even on the walls?"
I laughed again. "You could, but you'd get in trouble for that!"
"But it's so cool!"
"Your uncle used to do that when he was little."
"He did? I wish I could do that!" She beamed, her twinkling little eyes wandering up at the ceiling, thinking of the endless possibilities with a pencil.

Happy New Year!

I hope you all will fulfill your dreams and goals and wishes and aspirations and all things of the sort. That includes me, by the way.

Because the past two years have been a complete and utter, disastrous failure. I have attempted, twice, two years in a row, to honorably complete a mission, but both times, I have failed myself.

I feel that I am losing the vigor and the energy to carry out these goals as I had been in 2010. And why, come to think of it, 2010 is quite a while ago! I didn’t notice that I’d been running this blog for so long. Just passed by without letting me know.

Anyhow, blog readers, Internet surfers, bookworms, and my family--

I shall now announce the 2013 goal of the year, which I SHALL NOT--SHAN’T NOT. COULD NOT. WOULD NOT.
OF COURSE NOT.--
Break and shatter and crush to bits and pieces and then write an extensive letter of apology on the last day of the year.

I will try my best to keep my reading career as happy and intense and alive as it was before.

I confess, now that I have a lot more work and things to do, reading has become somewhat of a scarcity. And perhaps it’s my lack of time management skills that I am even more busy and piled up with time consuming, strenuous work.

Now, I have decided that reading a certain amount of books will not by itself be helpful. I need to create a routine that I must follow, so that there is no way that I can break it by the end of the year.

You see, last year’s goal wasn’t something that had a routine. It was just, “read # classic books.” It was possible that I procrastinate and then read # classic books in December, or read half in June and half in July, etc. etc.

But if I had said, “Read 1 classic book every other month,” then it would be inevitable that by February, I was obliged to read a book, otherwise I’d already be breaking the New Rear’s Resolution. (By the way, Rear means Reading Year.)

 

Therefore…
doodoodoodoodoodoodoodoo…

I have decided…
doodoodoodoodoodoodoo…

That.

This Rear’s Resolution is…

to post every week.

 

Yes. This is the sort of resolution that requires dedication, devotion, patience, and responsibility.

But this is where I test myself. I must see how lazy I am, how I shall stick to my word, and how this will improve me personally, not just read-ally.

I will probably post on Saturdays, because the weekdays aren’t exactly full of free time, and on Sunday, I go to places and dilly dally and whatnot. Most likely Saturdays, or occasionally Sundays, if the Saturday turns busy.

I will post about what I read and my reflections, or maybe sometimes I will write. But whatever it is, it shall be related to Readcraft and Writery.

LONG LIVE 2013!

Kbye.