Re-reading my old blog posts makes me wonder where that girl has gone. The one who approached every new thing with wonder; didn't just sit there passively, letting all the entertainment wash over her. The one whose primary time-suck wasn't that ridiculous website where you don't even need a brain to scroll down and find something funny and/or droll.
She loved to read, and to recommend books to friends.
She'd be ashamed to find that every single book she'd bought in the last six months was lying in her room, unread and unloved.
She loved to write, and imagined wild scenarios, with axe murderers and witches, demons and princesses, and, of course, little kids going on adventures.
She'd be sad to realise the last couple of months the only thing open in a word processor was coursework-related. No original ideas, no time devoted to actually hammering out some stories.
She was big-mouthed and opinionated, and passionate about the books/movies/tv shows she watched. Not someone who googled for every silly thing, but who composed her own thoughts, and sat and wrote them down for the world to refer to.
She'd be depressed when she knew she hadn't had a new thing to say on her blog for months now, except for her (extremely shitty) love life, and rice cooker recipes.
Ah well. Depression comes and goes. I should know.
'Cause baby I could build a castle Out of all the bricks they threw at me
I can't do anything right. I can't do anything, right? I can't do anything! Right.
And every day is like a battle But every night with us is like a dream
*texting*
Ugh, still stuck working.
Wanna go out?
...
Meet you in 5?
Baby we're the new romantics Come on, come along with me Heartbreak is our national anthem We sing it proudly
Four years, two. Six months. Not all that long, right? Why wear your heart on your sleeve? No one wants to listen to your dumb stories. Even if they are true.
We are too busy dancing To get knocked off our feet
Boyfriends are a waste of time. Focus on your career, you've got things to do, places to be. Honestly, you're lucky you've never been in a relationship. You haven't been distracted. None of these guys are worth it. (right?)
Baby, we're the new romantics The best people in life are free
Shout-out to my bitches. I love you guys. So so much. And you're definitely at your best when you're free :P
Well, yeah. I squee and aww all over his most recent interviews. I jump from statement to statement about his tattoos and his love life... but it all comes down to his music. His passion. More importantly, his job. And every time, every single effing time, I get all these feelings. Awe. Frustration. More awe. More frustration. And then overwhelmingly, motivation. Inspiration. He’s only two years older than me, and he’s achieved so much in life.
We’re so different, and yet I want to be who he is. I figured out what his motto is, on a recent interview. I’m definitely going to try it out.
He said, “I try to choose a role model, and then be 2x better than them. Work 2x as hard.” (I’m paraphrasing, but that’s what I got out of it)
Well, Ed, it’s time for me to try to work 2x as hard as you, then. Because eff this life where I’m holding myself back because I’m too lazy, too comfortable. People would kill to have the opportunities I have right now, and all I’m doing is sitting on my butt pretending that everything will work out somehow. Well, guess what. It doesn’t work that way, not if you want something as bad as Ed does. And he got his birthday wish three years in a row!
How many times have I got my birthday wish?
...
...Never.
When is a good time? When I'm out of school? When I'm out of college? When I'm stuck in a job I don't like, doing something I don't believe in?
How about now?
Sometimes I think I sound like one of those self-help websites, the ones that claim they'll help you help yourself or whatever that is.(My guilty pleasure when surfing. Shh, don't tell anyone.)
Also, been reading a LOT of Brandon Sanderson. He's another one who pushes himself, and a true inspiration.
This is Penne with bottled Arrabiata sauce. It's (surprisingly :P) easy to make pasta in a rice cooker. Just add water and... ah ah ah, I'm foreshadowing :P Here's the recipe:
Ingredients:
Dried pasta, Penne ~200 gms (I think? For one person, basically)
Bottled Arrabiata sauce ~50 gms (One would suppose)
Olive oil A shot, in the pasta
Salt and Pepper To taste
Method:
Place pasta in cold water(it comes from the cooler on my floor, okay!) add salt, and heat
It takes longer in a rice cooker than on the stove: it takes about 20 mins to cook
When done, drain (most of :P) the pasta water out of the cooker, then add a bit of oil, and about as much sauce as necessary
Add salt and pepper to taste, cook a little longer but not too long
I usually don't need any more salt, but pepper(and the associated chilli flakes and italian seasoning) is useful if the premade sauce isn't spiced to your liking.
I've made my pasta out of those Chefs' Basket erm... baskets! Their sauce is actually really nice, and they really do provide everything you need to make yummy pasta. Even in a rice cooker. Especially in a rice cooker.
I hate myself and my inability to just let go already, damn you!
Ahem. Moving on.
This year is going to be just fine, I suppose. We're shifting sometime soon, and that has created this sort of limbo in my mind, wherein I'm hanging around somewhere in between a single room in the new wing of my hostel and a double room in the old one. I'm impatient to shift, and yet I'm hoping everything turns out for the best; or else I'll be regarded with no mercy by the people burdening me with the guilt of making them move-- yes, I'm looking at you, Ms. F.
In other news, GRE words, whose meaning I always had a sort of nebulous idea about, that I'm forced to try and remember in my spare time.
Spare time? *hollow laugh* Lab's going well. No, really. No, I haven't just spent the whole day in bed, why do you ask?
Ah, the cleverness irresponsibility of me!
English courses. Must do continuing registration. I'm thinking of taking Language and Gender, and... dum dum dum... Shakespeare!
Must sleep now. Will write fiction every week. Must practice these rusty writing skills, or the brain will turn to mush.
Because I was planning to make a video with my wingies, to this soundtrack. It seems highly unlikely that it’ll ever get completed now, but I’m not giving up just yet. Also, it’s an enjoyable song when I’m in the mood for something peppy and happy-sounding.
I used to listen to this back in school, and downloaded it for old times’ sake, along with Miley Cyrus’ The Climb. Nice, empowering songs for those times when you feel like there’s nothing going for you.
Because. It’s fun to go, “F you!” when there’s no one else around. Especially if you have someone to target your frustration on.(No word on whether the frustration is deserved or not. Let’s just say it’s more satisfying to blame one person than to blame life for giving you lemons :P)
Self-explanatory. This song is beautiful, and I have it on repeat every night just before I fall asleep. TBH, I’ve done that with a fair share of Ed Sheeran songs, because he rocks.
Ah. Yet another from the Vampire Diaries. I love this show for giving me hours of entertainment, characters I can really get my teeth into, but mostly for all the new-old music it’s introduced me to. You can just listen and go, yeah, that’s from the Vampire Diaries. Slow, lovey-dovey, emotional songs to pair with slow, lovey-dovey emotional scenes.
Because sometimes you just need to drown in your self-pity and equalize. Yeah, so I’ve never --insert romantic movie name here-- but I can handle that. I just need to wallow in my loneliness sometimes.
So The Script are officially my workout band. I listen to them when I jog, either outside on my iPod or on the treadmill, and they give me inner strength and motivation. I don’t know why, but I’ve put a lot of positivity into their songs, and I get it all back every time I hear another one. This song is just crying out to be a motivational enhancer.
Because my roomie was obsessed with it for a while, and these things transfer from one person to the other like viruses. Good viruses, but viruses nonetheless.
In other news, I feel really, really good. Yeah. Studying for my English exams, planning to have a whole lot of fun this summer, did well in my additional learning courses in college, don't cry over ridiculous things(although I did cry last night, but that was over a fictional character's fictional parents dying, so totally non-ridiculous ;) ). Yeah.
I have mad moments in which I want to take it all back, keep doing whatever it was I thought I was doing, apologise for leaping to conclusions and just remain the way we were.
I want to talk. I want to be around you. In the face of all rationality, I want you to want to talk and want to be around me, too.
How lame, right?
But mostly I want to stop thinking about you. Stop avoiding love songs and other people who are driving me insane with their, 'But why did you do this?'. Stop my heart twisting at the thought that I can no longer just keep something in mind to tell you later; can't fulfil my promises and bug you to fulfil yours.
They say it'll get better. They say I'll stop caring. But I don't want to. But I don't want to, I cry like an impatient child. It's just not fair. I run on the treadmill to the beat of those words. It's. Just. Not. Fair. I pound it out to every step until I'm tired and sweaty.(and I hate being sweaty, but I welcome the fatigue)
Even lamer.
I wonder if you miss me, even a little bit, even at all. There I go, wandering into dangerous territory again.
Must not think of you. Must not speak to you. Must not want to cry. Oh, dear.
Every once in a while I become this reclusive internet nerd.
I start off on Facebook or 9gag or Youtube and then hop, hop, hop, headphones in my ears, until the sun's come up and gone down and come up again. I have lists of things left unfinished, people waiting to hear from me, and I just let everything go for just one more cat video, which tends to turn into a whole marathon.
I trawl and trawl, finding the weird and the creepy and the just plain absurd. Fake accounts are a dime a dozen, and fun to play with and troll people out of.
Internet-addiction is a scary thing, and around once a month, I just let myself go. Eventually, head pounding, eyes watering, I give in to my body's needs, switch off, power down.
Until next time, I promise myself. One day I will make that highscore on Burrito Bison Revenge.
I like the way you sound in the morning We're on the phone and without a warning I realise your laugh is the best sound I have ever heard
It's hard to imagine, for those who haven't been there, these feelings and how they affect every single little detail of your life.
I am infatuated, and my heart pounds, and I can hear the blood rushing in my ears. I fumble for things to say when I'm around him, and when I'm not-- the words keep rushing out. Everyone around me is tired of hearing about him--
But it's not really him I'm talking about. It's me- my soft, fluffy feelings, my hurt, my thoughts and tiny, trembly hopes- all spilt out of my mouth and into the air, making vague cottony shapes that clog up everyone's ear-holes(not him again, they groan) and they don't realise it's the most selfish I've been in forever(or at least, since the last one).
I like the way I can't keep my focus I watch you talk but you didn't notice I hear the words but all I can think is We should be together
Infatuation is a selfish interaction. You always think you're giving more than you get, but what you offer isn't really worth much, is it? Sure, you run around doing favours, but for the more selfish among us--yours truly included--they're followed by this vague resentment that would never occur if you really, genuinely wanted to help. It puts a bite into every word and every gesture, lends a new bitterness to every memory.
Cause every time you smile, I smile And every time you shine, I'll shine for you
Don't put yourself out for her if she doesn't and/or won't feel the same, I scold. In the back of my mind, a sinking feeling tells me that I'd do the same in his shoes. So I give him a wry smile, pat him gently on the back, and agree that it's a shitty feeling.
Woah, I'm feeling you baby Don't be afraid to jump then fall Jump then fall into me Be there, I'm never gonna leave you Say that you wanna be with me too Cause Imma stay through it all so jump then fall
It’s what I’ve always done, always thinking about other people and other people’s feelings and their problems. Why bother them with whatever useless emotion I’m feeling?
He was the only one I never tried to hide with. He listened to me: not to other people, no, they bored him. But I was this hurt person and I was his person. It felt good to be heard. I could talk and talk and not worry about judgement or boredom. Of course, I listened in return. But that’s what I do.
I’m a listener.
I listened to him all the way through his friendship with her, the ups and downs, the fights and the birthday surprises. And I listened as he told me we were too different, that he couldn’t hurt me or hide it from me anymore. I listened all the way to the door, and beyond.
I listened when he told me he’d moved on, when my traitorous heart was still hoping against hope that things would go back to the way they were. I listened when he had fights with his new girlfriend and he needed to vent, the ache in my heart not fading but growing sharper, it seemed, with time.
...which I am most definitely not going to talk about. I've spent so much time above the water that I'd almost forgotten what that secret underwater world looked like. But the real world stung me, hard and fast, and I retreated.
Now I've reconnected with what I've been missing. It feels good. It's a buffer between me and everyone and everything else. Nothing can hurt me.
...
...
...right?
I like sites like 9gag and Cracked because they provide me with interesting--occasionally disgusting--sometimes sweet information and make-believe. It's hard to distinguish between the last two categories. I suppose it's easier to just assume everyone on there has no reliable source unless their post absolutely convinces you that something is 'for real'. Because you don't want to believe and/or reproduce any of the information or stories on there unless you're damn sure that they haven't stolen it/photoshopped it/made it all up.
But they're hell entertaining.
Also. I can never have enough people to care about. The tugs in my chest don't pull too many ways, they just pull whenever you're around. So it's okay. I'll be there for you when I'm there, and that's the important thing, right?
(Of course, the same has to go for you. But it will.)
