Reality? I got a B on a calculus test on which everyone got an A. I earned a solid B- on my first organic chemistry test. Inconsolable madness frequents about two to three times a week, usually on 8-person practice days. Even smart people think relationships are worthless, but apparently believe in some higher value of sex buddies. Science isn't as good as writing, and math is okay when I'm not careless, so it is successful 10% of its occupation in my current circumstances. My parents enjoy the frivolous pursuit of 36 on the ACT even though this is one of the least indicative standardized tests created by not even the profit loving College Board. Some girls are even more desperate than me.
The world is still not a wish granting factory. Becoming not fat is a great feeling and leaves more clothing options. Parents are stupid and care too much about money. Vectors are hard. Online shopping is unexpectedly enjoyable, but shipping is more expensive than anticipated. Praying in the morning is a blessing. Badminton is good, smashes are crying, clears are flying. I have adopted camel parents and a real camel.
I have technically completely 6 weeks of Insanity now. It hurts a lot more than running, and I can't pass by the world and appreciate the sunsets anymore, remaining oblivious to the whip of the winds and the trickles of might-as-well-be nonexistent snow. I miss feeling so fast for so long, the idea of being able to go on and on forever.
Despite these losses, the physical pain, for one moment, takes away everything else. For one hour, I don't have water to spare for tears. Insanity is the one workout that has made me sweat like I'm on Elite Team, staining the carpet over and over. Anger packs a good punch. Switch kicks and hurdles each claim their own victims and demolish the very ideas of stupidity, impulsive, despereaux, desire. Never have I felt so exhausted and physically helpless as after a full circuit of power jumps, in and outs, and suicide squats. Never have I felt so relieved to, as Shawn T so enthusiastically terms it, escape reality and enter insanity.
I feel it. The strength focused in a single kick, then another, and then another, is empowering. When I return to practice every week, I can feel the energy surging through our first ten laps. Another two hours of freedom. Another two hours away from feeling as if everything is totally not okay.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Douleur
I don't even like French that much but the Chinese word for pain is dumb and all of the old folktales and idiomatic roots I've heard from my culture are stupid and about respect and honor and they have nothing to do with real pain. So French will have to suffice. At least Les Mis captured the suffering in love and poverty and bread.
John Green has been profound a thousand times, but I just read the Fault in Our Stars again and it makes me extraordinarily sad and angry and appeased that someone has so eloquently penned the grievances of humanity.
John Green has been profound a thousand times, but I just read the Fault in Our Stars again and it makes me extraordinarily sad and angry and appeased that someone has so eloquently penned the grievances of humanity.
"‘Pain is
like fabric: The stronger it is, the more it’s worth.’ Is that true, Hazel?”
I wasn’t looking at him directly but at his reflection in the mirror. “No,” I shouted over the music. “That’s bullshit.”
“But don’t you wish it were true!” he cried back.
I wasn’t looking at him directly but at his reflection in the mirror. “No,” I shouted over the music. “That’s bullshit.”
“But don’t you wish it were true!” he cried back.
If it is so unfortunately a load of bull, then I hate the world. I hate the world for making everything okay because okay, in John Green's words exactly, implies forever, and nothing is forever or for ethereal subjects' sake okay. The pain is so bad. It has never been so bad before.
Saturday, January 5, 2013
Chichen Itza
The first of the seven wonders of the world that I visit is not the Great Wall of China, but Chichin Itza. I have no complaints. It also occurs to me that if I had the opportunity to visit the Taj Mahal, the swallowing of pride to accept the offer would be extraordinarily painful and ordinarily impossible. Today, it is impossible, and I think its a good time to give John Green and David Levithan their appropriate credits for keeping me from having a mental breakdown. The approximately 8 hours spent on the bus was a convenient, if not forced time of rest, reflection, and a deep squirming to be as physically far as possible from people and family in general. As per usual, reflection turned into the following...
I had long thought that I was a mild enough person to be able to forgive anyone. When I become angry with my parents, I shut up*. Sometimes, I coped by reading books about oppressed children, occasionally shedding a tear when all is resolved and the Korean daughter goes to Yale by her own choice and play violin because she loves music and her parents don't love money to death (Good Enough, Paula Yoon). When I wish I never had a sister, I make a couple insulting remarks about her existence and cruelly hope that she will not be as academically or athletically motivated as I have been. I am not, in fact, torn between wanting to kill myself and killing other people (will grayson, David Levithan). Getting over problems was not the big deal.
In a sense, this is like my s'okay post, where everything but one thing is okay. Everything is always okay. The problem is still the elephant because it crashes a lot of cocktail parties, and even when I hate small talk, I'd still like to enjoy a party, a cocktail, or two**. There is always a point when I'm in the middle of sleeping and waking that an incessant desire to curse overcomes my entire chest. No matter how hard I work out (INSANITY), I can only enlarge myself so much; there is only so much room I can make for all of the "fuck you"s that I can't say***. Also it felt strangely difficult to finally type that, so I imagine that verbally expressing such a phrase would be either immensely relieving or evil-inducing. I guess I can't have it both ways.
I don't think anyone really sees how undiminished and overbearing this anger has been since the day I missed two vocabulary questions on the PSATs, but I am still, still, undoubtedly seething and, on the long and unusually straight roads of Cancun, lamenting that I will be the one who gives myself away, and never the other way around.
It is possible to isolate this stage of grief as the point where I project how much I hate myself onto someone else, but if this is true, I can assure you that it doesn't feel any better than anything. In some ways, its worse, because there will probably never be a time or place where I can kill someone without being kicked off of some academic team, and I am helpless to do anything else moral or self-respecting. Sometimes, I wonder if its worth my self-respect, and then I realize it always is. But its noteworthy that I have never considered hurting myself (and consequently, I would assume, select others) more.
On a brighter and literally warmer note, the run has saved me once again. Run to live, live to run.
* “Also, I feel that crying is almost--like, aside from deaths of relatives or whatever-- totally avoidable if you follow two very simple rules:
1.Don't care too much.
2. Shut up.
Everything unfortunate that has ever happened to me has stemmed from failure to follow one of the rules.”
― John Green, Will Grayson, Will Grayson
**“NO. No no no. I don't want to screw you. I just love you. When did who you want to screw become the whole game? Since when is the person you want to screw the only person you get to love? It's so stupid, Tiny! I mean, Jesus, who even gives a fuck about sex?! People act like it's the most important thing humans do, but come on. How can our sentient fucking lives revolve around something slugs can do. I mean, who you want to screw and whether you screw them? Those are important questions, I guess. But they're not that important. You know what's important? Who would you die for? Who do you wake up at five forty-five in the morning for even though you don't even know why he needs you? Whose drunken nose would you pick?!”
― John Green, Will Grayson, Will Grayson
***“i will admit there's a certain degree of giving a fuck that goes into not giving a fuck. by saying you don't care if the world falls apart, in some small way you're saying you want it to stay together, on your terms.”
― David Levithan, Will Grayson, Will Grayson
Oh, and Chichen Itza? Absolutely astounding. The math, physics, astronomy, power, education, observation, everything, everything behind its building and civilization was beyond my understanding. This occasion was one of the first times I appreciated the minute knowledge graced upon me by AP World. The enormity of these people (but not height-wise) made them real, and for once, I had some remnant of appreciation for the foundation of the Americas. The Mayans were truly what the world deemed to be great.
I had long thought that I was a mild enough person to be able to forgive anyone. When I become angry with my parents, I shut up*. Sometimes, I coped by reading books about oppressed children, occasionally shedding a tear when all is resolved and the Korean daughter goes to Yale by her own choice and play violin because she loves music and her parents don't love money to death (Good Enough, Paula Yoon). When I wish I never had a sister, I make a couple insulting remarks about her existence and cruelly hope that she will not be as academically or athletically motivated as I have been. I am not, in fact, torn between wanting to kill myself and killing other people (will grayson, David Levithan). Getting over problems was not the big deal.
In a sense, this is like my s'okay post, where everything but one thing is okay. Everything is always okay. The problem is still the elephant because it crashes a lot of cocktail parties, and even when I hate small talk, I'd still like to enjoy a party, a cocktail, or two**. There is always a point when I'm in the middle of sleeping and waking that an incessant desire to curse overcomes my entire chest. No matter how hard I work out (INSANITY), I can only enlarge myself so much; there is only so much room I can make for all of the "fuck you"s that I can't say***. Also it felt strangely difficult to finally type that, so I imagine that verbally expressing such a phrase would be either immensely relieving or evil-inducing. I guess I can't have it both ways.
I don't think anyone really sees how undiminished and overbearing this anger has been since the day I missed two vocabulary questions on the PSATs, but I am still, still, undoubtedly seething and, on the long and unusually straight roads of Cancun, lamenting that I will be the one who gives myself away, and never the other way around.
It is possible to isolate this stage of grief as the point where I project how much I hate myself onto someone else, but if this is true, I can assure you that it doesn't feel any better than anything. In some ways, its worse, because there will probably never be a time or place where I can kill someone without being kicked off of some academic team, and I am helpless to do anything else moral or self-respecting. Sometimes, I wonder if its worth my self-respect, and then I realize it always is. But its noteworthy that I have never considered hurting myself (and consequently, I would assume, select others) more.
On a brighter and literally warmer note, the run has saved me once again. Run to live, live to run.
* “Also, I feel that crying is almost--like, aside from deaths of relatives or whatever-- totally avoidable if you follow two very simple rules:
1.Don't care too much.
2. Shut up.
Everything unfortunate that has ever happened to me has stemmed from failure to follow one of the rules.”
― John Green, Will Grayson, Will Grayson
**“NO. No no no. I don't want to screw you. I just love you. When did who you want to screw become the whole game? Since when is the person you want to screw the only person you get to love? It's so stupid, Tiny! I mean, Jesus, who even gives a fuck about sex?! People act like it's the most important thing humans do, but come on. How can our sentient fucking lives revolve around something slugs can do. I mean, who you want to screw and whether you screw them? Those are important questions, I guess. But they're not that important. You know what's important? Who would you die for? Who do you wake up at five forty-five in the morning for even though you don't even know why he needs you? Whose drunken nose would you pick?!”
― John Green, Will Grayson, Will Grayson
***“i will admit there's a certain degree of giving a fuck that goes into not giving a fuck. by saying you don't care if the world falls apart, in some small way you're saying you want it to stay together, on your terms.”
― David Levithan, Will Grayson, Will Grayson
Oh, and Chichen Itza? Absolutely astounding. The math, physics, astronomy, power, education, observation, everything, everything behind its building and civilization was beyond my understanding. This occasion was one of the first times I appreciated the minute knowledge graced upon me by AP World. The enormity of these people (but not height-wise) made them real, and for once, I had some remnant of appreciation for the foundation of the Americas. The Mayans were truly what the world deemed to be great.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Luxe
There has not been a day this year in which I have felt more uncomfortable and sickened than today. But then again, today is January 2.
Family vacations have always been an excuse to exchange a couple thousand dollars for the most tense and stressful days of the year, and by its own nature, stir a previously unfounded anger towards the waste of school breaks on stretches of complete and utter sloth. Food is presented by the platter and bucket, travel is executed with footrests and please and thank yous. I encourage manners, but travelling for the sake of travelling is taking it too far.
Normally, I would not and should not complain that I'm crossing international borders whilst being safely exposed to the world's cultures and traditions, all expenses paid by my parents who have worked very hard for the salaries that they've made and used to pay for this trip. There are many people who will never in their lives be able to travel beyond a few states; there are many people who would cherish even one evening buffet through which we casually passed and ate because it was the only option that didn't require walking out of the hotel. 1225 pesos, 99.8 american dollars.
But see, I don't care about money, and I will hate myself (more so than usual) when I do. I am not really thankful that I can experience these luxuries every year, whether it is in Mexico, China, Japan, anywhere. Luxury doesn't do anything but spoil people who aren't careful, and no one is careful. This hotel reeks of drunken gratification and I reek of sleep... because in my own fit of dissatisfaction, I have found escape in the occasional strawberry and long doses of unconsciousness.
So here I am, more than slightly angry at the fortune my family has made, feeling the sauces and cheeses of Mexico slowly crawling down my stomach. Today was not seized.
Family vacations have always been an excuse to exchange a couple thousand dollars for the most tense and stressful days of the year, and by its own nature, stir a previously unfounded anger towards the waste of school breaks on stretches of complete and utter sloth. Food is presented by the platter and bucket, travel is executed with footrests and please and thank yous. I encourage manners, but travelling for the sake of travelling is taking it too far.
Normally, I would not and should not complain that I'm crossing international borders whilst being safely exposed to the world's cultures and traditions, all expenses paid by my parents who have worked very hard for the salaries that they've made and used to pay for this trip. There are many people who will never in their lives be able to travel beyond a few states; there are many people who would cherish even one evening buffet through which we casually passed and ate because it was the only option that didn't require walking out of the hotel. 1225 pesos, 99.8 american dollars.
But see, I don't care about money, and I will hate myself (more so than usual) when I do. I am not really thankful that I can experience these luxuries every year, whether it is in Mexico, China, Japan, anywhere. Luxury doesn't do anything but spoil people who aren't careful, and no one is careful. This hotel reeks of drunken gratification and I reek of sleep... because in my own fit of dissatisfaction, I have found escape in the occasional strawberry and long doses of unconsciousness.
So here I am, more than slightly angry at the fortune my family has made, feeling the sauces and cheeses of Mexico slowly crawling down my stomach. Today was not seized.
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Out.
Its good to get out again.
It took six hours of slowly overheating in a room of farts, poo, bad music, and barking, but finally, finally, some weight was lifted from this satchel of grey area in the back of my head. Its not to say that anything is less stressful, besides friendships, which actually, I think I promised with not one, but two fingers, to be more committed, but if anything, someone gets it. Someone knows. Someone can be here when no one else is.
Although I was barely conscious for any single sermon given during Grace, mostly because I have certain reservations about speakers who script their casual and formal speech, the one session that was mentioned frequently during testimonials was that of Job, the man who grieved and suffered despite his innocence. For all the arguments and convincing his friends tried to employ, the most precious comfort they gave Job was 7 days of silence, simply out of respect for his mourning (although I think there were times they just didn't know what to say). And so it is silence, now, that brings me the most expansive peace. God is so good. I am so in debt.
It took six hours of slowly overheating in a room of farts, poo, bad music, and barking, but finally, finally, some weight was lifted from this satchel of grey area in the back of my head. Its not to say that anything is less stressful, besides friendships, which actually, I think I promised with not one, but two fingers, to be more committed, but if anything, someone gets it. Someone knows. Someone can be here when no one else is.
Although I was barely conscious for any single sermon given during Grace, mostly because I have certain reservations about speakers who script their casual and formal speech, the one session that was mentioned frequently during testimonials was that of Job, the man who grieved and suffered despite his innocence. For all the arguments and convincing his friends tried to employ, the most precious comfort they gave Job was 7 days of silence, simply out of respect for his mourning (although I think there were times they just didn't know what to say). And so it is silence, now, that brings me the most expansive peace. God is so good. I am so in debt.
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