an update

I don't like nor do I understand why everything is about her. Maybe this is a side effect of devoting everything to her for the last two years. I didn't realize it, but I let her define me, I let all the good and bad times make up the core of my being, because like any teenager blinded by love, I thought, no I knew we had the real deal.

I threw myself completely at us, and I'd like to think that I loved more than a lifetime's worth while us existed (though I'm sure anybody who's come out on the other side of this will think me a fool for saying this). But I think that's the type of person I am - I loved fully and completely.

Yesterday I went through a bright orange box filled with us, as my wonderfully tragic Spotify playlist "it's you, not me" sung in the background. The rest is history. I'm not yet sure if this was a mistake, but I think I gained something from doing so.

I wish I could understand and dissect where it all went wrong. I wish that we had worked it out, somehow, like we always promised to. More than anything, I wish I could "right" those wrongs, even if there isn't any clear way to do it. I live with the guilt of ruining not only myself, but something for her. I wonder how she's doing, if she's holding up fine. It makes me upset to think that she's doing okay, because I'm not.

I want something genuine. I want to go to Japan. We talked about going there someday, so I've got it set in my mind that if I can make it there it'll be a large step in some direction for me (I'm not sure what direction though).

Sorry I don't like what I'm writing anymore. Until next time.

s121

I'm sitting with nobody else in the back meeting room of the Chemistry Learning Center on the third floor of the Chemistry D Block building, looking up answers for my math assignment due tomorrow night. My earbuds are plugged in and I'm thoroughly enjoying a playlist called Throwback Party on Spotify.

For one particular question I find myself on Yahoo Answers, and scrolling down I see a completely unrelated and humorous response to the question. Wow this will be great to put on my story. I take out my phone and decide that I want to check my snaps first (if that isn't the story of this whole school year I don't know what is).

Ah. There she is. Yeah, the first she in d121. She's smiling and looks like she's having a good time.

Crap.

There's something oddly poetic and destructive about how I felt once I tapped out of the snap. Suddenly what little motivation I have to do my work drains from my body. I take off my glasses and get ready to just lay my head down on the table and close my eyes for a bit.

Then I hear her name.

Loud and clear in my head.

By some twisted and sick chance, the song that I'm listening to is Mamba No. 5 (A Little Bit of...) by Lou Bega, and right as I get ready to just give up and go to sleep one particular line comes on.

a little bit of _______

Here I am. It's funny because I promised myself that one I finish writing this post I would go and close my eyes and just forget myself for a bit, but another song has come on. A song that we used to listen to together and laugh at every once in a while.

goodnight again.

d121

I think she's there.

I'm standing in the middle of the grass field, clad in a dark blue gown, a yellow thing draping off my shoulders, and a gold cord to match.

In front of me are a row of those folding tables, with grad caps and certificates on top. Beyond the tables stands a crowd, but I can't see any of them.

For some reason I'm standing in a row of specific grads, while the rest of my class is grouped up off to the side. Somebody says something and everybody cheers and throws their caps into the air.

I lean forward and grab one of the caps off the table and throw it as far as I can. It sails across wildly, landing somewhere with the rest of the grads.

The next thing I know, I'm in some sort of Chinatown. I'm with a girl, but it's not her. I only vaguely know her name, it starts with a C I think.

She says to me

hey let's go here

and points to a little produce mart. Something tells me to not go, but she grabs my hand and I don't do anything to stop her from leading me in.

Somehow we end up at the back of store, and I remember. Something really bad happened here.

Her hand is gone, and she starts walking down a hallway. Suddenly I remember what happened to me last time. I remember walking into that room, and feeling a dread and depression swallow me whole. One step in and it was ice cold.

I shout at her, tell her not to go, but she does anyways. She turns to the left into an open doorway, and within a second she jumps out.

She's visibly shooken, and starts running back to me. As she reaches me, she says something about how violent they were. I reach out to comfort her, when I spot something behind her, at the back of the hall.

Out of a doorway to the right, two girls walk out, holding hands. They're both very young, but one is older. The younger one holds onto what's left of a teddy bear with her left hand.

I say

we need to go

and we run.

I wake up. My heart is pounding and the image of the two girls is etched into my head. I reach over to my bedside and flick on my lamp.

I try closing my eyes but I keep imagining the two girls opening my bedroom door and walking in. I check the time and sigh.

6:25.

Giving up on the hope of any more sleep, I spend the next eternity on my phone until I hear the sounds of my mother getting ready for the day. Bless her soul, for that, and for making sure I can make my 9:30 class.

I sigh internally and shut off my phone and eyes.

goodnight

103

I plop down in the middle of the back row seats and settle myself in, trying to move some feeling back into my wet and cold toes. The bus is pleasantly warm though, and my stomach is full with a good meal with good friends.

Seated in the left row in front of me is Phil; he glances occassionally at his phone and smiles. To the front and right are Marcus and Calvin, with a fellow commuter wedged between them. Calvin is reading something on his phone, empty bubble tea container wedged between his armpit. Marcus is doing his thing, earbuds plugged in, his drink only half done, as usual.

It's been a while since the four of us have done anything, but I'm glad that we finally have.

I look at my drink, now a pile of ice with the occasional tapioca pearl at the bottom. I wiggle my straw around and after a minute the rest of the pearls are gone. It seemed like just a minute ago that it was filled to the brim, cold to the touch, not yet diluted by the ice. Pure and untouched. Now it sits forlornly between my legs, ice clinking as the bus chugs along.

Back at the store, Calvin asked me what I ordered.

"Mango green tea with half pearls and half coconut jelly."

Marcus commented and said, "You always get that," and I think I can see a slight smile on his face.

I do.

The four of us have changed more than my drink preference has. I thought that because so much has changed and that because I have changed, my drink choice would as well. But every time, every place, every occasion, I order the same thing without fail.

I wonder if I'll ever stop. Does it even mean anything if I do?

It is a good drink.

It was a good drink.

116

I've always felt a little bit mediocre in comparison to those around me. Growing up, my biggest role models were two cousins on my mom's side. They were, and are, pretty much siblings to me, only without all the fighting and immaturity. Now that I'm finally in university, I realize truly how successful and driven they are. In extension, I pale in comparison.

At times I wonder if it's me, or if it's the generation I was born in as a whole. Where did my satisfaction with mediocrity come from? It's incorrect to blame others for my own downfalls though.

The past week or so has been particularly difficult for me, from an emotional and mental standpoint. I had tricked myself into believing that things were getting better, but suddenly one morning it was much more difficult to get out of bed. It was as if some switch inside of me had flipped and I lost all the strength I had been building up.

I thought it'd be a one-and-done thing, but if it was I wouldn't be talking about this

Some days I just want to quit and give up. I want to lie in bed and be by myself, but I don't really want to be by myself. But I know my parents would ask why. I know my friends would as well. I'm not sure if I'm doing this whole uni thing for myself at all anymore. I feel like I'd be useless if I can't do this, not to mention the fact that my parents have always dreamed of me going to someplace like UBC.

But when faced with the alternative of full-time work, neither options seem particularly appealing.

I hung out with two friends that I know through Philman, and we briefly touched on my problems in a small and dark cake shop late at night. It felt surreal, but one thing that they both said was that girls like it when the guy is driven and motivated, because it inspires them as well.

Sorry this post is a mess.