i could burst a million bubbles
written: 3:09 p.m. on Tuesday, Nov. 19, 2002

I think I'm losing it. Really. Watched Slam Dunk at 12 and Mitsui, an ex-gangster, ran into his old gangster friend who was harrassed by other gansters, and he ran to help him, but fighting would get him into trouble and get him kicked off the basketball team, so I was watching and going, "Nooooooooo! San Jing! Don't do it! Don't go!" Either that, or: "Oh my god, he is so loyal!" (San Jing is his name in Chinese. I pronounce 'san jing' more accurately than 'Mitsui', obviously.) I was smiling to myself and everything, exactly like what I'd do if I were watching, say, Joaquin Phoenix or Iker Casillas.

All this shit over some 2D person. It's disturbing. And when his gangster friends from school told him that they'd support him during the basketball match, I was so touched that I almost cried. One of them was that thick-lipped moron who wanted to beat up Rukawa and thought it would be easy as he is a freshman, but he and his gang got beaten up by Rukawa instead. He is like this real tough dude type and all of a sudden he turned soft and told his ex-gang member that, like, he supports his decision in, you know, rejoining the basketball team...and everything...

Ah, fuck, I'm crazy, that's it. That is the perfect answer to everything. All the questions ever asked in the span of the Earth's existence. I'm crazy.

Easier to hide when you're disturbed than when you're not.

But okay, I am not crazy. I wish I were.

Okay, I don't. I wish I were an anime chick so that I wouldn't feel weird about wishing Mitsui...

Nevermind. I look better than those damn anime girls anyway.

Well not really. Forget it. It rained last night and I slept peacefully to the sound of rain pattering against the window and the ground.

I should stop writing incessant bullshit and just get to the point. Okay. I called Gen today. Yep. And um, we talked for like. 3 minutes. Or even shorter.

We hung up and I lied on my bed and I cried.

Over what, I have no idea. It wasn't full-out crying. It was just tears in my eyes, a few rolling down my face, that kind of thing.

I really wish he'd think I'm an idiot so that he doesn't want to see me anymore, so that I wouldn't feel so bad about not knowing what I want out of this whole shit.

Oh, yeah, today is the 19th. Great.

I second-guess myself all the time. It's no secret. It's no surprise. But when I let impulse take me by the hand, I don't think about anything and just do what Impulse wants me to. That was how I got the courage to approach him in April. I went out of the house, and thought, "Okay, next thing you do is get on the bus and enjoy the air-con." I did that. I reached the place, got off the bus, and said to myself, "Okay. You walk. Cross the road. Walk towards the place. See what happens." I did that too, and we all know what happened.

The thing is, I like the guy. I do. Holding his hand is wonderful. Kissing him is heavenly. Sleeping next to him is...I can't even describe it. But I think it should be more than just that. What we have now is physical attraction. Nothing else. The physical stuff is great but I'm not exactly dying to lose my virginity. In fact, that thought scares me like hell.

So, I don't know. Next week I got shit up my sleeve to do, starting with graduation and Malacca (which isn't shit, but hey). I think I'd do the Impulse thing again when I see him.

One of the voices in my head keeps telling me that I have to be honest, but what is honesty? What do I know about honesty? I sneak behind my parents' back just to go out with him, I've lied to my mother about the exams, saying they are fine when in fact I wish I'd studied harder, I've lied to my father about so many things that listing them out would extend to about ten pages. I even lie to my boyfriend. I told him I'm fine but I'm not. I woke up this morning bitter and pissed off, and a few tears rolled out of my eyes as they couldn't bear the competitve to stay in my fucking eye socket thing.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I even lie to, yes, myself. I tell myself that I don't care about the stupid O Levels to convince myself I'm better than a few meaningless grades, but hahahahaha, that is a major joke in itself. I am stupid. I am not a genius. So far from it. Superior intellect? Me? Yeah, right. An IQ of 126 so does not put me in the genius level, so I can shut up about it and face the facts. Accept the truth. Get on with my life and try not to cry at a totally mundane, ordinary, pointless life.

My folks wouldn't understand at all if I suddenly committed suicide. I act happy in front of them. Wait, what am I saying? I act happy in front of every-fucking-one. They wouldn't know what really goes on because I refuse to talk about it, not because I don't want to, but because I can't. I can't verbalise all of this shit. I can only write about it.

It's one huge reason to hate myself. Another reason is that I had to go and start something I wasn't ready for. I had to go and tell myself that I was but I wasn't. I still am not.

And here's the grand prize: I hate, completely detest, the knowledge that my mother was right, all this time.

I would stab myself in the gut if I ever had to say that again. You can count on that.

before sunrise // before sunset

Previously:
- - Tuesday, Aug. 29, 2017
I'm moving. - Sunday, Jul. 11, 2010
In all honesty - Tuesday, Jul. 06, 2010
What I want for my birthday... - Sunday, Jul. 04, 2010
On Roger's behalf. - Friday, Jul. 02, 2010