i'm not sure that's the answer you're looking for

Okay, I'm confused and a little creeped out. Mostly confused, though, because I am apparently bad at life. Unintentionally bad, but bad nonetheless.

I should just move to a cave and be horrible to people, and maybe things will be less confusing. I don't feel particularly bad (okay, I do, somewhat) because mostly I am confused.

And selfish.

And it's weird that I have no one "back home" to talk to about this stuff because I'm the eldest of them. Life, how strange...

Who ever expected my life to be even close to this melodramatic? I feel ridiculous.




Also: What the fuck.

Mei is...

Stressed out, mildly ill, and emotionally drained.

some people fall to lose it all

I'm confused and conflicted and possibly other words that start with "con". I think that prefix is indicative of the entire process. It's not so great.

The problem with getting upset about one thing is that it manages to make me think about all the other things I could be getting upset about, and then I end up stupid and emo. Look, I'd choose not to be this way if I had a choice. I don't like having my emotions so easily manipulated.

But as of right now, they kind of are. I feel stupid. I feel like my emotions are on a roller coaster I don't get to control. I feel like I have no idea what to do, or what I want.

This is so stupid. At least I provide entertainment for those around me. They're too good to me, really.

I wish I knew what I wanted. Or how to get it. Or had the courage to carry through. Any or all of that would be nice.

I think, in lieu of any answers or solutions, I'm just going to get bubble tea. Hot. And then read Property until my brain is numb; thinking is clearly a bad idea. As is feeling.

好可笑啊

为什么喜欢上了你?

you should know that i don't always hate the world

Every few months, at least once or twice a year, I remember.

(What? The important things in life.)

--

"Do you want food?" he asks. "Or just coffee?"

"Whatever's fine," I say. "I already ate breakfast with my roommates."

He glances at me before returning his gaze to the road. "You do a lot of things with your roommates."

"Well," I say, and I'm laughing a little, teasing a little, "isn't it normal? I do live with them in the same apartment. Occasionally we're there the same time and, you know, eat together."

It's a silly example, maybe, but it reflects a lot of why I feel so blessed today. (Do I mean "lucky"? "Grateful"?) I did have breakfast with my roommates, and I had coffee and a long conversation with T. I saw other people for a bit and talked to other people on the phone. I have a great group of friends who make me happy, and I think I should appreciate that more.

I love people and I miss people, but, you know. Let me be sappy. I have a lot of people in my life, people I've met in person, people I haven't, people I've talked to over the phone, people I've shared experiences with - these people make up my life, and they make me so happy. They care for me and I'm so lucky in that regard. Even when I complain, or when I'm unhappy, sad or angry or moody, I love people.

I love to try to give advice, or to receive advice, or just to be silly or talk about kidnapping fat Korean babies. I love catching up with people or complaining about things with people, or laughing at retarded things on Youtube with people. I love fangirling with people, or reminiscing, or just being there together as we die over Property or Contracts. I love eating and talking with people, caring, knowing they care, listening, trying, being.

I want to reach out more, because there are still more people I care about and want to gather back, to enfold in some sort of embrace of hey, I care about you, no matter how long it's been. I want to make a difference in your life, however little, because you've all made an impact on my life.

You make me happy. This world makes me happy. I should try to remember that.

Cold weather, fall leaves, blue sky, warm blankets. Hot coffee, green tea, freshly-cooked Chinese food. Vitamin water with pomegranate, K's voice, getting all my work done ahead of time. Phone calls and text messages and facebook chat and MSN and letters and emails and every way I can reach out to you. I love it.

I love you. Thanks.

I just need you to know this. I appreciate you. Knowing you makes me happy.

"home"

I miss home. I miss my family and I miss UNC and I miss the fair. I miss A, whose phone is always off, and J, who never replies to emails. I miss M, who's in China, and E, who just doesn't respond anymore.

I don't really miss my room or my bed - it's not the things that make it home. It's my parents I miss, and my brother. I miss home.

I'm not emo, despite how this post may sound. I'm really not even sad. I just...miss people. Fall makes me nostalgic, I guess.

But I do like it here. And I like the people here. And I'm happy.

But while everyone leaves for home during fall break, and I'm left here, I realize that I can be happy and still miss home.

conversations.

Wednesday.

Mei: I hate bumperstickers.
L: Me too! They're like...tattoos on your ass. If you were walking around naked. And no one wants to walk around naked, do they?
R: Well, I don't know if anyone would get "OBAMA" tattooed to their ass...
L: I don't know. Maybe some people feel really strongly about this stuff.
R: Well, I feel strongly. Maybe I should get Obama's face tattooed to my inner thigh.
Mei: ...that would be beyond awkward.
L: Well, not many people would see it.
R: Right? Except the people who saw it would be in the situation where it's like, "oh, um, I'm really not in the mood anymore..." Probably because they had a tattoo of McCain on their inner thigh.
L: You could make them make out!
Mei: *dying* What the fuck. Why am I friends with you guys?

--

Thursday.

C: K should just...sing all the time.
Mei: *fervently* Yes. He should just go through life as if it were a musical.

--

Friday.

[12:27] xii. whiplash/backlash: SOB I HATE JAPAN
[12:28] — for all you lovers and heartbreakers。: BUT JAPAN LOVES YOU LEER
[12:29] xii. whiplash/backlash: ew

if you can read this, it's not about you

I never know when it's okay to be sad and let people know so they can help me feel better, and when I think I should just be strong and not let people know. Or at least let them know they don't need to hold my hand because I can handle it.

The thing is, I'm not strong enough to handle it on my own. And I wish it were okay to ask for help, but I always feel like someone is judging me, wondering why I'm so needy or so dependent or so weak.

Sometimes I wish people would approach me first and just make it okay for me to fall apart on them. I wish people would be willing to hold me even if I was pretending to be strong. I wish I didn't feel like I was falling apart in the first place, but I wish people wouldn't take the easy way out and just believe me when I say I'm fine. It's not that I want them to doubt me all the time, or to think I'm not capable, but when you don't even make an effort to reach out when you know I'm going through a hard time - it doesn't matter if you have the words - then it hurts even more. I guess you don't care?

Is it unfair of me to want this? Maybe I should just be okay with approaching people first and crying at them...but it's so hard. I've done it before, and I feel like they just wish I would get over myself ("why is she always falling apart?" "why is she always so emo?"). I'm afraid to encroach on your personal space, to direct your attention to myself, to want or need things from you.

Maybe, in essence, it comes down to the fact that I don't know if you need me too. So I'm afraid to need you.

to those so-called friends over there

If you have a problem with why I'm friends with G, that's too bad. I don't have time to talk about it or to defend myself or to explain myself. I don't have time to involve myself in this ridiculous drama.

I had a good night. Thanks for ruining it. I'd like you to please stop expecting or demanding things out of me, because if you have a problem with her, I am not responsible for talking to her on your behalf. I'd also like you to stop questioning my judgment in friends, because you're not me, and you don't have that right.

I don't defend everything she does, but that's not the point. The point is that I am angry and unhappy with the way you think I should react a certain way, though you are not me, and you do not know my motives or wishes or, really, all that much about me.

I don't want to talk about this, because it makes me angry, and because it takes up too much time. Maybe we can talk about it after a few days when broaching the subject doesn't instantly incense me, and after I'm free on fall break.

Until then, I refuse to touch this drama and I'll ask you to keep it the fuck away from me. Thanks kindly.

writings, three

h— loves hg. some people know this, or have guessed it, or joke about it, but only h— knows the depth of her affections. it borders on obsession sometimes, how much she thinks about him, how much effort she puts into pretending not to care, when she actually watches hg sleep at night and clips a lock of hg's hair while he's unaware and keeps it locked in her diary. it borders on obsession, the way she watches hg's mouth move, the way she lingers outside the bathroom when hg showers, just listening. it borders on obsession when she starts stealing hg's things, little things, but it teeters on the edge and falls completely into the abyss of obsession when she starts hating the others because hg smiles at them (don't fucking touch him).

but h— will never tell. and no one will ever find out.

--

E— knows H— doesn’t mean to be cruel. Despite his jokes and his loud complaints and his nattering on about his beauty, he’s normally a very good friend. His friendship, once won, is deep and fierce. He is charismatic and aggressive and unafraid of saying things that make others stop and double-take. E— has always admired him, but he’s always been a little afraid too. He’s not sure how to be someone H— admires in turn, instead of someone easily dismissed.

The problem with H— is that he’s careless with people he doesn’t treasure.

H— is careless with E— and the knowledge that E— is not one of the ones H— cares most about hurts more than H—'s thoughtlessness.

--

“It’s 11:11,” she says. “Make a wish.”

K— smiles half-heartedly and remains silent. She frowns at him and tugs at his hand, pulling it into her lap. “You’re no fun,” she sighs, the crease of her brow weary, as if it is too much effort to fight this. She’s tired. She’s learned better.

K— shakes his head at her. “You know I don’t believe in things like that.” He doesn’t look at the white room around him and tries not to think about the thin blanket pulled up over her legs. He ties not to think about this uneasy feeling of not belonging. He focuses on her face instead, unfamiliar in its weariness. She squeezes his hand, chastising.

“I wish you would.” Her voice is soft. “It would make me happy.”

He pulls his hand away, fighting shame. “Fine, I’ll make a wish.” He attempts a smile but it feels like a lie when she returns it with one of her own.

“You’re a good son, K—,” she says.

K— lets his gaze fall to the sterile, white hospital floor, bile rising in his throat. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he wants to leave, because he doesn’t belong anymore. He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’s sorry, he doesn’t know her anymore.

He can’t tell her that he wishes he were home, instead.