law school is my boyfriend

Earlier, I found myself quoted, which was strange. This was the passage:

(They say, find a day job, write on the side, support yourself until you are so successful that you can quit your day job. But they don't take into account that writing takes a huge amount of creative, mental, and emotional energy - all of which your day job can drain out of you. What can you produce that is good, that is full of heart and soul and story, after a long, tedious, dry day of work? Those who say that are practical, but where does practicality come in to writing? Writing is an art, and does art leave room for practicality? Or is it something deeper, more innate, more in tune with nature - wild, raw, free - the need for expression?)

I was surprised that I actually sounded somewhat approaching coherent in that; it reads very much me though. An excessive fondness for commas and lists without conjunctions - it is my shame. I am working on converting my sentence fragments into better-flowing complete sentences.

Unrelated to writing because that's something I'm not doing recently (for fun or for school, and it kills me that I'm not), I was thinking about the complexities of relationships and the implications tied into them, whether or not we realize those implications at the time. For example, M has been seeing someone recently - only 3 dates so far, but he's a born-and-bred Midwestern guy and very proud of that. He's only ever been too two states: MO where he was born and where he lives now and AZ where he went to school. He has no inclination to travel and explore the rest of the country, much less the rest of the world; he has no intention of leaving St. Louis. There is always the possibility that a relationship with M will broaden his horizons and open his mind to a new world, but the chance seems small and, to me, seems like so much unnecessary work.

I don't think I could ever date someone who doesn't enjoy Asian cuisine on a fairly regular basis (if not every day), someone who isn't interested in new cultures, someone who doesn't want to see more of the world than just their own backyard. I don't think I could be happy with someone like that. M is uncertain too but this is only a fairly minor concern for her because he is presenting a few more pressing issues for her: his complete stinginess and that he's proclaimed his love for her after just three dates. Three casual dates, mind, not exactly soul-searching, heart-baring, death-defying and life-affirming dates.

But hearing her story made me linger on the unsaid implications if she should choose to continue dating this guy and turn it into a relationship: she would essentially be committing to him and to St. Louis. She can't get into a serious relationship and then turn around and leave school to work on the coast; she can't demand he follow her when his home and roots are all here. Dating means looking towards the future, and the future means you have to consider what you're willing to compromise and what you're not. (This applies mostly to people like me and M who don't do casual; maybe it's a very stereotypical female mindset that the point of dating is to find a suitable person you're willing to spend the reset of your life with. I say "stereotypical" because a lot of girls are capable of doing casual and only want that, and more power to them.)

This is why I don't want to date in law school anymore. I don't want to commit myself to anyone here. I don't want to have to worry about another huge factor I have to work around and compromise with when I consider my future. I'm still young. I want my life to be about me right now, not me with someone else. Right now, I am happy not being in a relationship. I like not having to worry about that, having only to look out for myself and take care of myself.

And I have plenty to worry about. Thanks, law school. You provide me with just as much emotional drama as any relationship could with no cuddling trade-off.

[x] we were never meant to be (we just happened)

we were never meant to be (we just happened)
PG, 550 words

sometimes she thinks she shouldn't be this happy - but that's stupid. everyone should be happy. it's just, she never expected to be so happy. she never expected to end up here, her chest tight with joy that feels like it's going to burst out of her with wings. she never expected all these smiles and all this laughter and all this warmth when she rolls into his arms at night and counts the shadows his lashes cast on his cheek.

she's a little afraid she's going to wake up and find out it's all been a dream, or that she's going to blink and everything will dissolve before her eyes like an illusion. it's terrifying but at the same time it's thrilling, every time her blood rushes in her ears and her heart rate doubles and triples and she falls all over again, into the warmth of his smile.

love is all these songs she never stops singing, all the romance books she's secretly read. love is grand gestures and sappy movies he confesses to watching. love is sunshine and flowers and chocolates on the right days, walks in the first snow, and every other cliché she has never really understood and has never really bothered with.

love is all these stories of once-upon-a-time and happily-ever-after, fairy tales and princesses and the knights who rescue them. it's every cheesy lyric that's ever been written into song, about love keeping you warm, love keeping you safe.

she doesn't know if she believes in these meant-to-bes, these promises of forever that the world seems to think love is made of. all she knows is that she doesn't understand it, this happiness she has with him. she doesn't know if they'll be together later, much less forever; she doesn't know if they should be together now.

she wonders about the little things - if they should hold hands in public, if her parents will like him. she wonders if they will have a life together, take a vacation together, write postcards and letters and sign them together (two names linked with an ampersand). she wonders if they can sing together, voices blending and harmonizing, and write a song just for them.

she doesn't know what the future will bring, doesn't know if this scary, thrilling feeling in her chest will ever fizzle and fade. she doesn't know if she'll ever stop being this happy but, she realizes, she doesn't care.

because (once-upon-a-time) she used to wonder if he would kiss her back. once-upon-a-time, she used to wonder if she was imagining the way those arms held her close or the way those lips whispered her name, like a secret. once-upon-a-time, she used to wonder and daydream and hope a whole other series of what ifs (what if he loves me? what if he doesn't? what if i tell him?).

sometimes she is terrified of how happy she is, with no guarantees, nothing more concrete than an arm over her shoulder and her name in his smile. but she takes a chance on the what ifs anyway.

it doesn't matter if they were never meant to be, because they ended up here anyway. and that's what counts.

[x] The Greatest Love of All Time

Not my favorite, but the only thing close to original (for a given value of original) that I've managed to write in for-fucking-ever. Inspired loosely by Taylor Swift's Love Story. Oh shoot me. I take what I can get, okay?

This is a...vignette? I'm incapable of writing long things.

--

The Greatest Love of All Time

This is a love story, they tell you. It starts like this:

She’s crying.

Why is she crying? you ask. This is a love story. Shouldn’t she be happy and in love, flushed and breathless? Shouldn’t she laugh and smile and have a hand to hold, and a man who loves her to kiss? Shouldn’t she have promises of now and forever, until all her tears dry up?

This is what you’ve always hoped love would be like. You’ve never actually been in love, you think. There have been crushes, flutterings, butterflies in your stomach – but nothing quite so big, so monumental and momentous, as love.

You don’t know what it’s like. You’ve imagined it to be everything beautiful and splendid – a rush of feelings so intense that you won’t be able to contain them. You will shout to all the world, even silently, about love, love, love. Your eyes, your smile, your very pores will exclaim to everyone who passes you by: I’m in love. I am loved. This is love.

This is what you imagine love to be like, so you’re at a loss when the story begins:

She’s crying.

There’s no rain, no torrential downpour to match her mood, no light shower to gently streak her windowpanes like tears. It’s dark outside, though, because she’s wasted the entire day away in misery, pale and gray. Her hair is tied neatly behind her, her clothes immaculate – she made every effort to be okay this morning, so she could face the world and take it on. No one has to know, is what she thought that morning. I’ll be fine.

It’s all fallen apart, and now she sits immaculate on her bed, crying. She feels like she’s choking on her heart, feels like it’s risen up in her throat until she can’t breathe, and aches all over.

You want to reach out to her, maybe hold her. You’re tentative though, because you don’t know her. You don’t what’s wrong. What happened, you want to ask, but there is no answer. What brought her to this point?

How is this a love story? you wonder again.

Maybe her boyfriend (husband?) left her. Maybe he cheated on her – but, no. You think she’d be angrier if it were that. She seems too heartbroken. Maybe he died.

She seems young, so her boyfriend (lover?) must be young as well.

How tragic it would be to die so young. You would cry, too. (At least you think you would. It’s hard to judge, when you’ve never been in love.)

She wipes at her eyes, and you can read the weariness in the slow movements of her hand. She’s tired. Tired of crying, tired of feeling like the world has broken her. It’s easy to see, and it leaves you conflicted. Is there anything you can do to help her? Is there anything you might say to console her? Are there such things as the right words?

You wish you knew what was wrong.

Someone enters the room, an older woman. She gathers the girl in her arms, holds her close, and speaks quiet words into her ear. When she leaves, your protagonist lifts her chin. She looks suddenly determined, more certain of what she wants, like she has purpose. Her face is still streaked with tears, wet lashes dark in the fading light.

She moves with purpose. Something is clutched tight in her hands – a small vial. She is uncapping it. You don’t understand. You don’t understand how this is a love story, if she is alone and unhappy. You don’t understand why she is lifting the vial to her lips, draining it with an elegant tilt of her neck.

She’s beautiful, you think. She’s young. She reminds you of someone you know, someone you want to protect and keep from the toils and wiles of the world. You hardly know her, but suddenly you are desperate for her to be happy, to live freely and laugh joyously. You want her to love, to shout it to the world to know, and fear clutches you when she swallows that last drop.

The vial falls to the ground.

She follows soon after, an inelegant collapse onto the floor, her immaculate clothing at last disheveled. Her face is pale, still damp with tearstains.

This is a love story, they tell you. You feel like a stone has settled into your heart.

How can this be a love story? How can this be anything like love, this story that makes you want to gather her up and cry into her hair? She is so young, so sad. You don’t understand. This is nothing like fireworks or moving mountains or birdsong. This is nothing like love.

You turn away as an outcry is raised, and rushing feet fill the room, crowding carelessly near her body.

This is a love story, they tell you. It ends like this:

He finds her and his cry raises goosebumps along your skin. It’s chilling, the anguish in his voice; it breaks him. He lands on his knees, pulling her towards him ever so gently. He sobs, laments. He kisses her one last time, murmurs prayers into her hair, despairing.

So this is he. This is her man. (Boyfriend? Lover?) This is her heart, her love.

Her love cannot exist with her. You realize this before he does. You’re almost calm when he pulls out a vial. This is familiar, too terrifyingly familiar. You almost don’t flinch when he drains the poison and the vial clatters to the ground as he slumps over.

So this is love.

So this is love.

But then she stirs. And then she screams, because no, no, no, she never meant for it to end like this. It was supposed to be different. He was supposed to understand. He was supposed to wait. She only ever wanted to be with him, only wanted him, only wanted—

She wails, and you know what happens next.

Everyone knows what happens next.

She grabs the dagger and plunges it into her own heart.

She’s crying.

You look away as she collapses onto him, star-crossed lovers thwarted even at the end. They’ll have eternity, but will forever be long enough? He didn’t understand. She didn’t wait. They were in love.

This is a love story, they tell you. The greatest love story of all time.

Maybe, you think, you’ve never understood what love is about all this time.

14 love letters

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! ♥

Fourteen love letters.

01
We've drifted apart somewhat, but that's only to be expected, with the physical distance separating us. It's okay, though. I don't think we need to be in constant communication with each other to still care. I guess this is part of what growing up is about. I hope you know that no matter where life takes you, I will always love you for who you are, same and different from the person that I am. You will live your own life and I will live mine, but there will always be something that ties us together, and I'm grateful for that. It's this thing we call friendship.

02
"I was too young to see that you were always there for me." Thank you for everything you've done for me, everything you've given up and struggled over. I didn't appreciate it when I was younger but I hope that as I grow up, as I mature, I come to truly appreciate you the way I should. No matter what differences in our world perspectives, I am yours, and I love you. I will do everything I can to make you proud and happy. Thank you for wanting the best for me.

03
You take care of me and you make me laugh; I feel so comfortable with you. I feel like I can ask you for advice, talk to you about anything, joke with you about stupid things. You are truly the older sister I never had, but to have you now makes me feel incredibly lucky. I'm so glad that you're in my life, and I hope to be whatever you need me to be, in return. We can take on this life and make something positive out of it.

04
You, on the other hand, are the little sister I never had. I have a number of friends I care for and give advice to, but you somehow fill the role better than any of them. Sometimes I don't know what to do with you, and sometimes I don't know what advice I can give to help - but I will always listen, and I will always care. Thank you for trusting me enough to turn to me when you need someone. When you're down, remember that you're one of my most important people (perhaps surprisingly). I love you, so take care of yourself, okay?

05
We haven't talked as much this semester, but I understand what life is like. We drown in our respective academic careers, not usually by choice, but often enough because we share the same priorities and hopes. Know that I understand, so don't ever worry if time has lapsed into weeks before we catch up. Know, too, that if you want, I will cheerfully listen to anecdotes about your life, or complaints, or anything, because you're - I don't know quite what you are. Good friend, practically sister, someone I trust and admire and love deeply. Come see me this semester.

06
I don't know how exactly to define how I feel about you, except that you are definitely one of my closest friends. You may even be one of my best friends. I feel completely comfortable talking about my worst fears and ugliest insecurities, as well as what I want out of life. But I am also constantly stupid and silly around you too, joking and teasing and being ridiculous. I feel incredibly myself around you, which is not true of all my friendships. So...thanks for that, I guess. For being you. I hope you feel the same way, and I hope it lasts forever. :) Pretending to be something I'm not has never worked out well for me.

07
You're a combination of young and old for me, a combination of naivety that doesn't quite yet get it just because you haven't had the life experiences yet (but I don't mean this in a patronizing way at all, because I'm much the same - I know I'm sheltered and "innocent" in many respects to life at large) and the ability to understand the intricacies of human relationships. You have your priorities in order, I think. At least, the most important of them. They will guide your life, so I don't really worry about you. You will grow up and learn and be successful, because you know what's important. Also, I love you. I love talking to you and I miss that, but I understand. And it will be okay regardless, because we're us.

08
For all that I constantly talk about how much I dislike you, I know you have qualities I admire. I know people like you for a reason. Hell, I like you, and there are reasons for that too. I think you do know what's important in life, which I fiercely support. I think you care deeply about people, which is generally admirable, even if it occasionally causes you stress and unhappiness. I think you try (maybe not hard enough), but at least you try. Remember what's important and what's not; remember that you need to take time off and enjoy life (make memories), but remember that the priorities need to be put first. You know what you want in life, so get out there and work for it.

09
I love the way you make me laugh. I love the way you make me smile. I love your singing, your talent, your hard work. I love the way you're familiar and beautiful and a reminder of some of the best times of my life. I love you for showing me what some of the most important things in life are. Thank you.

10
I don't know how many times or how many ways I can say this, but you are incredible. You're one of the people I admire most in the world because of the way you live your life: you're so intelligent and observant. You narrate extremely well. You're thoughtful. You're creative. You can make something out of your life, and I will be glad to know you. I'm glad we're keeping in touch and I hope it will always be true; distance will never separate us, because I will make every effort to close those distances. You're another person I feel like I can tell everything, no matter how different we are (and we are quite different). I hope we will never lose this. I will not let us ever lose this. Now come back to me. :)

11
I don't know if we'll ever be best friends, but you know what? I like you a lot. I like spending time with you. I like joking with you and teasing each other. I think we share a lot of the same interests and values, and you're a lot of fun. There's no need for us to be BFF - we each have people in our lives who are incredibly important. I think it's okay for us to just be what we are: good friends.

12
I told you everything I thought, good and bad, for two years. You listened. You talked. I listened. This is something that establishes a firm friendship. It's harder this year, since I'm far away, but I do still care. I hope you realize that. I may not be enough, and I can't do everything, but I hope I can still do (be) something. And it is always, always awesome that you understand my unadulterated passion for UNC basketball. That is one thing we will always have, easy.

13
You and I have a lot of memories. We have a lot of history. We have a lot of firsts and a lot empty space between us, in terms of time and space. I don't think it changes the fact that we're important to each other though; I hope not. What I say here can apply to so many people, because it's true in all respects: we grow apart, we grow up, but we don't stop caring. I think that's the most important part. You have overcome so much - I admire you so deeply for it. In your place, I don't know what I would have done. I count myself lucky in so many ways, to not have to go through the same things you have, but also to know you and your strength. I love you and I'm proud of you. Thank you also for helping me through some of my more difficult times.

14
I love your smile. I love your style. I love your intelligence and humor and elitism. I love you for spending time with me, for letting me get to know you. I love you for giving me memories, for helping me as a writer, for developing my sense of humor, for giving me an opportunity to critique. We may never be best friends, but you'll always be a part of my life, an important part of shaping who I am now. Let's keep in touch.

November 6th. :)

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.