Blurry vision and blood shot eyes. Tiredness mingling with awakeness. This is the aftermath of fucking up my sleeping patterns yet again in the form of an all nighter. I pace around and fight the waves of nausea and drowsiness. The importance of my duties outweigh the comfort of sleep. My brain is driving 90 mph. I repeat this process again and again and again. Either I undersleep or I oversleep. It's never a healthy amount. I can't rest. I rarely relax. I have such unhealthy habits. I wonder how I even initiated this vicious cycle.

Behavioral Changes to Attractiveness

Several steps have been taken to become the person that I am now. No longer am I the person that I was in middle school. Out with the puffy bowlcut, unflattering clothes, and extreme introversion, and in with a medium length, wavy/straight hairstyle, different way of dress, and more extroverted attitude. Standing 5' 2" tall as an Asian American female, I have become my own person–a sense of identity completely separate from the Asian stereotype. That being said, my uniqueness and selfhood is something I will always treasure and has made me feel secure with myself.

Entering middle school, I was thrust into a new environment. While my elementary years were an ignorant bliss, I felt great anxiety in the next chapter of my life. I encountered different social standards from before. People were far more aggressive and socioeconomic barriers became obvious. I took longer paths to reach a destination simply because I did not want to be seen by many people. I was always afraid that I would give people the impression that I was a loner, so I used to ask people to walk with me EVERYWHERE around school. I did not know how to dress myself and gave up on myself appearance wise.

That began to change in 8th grade. I met a girl named Jennah. Thanks to her, I bought ridiculously expensive pants and random tops. Unfortunately, that was not the only awkward stage in my life .Entering high school was another strange chapter. Still slightly socially inept, I had a difficult time adapting to a school completely out of my area with much higher social standards. After graduating, I can truthfully say that I am glad to have gone to that high school, not only for its education, but for the lessons it has taught me on how to conduct myself in public.

Anyway, that is not the subject I want to touch up on. Becoming conventionally attractive has elicited many responses, both favorable and unfavorable. Being able to frequent more social circles due to better social acceptability/treatment is definitely a perk. Now able to smile and function daily in society, I am finally confident. However, there are some setbacks.

As an "ugly duckling," I did not face the problem of excessively friendly people. Unwanted verbal utterances constitute as harassment. Unwanted physical contact is assault. For some reason, I almost forgot that it was not normal for this to happen in daily life. For one, people always assumed I was a genius back when I fit the Asian stereotype. Now, people believe they have the license to insult my intelligence and make crude descriptions of my body. Although they are basically calling me attractive, I find the descriptions intensely disrespectful.

Another thing that I would like to add is the fact that some of my friends have been forced into sexual situations by males that they once saw as a (potential) friend. I will always remember this: My ex-best friend telling me about a boy locking her in his room unless she let him touch her body. I too have been approached by people that have had a sexual interest in me. When getting food before going to the Homecoming dance, a classmate of my friend from middle school decided to slide his hand around my waist. Rather than seeing it as flattering, I was disgusted and find the unwanted attention intrusive.

Of course, superficiality affects everyone negatively and I cannot avoid this type of attention altogether by going backwards on my progress. Regardless, people will choose to push against another person's boundaries, either to test him/her or ignore them. Whether it is pushing at his/her boundaries or being rude, shutting down someone's attraction to you can easily be done. Behavior that makes another individual uncomfortable should be stopped and it's a simple fact I forget.

My chest is tight. My breath is sparse. My heart feels like it's tearing and my blood runs cold. I need to catch my breath. It feels like something has a hold of my lungs and its harsh grip is squeezing the life out of me. I almost feel sick. I fight the urge to vomit. I am disgusted.

I am fatigued, physically and emotionally. I'm breaking out and when I wake up, I am tired. I hate this terrible feeling. I need out. I need something.

In every corner of my thoughts stands a figure. It is myself. She makes me doubt myself and others. I'm not a strong girl. I'm not brave at all. All it takes is a few seconds or a phrase, and I distrust that person. I am frantic, almost desperate. I know it is just another strange emotional phase, yet I find questioning other people's motives. Once negativity is instilled in me, it festers and festers. I can't help it.

"Are you being sincere? Is that the truth? Please, I want to believe you. Will these conversations become dry? Are these promises empty?" All questions I ask myself each encounter with a close friend. I fear I become attached too easily. Is this my defense mechanism? Am I subconsciously trying to push people away?

This irrational paranoia is sickening. It actively bothers me, as I am falling asleep and when I am awake. I don't think my friends have the slightest clue about what goes on in my head. I have spoken about it vaguely, but I don't think they have an ounce of understanding. They usually have no words. The silence is uncomfortable. I wish I did not need people and that people did not need me.

I think I am simply afraid–afraid of having my feelings being trampled on and of attachment. I hate it. I hate it all.

A flood of tears gushed down my friend's ashen cheeks, staining her gray sweater. Attached to her tired and damp face was her dull brown-black eyes and her voice, usually high and full of warmth, began to crack with emotion, becoming hoarse in tone. I glanced at her bent, shaking form and somehow, a part of me could not feel compassion.

"I never thought this would happen to me... I thought things would last."

I felt disgusted.

"I guess he didn't love me as much as I loved him... No, he doesn't love me."

I almost pitied her.

She saw the signs. I saw the signs. Her other friends saw the signs. We had warned her.

Few shared interests. His parents did not like her. He stopped the calls at night. He stopped visiting, even when given the chance. He stopped texting throughout the day. He stopped trying. He stopped caring. I suppose it was blind optimism that tied her to him in the end.

I refrained from giving her the advice many have given me: "You'll get over it. You will find someone new."

I didn't want to be a hypocrite.

Back then, I was blindly optimistic as well. Now, here I was, listening to her soft sobs and watching my past mistakes unfold in her life. I knew the beginning, middle, and end here. I knew the pain she felt in that moment. I was stuck re-living an experience through her words.

"It's over and I don't understand why. I really loved him. Why did this happen?"

"Unsolicited Advice to Adolescent Girls with Crooked Teeth and Pink Hair" by Jeanann Verlee

When your mother hits you, do not strike back. 
When the boys call asking your cup size, say A, hang up. 
When he says you gave him blue balls, say you’re welcome.  
When a girl with thick black curls who smells like bubble gum stops you in a stairwell to ask if you’re a boy, explain that you keep your hair short so she won’t have anything to grab when you head-butt her.
Then head-butt her. 
When a guidance counselor teases you for handed-down jeans, do not turn red. 
When you have sex for the second time and there is no condom, do not convince yourself that screwing between layers of underwear will soak up the semen. 
When your geometry teacher posts a banner reading: “Learn math or go home and learn how to be a Momma,” do not take your first feminist stand by leaving the classroom. 
When the boy you have a crush on is sent to detention, go home.
When your mother hits you, do not strike back. 
When the boy with the blue mohawk swallows your heart and opens his wrists, hide the knives, bleach the bathtub, pour out the vodka.
Every time. 
When the skinhead girls jump you in a bathroom stall, swing, curse, kick, do not turn red. 
When a boy you think you love delivers the first black eye, use a screw driver, a beer bottle, your two good hands. 
When your father locks the door, break the window. 
When a college professor writes you poetry and whispers about your tight little ass, do not take it as a compliment, do not wait, call the Dean, call his wife. 
When a boy with good manners and a thirst for Budweiser proposes, say no. 
When your mother hits you, do not strike back. 
When the boys tell you how good you smell, do not doubt them, do not turn red. 
When your brother tells you he is gay, pretend you already know.
When the girl on the subway curses you because your tee shirt reads: “I fucked your boyfriend,” assure her that it is not true. 
When your dog pees the rug, kiss her, apologize for being late. 
When he refuses to stay the night because you live in Jersey City, do not move. 
When he refuses to stay the night because you live in Harlem, do not move. 
When he refuses to stay the night because your air conditioner is broken, leave him. 
When he refuses to keep a toothbrush at your apartment, leave him. 
When you find the toothbrush you keep at his apartment hidden in the closet, leave him. 
Do not regret this. 
Do not turn red.
When your mother hits you, do not strike back.

Seasons

Shifting from clear, shining skies to an irregular, cloudy mixture of precipitation and wind, wafts of white fluff (in the sky) meld into a large mass of gray. Seasons drift to the next and fall begins, the stepping stone between summer and winter.

In fall, everything dies. Magnificently colored leaves descend, becoming a dance of red, orange, golden browns, and yellow. Instead of the delightful sunshine of summer, your skin meets cool and crisp air in the mornings, and the weather is absolutely unpredictable with its warm and cold days.

Eventually, fall becomes winter, winter becomes spring, spring becomes summer, and summer returns to fall. In an odd way, this shift in weather has always reminded me of peer pressure. It's like a never-ending cyclic battle of rebirth and death.

Nature is truly invigorating, as it is inspiring.

Mental deterioration in the form of crying follows a series of emotional onslaught. Salt drips and drips from the eyes and the hands rub at the face to hide all evidence of displeasure. Subconsciously, I imagine and convince myself that my face will turn raw and sore, resulting in splotches of dry skin and blood, and that my nose, being clogged up with wet snot, too will leave a trace of bleed. Uncomfortable with my sudden weakness and the violent imagery, I continue to rub and rub, bleeding and bleeding, and attempt to fix my contorted expression of depression into an empty facade... And in the end, all I see is a red gore smeared across the face.

Who really cares?

Who really cares?

When I talk, What I feel, What I say

Nobody Not really

Who wants to take the time to understand

I would like someone to heal me with some empathy

I can't find

Nobody not really

Maybe I'm invisible to the world

Does anyone in the world even think of me?

As more than just a hopeless cause

Maybe the world is not my block, my stoop, my life, my dreams, my anything, anything

Who wants to help?

Mama but she's so tired

Papa but your not here

I'm alone in a big empty space

With nobody not really

I'm Sorry

I’m sorry I don’t have a 4.0 GPA. I’m sorry I didn’t take several AP classes. I’m sorry I’m attending a community college, the bastard child of the university. I’m sorry I’m not fat enough. I’m sorry I’m not thin enough. I’m sorry I am interested in being an artist instead of a doctor or lawyer. I’m sorry I don’t have a job. I’m sorry my brother is a fucking failure and I have to overcompensate for him. I’m sorry you didn’t abort me. I’m sorry my Chinese isn’t fluent. I’m sorry I was born into a poorer family than my relatives. I’m sorry for wanting to go outside. I’m sorry for not spending enough time indoors studying. I’m sorry I don’t spend enough time doing extracurricular activities. I’m sorry for not socializing enough. I’m sorry you think I’m a worthless member of society. I’m sorry for being ugly. I’m sorry for being superficial. I’m sorry I’m too dark. I’m sorry I’m still here. I’m sorry I enjoy having a sense of independence and individuality. I’m sorry for talking back. I’m sorry for getting angry. I’m sorry for hating you. I’m sorry for ever wanting to kill myself. I’m sorry for getting acne. I’m sorry I don’t sleep enough. I’m sorry I waste time doing homework at night. I’m sorry I don’t spend enough time with the dog. I’m sorry I waste too much time on friends. I’m sorry you don’t think my friends are sincere. I'm sorry you think my friends are worthless. I’m sorry you still think I associate with Jennah. I'm sorry for ever associating with Jennah. I’m sorry for not letting you control who my friends are. I’m sorry I got angry when you tried to spy on whatever I did on the computer. I’m sorry I got angry when you tried to eavesdrop on my phone conversations. I’m sorry for crying too much. I’m sorry for looking ugly when I’m sad. I'm sorry for sounding ugly when I'm sad. I’m sorry my accomplishments are too low for you. I’m sorry I don’t trust you. I’m sorry I lie. I'm sorry I speak my mind. I'm sorry for speaking the truth when you don't want to hear it. I’m sorry I hate you for your convoluted sense of righteousness. I’m sorry I think you’re manipulative. I’m sorry I’m too harsh with my words. I’m sorry you think my room is too dirty. I’m sorry that even when I clean my room, something is still seems out of place to you. I’m sorry you think my room smells even though the window is wide open. I’m sorry you think I’m stupid. I’m sorry you think I’m useless. I'm sorry my best is not enough for you. I'm sorry I don't try hard enough. I’m sorry for being sorry. I’m sorry I’m not sorry. I'm so sorry.

Memories often seen as useless by others become a sentimental afterthought. They build and act as the backbone for romantic relationships. Love adds worth to an individual's quirky mannerisms and creates a sense of fondness or appreciation for experiences that may have been considered unpleasant in the past.

This reminds me of a popular Chinese song, "The Moon Represents My Heart" by Teresa Teng. In Chinese context, the moon is an indicator or symbol of love. It is believed that when you look at the moon, your heart is yearning for someone.

From full moon, to half moon, to crescent moon, to several moonless nights, to crescent moon again, then half moon, and finally full moon... the moon constantly changes from phase to phase throughout time, similar to love. At times, the moon may "disappear" and feelings may seem fickle or fleeting, but they always return, replenished and constant.

Irregularity of feeling is not love. If left that ambiguous, that person, give or take, probably was not a defining figure within your life. Either you know or you do not. Harboring romantic feelings for another people outside of the relationship is impossible; there should be no room for petty crushes. If I love someone, I should only see that person and no one else.

Oppression/mistreatment begets mistrust. That being said, it is believed that those put into an oppressed category develop what is known as Healthy Cultural Paranoia (HCP). Due to reinforced and consistent suppression, HCP acts as a "defense mechanism".

HCP is seen as a natural response or type of behavior to discrimination. Is it truly healthy to justify your fear of a certain social group?

I have seen many people blame "privileges" and other people entirely for their shortcomings and make incredibly ignorant comments about them, resulting in complete failure to recognize one's own inadequacies. Many people who carry this mindset ARE ignorant, hence why they make borderline racist, sexist, etc. commentary on society. Along with that, refusal to take responsibility exposes a weak character: an emotionally immature person plagued by insecurities. It is no surprise that they choose to reinforce their bigoted views with what is known as HCP.

Overall, HCP is a method of breeding and justifying ignorance. Can YOU really trust yourself to be impartial? To condone an inferiority complex as healthy is irrational. Principles are always diluted by emotional prejudice. It's best to be self-aware, well-informed, and careful with your words.

"An online community site recently posted this picture which is a compilation of the faces of top celebrities within Korea (left), China (center) and Japan (right)."

 Here is a compilation of famous female Asian, American, and European actresses (in that order).

If this is the generic look commonly seen as aesthetically beautiful, beauty must not be special. What sets a truly beautiful woman or (handsome) man apart from what is conventionally attractive?

Asian Beauty

One glance into the mirror and, all I see is an Asian face attached to an Asian body of an Asian female. Beauty matters. It is one simple fact that has rung loud and clear to me throughout the years. Day after day, people torment themselves with this simple question: "Am I beautiful?" Having been exposed to a media selling superficial values that capitalize physical beauty, it is not surprising at all to see negative repercussions, often in the form of eating disorders or endless hours being locked in the bathroom.

Comprising both a social overlay and a physical base for people, societal beauty standards do provide and incorporate a large social foundation. After primping all morning just to look aesthetically acceptable, you are rewarded with a positive reception from people in multiple shapes and forms, such as a helping hand when in difficulty or being approached by others in a friendly manner. Why not put the effort to look beautiful?

As an Asian American myself, I have always wondered, "What is ideal Asian beauty?" For most women, beauty is of utmost importance. Likewise, Asian women are flocking together to get blepharoplasty, rhinoplasty, and breast augmentation all to achieve double lids, a higher nose, and a larger bust. Asian women across the globe are whittling away at their round/oval faces and shaving their jawbone just to resemble the sharp bone structure of a Greek goddess. The aim is to look "naturally beautiful." In other words, to appear innately attractive with Westernized features because of race-based insecurities and in doing so, they betray their genetic legacy.

American Asian beauty and Asian beauty in Asia contrast with one another heavily. The first involves "sun kissed California girl skin" and a demeanor that is often perceived as more mature whereas the latter promotes a more youthful and natural look, lustrous hair, and porcelain white skin. However, the expectations of both worlds prove to be very limited and involve the Euro-Western physical characteristics that Asians usually are not blessed with.

Compare yourself to Asian representatives of pop culture. Do you look like any of them? Asian beauty has become so incredibly convoluted that we are left uncomfortably aware of how corrupt and narrow its vision is. Frequently bombarded with how I am absolutely failing these unachievable standards, I realize I will never be considered wholly beautiful by them AND the sheer impossibility of it all. Moreover, is it truly fair to measure Asians to a Euro-centric brand of beauty? Are Asians defined as beautiful or merely "exotic"?

By becoming more acutely attuned to the incredibly prohibitive parameters of Asian beauty, I have more clarity in the way I see myself. Beauty, of course, is subjective and we should be aware of how social constructs shape our understanding of it.

Comfortable Conversation

I wake up and dawdle throughout the day, shifting from scene to scene and event after event, silently waiting for an opportunity to converse with my best friend. When give that chance, it proves to be both a fruitful and uplifting social experience that elevates a normal day from just being another regular day. Never a case of being left "high and dry," conversation remains consistently pleasurable and simply flows, far from stiff, awkward, and forced. Time drifts away and as the night grows near, I mentally acknowledge and anticipate the ending to our discussion.

Cultivating and developing to a healthy relationship with an individual that I truly treasure... I realize what a gift this is! Before submitting into the body's demands for sleep, I ponder over occurrences and their causal circumstances–how they could be altered to create or negate a certain phenomenon. In the end, I reflect on my conversation with that person and how they could have been from beginning, middle, to end... "Should I have said something sweet?" or "Should I have spent more time focusing on his issues?" are questions I often ask myself. However, even if I am an ounce regretful for unspoken words, I realize I am pleased with the results regardless and there really is no room for regret!

I suppose this is what is amazing about this person.

Casual Conversation Before Leaving School

Dad: Stupid girl, shut up! Do you want me to leave you at school?
Me: Well, I'm going to be the one driving the car and I can crash any time I want.

"The Cross of Snow" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

An ember from the fireplace caught on the dress of the poet's wife. As a result, her life was cut short. It is said that Longfellow tried to put out the fire, which burned and disfigured his face so much that that he grew a long beard to hide it... I read this in 8th or 9th grade and it always stays in my memory. I've always found this sonnet touching, yet poignant.

In the long, sleepless watches of the night,

A gentle face–the face of one long dead–

Looks at me from the wall, where round its head

The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.

Here in this room she died, and soul more white

Never through martyrdom of fire was led

To its repose; nor can in books be read

The legend of a life more benedight.

There is a mountain in the distant West

That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines

Displays a cross of snow upon its side.

Such is the cross I wear upon my breast

These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes

And seasons, changeless since the day she died.

Rarely do quotes or scenes from movies stay embedded in my mind. Considering my lack of a TV and visits to the movie theater, there is not much content to be derived from for that to occur more frequently. Perhaps that is false and that is just evidence of the sheer power or quality of a film. Maybe, it's both!

In the American drama film Infamous, writer Truman Capote conducts a research over a murder in Kansas for his book In Cold Blood. As a result, he establishes a close relationship with the convicted murderers, Dick Hickock and Perry Smith.

Later in the storyline, Capote and Smith develop a romantic connection, which then becomes an emotional journey that is both complex and heartbreaking. In Cold Blood is published after Hickock and Smith's executions, leaving Capote with a bittersweet aftermath, a masterpiece that became an automatic success and Smith's belongings (his artwork and a recording of him singing). Seeing physical evidence of Smith's presence of his life devastates and brings Capote into utter tears.

One of the characters stated a profound truth about artists: "I read an interview with Frank Sinatra in which he says about Judy Garland, 'Every time she sings, she dies a little. That's how much she gave.' It's true for writers, too, who hope to create something lasting. They die a little getting it right."

Ande Parks, the author of the graphic novel Capote in Kansas, crafted a biography, addressing a particular period in Capote's life and reintroduced the story of the Kansas murder. In an interview, Parks states that "[Capote] loved Perry [...] but desperately wanted to finish his book… something that could not happen until Perry was dead." It is also mentioned that "For Capote, the relationship with Smith was devastating. Although he did return to Kansas to see the men die, he was unable to watch Smith hang and fled from the prison. Also, although In Cold Blood brought him enormous fame and elevated his celebrity status into the stratosphere, Capote was crushed, to a certain degree, creatively."

To create a piece of art and experience the loss of love... that is a high cost. Hardship often translates into an artist's greatest works. I often find myself thinking about about that quote and how I would like be an artist of that caliber. My obsession with art tends to depress and motivate me. I want to vomit out the emotional essence of me, my pain, sadness, and happiness, and craft something so aesthetically beautiful that I do not believe I am capable...

Movement

No movement

Just a falling bird

Cold as it hits the bleeding ground

He lived and died

Catch sight

Cover me with earth

Draped in black

Static

White sound

A day without substance

A change of thought

An atmosphere that rots with time

Colors that flicker in water

A short term effect

Scream

As she tries to push him over

Helpless and sick

With teeth of madness

Jump jump dance and sing

Sideways across the desert

A charcoal face

Bites my hand

Time is sweet

Derange and disengage everything

A day without substance

A change of thought

The atmosphere rots with time

Colors that flicker in water

A short term effect

A short term effect

A short term effect

An echo

And a stranger's hand

A short term effect

An echo

And a stranger's hand

A short term effect

Apathetic best describes my mood today–dullness of feeling, no high, no lows.

Suddenly, my thought process goes: "My life is going to be one endless stretch of dissatisfaction, punctuated by occasional crises, morbid obesity, and an odd curiosity for pop culture." So many sour faces out there, trapped in permanent scowls and racked by sorrow. It is often said that a woman's tragedy is that she becomes her mother. A genetic destiny. Of all things, that is what I fear most: becoming her shadow, following in the same footsteps toward a life marked by ill-feeling and emptiness.

Random Post

I would like to get this for my dog.

Dresses I Find Beautiful

Why do I waste so much of my time looking at dresses that I will never have or wear?

Songs that usually leave deep emotional impressions on us are attached to recycled memories. Loss is funny; when it occurs, life seems to make a 360 flip and changes from the inside out. Perception of the future must be reestablished. Eventually grief becomes acceptance and past memories then become useless. Healing seems like a slow extinction of your memories. The hurt is no longer raw as you forget that person's existence, their voice... so you do whatever you can to seize your memories, like calling out their name, but attempts fall short. It seems as though there is a misery to overcoming a depressive state in life or maybe it is all a part of being sentimental. Recovery proves how that person was nothing more than a phase in your life. Nothing important, yet when you listen to a certain song, you are sad, not because of that person, but because of the pain of that memory.

Laying on the soft piece of carpet left over from our recent flooring change, I spent a few minutes in the backyard in deep introspection. I laid there, as the hollow husk of a human being that I am, thinking about my childhood. My family has always had a fragmented infrastructure.

Concepts such as warmth and happiness that are normally associated with family do not exist for me. Growing up, I was always surrounded in an incredibly discordant atmosphere. Consistent tension and arguing, I wonder how my family ever fell into this pathetic state. I cannot name how many times my parents have kicked me or my older brother out of the house. Looking back, I realize my upbringing was truly the opposite of stable with the constant verbal and physical threats.

My parents and older brother's relationship reached a breaking point some time when I was in 8th grade. It was a stressful time. Every time he was out of the house was a chance for them to kick him out. They locked him out numerous times. To let him inside was a physical act of defiance. If I were to do so, I would be kicked out. Imagine how frightened I was, since I was only a child and torn between my loyalty to my brother, moral beliefs, and fears for my well-being.

One night, my brother returned home after spending his afternoon with a group of friends. Not allowed to let him inside, especially with my parents' presence there, I waited until 12 AM and placed a pink stool outside of our fence. He stood outside in the rain for me to give him that chance. If I opened the front door or garage, my parents would know that he was home. Along with that, the noise would wake them up.

Over time, my anger has subsided, becoming a dull ache embedded between my chest. Sometimes, I no longer think I am angry at my parents, but upset at my powerlessness, and when I cry, I do not know if I am angry, but I DO know I am frustrated because this is how it has always been and it will forever remain this way.

"Communion" by Jeanann Verlee

This always breaks my heart. Amazing stuff.

I know a boy who called his girlfriend’s body a “crime scene.” Dad, my body is a crime scene. My body is lint and gasoline and matchstick. My body is a brush fire. It’s ticking, Dad, a slow alarm. I have rain boots. Lots of them. It isn’t raining anymore. The words are coming back, Dad. The way they fit and jump in the mouth. I want ice cream and long letters. I want to read long love letters but I don’t think he loves me. I think I’m used up. I think I’m the grit under his nails, the girl who looks good in pictures. I don’t think he loves me. I think they broke me, Dad. I think I drink too much and it’s because they broke me. I heard about two girls recently, two women crushed like cherries in a boy’s jaw. It opened me, Dad. My body is melted wax, it is ripe and stink and bent. It is a mistake. I walk like an apology. I don’t hate men, Dad, I don’t. I want a washing machine. I want someone else to do the dishes, someone to walk the dog. I have a hornet in my head, Dad. A hornet. She’s an angry bitch — she hurls herself against my skull. She stings. And stings. I know I don’t make sense, Dad. This is the problem. I’m a sick girl, a crazy wishbone. I have razors under my tongue. I’m sorry I cut you, Dad, I’m so—so sorry. I gave you a card for Father’s Day once, it said you were my hero. You are. Your laugh is a thunderclap, you love like surgery. I think they broke me, Dad. I can’t erase their faces. I want to swim, Dad. Remember when I used to hopscotch? I used to make you laugh. My feet are hot. The bottoms of my feet are scorched sand, August asphalt. My body is a slug, a mob of sticky wet rot. No one touches me anymore because I’m rot. Because my body is a spill no one wants to clean up. They cracked me open, Dad, I know you don’t want to hear about it. You don’t want to hear how they scissored me, how they gnawed me like raw meat. No one wants to hear how they made me drink lemon juice, how they kicked the dog, how they upturned the furniture, no one wants to hear how my skin turned to a dark thick of purple and black and lead. I watch the homeless a lot, Dad. I watched a man with a cup of coins and chips of skin carved out of his face. He had freckles. He needs medicine, Dad. He needs to stop the hornet. My body is a hive. I am red ants and jellyfish. A yellow sickness. My body is a used condom in an alley in Jersey City. I don’t think he loves me, Dad. My body is a fetus in biohazard tank. A Polaroid pinned to a corkboard in Brooklyn. I think I’m hurt, Dad. I think I was the tough girl for too long. My body is a wafer, a thin, soft melt on a choir boy’s tongue.

Some Advice to Myself & Others

Identity is essentially the distinguishing character or personality of an individual. We establish identity by the components we characterize ourselves by such as our social environment and blood relations. Through identity, people form a deep rooted sense of uniqueness and define themselves through self-reflection. 

Personally, I have always felt that people who associate tremendously with Western culture have a great sense of entitlement. Seeing themselves as a single person, they therefore foster to a mindset in which they see their issues as singular and only carried by him/herself. I have no intent or aim to undermine anyone's experience. If one sees him/herself as an individual entity, as opposed to to a fraction of society, wouldn't that person be more likely to act in his/her self-interests because s/he is unable to look through a broader lens (when it comes to life issues)?

How one presents him/herself in society determines that person's social status. Insecurity shows through appearance; take a look at body language or fashion. Being human, I am destined to be judgmental. I will look down on that person, as will everyone else, simply because that person has no confidence in him/herself. Embracing your flaws and being comfortable with WHO and WHAT you are will ensure greater happiness. Regardless of one's experiences, as they are not the same for all, they all have potential to be more enjoyable depending on state of mind.

In life, one will always be at an advantage, while the other is at a disadvantage. Multiple things in life will come and beat us down. Try to overcome them. Mistreated? Physical confrontation? Fight back. Rebel. Do not allow anyone or yourself to question your worth. Need extra support? Ask for help. Refusal to accept your circumstances and carve a path FORWARD results in failure to yourself. Surrendering ultimately makes you weak. The greatest method of combating people that aim to invalidate your existence is by being alive. Think life is hard? Live a little.

External influences do play a fundamental role in shaping one's mental strength, but they are not absolute. EVERYONE is capable of becoming emotionally strong. Moreover, enduring these issues act as preparation for the adult world. Change is still possible and shortcomings could be transformed into pillars of strength. Mistreatment will come in all directions in a variety of shapes and forms. It is argued that people are cemented to the roles of the strong and the weak, and that is partly true, mainly because there are people who fail (or feel no need) to develop a proper defense mechanism for stressful situations. Having no way of handling it, it undoubtedly kills them. Use them as an example. Do not follow in their footsteps.

I recognize that there are circumstance in which suicide is seen as acceptable, even necessary, but in the end, death is death. You are merely a corpse 6 feet beneath the ground. What have you proven? Death truly is a tragedy, but it serves as a reminder that we are only a guest on this planet. Make use of your life while you can. When someone passes away, it is a loss for the human race–potential ideas, possible human connections... However, there are thousands and thousands of people in existence right now. Give life a chance to become pleasurable. Do not submit to death and allow your death to just become a number.

All in all, I cannot say that I fully sympathize with people who resort to such drastic means. In life, some people truly do undergo a sense of disconnect both catastrophic and intense that they are unable to fully experience joy and love. Regardless, to give up on life is a heavy cost and it deprives an individual of various opportunities for happiness. The only one to blame for your death would be yourself and you are no martyr. Do not nurture to negative thoughts and emotions; ignore parasitic bullshit. Love yourself and remember you are worth it.

"Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won't either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could." ~Louise Erdrich

Sex & Virginity

In today's society, the term virgin has become a label synonymous with being undesirable, prudish, or abnormally conservative. While that may be the case, there is also social stigma to having sexual experience. Being a non-virgin either equates to social status or promiscuity. It sometimes bears no such consequence. In my opinion, this can be summed up in one's viewpoint of sex, whether or not it is seen as an entirely separate matter from love and affection. For others, it is the mere result of carnal desire. In essence, sexual intercourse is a physical action, but it can have MORE meaning when involving an emotional connection.

For me, I could ever be sexually involved with another individual who I did not love. Moreover, I do not want that person to be a transient figure in my life and, simply fade away in importance and remain as a memory. To commit and deeply invest in another individual–that will undoubtedly take a heavy toll on me. Intimacy, closeness with another person, and the strength of love are all things that I treasure. I have never dated someone without thinking that person was perfect for me and that the relationship would last.

With sex, there are many responsibilities as well as consequences. I am a virgin myself partially due to my unwillingness to deal with the possible negative aftershock of sex. Sex can be seen as the aftermath of lack of control or a release to primal instinct/hormones. However, I see it as a question of whether or not s/he had exposure to a sexual education. I do not believe in shunning. It is not the perfect vaccine for people who exist in a culture where they are left complete vulnerable to peer pressure and the adverse effects of a pack mentality, nor does it does not ensure that the person will take preparatory measures for sex. With no sexual education, an individual stays ignorant and nothing will dissuade him/her from sex. Plus, those that are younger tend to have a mentality in which it is "cool" to take actions normally considered negative in society. A condemning response carries the assumption that the individual is not intelligent enough to make his/her own decisions and it must be chosen for him/her. To be frank, sexual intercourse is truly a decision entirely up to that individual and, no outside source should define and/or decide that for him/her.

Overall, sex is a sensitive subject and regardless of your interpretation of sex, it should involve consenting, responsible, and informed adults with access to contraceptives.

We were strangers.

We were strangers, for way too long, for way too long,

We were strangers, for way too long.

Violent, violent,

Were strangers.

Get weak all the time, may just pass the time,

Me in my own world, yeah you there beside,

The gaps are enormous, we stare from each side,

We were strangers for way too long.

Violent, more violent, his hand cracks the chair,

Moves on reaction, then slumps in despair,

Trapped in a cage and surrendered too soon,

Me in my own world, the one that you knew,

For way too long.

We were strangers, for way too long.

We were strangers,

We were strangers, for way too long.

For way too long.

Feminism

An underlying theme in the problems revolving around feminism is the concept that women are believed to suffer much more in her social environment in comparison to men. The founding principle of feminism was gender equality, yet it seems to be movement whose morals have become diluted and taken over entirely by radical, anti-misogynist, misandric extremists. Feminism in itself seems to have become sexist.

Lately, I have noticed a great influx of "feminist" spirit in people. Perhaps this is only my area and the people I associate with. Male privilege this, male privilege that. I thought the main purpose of feminism was to establish gender equality. Wouldn't this be a direct show of absolute hypocrisy that undermines male issues and forces them into a marginal position?

Bearing this in mind, I believe people tend to forget that there are FEMALE privileges as well. For one, females have the power to openly discuss how men have little to no issues without being labeled sexist. Another one is having people concerned about you walking alone, while a male is expected to "toughen up" and be a man when face-to-face with those dark streets. The list is endless and subjective.

All in all, women do have privileges, as do men. Being aware of these privileges do not negate the suffering of that gender itself. When one social group has an advantage, the other typically has a disadvantage.

Other problems that I have noticed in regards to how feminism is carried out is its expectations and the impossibility of it.

One of the reoccurring arguments of feminism that I have noticed is that people should ALWAYS respect others for their sexuality. On a social network, a lesbian peer of mine claimed that she was rejected from a job opportunity in Idaho simply on the basis of her sexuality and claimed it was a feminist issue, yet I saw her a moment later "liking" a page that bashes on women, or as they were referred to on the page... sluts. Personally, I found it incredibly ironic for someone to feel disrespected because of her sexuality and condone this type of condescending attitude when it came to other female's sexual behavior...

Dressing in a promiscuous manner can be seen as a characteristic, as in that person does not respect his or herself. Firstly, people are entitled to pass judgement on others. Moreover, if a man or woman does not respect him or herself, it is absurd for him or her to demand or expect respect from all persons. However, a controversial topic such as this will undoubtedly cross into another sensitive subject: rape. While I believe that no individual automatically deserves respect, a person's way of dress is no invitation for sexual harassment or exploitation.

Like any other movement, feminism carries its far share of holes in its arguments. If I would have to base social problems on immutable physical aspects, I find ethnicity and identity to be much more applicable, as well as broad.

Although racism is not as prevalent as before, it is subtle and its vestiges are still found pervading the confines of the United States. With the Anglo-Saxon race as the majority, minorities often feel obligated to assimilate. Having had a white majority, they are held to a higher esteem and non-whites’ must endure unequal treatment, along with alienation and condemnation for their differences. For example, studies have shown that an equal distribution of people among races commit crimes, yet people of color are more likely to be charged for their heinous crimes.

Cross-group interactions between dissimilar races can reduce tension and increase more empathy among the majority toward minorities. In spite of that, that is only possible if the minority conforms, making the acculturation process unequal. They must deteriorate their cultural foundation and submit to the culture of the majority. As a result, they develop a condition of hybrid identity, an aftermath of racial prejudice.

However, minority problems are not a mere problems that involve race. Women with executive positions in the professional world can also constitute as a minority. Three white men in group full of Chinese females would also be a minority. Although one social group may be afflicted to tremendous distress, it does not trivialize or exempt the other group from having problems. It may not be distressful to the same extent or matter, but problems remain as problems; it is a matter of whether or not YOU will acknowledge them.

The framework or argument for majority-minority issues carry the same basic principles: a formula of subjugation of a smaller social group who must then acculturate to a larger group. (When ethnological identification becomes a factor, it becomes post-colonialism.) It is assumed that minorities, being smaller in number as well as power, are thrown into a world of despotic rule in which the majority is the authority. Typically, those of Caucasian descent have an social advantage, in the form of what is known as "white privilege." The minority, having become spiteful, identifies deeply with issues founded completely on race or socioeconomic differences, resulting in a sense of racism. By categorizing problems by these defining (physical) qualities, bias comes into play and for lack of better words, they fail to recognize their inadequacies AND see the "big picture."

These issues are not a gender based dilemma, nor is it a matter of ethnicity. PEOPLE that cannot fit within the parameters of social normality are thrust into a world full of maltreatment. Cut the identification with these physical aspects. Be courteous because that person is HUMAN. Remove your narrow-minded expectations and put little emphasis on petty physical attributes. People are entitled to the same human rights; it does not recognize a boundary between gender, race, or religion beliefs, nor does it hold any group of people with more regard than the other. Doing so would be an act of marginalization and devaluation through favoritism and selection. In conclusion, dissimilarities are irreconcilable, but they should be embraced with utmost respect instead of bigotry and criticism.