Learning.

There’s an ominous finality of the past that I feel that people are terrified of. Words have been said, actions have been done, and that’s it. Every moment is continuously made into the past. And to me, going through life sometimes doesn’t always feel like we’re moving forward. Much  like walking, it’s simply the motion of our feet pushing back.

Whenever I make mistakes, I do not feel as if I’ve learned anything new, but as if I’ve taken a step back. It’s always a “i should have known better” kind of thing. If age makes us wiser, why does it always feel like we are never wise enough to prevent mistakes? I was never one to heed warnings and the best lessons are the ones learned the hard way. You don’t touch the stove after you’ve burned your hand, right? Right. You go around the table corner after you’ve knocked your knee into it, right? Right. You don’t fall in love again after you’ve had your heart-broken, right? What? No, wrong.

The fantastic difference between mistakes like physical pain and the invisible pain are the lessons you learn. It’s the lack of logic in the latter and the need for it in the former. You don’t think with love. I love everything about my boyfriend. I love his quirks and how he always makes me smile. I love his highs and his lows. So that in turn must mean I love him right? Feelings of the heart shouldn’t work that way. I love him because I  just do.

One of my favorite quotes of all time is “Regrets are a waste of time. They are the past crippling you in the present.” So albeit these mistakes and these lessons upon lessons, I sleep soundless at night. I find no trouble resting my weary mind from the day-to-day grind or the hiccups I come across. It seems so easy to become discouraged when dark clouds hover overhead, when things don’t come out exactly as planned, or maybe when you have to work much, much harder for what you want. It makes it all the sweeter when you find yourself able and breathing at the end of it.

So if you  ever find yourself less than stellar, allow yourself those moments of solitude, that instance to maybe weep and mope , for we are all human. And then revel in the idea that it will be fine. That more likely than not, you have people who love you unconditionally. & as much as they would love to see you successful and whatnot, they love to see you happy and in sturdy shape more than anything else.

Happily Biased.

This weekend was amazing. And I thought about a lot of topics. And I couldn’t wait to update this.

My ex-boyfriend Hector called me this weekend. He said he was in a dark place and having a rough time with things. It was about this girl, who was “in love with him” but couldn’t do the distance from Chicago to Colorado, and wanted to call it quits. She realized this when they were arguing more and at parties found herself attracted to some of the guys there. I put Hector on speaker so my boyfriend Danny could listen. I didn’t want to seem sketchy and I also don’t have anything to hide. I’m happy he heard my responses to Hector.

I may not be “in love” with Danny but nevertheless, I need him. I think when you’re truly happy with someone, they are the most  attractive person you will ever see. You will always compare everyone else to your hubby and everyone else looks second best. When you’re happy, whoever you’re with is the most amazing person you’ve ever met. You’re just biased towards your significant other.

Danny is the most amazing guy in my life. He’s the most attractive guy in it. I can’t get enough of him. His kisses, his hugs, when he brushes his fingers against my cheek, when he looks at me. I can never get enough. And if that’s he case, then biased I will remain. Because in the end,  I’m happy. I’m so goddamn happy. He’s two years my junior and more of a man than my twenty-some year old friends.

The first night I was down, however, wasn’t the most pleasant. But it was a revelation. I am a selfish person. Anyone who says otherwise is lying about themselves. I am selfish and greedy and always looking out for number one. Hence the week before Danny and I began dating, I made the mistake of hooking up with my ex-boyfriend. I hurt Danny so badly with my actions. And on Monday he snapped on me about it. Friday night, we found ourselves crying to each other. I’ve always asked my boyfriends what they wanted out of me. What they wanted me to do. With Danny, I ask him what I can do to make him happy. That’s all I want at the end of the night. And the questions don’t seem that different, but there’s a monumental difference.

The difference is the self-sacrifice. It’s caring, first off. To care enough to put your own personal ambitions and desires aside for someone else. To give up habits or a quirk for the  greater happiness of someone else. To care that much is beyond repayment and beyond comprehension. I wouldn’t want to have to tell Danny to do anything, but the willingness is enough. It’s what we do for each other.

Maybe it’s because our level of intimacy. The way we connect to each other. When you’re happy, that happiness acts as blinders. At parties, I get hit on by guys and all I can think of is how Danny is so much more interesting. Or when they lightly touch my arm and I turn  cold, Danny sets fire to my skin. When I smell cologne, I think only of how drunk I’d rather get off his scent than anything else. It’s just the bias I have of being his girl. It’s the bias I have from being happy with him.

And I love it.

Healing.

So that huge gash I had before? Well, it’s almost completely healed, but when you press on it, there’s a sharp pain. Oddly enough, I’ve been waiting for my cut to heal so I can center this exact entry around it. My cut, which hurt me to no amount and hindered me in the shower and when I played tennis, is now healed. And I metaphorically wanted to relate this to anytime I’ve ever been hurt. Let’s get down to specifics. Let’s get down to details. Even though whoever reads this probably knows nothing of my life or who the people in it are. Or you know them all. That would make things easier.

Max hurt me real bad. We hurt each other real bad. But from time to time, I find myself thinking about him. There was in fact this in entire week where I not only thought about him, I missed him. Even at night, as I find myself sitting awake I think about the times we had and the feelings we shared and it hurts. It’s like when I bent my pinky, forgetting the cut was there, only to be reminded by the striking pain. It’s a little like that. Every time I remember the taste of his lips, I remember the taste of my tears. Sometimes I think to myself, what if I were to run into him? What would I do? What would I say? Would I even say anything? Would he even say anything to me? And even now, as I sit here writing what could possibly be a very long post, I think to myself about how I feel about him. Whether or not what I’m feeling will fade. If the pain will ever heal. Honestly, it will. Just as it healed with Hector. But I still feel pain and resentment towards Hector. Do I resent Max? At times, I even feel like I hate him. I thought to myself one day, “I’m in the business of forgiving and forgetting. Forgiving myself for loving you and forgetting you ever existed.” But who am I to kid myself? To think myself better than what I am? Human. There isn’t a day that I don’t think about Max at least once. Sometimes, it’s only for a second. Other times, I’ll have whole scenarios about how we’re older and single and we meet up and it’s amazing. Other days, I think about how I’m so happy. Aside from the swamps of school, I couldn’t be happier. & the last time I was this happy? When I was with Max.

I remember specifically this one instance where I was overwhelmed with love for Max. It was after a cancelled tennis match. Max, myself, and my friends Elenie and Kristy went to Boston Market. After, Max and I went to Kilwins. He forced me to get something. I’ll always credit Max at knowing when to be pushy & aggressive with me. But we were sitting by the beach; It was dark, chilly, and there was a slight drizzle. Me, in spandex and a tank, am very prone to the cold. Because of my shiver, Max held me really close and just rubbed my arms. I think back at this and it makes me so distraught and sad to have lost a love so strong. Yet after this, we drove home, talking the entire way about his ex-girlfriend. Way to kill the mood right? Hah, I was so upset just hearing about her. I was tired of it. And it’s memories like this that tear me up. I wonder whether or not Max & I will meet up again. If I’ll ever run into him at the beach or on the streets when I’m down at home visiting. What would happen? I suppose I’m just left to my inquiries.

Last Monday, my current boyfriend Danny told me he loved me. Crazy right? We’ve been dating for just over two months and he’s telling me he loves me. But what’s amazing about Danny is how he just understands what I need and how I am so much easier than any of my other boyfriends. He said it, but immediately he qualified me not saying it back to him by saying, “I know you might not say it back for two years or you might never say it back, but I just wanted to say it, so there.” And I was so taken aback that I felt like shit for not loving him back! Is that even possible? I didn’t say it back and I refuse to until I am completely love drunk for him. But it’s the little things that he does that just astound me. He fights for me. That’s so much more than any of my ex-boyfriends can claim. They can say it, but they never did. Danny fights for me, against me, if that makes any sense. When I’m upset & in my natural Pauline-like behavior clamming up and becoming horribly cold, he fights for my feelings. He knows that I always know. I also know what’s wrong. I also know what he can do to make it better. I remember every time I’ve ever been upset, ever cried, ever been angry, every time I’ve been euphorically happy, every emotion, every time. He knows this and it makes me so happy that he fights for it. He wants me nothing but happy & it’s so refreshing from going from some guy that didn’t show it three quarters of the time to one that fights for it. He fights for my happiness. & that makes me so so so happy.

And even though I don’t love him, I miss him. I miss him to tears. I wake up in the middle of the night, clutching my fluffiest pillow, wishing it was him. I sit up all night and wait for him to wake up because I want to talk to him. He never gets mad at me when we Skype & I refuse to look at him and say goodbye. He feels bad about it, but he knows it’s because I can’t even look at him and watch him go. Day long conversations about who misses who more. And I’m utterly infatuated with my two month long boyfriend. It’s been a constant for each, so don’t sit there and read this and think anything besides what I’ve said. I’ve been infatuated with each of my boyfriends and it’s only a matter of time before it fades away, as it always does. And then the real work starts. The real effort to make this relationship work 276 miles away. It makes me sad being so far, and I get really lonely without him. Someone actually said that to me tonight to try to hit on me. Pathetic & besides the point, but whatever. It’s gotten to the point where it’s like I need him. It’s a crazy thought because I’ve never needed anyone. I’ve never needed to hear from anyone. Not Hector. Not Max. But not hearing from Danny upsets me. Maybe it’s the distance & the fact that I can’t see him everyday like I saw Hector or not sleep next to him like I’ve slept with Max. I guess the fact that I can’t have him here with me makes me treasure the effort he gives. And I’m confident enough to say that he’s given more effort than Max which has allowed me to sleep well with the decisions I’ve made.

Tonight, Christian called me drunk professing his love to me. And this is the second time this has happened, and I understand where he’s coming from. Really, I do. We dated many years ago very briefly, we didn’t talk for three years, and when we came in contact again, we hit it off. He’s one of my best friends. There are things that I’ve told him that I’ve never told Jodi or Ashley. Things just between us. We get along fabulously and I understand why he thinks what he does. He was just speaking about how great we would be together and how great he would treat me. He would have the utmost respect for me and he loves being around me and just who I am. And I love him as my best friend and the thought has crossed my mind. But that scar has long been healed to a point where I don’t even have one anymore. And I think that’s what it takes, to just not even acknowledge any pain in the first place, to just reach that point of complacency with someone. We don’t even think of each other as exes, we’re best friends. That’s what I call healing. And it’s a beautiful thing.

So having said all this, I look at things like I look at my scar. It’s healed. No more blood. No more band aids or peroxide needed. When squeezed on, it hurts. When I think about certain things, I’m hurt. But the biggest pain at the end of my nights is not having Danny here with me. That cut was my physical manifestation of the pain I felt with Max. It didn’t hurt at first; it was more shock than anything. It left me shaking and scared. I didn’t know what to do. There was just so much blood. And the cut was so deep. So I just wrapped it up and called it a night. Which is what I did with Max. I just buried the pain away and moved on. A whole pack of band aids, two bottles of peroxide, and a doctor’s visit with a tetanus shot, and my cut is healed. I felt like that’s what it took to heal up from Max. It took time, crying and pain, and completely just cutting him off to force myself to heal. At first, my friends Kelvin & Webb had to hold my hand and hold me still in order to pour the peroxide over my cut. And eventually, I was strong enough to do it myself. Elenie and Danny had to force me to let go of Max. I had to see how bad it was hurting my relationship with Danny. I had to think about how bad I was hurting Danny by allowing myself to be hurt over Max. And eventually, I forced myself to just push him away from me. So do I resent him? Sometimes. Do I hate him? Sometimes. Do I miss him? Sometimes. But at the end of it all, I’m so happy with Danny that it doesn’t even matter. Because I’m all healed up baby.

Pain.

Sometimes I forget that I’m actually human. It’s kind of scary how I feel nothing nowadays. It’s not good and it’s not bad. It’s just blank. Yesterday morning, I sliced open my finger, and even that I barely felt. I didn’t realize I was cut until I felt the blood on my other hand. As this liquid, like crimson lava, crept down my finger, all I thought about was the mess I was making in the room. It was odd. I was shaking and very antsy, unable to keep my body still. My legs quivered. My eyes darted uncontrollably. This cut was so deep into my finger I heavily doubted that a simple band-aid would do much. I wrapped it up in the largest Spongebob Squarepants band-aid we had and sat at my computer desk for what I perceived to be a long time.

Staring off into whatever world my imagination comes up with, I reminisced on every time I’ve felt pain. Of this sort, it was a few days ago, as you can see by this smaller cut below my gash. Same mirror. Same way. I just don’t learn. As I like to see it, I’m just persistent.

Ironic. It takes me a few slaps on the wrist for anything to stick with me. I have to learn the hard way. And throughout my trials and tribulations of self growth I find myself becoming heavily bitter and more so as the days past at those aspects that have scorned me. I find myself hateful and resentful, yet calm and complacent. I’m a hateful little girl and I just accept it.

I’ve felt the warmth of love and the burn of heartbreak twice thus far. I’ve felt more physical pain than a girl my size should ever feel. It would be wishful thinking to say that it’s made me stronger. Physically, yes. Mentally & emotionally? It’s made me cold. A desolate tundra of nothing but spite. I’ve lost two loves, two best friends, countless pets of which I loved insanely, and endured blind rage. Yet my persistence allows me to continue.

Sometimes I sit at my desk and I look through the worst of the worst, meaning things that torture me. Pictures and conversations and such that just make me want to curl up into an impenetrable ball. I put my head down and stare off, thinking wild scenarios and vivid dreams of things to never come. I relish these scenarios when others hate them. They allow me to appreciate the “now” and what “is” along with the small satisfaction that my creative mind hasn’t rotten away completely. With Facebook and YouTube, my imagination hasn’t turned into shit. Always a comforting thought.

Today my college mates and I had a discussion at Chipotle over an event which hurt our friend. Kelvin & I don’t always see eye to eye when it comes to, well,  pretty much anything. School tactics, relationships, social problems, etc. He’s a bit sporadic and we didn’t get anywhere but I did reiterate “to each his own.” I’m a HUGE believer in this. We each deal with pain in our own way. To impose our own ways on others is not only wrong, it’s ignorant. I suppose as we gain “knowledge” we also become ignorant. When we believe one way is right, we become ignorant to others. I think this is the vice of society. I’m always right. You’re always right. We’re never right. I admire philosophers yet I scold those that follow too closely, unable to find their own way of things. I find myself annoyed by the “deepness” that people supposedly feel. I write a lot, my thoughts personally and whatnot, but I litter my literature with “I suppose” and “I think” rather than “this is.” This ties closely to religion. I admire the image of religion and the happiness it brings people. It’s happiness that brings people together, right? The peace they have with themselves allows them to have vast peace among other things.

So with all the pain that I’ve felt, I feel at peace. I feel pain daily as I sit here, scrolling through what I shouldn’t see and read what should not be read. I become aware of things I should remain ignorant to and because of that I become arrogant. I sit quietly, suffering silently yet when I lay my head to sleep, I lose none to the ghosts that haunt me. It’s a quiet acceptance that allows my rest to be undisturbed by that feeling of pain or the pangs of regret. Yet like the shooting sting up my finger when touched, I remember when and how I’ve been burned. And thus, I move on.

Coldplay.

Inspired by Coldplay and time, I’m updating early on a Friday morning. And if you know me at all, you know that late nights and early mornings are my best friends and my worst enemies. The best and the worst of me. Both sides, clashing so beautifully.

To say the very least, the little writing bug I thought had died reappears and produces monologues and food for thought. Always a plus. But then it causes me to pull personal experiences, memories that ought to be forgotten, and regrets that should never have happened. Well, isn’t that something.

What is it about ourselves that we must find the wrong? Is it because we strive for the best? We strive for excellence within ourselves that we refuse compliments, praise, and the luxury of lax. Women especially. Myself, no exception.

In this moment of solitude, my room mate sleeping soundlessly, that I find myself wanting to be alone. I find myself surrounded by the best people for me. Just their presence brings ease, laughter, and joy. Why is it that I find myself missing something? I believe it is due to the fact that there are still aspects of myself that I do not sit well with. I have accepted and embraced some, rejected and remained ignorant to others.

We are born alone. And we die alone. This is fact. Cold, hard, and honest. I sit well with this. It seems that I sit well with everything that I cannot change. Which would make one think that I would be able to sit well with the petty things in life. My looks, my possessions, and my emotions. Forever changing, never still. Yet I am human and enslaved by them.

I have never found myself attractive, no matter what facade I seem to project. Don’t let the confident disposition fool you. The only way it can fool is because I am used to EVERYTHING. I have heard all there is to be heard by the most critical person I know: myself. So when I receive compliments, I just simply don’t know how to accept them. Modesty is easier to have than confidence. But both require an acceptance of my current physical state, a state in which I am only half way settled with.
My possessions. My goodness, I was raised a Buddhist. Possessions should mean little to nothing to me. Main word: should. But like every other superficial American, I am ruled by what I own. What I want in life drives me. I am no better than the next Boca brat you see or hoodlum yearning for something more. We are all the same, and we are all different. We want the finer things in life. But it’s that perspective we have of these “finer things” that set us apart.

I can’t get enough of my emotions. If my possessions rule me, than I am less than a slave to what I feel. If you’ve kept up with these posts, you have come witness to this. I am with a new guy but sometimes I miss my last. I am a little in stature but I pack a big punch and a nasty temper. My actions are compulsive, more likely than not rash. I feel, and I feel so very deeply. Everything I derive from my emotions is passionate. Insulting to some, inspiring to others.

I’m not sure what I’m trying to get out in this entry. Anything besides American History. Cortez. Montezuma. Obviously the most exciting thing in my life. No, the most exciting part is the sleep I sometimes get. It’s the moments that the sun hits my eye, that momentary blindness. My mind becomes blank for once, and i relish the feeling of weightlessness. Maybe this is my night time delirium. Maybe it’s the stress I’ve been having these past fews days. Or maybe it’s that little bit of truth that comes out for each entry I write. One journal down, two more to go.

I’ve learned more self control within the last two months. A failure at one moment, repenting for those many after. Atonement. It’s a funny concept. And I’m quite done with it. It’s atonement that makes regret clear and it’s perspective that pushes it to the side. It’s personal perspective that tears things down. And it’s perspective that brings us together. How can you see things through a cloudy eye? Hazed with biased and ignorance?

Tears of happiness and sadness. For obvious reasons. Explanation of the metaphor is far from needed.

End.

Bottle it up.

Old habits die hard I suppose. See I have this bit about me that can be quite obvious sometimes. When something utterly bothers me, when I’m hurt beyond words, angered beyond them as well, my words fall silent. Usually they remain so until well too late for things to be relieved.

I am human. I have done more wrong in my life than the right can make up for. && I am also a coward for my feelings in the sense that I run, far and fast, from everything. In fact, the reason I want to become a pharmacist in the first place is to get lots of funds, fast, so I can leave everything behind.

But that’s not the point of this. Let’s talk about feelings, since in the end that’s all that it comes down to. Whose feelings were hurt the most, whose didn’t mattered, whose matters more, and whose we have in the end of all the trouble of sorting out our own.

This may possibly be a long post.

Max.

Hazel eyes, a chestnut brown around the outer, peridot specks and flickers of topaz in the inner. His eyes squint together when he laughs and he usually throws back his head, and brings his fingers to his nose. He never really smiles, just smirks and grins which topple into a full laughter. His hands are delicate, small and a bit feminine like. He can never really be put into an awkward situation in which he cannot laugh out. He has a habit of crossing his right leg over his left, and holding it about his shin. His favorite pants are the brown corduroy ones. And I suppose like anyone else, he enjoys good food, chill company, and music, house music to be exact.

Danny.

Deep deep blue eyes. Flecks of yellow and a jade green surround his pupils. The sun has bleached essentially all the hairs on his face besides his eyebrows. He smirks to the side before he smiles fully. He watches television more than the normal person, plays video games more than myself, and brings out the beauty in tennis. When conversations get awkward, he goes into this “gay” voice to lessen the tension. He never really becomes upset about anything, and he cares more about laughter and hearing it than anything else I know. Well, besides tennis anyway.

Well now, let’s try this again.

Max.

Pain. Pain given and pain received. Love. Love lost. First. Everything. I suppose besides love. Skipped heartbeat. Beach dates. Movie dates. Finally. Samantha. Karina. Blonde girl. Flirting. Monster. “Flowers would’ve been nice, but this just made you smile.” Richard. Cheated. Stupid stupid thing. Jealousy. Regret. Bitterness. Paranoia. Forty days in Europe. Black by Kenneth Cole. Lilies. Oh how I love lilies. Holding hands. Sleeping together, legs would always get intertwined. Spandex. Bulgarian spandex. Competition. Danny. “Love. :]”Arguments. Priority. Moving to Tampa. “I love you.” Tears. Rivers, stream, oceans of tears. Hysterically crying. Sleeping from the exhaustion of crying. Facebook. Myspace. Clubs. Running away, always to him. Running away now, from him.

Danny.

I’m sorry. Tennis practice. Tennis club. Eight dates. Gay voice. “No condom… BJ?” Dinner at the Riggs’. Rascal. T-Pain. Hating Ashley’s choice of music. Walking. Goodbyes && hating them. Crying. I’m sorry. Pain given, never received. Max. Anna. Gabriella. Laura. Jeannie hates me. Asians. How to hold hands. How to kiss. Kissing back. Neck attacks. Laughing. Rolling into a blanket cocoon. The Good Life. And now my grandmama ain’t the only girl calling me baby. “You gotta be kiddin’ me!” Phone marathons. Rambling. Affection. Simple solutions. Young, so young. Forget me not. Tourney after tourney. Surprise! Baby. I miss you. Nuh uh. OMG. LOL. Gimme kisses. :* I’m not tired. “I’m just gonna uh listen to you type on your little keyboard.” I am pro.

He’s so good to me. He’s more than I could ask for. He makes me forget about everything that’s ever made a smile leave my face, and he’d do anything to get it back. He doesn’t care what I do, as long as I’m happy. He never quits. Never.
I do talk to a lot of people about everything but it seems that no matter how much input I get, no matter how much I just sit and think to myself, I never sort things out. Ever. I’m happy but I’m not. Insatiable. Always loved that word. Sounds great. I don’t want to be with you now. I want to be with you down the road. When we grow up. When we’ve REALLY forgiven each other. When we’re ready for each other. Until then, I’m going to be happy with Danny.

I’m pyschotic. && I hate this. Every single aspect of it.

Are you up to par?

Recently, I have been slacking in school tremendously. My grades are slipping and I’m frankly not doing enough to catch them. And I suppose writing in here rather than do the huge poetry book project I have due on Thursday doesn’t help. But I need to let out some frustration.

I wrote a note to my friend Elenie, as we always do. And this time, my note was curt and not pleasant. Rather than talk about the past weekend and our relationship endeavors, I talked about how discouraged I feel. And with discouraged, I mean with everything. It’s hard trying to balance everything and still manage to not have a mental break down. It’s hard trying to make everyone relatively content with me, which is another area in which I’m considerably failing.

I’m just not up to par. I’m not on my level. This isn’t like me. I don’t want to say I’m depressed, because I’m not. I’m just on the verge of giving up on virtually everything because I just don’t have it in me to keep up the fight.

I can’t believe I’m crying.

I don’t want to say that I don’t care either. Obviously if I’m getting this upset over it, I do care. And with my terrible pride, the last thing I will ever do is admit that I just took on too much, that I’m in over my head, that I over estimated my ability to remain levelheaded. I suppose the sad thing is that I have no excuses. No where else to point the finger of blame besides at myself.

It’s an easy enough solution. Just get it done. But at the same time it’s not that simple. I’m not up to par with anything. I’m not up to par with being a good student, a responsible young adult, a good girlfriend, a good friend. I’m just not winning any battles.

Being a good student would be managing all my classes. It would be focusing better and paying attention. It would be actually trying. It would also be caring about all of my classes at once, rather than focus on one at a time. I’m not being responsible. My priorities aren’t aligned because everyone else’s priories for me are getting in the way and I’m letting it. And by everyone else, I mean my parents mainly. I find it foolish to attempt to be in this LEAD Scholars program and do all this extra work for a school I don’t plan on attending.

I’m pushing myself away from my friends. I don’t feel like I’m there for them as they are for me. And regardless, friends should always be there. But I can’t expect them to always be put on the back burner and pushed back as a second thought because of other things and later be okay with it. Surely they would understand, but I don’t feel comfortable putting them in that position.

I don’t feel any good as a girlfriend, but that’s never a surprise. I explained to Devin what happened with Hector and it was rough. And now, or rather, I’ve always felt partially second best to Max’s ex. It’s not a settling feeling that I’m never going to be what she was to Max. A part of me says that’s the least of my worries. And maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. The fact of the matter is that it’s another losing battle.

I’m so close to  just throwing my hands up in defeat, but I can’t be pushed to that point. But nevertheless, that doesn’t stop me from breaking down in the process.

The bar is too high and I’m too short and once again, I’m struggling to be on top of things.

Those Material Things.

So today was probably the most upsetting day I’ve had in a long time. Sometime between the time after lunch and mid-fourth hour, I lost the bracelet that Max gave me for my birthday. And Max, the more sensible one of the two of us, simply gave me a hug and said it was “straight” and that it was only a bracelet. I’ve noticed that whenever I’m upset, Max tries to change the topic, anything except for what is making me upset. And as admirable as that was, I couldn’t help but cry.

Yes, I cried. A number of times to be honest.

I am utterly devastated that I lost such a beautiful bracelet that really meant a lot to me. Max said, “You shouldn’t get attached to material things.”

The bracelet in itself was a lose-lose situation. If I were to not wear it in fear of losing it, I didn’t want Max to feel as though I didn’t like it or that I didn’t want wear it. If I were to wear it with the loose clasp and all, I could lose it, but at least I’m wearing it. Obviously, I chose that latter and as my luck precedes, I have lost it.

I know Max isn’t upset about it and I’m sure his viewpoints hold true: it is just a bracelet and it can be replaced. But to me, that’s not the point. It’s not just a bracelet; It’s the bracelet that Max gave me.

What makes us love these material items with such passion? When we die, they will be gone. So in the end, what does it matter?

I’m partially frustrated with myself for being so superficial and caring so much about just a bracelet, but I can’t help it. I am devastated that I lost it just because it did mean a lot to me.

But things come and go I guess. There more I think about it, the sillier it seems for me to be so upset about it. A mixture of frustration with my carelessness and my inability to ever get over the little things. If Max isn’t upset, why am I?

I blame his sensibility and the little knack he has of staying calm while I’m flipping out. I suppose we complement each other like that.

That idea makes me feel better already.

Sacrifices.

What inspires you to make sacrifices? Where is the line drawn between a sacrifice & an obligation? How much of your own needs can you neglect before being dubbed selfless? How much can you look after yourself without being selfish? When is it appropriate to be selfish? And what about selfless? Are we really either of those or are are we just human?

Inspired by others, we often sacrifice something of ourselves in which our only reward is self-satisfaction. When is the sacrifice worth it? Is it when we can sleep that much better at night? Or is it when we get some other kind of gratification in the end, like a tax break or something?

Let’s take a very well-known example: The Homeless Voice. I donate when I have money and feel like pulling out my wallet. My father, not so much. He believes that those people should get real jobs so they won’t be homeless. Others have said that out of all the donations received, only a small amount goes to where it should be rather than the organization head’s pocket. The kindness of a person’s heart: isn’t that an interesting thought?

Then there’s the daily sacrifices that are grander yet smaller at the same time. Thursday was my eighteenth birthday and we all went to Koume, my favorite sushi restaurant, to have dinner. Max didn’t know how to use chopsticks, but it was very amusing seeing him try and then later eat it with a fork. A small sacrifice of pride gave me a great deal of happiness that night. People willing to go into new environments for someone else is a sacrifice that I personally have high respect for. So to say Max made me happy going to Koume with me that night is an understatement. I was happy beyond means. I’m very glad he came.

Then, I believe, are the sacrifices that come so naturally and so automatically that it becomes an obligation. When we start to expect something, it loses the sense of being something more than the kindness in one’s heart. I suppose it’s one of those things that you don’t appreciate until it’s gone. You don’t really appreciate the sacrifices when you expect them to come day after day.

I guess what I’m trying to get at here isn’t some kind of preaching to appreciate everything you have. You hear a lot of that cliche shit of “someone has it worse than you, so appreciate your life.” Well, realistically, someone somewhere will always have it worse than someone else. It’s all relative and in respect to which perspective you’re looking at. And while there are children starving and et cetera, that doesn’t make the problem you have or someone else has any better. It doesn’t fix anything. Feeling sorry for someone isn’t going to make their situation go away nor yours. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t care about other people, but sometimes people forget to think about themselves. And while it’s all in good nature, how can you help someone when you can’t even help yourself? How can you put other people before yourself when at the end of the day, at the end of your life, you’re really dying alone? This sounds so negative, but it’s not. It’s realistic.

Realistically, a good majority of us aren’t going to do something great. A lot of us are going to make it by, day to day, making a good handful of people happy, or not, live our life, and then die. Most of us aren’t going to do something as phenomenal as invent the Internet. A lot of us are just average. So when people sacrifice “themselves” and their time and money for something they don’t fully believe in, then what the fuck is the point?

Let me be the selfish one. Let me be the pessimistic one. And let me be the honest one to say that I honestly don’t give a shit about a lot of people and what happens to them at the end of the day. Let me honestly say that I’m not making a big difference and I’m not living life to the fullest, but how can you? With such restrictions that we have today, we have to be realistic. I hate it when people go around preaching that we need to appreciate life and do all these grand things. I’m all for living for the moment, but a lot of us are living for the next five to ten years. How’s that for thinking about other people?

While everyone goes on, day to day, making their own sacrifices, giving money to those that need it, their taxi’s to the busier person, their life for the greater good, the bigger picture is lost. The greater picture is the point of it all. Why give money to the homeless when you believe that they put themselves in that position? What’s the point of giving your life for a war you don’t believe in? Why be fake and be nice and cheerful to someone you don’t even like? When it’s all said and done and you lay you hear down to sleep at night, are you really bothered by world poverty, the troubles in Darfur, or global warming? Or are you more concerned with the homework you still haven’t done, the girl talking shit about you, or which outfit you’re wearing tomorrow? Be realistic.

This entry was supposed to be about sacrifice and how much we overlook it. But it ended up being about human nature. We try to make ourselves look better than what we are. We often try to sound more omniscient and deeper than the real understanding that we have. We litter our brains with these cliche’s we don’t follow, the words of wisdom we won’t really hear, and these facades that we’re all really good people. 

We’re all really looking out for number one. That’s being realistic.

Huffing.

Recently, I’ve been fighting with my good friend. Even though it’s not exactly drawn out, it’s pretty much over how I choose Max over him. It hurts for me to have to always be put in a situation where it comes down to me choosing between my boyfriend and my friends. I’ve brought this up with Max while we were at Steak ‘n’ Shake. He says that he doesn’t want me choosing and that rather, he will remove himself when my problematic friends are present. And that upsets me. I don’t like Max walking away from me.

While we were at Steak ‘n’ Shake, Max brought up very good points that I couldn’t fight because, well, he was right. He is right.

He said he talked talking to Karina because she was talking shit about me. He also said that he stopped talking to Samantha, his ex-girlfriend, because she was also talking shit. He could be lying. I saw her name on his call log, but I didn’t bring that up. It wasn’t appropriate, but now I feel that i should have. But that’s past now. To be honest, I didn’t think Max to have made sacrifices for me. Albeit, there’s not much that he needs to sacrifice in the first place. But his point still holds truth: When people talk shit about me, he stops talking to them. When people talk shit about Max, I defend him, yes, but I don’t stop talking to them. I will always defend Max, even if he is in the wrong. It’s the same thing I do with Jodi. I will fight for both of them, even if I disagree with their views. It’s because they’re important enough to me that’s I’d fight for them. Always. But now I feel in the wrong, talking to Mahdi and Ashley, even though they’re two of my closest friends.

I love Mahdi a lot as a friend. I tell him that repeatedly and vice versa. Although Max and I have never said we loved each other, Max is a priority to me.

I don’t know how to say this without saying that I didn’t care about Max before, but whatever. Max now, means enough for me to walk away from my friends. I’m a big believer in the whole “Chicks before Dicks / Bros before Hoes” policy, so I suppose the fact that I would chose Max over my friends, says a lot. And naturally, with every boyfriend I’ve ever had, I’ve gotten in loads of trouble for Max. But all the while, it was very worth it, which is more than I can say for some of the others.

The only problem that I have with him now would be my inability to express myself to him. I cannot count the numerous times that I’ve said things to him over the Internet that had importance in contrast to face-to-face. It’s hard for me to even look him in the eye when I talk to him. It’s truly pathetic and something I need to work on. But sadly, that takes time and I’m impatient and in need of results right away. Another fault.

I love Mahdi, yet I choose Max over him. Does that in turn mean I love Max? Now that’s food for thought.