the ex-best-friend-stranger

Whenever I walk down the halls, I look at the people passing by and his/her name always pops into my head. She’s Lindsay. She used to be my best friend in third grade and we had competitions to see who could read faster, and I’d always get too tense and start cheating by flipping the pages as fast as I could. And now, we don’t even take a second look at each other. That’s Josephine. We used to go strawberry picking together. Now we act like we don’t know each other. And names just flash by right in front of my eyes and I’m surprised how many people I actually know. Sam. Abdhulla. Caroline. Becky. It’s weird…

It makes you wonder what could have happened to make such a friendship stop. Where’d it go wrong? Was it my fault? Was it just because we hardly saw each other when middle school and high school started? Because we cared too much about our image, about our “popularity?” I remember in elementary school, when nobody cared about anything but lunch and recess and getting to the playground first. When we weren’t divided into asian and white cliques, or smart/athletic circles. Why do we suddenly have to care about things that are so trivial? I hate passing through the halls and seeing all these strangers who in reality used to be my best friend.

It makes you wonder what’s happening in their lives. And then you realize that there’s another life happening besides your own… isn’t that weird? I thought it was. I’m so caught up in my own life and what’s happening in it, and how to do things and what’s going wrong; I never stop to think about literally putting myself in someone else’s shoes and to see from someone else’s eyes. When we go to the airport, we see all these frenzied people rushing past each other; we’re rushing too. But stop. Look. At the woman who’s carrying a crying baby, and wonder what has happened in her life. Fantasize about the family with four kids and matching suitcases. Or the couple that’s arguing while trying to catch a plane. Or that one single girl who’s stumbling about with a lost look on her face. Have you ever wondered what’s happening in all these peoples’ lives? I haven’t. It’s never crossed my mind before. Perhaps people-watching isn’t as stalkerish as everyone thinks it is.

That’s what I thought about when I leaned across the balcony in downtown Atlanta and looked at the streets that were still bustling with life- even at midnight. And I realized I’m not the only one out there. That I could call out to an empty room and might actually hear an answer.

Vegetables and I.

I had an interview for newspaper yesterday, and they asked me questions like, “Why’d you apply for newspaper?” and “What kind of stories would you cover?” and “Are you interested in journalism?” and general, predictable questions like that. And then the interviewers are all silent for a long awkward second, and I’m sitting there twiddling my thumbs and shifting my eyes with a smile pasted on my face. Everyone’s avoiding each other and staring off in opposite directions, whether it be at the cracks in the wall or the pile of papers sprawled on the floor. And finally, one girl bursts out with the last question: “If you were a vegetable, what would you be?”

And would you like to know my answer to that question? TOFU. Yes, I would be tofu. I do not know why, but this “vegetable” was the first thing that popped into mind. So obviously, I had to explain reasons why I would be tofu of all things, and I started improvising random, nonsensical similes like how both tofu and I are bouncy, light, and happy for the most part, and how no matter how it’s cooked it will always still work. Tell me I’m crazy. They liked it, at least.

So for the rest of the day, my friends could only get one phrase out of me: vegetable! you? what! (very incoherent phrases). One friend gave me the most insightful answers that I could ask for. It’s funny how you can compare something as lifeless and boring as vegetables to the most complicated creatures (humans) on Earth. She’s a carrot because she seems bright and bubbly and orange on the outside, but when you bite into it, she just snaps and turns out to be the least open person you’ve met. She’s asparagus because she claims she’s an honest, straightforward person who never flirts while she’s batting her eyelashes toward the boy next door at the same time; like that straight stalk with those flourishy greens on the top. More? She’s bean sprouts because she goes well with everyone; she’ s ginger because she’s useful in adding flavor (even though you might not like the taste at first until you get used to it); she’s peas in a pod because she always needs omeone next to her…

My jaw dropped when she listed off these countless revelations that put humans on the same levels of vegetables. It was the strangest, most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard, but it was brilliant. So allow me to ask you a question: If YOU were a vegetable, what would you be? Excuse the strangeness.

On a more serious note I suppose (even though I was quite serious about the vegetables), I’ve found myself starting to conform more to the ways others want to see me. Well actually, I believe that I’ve always done this; I have different personalities around different kinds of people. Does that make me dishonest and two-faced? Or does it mean I’m sensitive about who I hang out with? Or does it make me fake? Real? Moody? Emotional? I don’t know. But at the same time, we act different around people our age and people older. But is it the same? I don’t know.

Perhaps the question I should be asking myself is whether I act as GOD would want me to act around every kind of person. To respect how they act and act in a way that would respect both them and God. But it’s hard; when I’m around nongodly people, I can’t help but to laugh at their jokes; everybody wants to be accepted. And people accept me because I’m like them. So who am I? I don’t think anybody knows.

friends.

It’s midnight, and Valentine’s Day is over.

I haven’t been having the best Valentine’s weekend ever, which is ironic because it’s the first Valentine’s that I actually have a significant other. Which is what, I suppose, what made it worse- the expectations that everyone has for this day. I thought I would be okay spending it without him; I thought I could handle these long periods of his lack of phone calls. But apparently not so much. It just hurt a bit when I’d call and he’d have to go, or when I’d try to IM him and he wouldn’t respond, or when it’d be Valentine’s Day and he’d call for a few minutes then hang up without saying a simple I love you. But I pushed it away, I gave him excuses, I convinced myself that it was because he was sick or tired or whatnot.

Which I still believe. But tonight, I decided that instead of falling asleep in a mopey mood, I’d call some girlfriends and catch up. And it was amazing, because these are girls who I literally have not talked to for months, yet they still welcomed my call like a best friend would. And I have not had conversations like these in so long; there’s just something different from talking to your best friend and talking to your signficant other. I missed it. I laughed, I smiled, I cried, I remembered… a time when I used to call for the pure enjoyment of it, and not for that feeling of duty or for a question on homework. I can’t believe I almost forgot how important keeping in touch is.  When I hung up, I just fell on my bed and stared at my ceiling with the hugest grin on my face, thinking over and over how lucky I was to have the best friends in the world, and I thanked God a million times before grabbing another tissue.

And those phone calls made this entire weekend a whole lot better. It’s amazing how these friends can lift an entire burden off of you with simply a few words and laughter filled with love. I can’t ever lose these people, and I get it. I get now that guys can let you down, but your best friends will stay with you till the end, and that God will stand right there next to you even longer than your best friends can. I get now that love between a couple is great, but that love between friends has such a stronger bond. And I get now that no matter what kind of relationship is going on, there’s always going to be those ups and downs to keep it going. As said by a very wise friend. And as John Legend (wow, I just discovered him) said, we’re all ordinary people. True that.

And I thank God once again. And might I apologize for the mushiness if you’re not into that kind of thing, but alas, this is what’s on my mind, and that’s all I can type. I’m learning to drive tomorrow. (:

February 14th.

I wonder, what’s wrong with giving a guy a flower? Is it really that stereotypically girly? Who says a boy won’t appreciate a rose? I don’t see anything wrong with it. When I told my mom I wanted to buy a flower for a certain boy, she “psh”s at me and says that it’d be better if I bought him a plant. HA, I can just imagine myself walking up to him and handing him a small pot with a little cactus coming out, and saying Be Mine. That would go well; I don’t even think many teenage boys would have the motivation to water their own little plant everyday. But a rose? If it symbolizes love, then why can’t girls give them to boys?

I wonder, why don’t we hand out valentine cards anymore? Remember from elementary school, when the teacher would give us a list of everybody’s name in the class, and we’d go out to Kroger and buy those little Spongebob or Power Ranger cards that’d say a cheesy little pick-up line, like I SEA your beautiful face! And then we’d tape laffy taffy’s on them and drop them in everybody’s handmade Valentine bag. Those days were the best. But as I grew older, I stopped giving out those nifty cards and I started expecting some sort of secret admirer to swoop in and confess his love for me. And of course, I’d always be disappointed, because sixth and seventh graders don’t work that way; my sixth grade brother isn’t even interested in girls yet (at least I think not..).  Eighth grade, some sense kicks in, and Valentine Day’s become just like any other fourteenth day of the month; there’s no longer the candy to look forward to.

This day is useful though. I’ve noticed that it gives boys more of a motivation and more of an urgency to ask girls out on a date. Not that that does anything though, because all the fancy restaurants are probably already booked by all the other eager men. Dates at Wendy’s are great too though, right? As long as it’s Valentine’s Day, nothing else should matter. It also gives guys an excuse to act sweet without reason and buy some flowers and chocolates to win over that certain girl. But I personally don’t see why you need an occasion to act sweet; I’m sure acting sweet when there’s no occasion wins over a girl much more than when you’re expected to act sweet. But maybe that’s just me. I also don’t see why there’s always such a hurry to get rid of your single status around Valentine’s. It is, after all, just another day of the month. Tricky.

But, whatever. I enjoy the day for the naive happiness that it brings. It’s too bad my boyfriend won’t be in Georgia to enjoy the cheesiness of it all with me, but my parents and my friends make perfect Valentines anyway.  

And since I’m in the mood for spontaneity, here’s a random fact for the day. A quarter of all the bones in your body are in your feet. So enjoy your toes while you can wiggle them- they must be important. I mean, one fourth?? Guess it has something to do with the feet taking you places you thought you’d never be able to reach. There’s hope.

weather

Do you ever get that horribly heavy feeling when you’re outside under that vast expanse of blue sky, and the breeze is such a cooling kind of comfortable, and there’s nothing to hear except the wind dancing with the trees and the occasional lawn mower from your neighbor? The kind of weather on a lazy Saturday afternoon? You know what I’m talking about. But perhaps you don’t know this “horribly heavy” feeling that I claim to feel during these kinds of days.

As I walked home today on such a perfect day (yes, it’s already spring in Georgia), I didn’t enjoy it as much as I wish I could. Why? Because I knew this change of weather meant change in season; change in season means more work and more decisions to make. Weather gives proof that time is moving, that it’s not standing still but instead rushing forward too quickly for anyone’s delight. It says “hello, I’m spring, and that means your time as a sophomore is almost up.” It says “hello, time to get out the bikini catalogues again and stash away your gift wrap and gloves.” I hate it. I hate time. I hate being so unaware of what’s to happen in my life; I’m scared about what could happen and what won’t happen.

I even remember the summer after third grade, when I started bawling my eyes out on my back porch because I didn’t want to go to fourth grade and grow up. It scared me to think of being an adult. It still does.

Well, I’ve finally decided to drop art, continue with spanish, and take on newspaper. I needed the aid of about ten of my friends, but it worked out. Huuuge burden off my chest. And now to decide whether to take AP US HISTORY. If I did, it’d probably just be for the sole purpose of having more APS to put on that resume. Horrible horrible reason, yet I still do not know.

And that is all for today. My energy level’s slowly starting to decrease again. Those highs you get off of breaks really don’t last long.

Forgiveness.

it feels like forever since my last post. It’s the weirdest feeling ever to have absolutely nothing nagging at your mind, no questions, no feelings. Just pure, happy carefree-ness. And everytime I sat in front of my laptop hoping to write something, my fingers wouldn’t start typing the thoughts that usually popped into my head, because there were no thoughts except “today was good… I got a good grade… and ate a strawberry poptart…” So it was better that I simply did not write.

Monday wasn’t so great. But as it was personal and I didn’t want to release my anger into hurtful words on the Internet, I refrained from typing anything. Tuesday passed with sleep. And today? I learned something. And that is this: forgiveness.

In language arts class today, we discussed revenge. Now, I don’t usually do anything as rash as trashing an enemy’s car or stealing a best friend’s boyfriend; I don’t even make a point to spread dirty rumours. Rather, I confront the person him/herself (if I might have the courage). Strange? You should know that I’m strange by now. I tell the person in his face exactly what he did wrong, exactly why he’s so imperfect, so unfeeling, so pitiless, so stupid, so bad. I don’t know if that counts as revenge, but it certainly makes them feel bad (unless they really ARE unfeeling). And I always do this in hopes of a lesson learned, always trying to take things into my own hands. And as far as forgiveness goes? Only happens when they’ve learned.

But WHO AM I to do these kinds of things? WHO AM I to condemn others and try to force them to understand MY point of view? To yell for actions that I probably do myself? I am a hypocrite, confessed straightup to you.

Today, I learned that sometimes, we just need to forgive. Whoever wronged you will certainly get his punishment; but it’s not up to us to give it. God knows sooo much better than we do; let’s just leave it to Him. Perhaps forgiveness might not give as much satisfaction as revenge does, but it will certainly be more rewarding in the long run. Not to mention that a lesson could be better learned from forgiving than from revenging. Yet forgiveness is probably the second hardest thing on earth to do, first being love. How’s it possible to forgive someone who’s wronged you so much, who’s evoked murderous thoughts, who doesn’t deserve anything close to forgiveness? Well, I don’t know. Ask God; He’s the master expert of it all. Maybe we just need to remember that everybody makes mistakes, quote Hannah Montana (harhar). Or maybe time will heal us. Or maybe, we just have a horrible disguise of stubbornness that we need to peel away from our skin, and open our eyes to the good around us. Who knows?

Today, I also learned that males and females belong to completely different planets. And I’ve accepted it, and I’ve forgiven.