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| Mission: Prom Dress...is now completed. :)
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| raison d'etreI know, I know. Next week's finals week. I'm not supposed to be spending my time on this. Oh well. Too bad.
It's been couple months since my "death dream", the dream of my death, which I brushed off as a silly dream and didn't mention it at all. In that dream, I led a wild goose chase with the death god. I refused to die, and tried to find every loophole in her well laid out plan to escape her. Just when I thought I had loosen her clutch on my soul, I was slashed across my abdomen with what seemed like a very sharp and silver switchblade. A garage door-like door soon closed down on my abdomen when I was lying down bathed in the pool of my spilled blood, and slowly cut me across horizontally. I could feel the bladed door cutting across my flesh, every muscle, every cell, and pushing forcefully through my body. The pain was suffocating. Instead of seeing my life flash before my eyes, I saw a count down of 7 seconds. My breath became more labored as my bottom half was slowly being separated from my top, and eventually it stopped. I was conscious until the last second.
After my death, I entered the after-life. It seemed like a parallel dimension of our present world. The irony was, the death god personally sewed me up, and took me in to live in her house. One thing I remember ws that her cooking was very delicious, whatever it was made out of.
But why bring this up again?
I had another death dream yesterday.
My mother was driving really recklessly, and I was sitting next to her in the front seat. She kept on insisting on driving on the wrong side of the road, and kept on running into cars. The whole front of our car was damaged, but that was not what I was worried about.
I had my seat belt on. With each car my mother crashed in, the seat belt inched more and more into my flesh, my abdomen, the same place where I was cut open in my last dream. It was slow. It was suffocating. It was agonizing. It hurt. It was the same kind of feeling, same kind of sensation. My senses turned extra acute, and were bombarded with the coppery tang of my blood, trickling down the side of my face and spilling wildly from where the seat belt slashed across my body. This time, however, I didn't remember what happened.
Coincidence? I wonder.
According to the dream decoder, running to escape may signify that I'm avoiding something or trying to control something that I have no control over. My stomach or abdomen is a symbol for tolerance, satisfaction, and illness. Knife used as a weapon is easy to hide, and hence difficult to predict or plan for. Amputation forced on me may indicate my awareness of someone trying to take away control of an aspect of my life or character. A focus on time or its passing on clocks or other timepieces can indicate worry that time is passing too quickly, or that I don't have enough time to complete an important task. Door is either an entrance or exit. The fact that I was cut in the middle by a door may seem that I am unsure whether to stay or to go, or that I am being taken away an opportunity. Death usually symbolizes major change, a movement from one phase of my life to another.
Ah, what the hell. Life is too complicated. End of story.
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| Proud AccomplishmentsSaturday I was happy. Happy to be finally over with the SATs. Happy to be seventeen. Happy to be free. Sunday I was happy. Happy to bring home gold. Happy to finally get hardware before I turn too old. Today I was happy. Happy to take part in freeing some balloons, and let it fly. Happy to send yet another pair of birds flying towards the bright blue sky. Tomorrow I will be happy. Happy to pull myself out of this black hole. Happy to let all this shit go. Happy, that's what I want to be. Happy, that's what I will be. Happy. So. Fucking. Cliché. | | |
| The Middle GroundThese days, people seem to bombard each other with the question: “Boat?” To guys, it’s “Who do you plan to take to boat?” To girls, it’s “Who do you want to go to boat with?” And as I listen to their answers, I find myself stuck in the middle, unconsciously matching a girl with a guy, and pairing up everyone around me. So here I decided set out to be the middle ground between the two, the point of connection between the uncertain boys and the eager girls. The other day, B.K. asked me the following questions as I “interviewed” to be the girl’s voice in their group: If I was a flavor of ice cream, what flavor would I be? I was taken aback as I was expecting something more, dramatic. I thought, ”ice cream, eh?” and wondered what I would be. Yet the more I thought about the question, the more certain I was that I did not want to be ice cream. So I answered: I would be ice. Plain old flavorless ice. Water at 0°C ice. You see, ice is neither too sweet, nor too sour, nor too bitter. Ice is water, the necessity of living, the fuel of life. Ice is the perfect complement to drinks. What’s a cup of coke without ice to spark its flavor? just a plain o’coke. And what’ll people’s life be like without me to spark the flavor? just plain o’life. :P So there goes. I wouldn’t want to be any flavor. I would be ice. The girl perspective of a guy’s group. Ooh la la. What fun. :) | | |
| ...and it returns to equilibriumTip a balance, it’ll eventually go back. Drop to the lowest point, cry a fountain, and pick it back up. Way of life, no? Sometimes, I feel like I was doing a good deed, so good and so pure and so wishing the best for others. But the next thing I know, I got myself stuck in quicksand, sucked into a black hole, sunk in deep shit. Your business became my business. Then I’ll become the target of your cold shoulder, your glares, your half-hearted smiles, your jealousy? Can’t help it if I have an affinity for closure, for security, for signs that prove that I’m living. Seek me out for reassurance; discard me when you get what you needed. Tear down the fence between us just to build a brick wall in its place. Yet here I am still trying to climb over, trying to reach out to you. Why am I giving so much damn about you? Why am I worrying for you, worrying what will become of you once your dream becomes punctured by reality? Why am I putting myself in this awkward position, willing myself not to fall over the edge of the cliff when it’s oh so easy to do so? Why am I disturbing my equilibrium just for you? I guess I just couldn’t take it anymore today. Life hadn’t been easy. Just when I thought it was such a good day that even biotech was interesting, choir goes and makes me crack. Everyone is so separated, but it’s not like we’re not trying to become one. It’s just so hard to do so when someone’s is fucking bitching at every single one of us just because that someone is oh-so-fucking-good at singing and was fucking lead in some fucking musical. What the fuck, man. Be sociable, man. That or just go fuck yourself in your little corner and stay away from us, man. What’s the use of your voice if all you can do is to criticize other people’s? Choir is just depressing now. It’s ironic, seriously. Just when I thought it will be my stress reliever for senior year, it goes and turns to this. Fuck whatever stress relieving theory I came up with for choir class. That only applies when Mr. J was here. Or Adv, is just naturally dramatic. If that’s so, then I’d rather be in intermediate and live my happy life signing. Thanks Angelina, Gloria, Angela, for being there after school, ready for my “breakdown.” Thanks B.K Wong, for consoling me. Thanks Justine, Chris, and Courtney for the hugs that I really needed. I’m done complaining, I think. If this ever gets around, I’m not liable for anything I said. Sarah Palin looked really stiff walking on stage in a swimsuit, seriously. :P Another absurd update. Disregard it. ♥ Alan | | |
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