sotto voce

said the bird and the bee.

it’s such a good song for the resignation stage.
you know… first it was denial, then depression, then anger, now it’s just not-so-quiet resignation..
(this is just my personal pattern, btw, not applying it to the general population.)

it’s the "maeh…." stage, as my friend put it.

All, all of our moments have just become ailments
I’m haunted all of every day
Ache, aching and teething: my big love is bleeding
I think I might be dying
I try, I try, I try
I try, I try, I try
I try to make the best at happiness

yes, i have a lot of things to say about meritocracy. mainly because it’s such a nice word to sprinkle here and there, but very few actually commit to this cause.

like my professor, who asks the TA to give full credit to everyone who hands in the assignment for this week.
and as i’m marking (or more like looking through) the assignments, it’s totally obvious who put in a lot of effort for this lab, and who don’t. so for me, as a firm believer of meritocracy, to have to give the same marks for all of them…
gawd… it’s pure torture.

but i get it. she doesn’t want to demoralize the students, especially since it is a difficult lab (not really, imho) and some students are just more technologically-challenged than others, or more aesthetically-inept than others, so she thinks that final work doesn’t really accurately reflect the effort, so it’s better to assume that everyone put in the same effort. problem solved.

NOT!

imagine the following scenario:
Student A handed in aesthetically-pleasing, clear and organized maps, presentable graphs and clear explanations. Time spent on the assignment = 2 hours.

Student B handed in lousy maps, meaningless graphs and meandering prose for an explanation (less than 3 lines to explain the land cover change in CT over a century).
Time spent on the assignment = 6 hours (because programs kept crashing and her saved files got lost)

My prof thinks both should get the same grades, because students in the class have varying levels of understanding of the subject as well as the programs.
Yeah, that makes sense, except for the fact that none of the students in the class have used the tool before and that some students give detailed digitization of every single patch of land, while some just slapped on patches of blobs on their maps. And you know what, if the student spent 5 hours on those ugly blobs then ze fucking damn well need to be penalized (for stupidity and inefficiency). I believe that in this freakin campus, everyone is equally capable of learning and if only they put in the effort to understand the program better and tweak around or read the freakin instruction online, you can do it.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to blame these students who spent very little effort on their labs. I’m guilty of it too and whatever man… everyone has their own stuff to do. But for me to have to apply this non-meritocratic standard of evaluation, it’s just killing me. 

people admire me for my spontaneity. and i’d agree with them.

i’d say it’s one of my virtue, being impulsive. yes, it’s done me harm, but only as much as it’s done me good. besides, it IS my defining characteristic. i’m a planner who’s flexible (and rash) enough to ditch my carefully laid-out plans for my gut feeling. dare to venture into the uncharted plains and like nike, JUST DO IT.

maybe it’s the lack of self-control and self-restraint on my part. but maybe, i’m just gutsier than most people to be able to DO IT without thinking about the complications afterwards.
maybe i’m foolhardy and immature. but maybe, i’m just living my life to the fullest and commit to living for the moment because you never know when it will end.

and because of this, i have a feeling that this weekend will not unfold the way i plan it to be.
we’ll see..

one of the housemates has a good friend who’s been staying in the house for a while (non uni student). our rooms are huge anyway, so it doesn’t really matter. and i don’t really care coz he’s a nice boy, helps out with things and doesn’t cause trouble. oh and he doesn’t complain when i ask him to buy ciggies.

however, apparently he’s a "womanizer" and has made himself some enemies for the past few weeks. what exactly he did to these girls – i have no fucking clue. but these girls think that the best way to get their revenge is by reporting him to the campus security.

niceee…. so now i’m in trouble. i mean, half in trouble, for not being alert enough to know that there’s a stranger in my house. well done, everyone. as if i don’t have enough problems as it is.

oh godddd…. grow up already. it’s not like we’re in middle school…

fuck lah. 

so i was super happy to know that i got second-round for this consulting company, thinking that they only offer second-round to "one third of the first-round interview candidates".

nabeh. where got.

no of slots for first-round = 20
no of slots for second-round =  24

woi. what the fuck?
ok so maybe they invited other second-rounders from other campus to interview at Wesleyan. issit?
dunno lah… all i know is that i’m not happy because i feel very demoralized now that i know getting second-round is fucking easy.

not the best recording session, especially since everyone seemed to love banging the door and running up and down the stairs this morning. also.. it’s FWEEZIN cold in my living room, so my dictions are all messed up. “burying” sounded like “bearing”, “braving” sounded like “brevving” (not that there’s such word)

but whatever… too lazy to re-record.
pretty amazing huh, what four hours’ work sounds like.

ODEO

try being on the flipside.

i’m still somewhat ridden with guilt for seducing that boy last thursday. first, i didn’t know that he was in a complicated status with his ex. anyway i wasn’t serious with him, i would never imagine him being attracted to me. all i know was that i’m his lab/study partner and the faithful purveyor of new yorker. so when we started getting it on on the dance floor and by the bar, well.. let’s just say that alcohol was my prime suspect.

until he left me on the dance floor that i had to fend off N’s growing package on my own, until he finally grabbed my hand and pulled me to the side of the dance floor and continued with what he was doing before. then the truth came out: "i’m really really attracted to you, but there’s one complication. my ex."

wow.

anyway, he told me the story, which is pretty much similar to mine. still love the ex but is too immature and too freaked out to be with her, so he does what all immature guys do: break up with them but keep the ex at arm’s length for convenience’s sake (not sex. comfort and listening ear more like it)

and i must applaud him for being pretty good with his commitment to not hurt her. although it falters here and there.
AND WHAT THE FUCK IS HE THINKING? THAT SHE WON’T BE HURT SEEING US ON THE DANCE FLOOR? IS HE FUCKING DAFT OR WHAT??
you don’t do that to people you supposedly love and care about.

so i took the role of the bitch. i purposefully presented myself as the devil a.k.a ultimate seductress and made him choose: stay with her or leave her. because i fucking know how it feels to be her. forever insecure, forever wondering why he breaks up with her when he still professes that he cares etc.
whether or not he had sex with me, he’s already breaking her heart. so what difference does it make, right?  well, that was the logic i was trying to convey to him: he can continue being an asshole or be a gentleman and break her right now.
yes yes, it’s going to hurt her, but at least it closes the door once and for all.

she probably thinks i’m a slut or something along that line (and hey… she’s in the same circle as b’s housemate. we’ll see if news travel. lol)
i wish i could just tell her that i’m sorry but that i did it because i was trying to teach him a lesson: it’s not okay to be flippant when there’s other person involved in your long decision-making process. i’m trying to tell him what i’ve been trying to tell b: you either stay or you leave. there’s no in between.
if you’re too chickened out to commit then fucking leave and stop keep everyone guessing as to whether we’ll ever come to an agreeable decision in the future or whether you’re just keeping me around because you’re feeling guilt.
you can’t put other’s people’s future on hold just because your balls ain’t big enough to tell me to fuck off, and especially not just because you’re too fucking afraid to love someone.

and contrary to what i told this boy: i’m not over you yet.
far from it.
and yes, i was probably treating this boy as my rebound guy.
i am, still hurting, still crying, still recovering.
and if you ever reads this (i doubt): no, honey. telling me that i won’t lose you, ever. and that you love me – it doesn’t help. it doesn’t help to know all these because i live in this cursed present where you left me. and that’s all that matter to me right now. and that’s what’s hurting me right now.

it doesn’t help to know that i’m intelligent, attractive and funny, either; and that there are guys who told me what a fucking loser you are for letting me go. nope, these things don’t help.
it merely makes me wonder the exact same question that we posed to each other couple of months ago:
out of all the other guys out there, why you?

¿Por qué ?

so besides gay-dar, i was told today that there’s such thing as a like-dar. and according to JP, "whenever you think someone likes you. you’re always right!"

i don’t know how much i believe his theory …

just came back from an eight-hour field trip to yale myers forest. in the rain.
that’s why if ever i become a geologist, i will choose marine over land any time. it doesn’t matter if it rains when you’re at sea doing work (barring hurricanes or tsunami), you’re gonna get wet anyway. but it’s just plain miserable when it’s raining while you’re doing fieldwork.

also, it’s amazing how one can be so invested in topics like trees. i can never do that…

and we also saw some beaver-chewed trees. freakin’ cool that is. 

applying to all these arts/media jobs makes me feel like an impostor.

just because i dabble (oh god… even the word sounds so frivolous!) in graphic design, photography, and film-making doesn’t mean i’m suddenly qualified to be an artist, or am i?
that’s why i’m pretty surprised when one of the producers from this film production company i applied to replied: "you’re super qualified, but do you know that this is an unpaid internship?"
as if i’m actually qualified enough to get paid, or am i?

i have no confidence, and i can’t see why i should
but i would do most anything for you
and you know i would

yes, in the name of the arts i’ll do anything. starve even… how apt that during halloween party last night i was a starving artist? 
honestly though… me?? an artist??

you might find that a couple of my old entries are missing. that’s because i just deleted a bunch of them.

i just burned everything he gave me, deleted all his emails and conversations and messages, deleted his contact, and i’m planning to donate bob to the department’s secretary. 

he’s gone.

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i was dancing with my friend (a guy) last night and then i started feeling something against my back, so i asked him, "is that your prop?" (pointing to a cylindrical object on his crotch)

"no man,... it’s real," he proudly announced.

ewwwww !

and here i am, crying again.

FUCK.

i swear i didn’t invite it back. i was just there, sitting on my toiletbowl and i just broke down. feeling unbelievably stupid because i let my guard down, because i should have known that this would happen, i should have known that i couldn’t trust someone so much.

and not just that, why the fuck did i have so much faith in him, in this stupid fucking relationship that i altered my direction, my fucking academic, just to save the relationship??
WHY THE FUCK DID I DO THAT?

and now that it’s all over i’m left dealing with the fucking mess, trying to revert everything back to normal. but it’s not that simple. as usual.
my fucking essay / thesis is in a mess. no one wants to be my advisor. hell, i don’t even want to be my advisor.
all my professors hate me because i’ve been very moody with my work and i’ve changed my mind about graduating early vs. not on an hourly basis and barge into their offices wanting their signatures pronto.
i can’t apply to GAS because the deadline is over.
and i’m just fucked. fucked. fucked.

i can’t imagine myself being so fucking stupid. i mean, come on…. what the hell is wrong with me?

you know what’s even more irritating?
even after all these mess, after all these fucking irreparable mess, I STILL CAN’T FUCKING PUT HIM TO REST.
i spent two hours last night reading all our past conversations and emails, instead of reading the book i was supposed to read.
and no, it doesn’t help to know that "yes, it’s fucking clear that he still very much likes you". no it doesn’t fucking help because we’re still  like this and i’m fucking miserable, and i have so much shit leftover and who’s supposed to deal with it? me… and just me.

This is written, filmed and edited within 24 hours. Original music, script and all that shit. So now, please vote for my team here we really really really want to win. apple will ask you to register/login, please don’t be discouraged, it’s a simple process and you can choose whichever school you want even though you’re not currently in school. help me, pretty please???

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One Art
by Elizabeth Bishop
The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn’t a disaster. —Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s evident the art of losing’s not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

sometimes life glides gracefully along the track you’ve prepared. sometimes, there’ll be these swingdoors along the way that knock you sideways, leaving you confused for a while on the sidewalk. sometimes, there are so many of these swingdoors on the horizon that you wonder if you should get on another track or brace yourself through these rainforest of swingdoors and hope to god you won’t end up dead at the end. sometimes, you go through two of them, get bruised pretty badly, decide to turn back, get knocked out of your feet somemore, change your mind and decide to return to hell, get hurt again, and after several of those, suddenly you find yourself walking through these swingdoors without minding the pain. and after a while, you find a trick that will allow these doors to propel yourself forward. yes, you still get smacked hard on your hind, and no, you have no fucking clue if there’ll be an end to these smacking doors, but you’re walking.

that’s the story of my life these past months. i just got smacked hard (again) this weekend, and it hit me hard, that it opened up so many wounds from the past. it was painful, dreadful, scary, but at least it sobered me up.

all these times i’ve been running away from the reality that it’s over. i tried again, and again, and again, because i kept getting all these tiny reinforcements from him. small tinder bits that kept the fire going.

 

i believe in putting in efforts for your relationship, for someone you love, but there’s also a time to let go. i’ve put enough on the plate and if he can’t even convince himself that one day he’d want to meet me halfway, then maybe he should just give up, figure out what he wants, be a gentleman and let me go.
it’s not letting go when he still wants to be ‘friends’, when he still calls on a rainy day while waiting for the bus, when he sent me text messages at 3am about his experience in a gay bar, when he still expects me to come over. even if it’s his style, it definitely doesn’t help me letting go. add to that my inability to pick my poison, would i rather not have him at all, or still have him but in a carefully-rationed amount?

the downside to having just a little bit of him was the fear that one day whatever i had left would be gone. i was perpetually scared of screwing up. every time spent with him was like going through a series of tasks that i needed to ace so that i wouldn’t lose him. the time spent talking to him was like going through multiple phone interviews where i needed to prove my worth. and when, i realized this weekend how frail my psyche was, that a small uncorroborated news could turn me into a pool of sobbing mess and turn me into the meanest, most unreasonable bitch. that a simple neglect on his part could release so much primal fear within me that shoved me into the depth of my depression and made me do the craziest shit. that’s when i knew i couldn’t handle this anymore.

it’s pointless, it’s stupid, it’s breaking me apart.

so i wrote him a long email just being honest about how i feel about him, how i feel about the situation, how i feel so fucking unloved, unwanted and generally shitty about myself, and how it’s probably better in the long run for me and him if we just stop this silly game of ours right here before i do another crazy shit of mine. and i told him not to reply, because i don’t want to hope anymore. (i’ve thought of him as moving on and that the only reason he kept me around was because he didn’t want to hurt me and not because of anything particularly sentimental.)
and even after that specific instruction to please do not reply because i don’t want to hope anymore, he just had to reply with a one-liner: "sorry to reply… but you should know that you’ll never ‘lose’ me, ever. love, b."

WHAT THE FUCK.

i went to check all emails from him and conversations with him (numbered around a hundred), and get this… he never never never ever signed off with "love". why? because he’s so fucking afraid of the word. because he thinks that it’s "a four letter word with an eighty-years sentence" (brilliantly put by sadie), because he chastised me before for saying the word love, because he slipped out "i’m not allowing myself to fall in love with you" before, and because he’s one confused motherfucker, and unfortunately i love this one motherfucker out of all the motherfuckers in the world.

(breathe in, breathe out, in… out…)

great. now i know how he feels. and yet the only thing i can do is to ignore whatever the meaning of that email is and fucking move on with my soon-to-be-brilliant life (why does he put the word lose in quotation marks, why that’s the only thing he feels he need to tell me, why why why…. oh god selina just shush)

so after getting smacked inside out upside down, knocked sideways and fell all over the place, these swinging doors are finally moving me towards the right direction (i hope).
i’m staying next semester and will concentrate on building my portfolio, taking a bunch of arts/graphic design/photography/film classes, and just be chill.

it was painful sitting there in the dean’s office, telling her to pretty please take my name off the fall graduation list because i’m staying. it feels like i just picked up a scissor and cut clean whatever remaining connection i had with him. it still hurts to realize that it’s finally over for good and that he’s out of my life.  sometimes life’s good and i don’t even think about it, and then suddenly it hits me hard and everything that i miss about him (as both a friend and a bf) comes rushing back. and you know, speaking of the future and swinging doors, the trick is to just keep breathing.

answer this:

 

who’s the most important person in your life right now? (jesus/buddha/mohammad/etc. not counted)

 

damn, i actually can’t answer that question.

since i’m the biggest proponent of "class is so unnecessary", by right i should be able to ‘enroll’ in one of the harvard/MIT classes since they put up the syllabus, lecture notes, problem sets, etc. on openware.

haha..

 

we’ll see if i manage to do one course on game theory by this semester.
most probably not.
but it doesn’t necessarily prove that class is necessary because it’s beneficial / transfers knowledge, it just forces you to do work, using grades as the oh-so-effective stick.

school is no longer fun. now every class becomes that last hurdle to liberty.
what a drudge…