Miming

I swear it's like I'm not even using my voice sometimes.
I talk but no one ever hears me. I never thought that I mumbled or that I was too soft-spoken, but apparently it's true. If I had a nickel for every time someone asked me to repeat myself, I'd probably be rich.
It's so frustrating!! How did I end up this way? I mean, I might as well not be saying anything at all to save time.

But if I were mute, I'm sure people would be listening then, right?

I dressed up in an insanely cute outfit today - I even dared to wear heels! (I live on a very hilly campus so that means a lot.) But I didn't even get to see him today D: He won't get to see how nice I look today because I'm working all night! Sigh, wasted efforts on a hopeless crush...

It's that time of the year again!

Finals! Which means no sleep, staying up all night, banging out last minute papers right before they're due, stressing out, and writing posts about how I've come to this point in my life. Though, let's be honest, we all know the answer to that question.... procrastination!

I honestly have no idea how I pass any classes. Being completely honest, I never actually do any real work. I haven't written a serious paper in... months. And that doesn't make the fact that I have to finish a 6 page paper by Thursday any better. I procrastinate all the time. It's becoming a problem. I'm pretty much just getting by with as minimal amount of effort possible. It's so sad.

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if I just stopped it all and dropped out. I'd be working at some lame job I hate going to and I wouldn't be happy. Then again, is it that much different from how I feel now? If I drop out I'll be living at home for a very very very long time. But I guess at least in school I can live away from home. And I'll graduate with a piece of paper that doesn't really do much. (Honestly, what can you do with a Bachelor's degree in Psychology nowadays? Not much.) At least I'll secure myself with a job that pays a lot more than anything I would've gotten with just a high school diploma. Besides, I've come to realize that college, for me, is a time of new experiences. Academics aside, I've done so much that I will never forget. I'm glad I'm here mainly for that reason. Now my goal for the rest of my time here is to realize my true potential, realize that I have to work for it, and graduate glad and proud of all my accomplishments.

That's my goal.... I wonder, will I ever be able to reach it?

It's the truth :(

When you have a dream in which you're angry and frustrated, and you wake up feeling the same way, as if it actually happened.

I just woke up from a very disappointing dream.
It started off with me reading the status of my crush Larry on Facebook. It said something along the lines of "When the person you want the most leaves before you can talk to them. Christina." Now, a few days ago I noticed that he was at an event I went to on campus (I got super excited, of course), but I left before him after it ended because my friend was embarrassing me by calling out his name (eventhough he was all the way across the "auditorium", I was still worried he might hear).

Anyway, so in my dream I read his status and got really excited  because I thought he was talking about me. Some other girl named Christina commented on it, but somehow I just knew he was talking about me.

So the next day out of the blue some guy proposes to me. (This guy is not Larry by the way, he's some other guy around campus I've seen who I find to be really cute. Maybe my subconscious mind couldn't depict Larry correctly, maybe it was a completely separate dream, I don't know...) I said yes and we took a day trip out to somewhere to elope. We came back to school and we were hanging out and I was so happy, it was amazing. Except it felt like he was holding back, like there was something bothering him.
So I tried talking to him. I sat on his lap, stared into his green eyes and asked what was wrong. He tried to cover it u[ but eventually it all came out. "Why me? Why do you like me?" I didn't understand and I told him just the way he was, every bit of him. Then he said, "It makes everything so complicated." The cat broke loose from the bag, "I know, but I had to ask for permission. Why did you have to choose me?" Apparently, he had to ask permission from some woman of president-like status in the school if he could marry me, and our marriage was single taboo event of the entire campus.
I was shocked and upset. It seemed as though he didn't really love me as I loved him. So we fought.
Eventually I walked  away and got in an elevator going up to my floor. And guess who was in there? The president lady. She said, "What can you expect? These types of things were never meant to last." And by "things" she meant interracial relationships. I got sooooo mad! I told her that studies show that interracial relationships actually last longer that single-race relationships. So she asked for my source but of course I didn't have it. She said, "I should've never granted that boy's request and allowed this to happen."
It was awful. She was telling me that my marriage was a mistake. I finally got out the elevator, angrier than ever. My husband, "Justin" happened to be there. He tried to console me and apologize, but I wouldn't let him touch me. I asked him, "Was this all even real? Or was it just a stupid little social experiment?" He had no response so I left.

It was a very upsetting dream. I woke up extremely mad and it took me a few minutes to realize that it was just a dream and that I didn't have any real reason to be angry.
But I wonder, is that really the reason why guys I like (those of a different race) don't pursue me? Am I not attractive to them or is it just considered taboo that they should like me? What's the problem? I'd like to know. It's times like these that really discourage me. I may just end up alone for the rest of my life. Yaaaaaay... -__-

I posted this next to the elevator in my residence hall today.

One act of kindness at a time, maybe one day I can change the world...

Matt & Kim - It's Alright

This song is my new feel-good anthem :) They're songs are pretty fun, me likey!

Ink Work

I finally got around to painting today and I used to ink to make this in my sketchbook. I was inspired by Lora Zombie :)

About That Time.

It's one in the morning and I just want to go to bed.
But my roommate decides that she wants to skype her new boy-interest in the room... with no headphones. Like shut the fuck up and go to sleep. I know we both have fucking 8:30's in the morning. Stop yelling at your computer screen.

This is ridiculous.

Sick

I'm over here sweating through my clothes with a fever, struggling to not snap because of my sore body and headaches and you seem to be the loudest, most inconsiderate person I've ever met on the face of this planet. No, just keep slamming things, Roomie, I'll be alright. -_-

Allergies are a bitch.

Seriously, it hit me like a brick wall and all I wanna do now is stay in bed under my covers, and hide. My body aches, my nose is stuffy, my throat is itchy, my eyes are watery, I don't want to do anything -_-

The Power of Family

This is a revised memoir I wrote back in October 2008 about my grandparents and their old house. I took the first draft I wrote, Nostalgia House, and turned it into a story. Enjoy.

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Today is a special day. It’s Papa Joe's birthday. I don't know exactly how old he’s turning, but it’s definitely a high number. Most grandpas don’t get to reach the ages that mine has. My mom, who is making final adjustments to her hair, is just about ready. I had, as accustomed, been sitting on the toilet seat watching as she unnecessarily applied makeup to her already beautiful face. I follow her as she and her heels click down the stairs. The rest of my family, my Dad, my brother Malcolm, and my sister Dinah, are in the kitchen waiting. My mom opens the door and we follow her outside and into the car in line like good little ducklings. I am squished in the back between Malcolm and Dinah as always. The baby of the family never seems to get the window seat. The sleek black car slowly creeps out of the driveway and onto the main road. We turn into the long, winding street surrounded by a sea of gravestones. We have been down these roads leading to Gran and Papa Joe’s house so many times. Almost instantly I find that we are climbing up the hill of Westmore Road. I look around at all the houses I’ve seen almost 100 times before. I smile as I see familiar faces and cars in the distance next to that big white and green two-family house. Daddy parks across the street and we make our way into the old memorable home exchanging hugs and planting soft kisses on cheeks. It seems like a thousand creaky stairs to the top, but we get there at last.
The door at the top is wide open, as if the whole house is inviting us in. We make our way through the rooms all mapped with loud, creaky hardwood floors and clustered with people giving our hellos only to end up in our little groups. In the kitchen, Gran helped by a couple of my Aunts are finishing up cooking a meal. There’s an opening to a miniature, closet like room to the right of the stove. Here the sink lies half full with the dishes used to make the big meal. The spices and such are stored in small cabinets. Back in the main part of the kitchen, the refrigerator stands tall beside the left wall. So many times before have I played with its colorful magnets. Next to it hangs a lonely window often unnoticed. On the far wall is a mysterious door that leads down to the back door and a labyrinth of basement halls. I was once so excited to finally go down those dark stairs behind. Straight ahead next to the right wall rests a worn wooden table draped with a colorful plastic cover. Grandpa often sat there listening to the radio on other days. Now, other adults, some of my many relatives, sit in the chairs at the table holding a conversation. In the next room, the guest bedroom, a baby usually slept or an elder was giving a minor stern words of advice. In the main room, also called the dining room, there is a big table, a case holding precious plates to the right, and two big windows half hidden by some of the many chairs around. Other adults relax and slip into various bubbling conversations. All the younger generation of kids and teenagers including Malcolm, Dinah, and I gather in the living room. We sit on the big beige couches or in one of the chairs in the corner. We sit in a loose circle around the rectangular wood and glass coffee table talking about school or funny memories. There are a few windows covering the far wall giving a view of the street. Several small tables hold up shapely lamps. A TV in a wooden case moodily sits unused for a big portion of the evening. There are enormous jigsaw puzzles finished by Papa Joe and my now deceased uncle Anthony some long time ago hung carefully in plastic along the walls. The second guest bedroom, to the left, is mostly still and dark. I don’t know why, but people don’t really go in there. As the night lengthens, we mill around and eat delicious homemade food. People go in and out of the small, single, blue tiled bathroom throughout the night. I end up wandering into Gran and Papa Joe’s room. I marvel at the wall of piled suitcases which cut the room in half wondering for the millionth time why they’re there. I walk around the bed to get a look at the things Gran has posted on the wall. I fill with joy and pride knowing that she kept her birthday gift from me (a picture of me) hanging on the wall for all to see. I walk back around towards the door, but sit on their bed ogling at all the knick-knacks scattered atop their dresser. I know that in one of those drawers Papa Joe keeps a stash of savory strawberry candies he gives out whenever his grandchildren come for a visit. I turn on their TV, joined by a few cousins, and watch quietly waiting for the cake. No one yells or tells us to get out.
Out the corner of my eye I see Mommy surrounded by some Aunts come from the kitchen with a glowing square in her arms. We all hurry into the main room just before the singing starts. With all of us packed in that one room, I swear the sense of love and togetherness and family can be felt a mile away. Papa Joe blows out the candles. A champagne bottle is popped and some sticky fizz is spilled on his head, as tradition calls for in out family. Loud claps vibrate the air. The cake is cut. Everyone in the room has a genuine smile on. Jokes are made, laughter is shared. In the two hours afterwards, cake is eaten and tin foil is passed around for people to take food home. Relatives slowly drip out the door one clan at a time. When it's our turn to leave, I give Gran and Papa Joe each a hearty hug and a warm kiss. I wave bye to the remaining family and walk down the countless creaky stairs. We load into the car and I stare out the window feeling the all-around good vibe of the car as we drive home. Every time I spend time with my grandparents, they teach me important life lessons, whether they know it or not. They teach me how to love and that family should mean good times and being yourself.