Summer Saturday and Sunday

Saturday morning runs are the absolute best. Once I turn off the side street, the neighborhood seems to come alive again. Children are playing at the nearby park or riding their bikes, and couples are walking their dogs with a coffee in hand. As I zip by the houses, a sudden, strong smell of pancakes and fried bacon lingers for a few moments. It always catches me off guard (in a good way), and I like that I don't know what house it comes from. That alone makes it worth it, especially since I never get these smells on any other day of the week.

Then Sunday comes around. And it really, really reminds me of this poem by Louis MacNeice.

Sunday Morning

Down the road someone is practising scales, 
The notes like little fishes vanish with a wink of tails, 
Man's heart expands to tinker with his car 
For this is Sunday morning, Fate's great bazaar; 
Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now, 

And you may grow to music or drive beyond Hindhead anyhow, 
Take corners on two wheels until you go so fast 
That you can clutch a fringe or two of the windy past, 
That you can abstract this day and make it to the week of time 
A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme. 

But listen, up the road, something gulps, the church spire 
Open its eight bells out, skulls' mouths which will not tire 
To tell how there is no music or movement which secures 
Escape from the weekday time. Which deadens and endures.

Seriously, these Saturday and Sunday mornings won't last forever. If the following Monday isn't already dreadful enough, then surely the passage of time to our deaths is! 

I love the line: "Regard these means as ends, concentrate on this Now,". Sure, we can do these great things to achieve something down the road, but what I think is more important is to enjoy the present and live in the moment. I could run intensely to train for a marathon, but I'm gonna continue to enjoy my morning runs.

Then comes the line: "A small eternity, a sonnet self-contained in rhyme." Just like a sonnet, the Sunday morning feels perfect and whole and like it could last forever, away from our life... Cue the song "Perfect Day" from Legally Blonde. Saturday and Sundays really do feel like this song sometimes. I've talked about the freshness of Saturday mornings with coffee in my In-N-Out mug writing in this blog. 

But then..

"how there is no music or movement which secures / Escape from the weekday time."

Oh god. No amount of morning runs, coffee, sleeping in, pancake breakfasts, reading in the sun, sitting in the grass at the park, or ANY other pleasant activity in which we live in the moment can save us from the 

"weekday time". That is, Monday and its depressing routine. Or wait. Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and ALL of the shit we do during those days. Work, school, chores, meetings, and other mandatory things that are ultimately aging us and leading us until the day we die.

Then the final line: "Which deadens and endure". 

Time is slowly killing us, but will last forever and do the same to the next generation of lives way after we've died.

While this poem may sound grim, it's not entirely saying bad things. Basically, we can enjoy the Saturday and Sunday mornings. Living in the moment and enjoying life's pleasantries is good for our soul. The "Perfect Day" does exist, but it is not forever.... Cue the poem by Robert Frost: "Nothing Gold Can Stay". Just kidding. 

But really. We should actually live in the moment while we can. 

Grab a coffee, grab a book, and let's escape reality for a bit in the sun. Monday's a whole 24 hours away.

Unable to Sleep

I am writing this because, for whatever reason, I am unable to fall asleep. I blame it on the temperature in my room. It's the best worst time of year again, so that means drowsily sunny afternoons and stuffy nights. Isn't it so irritating when you have the ceiling fan on to the max and the windows wide open, but the room still remains hot because there isn't even the slightest draft outside to pull the cold air in? Believe me, it's cool outside, but sometimes the air just doesn't want to settle inside the room. More annoyingly, some nights it will, and it's one of the greatest feelings in the world as you're lying awake in bed. Then, the very next day, the temperature will be lower during the peak heat hours but hotter at night because there's no breeze. I was thinking idly about running a large tower fan pointed straight at my pillow all night, but it's way too noisy and wastes electricity.

Obviously, I have little to complain about right now. The temperature during the day has actually been quite mild for summer, which only leads me to believe that August will be hellish. I fuckin' hate August. Every year, without fail, it seems to have the absolute worst weather of the year, and for most people it's when the looming return of school begins to creep up. I know people complain about the winter months (especially January), but I love these months for the early darkness, and I never have sleepless nights in the winter. 

Writing this has not made me any more sleepy or ready to crash, so now I'm going to sit here uncomfortably in this chair until I prefer to lay in my bed, and then hopefully that satisfaction of not sitting straight up will put me to sleep. 

Welcome to Monkey Land

Last week I visited the brilliant San Diego Zoo, one of the many iconic landmarks of SD and California as a whole. As I walked through the pathways in the Lost Woods approaching Panda Ridge, I couldn't stop thinking about the poem on the AP Literature exam titled "London" by Manmohan Ghose. In all of its glory, I remembered some of the lines by heart from reading it religiously during the test.

Here it is:

London

Farewell, sweetest country; out of my heart, you roses,

Wayside roses, nodding, the slow traveller to keep.

Too long have I drowsed alone in the meadows deep,

Too long alone endured the silence Nature espouses.

Oh, the rush, the rapture of life! throngs, lights, houses,

This is London. I wake as a sentinel from sleep.

Stunned with the fresh thunder, the harsh delightful noises,

I move entranced on the thronging pavement. How sweet,

To eyes sated with green, the dusty brick-walled street!

And the lone spirit, of self so weary, how it rejoices

To be lost in others, bathed in the tones of human voices,

And feel hurried along the happy tread of feet.

And a sense of vast sympathy my heart almost crazes,

The warmth of kindred hearts in thousands beating with mine.

Each fresh face, each figure, my spirit drinks like wine,

Thousands endlessly passing. Violets, daisies,

What is your charm to the passionate charm of faces,

This ravishing reality, this earthliness divine?

O murmur of men more sweet than all the wood's caresses,

How sweet only to be an unknown leaf that sings

In the forest of life! Cease, Nature, thy whisperings.

Can I talk with leaves, or fall in love with breezes?

Beautiful boughs, your shade not a human pang appeases.

This is London. I lie, and twine in the roots of things.

Now I think I know why I couldn't stop thinking about it. 

I left the group I was with almost immediately after we arrived at the zoo, excited by my solitude and readiness to explore. Ghose mentions "Farewell, sweetest country;", similar to how I was escaping the quiet, lonely suburbs to be reinvigorated in the great city. Before you highlight any contradictions, I don't consider a zoo (no matter how great its replication is) to be synonymous with countryside or nature. 

In the first stanza of the poem, Ghose lyrically bashes the countryside with repetition, listing things he's done that he's disliked ("To long have I drowsed alone... / To long alone endured the silence"). Ironically, the stanza disapproves of the peacefulness of countryside—where many retreat to to escape the busy and stressful city-life. For the rural dweller, however, the grass appears greener in the city.

I especially like the line "Oh, the rush, the rapture of life! throngs, lights, houses..." because, like Ghose, I enjoy the feeling of being surrounded by crowds of people and "raptures of life" that I don't know at all. The feeling of being swallowed by individuals and families walking through the paths of the African Rocks is not something you can easily attain. Just like the occasional child atop a father’s shoulders for a better view...how cute: “Get on my shoulder so you can see.” Ghose personifies the pavement: "I move entranced on the thronging pavement" (referring to the pavement of London streets), as if it gains life, a surge of energy from the "happy tread of feet" of those walking upon it! Indeed, every aspect of the zoo seems to come alive at the flood of people moving through. 

Can this poem get any better? Of course it can. I kept walking alone, making my way up to the polar bears, until I remembered the line: "And the lone spirit, of self so weary, how it rejoices / To be lost in others, bathed in the tones of human voices". Right! I was doing exactly that, admiring the animals alone as I listened in and "bathed" in the family conversations and remarks. Oh, and even in silence, for there was nothing quite like leaning against the railing of the enclosure next to everyone as we stood quietly watching the elephants eat. Somehow, it felt good to be lost in the others voices as I wandered silently from animal to animal.

Walking from place to place, I get to see a new set of faces each step I take: "The warmth of kindred hearts in thousands beating with mine. / Each fresh face, each figure, my spirit drinks like wine, / Thousands endlessly passing."  just love the way Ghose describes the feeling of seeing a new face, because it really does reinvigorate your spirit to know that thousands of others are doing the same.

So I encourage you! Go to a new place with crowds and take it in, enjoy the sites, listen to the "murmur of men more sweet than all the wood's caresses", and light the fire in your life again. The place feels better when enjoyed by many.

After all.....

This is San Diego. I lie, and twine in the roots of things.

No Money Spent

    Today didn't go as planned. After parking in the nearly empty parking lot of the library (I guess I should've figured something wasn't right at this point, but it is a Saturday), I walked to the entrance of the library only to find that it was closed. I was more disappointed than I want to admit, but the library did say it was open online. I had no idea why it was closed. Alas, I headed back to the car without even getting a chance to look at the books with a sullen face. There wasn't anything I could do.

    But it was okay, since I had fun driving back home with the windows down. Instead of spending the day at the library, I took my notebook and paperback to the park to read in nature (which I also thoroughly enjoy as well). 

$$$ → ↓↓↓

    Well, anything happening in school is basically coming to a close as I get ready to graduate (thank god), so tomorrow for one of my last weekends in high school ever I wanted to head to the library the minute it opens. Why? There's a built-in discounted book store in the library where I can hopefully waste a couple bucks buying a few physical books. 

    Oh dear, I said a naughty word, quite a smutty word..."You may well shudder". In all seriousness, I recently bought a paperback copy of Lolita because I've been really invested into the book (yeah, yeah, snicker all you want and call me that.), and only now realized the genuine appeal of physical books. Does it still seem like a waste of money to me? Of course—you're literally paying for paper with ink, and from novels that are easily obtainable for free. Obviously that's not the point, though. The physical book is infinitely more efficient to comb through to look through for passages, and there's something charming about having geography to the text so to speak. Plus, it is satisfying to see your progress through a stack of slowly accumulating pages (for I am in fact a slow reader) rather than a mere percentage. For whatever reason, the book also smells absolutely amazing; I think I've developed an addiction to smelling the inside of the page every time I read. 

    But does this mean I'll stop reading on my computer or Kindle? Definitely not. I still like the fact that the Kindle is able to have any book I want instantly and give all the formatting options. For every other aspect of books, though, I think it's hard to disagree that physical books are just better.

    With that said, I say "hopefully waste" because I'm almost certain that the mini store won't have any of the books I'm looking for, but I guess I'll have to wait and see.

    

PaperQuest (pt. 2)

    Out of fear, I looked out the blurry glass of the front door for any signs of a person, but there wasn't anyone. I could not figure out what was causing my fear, but I knew it had to do with her. Later that afternoon I called Jason to meet up at the burger place in his area. He had a kin to seeing the best in people, and unfortunately it seemed like I always saw the worst in everyone. It didn't matter what scenario I was in. Walking through the halls of high school was fundamentally jostling between a room full of two-bit, two-faced things. Worse yet, the deplorable men around me tried to hide their "drive" behind masks and thus behaved outwardly horrendous (as do the women, of course). Or could it be that they may just be plain, bad people trying to reframe their debasement as a result of this "excess of desire"? Regardless, how could I care to be surrounded by people I didn't know, and even if I thought I did, still didn't? 

    Once somebody in my class tried to ask someone else what game they were playing, and in response the other says: "Do I know you?". At first I was offended, but then I questioned why the first kid would even bother. I was about to shrug it off, but something inside me was still annoyed at the second kid's impudence, so I said pretty loudly: "Does anyone even know you?". No, I did not intentionally try to sound like some white knight, nor was I defending the other kid. I simply didn't like his moronic, rude manner, and if I was anyone else I would've retaliated physically. Besides, what was this plump little idiot going to do if anyone punched him? If I was the other kid, I would've never bothered trying to find these people out, because in the end there's simply no point. Thus, my arm stands still.

    It wasn't just one person, either. No, it was in fact several people, so many that I'd go as far as to say that an unassuming person would probably make a rightfully educated guess that I hated everyone. Speaking for myself, I don't believe I have enough evidence to come to that conclusion yet, but at the same time that assumption is entirely inane... Nobody was safe from my silent judgement as I listened in on their ridiculous conversations. On one of my lasts days in hell, I overheard a few girls speaking loudly and with the most irritating intonation about the tritest, most non-comical thing (I can't even remember what it was), hoping in vain that something seriously bad—so bad that I can't even bring myself to write it—would happen to them to shut them up. What is it with girls and their inherent inability to be quiet? Now, reader, I know you may be quick to roll your eyes and think: "What a sociopathic, arrogant narcissist", but let me assure you that I am not the only one who feels this way. The difference is, however, that I don't dislike school for many of the same reasons. I was never made fun of, never bullied, and never had any extraneous issues in my life. Even with my relatively smooth living, I could never enjoy it.

    I believe part of my cynicism was in part due to where I went to school, too. Once I attended a theatre performances early in the eighth semester (about to be freed!) at another high school not far from my own, and instantly I knew their school to be better. The grass was greener, damn it. I was about to enter the enormous performing arts center. My hands held the metal of the door, but my eyes looked straight ahead to the indigo sky without stars. The light pollution cloaked the sky, making it impossible for the stars to shine their way through. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful campus. The paths were illuminated by the intermittent glow of the street light, surrounded by flourishing grass kissed with the sweet, brisk air of early Spring. I imagined myself sitting on the outskirts of campus indulging in a read before class. Better yet, I thought of a lonely walk around the baseball fields with a hand in my pocket, hearing the crunching of the granular dirt in the infield as my mind wandered aimlessly. The students from the school wearing their sunshine faces didn't help make me feel better either. A twinge of jealousy and longing spread throughout my mind that day. How I wished I could've had even a sliver of this environment. Something inside me knew it would have made me less cynical of the entire experience, but I brushed it off when I remembered how little time I had left.

    Indeed, it would be wrong to say that my judgment of people was probably clouded by my, admittedly awful, contentions—not everyone was purely bad, but then again you never knew... When I walked into the restaurant and saw Jason already sitting in the corner, I knew I had to tell him. Holes began to appear in the plush of the "comfort "of senior year, ones that I'd begged for to disrupt the concurrent gloominess of the fast approaching real world. This didn't enter my mind at the moment I met her, as groaning with anticipation and fear of what Jason would say I tottered through the tables towards his booth. Then, reaching him, I boldly sat down without letting on about anything that was bothering me with a heroic decision to tell him about my uncovering, despite my problem sitting in front of me—he seemed especially made of steel right now. 

    "While I was standing there, I got goosebumps just looking at her. All I know is I don't like her." I said.

    Jason looked at me incredulously. "What, you don't even know her. She could be normal for all you know." 

    I took a sip of my water and slammed it down on the table. "Maybe you're right," I said. "But I'm not going to let it go until I know for sure."

    He sat back in his seat and avoided my eyes, taking a bite of his burger. "What the hell do you mean?"

    "Honestly, I don't know yet. Don't worry about it." I gulped down the rest of my water. 

    

   

(This is a work of fiction)

A Funny Moment

Today was one of the few days that I've felt happy. It was a long day; I had a Chemistry test and a Track meet standing in front of a four-day weekend. During the last Track event of the evening, one of my teammates hilariously started the race with an unbelievably quick stride. It was so fast that I heard nearly every runner in the race (about 25 people) burst out into laughter at the absurdity. Mind you, we were running a 3200 meter race, so getting out at that pace is not ideal. Racing is supposed to be serious, and typically people don't talk or laugh in the first 10 seconds of the race, but since it was the end of the meet and since nobody really wanted to run it, our minds were definitely in a place to laugh. That was probably the only time I've witnessed this. I think it made it better that the race had so many runners. 

And yes, I was also laughing until the 200 meter mark, finding it difficult to get myself together and lock in. What a funny way to end the day.

PaperQuest

Yesterday my notebook ran out of paper, so since it's the start of my spring break I decided to head out on a side-quest for another notebook. I guess my notebook didn't have enough to fulfill my constant flow of letters and words, unencumbered, numbered words; more pages and pages; pages for words; more words than I have ever heard. Fake things; real things; math; literature; on and on. 

    So I left this morning around 10 o'clock. The car didn't have much gas left, and because I didn't feel like paying for a refill and because the store was so close, I chose to go on foot. As I made my way down the street, I looked around. The day was bright and the weather cool, but a brown tint wreathed the horizon ahead. If there was one way to ruin a nice day, it was to be reminded of the displeasures of the current climate. 

    After about twelve minutes I walked through the front doors of the store. That heat... It was hotter in the store than outside. Annoyed, I hurried to the office supply aisle and scanned the shelves for the notebook. A pathetic selection of dusty notebooks that were likely second-hand leftovers were all they had, so I snatched three of the best looking ones and tucked them under my arm. 

    I checked out, placed the receipt in the bag, and strolled out into the now stronger sunlight as the automatic door made its wirr sound. On the way back I thought I'd be completely alone. I needed to be alone, for my mind was going crazy in anticipation. To my surprise and to my disappointment, I saw my cousin in the distance standing beside another girl whom I had no familiarity with. What was I going to do? I couldn't just ignore them—they were right in my path to the house.

    My thoughts consumed me while I treaded to where they were standing, acting like I didn't notice them from afar. My cousin perked up when she saw me. She waved with an expression of half confusion and half interest. 

    "What's up?" I began. In my mind I had no idea where this was going, but I figured a simple hello-goodbye couldn't hurt.

    "Not much, just hanging out with my friend," my cousin pivoted to her friend, then back to me. I didn't bother to look yet. "What are you... doing?"

    "Uh, I had to run to the store for some stuff," I said in embarrassment.

    "What stuff? Can I see?"

    She peered inside the bag as I opened it. "See, just boring stuff."

    "Oh," she shrugged. Then she turned toward her friend again. "This is my friend Cecelia. I've told you about her before."

    Now I finally looked at her. So this was the "Cecelia" that she mentioned before. She had wavy, chestnut hair past her shoulders resting behind her ear that was studded with diamonds. I stood close enough to see the constellation of freckles across her nose, and a pair of lightning blue eyes reflecting the sunlight of noon. Worst of all, I swear, her mouth, in an idle state, was turned up at the corners. I shuddered instinctively in terror.

    So what was the deal? I was forced to break the awkward silence that followed, and I was also suddenly aware that in examining her I was staring at her.

    "Nice to meetcha," I said finally. 

    Cecelia looked up at me. "Silly."

    Her voice had sleep. A soft, husky edge to it, and it could be so sweet as to be scary. But there must have been some knife in her throat; her voice cut me at that response. I stepped back in defense.

    "What? What's silly?" I asked nervously.

    Suddenly she formed a cat-like smile and acted as though nothing was said at all. "Oh, forget it. What did you say your name was?"

    I told her my name. A bad feeling came over me, so bad that I knew that I had to get home right now. I gave a curt good-bye and sped-walked the rest of the way, checking with great certainty that the door was locked.

(A fictitious passage)

    

Composition Book

 So much depends upon

My blue composition book 

beaten with age and use

beside my pen.

Oh, it rests, but soon

I'll dig with it.

What's Your Yam?

Put yourself in the shoes of the Invisible Man in the "Yam Vendor" scene you discussed yesterday. If you found yourself away from home, tell me about a food that would evoke a similar experience for you, and why it is significant to you--is it connected to a particular person, place, and/or event? What would it help me understand about you and your story?  

Slicing the tape that binds the box shut to reveal the bento inside is enough to take me “back, back.” Every summer when I was a little kid, my family visited relatives in the gorgeous island of Kauai, Hawaii. Some of my earliest memories are of the entire family getting together by the sparkling waters of Poʻipū Beach, grilling or enjoying Hawaiian bentos after a great day on the water. The bentos have an assortment of rice, half a hot-dog, potato, fried chicken, beef, macaroni salad, fried shrimp, and other things I can’t put a name to. If nostalgia was a food, this would be the one. It brings me a lot of joy, whatever joy is left in the world, to see my younger cousins from California experiencing the island for themselves for the first time, just like me and my previous generations did years ago. Admittedly it isn’t the same anymore (the island is overrun by tourism more and more each year), but I feel Kauai is as impervious to change as it can be. After reading Invisible Man, my “yam” constantly reminds me of how much you really don’t know what you have until it’s gone. 

Unlike the Narrator, eating the bento in Kauai would have strongest effect rather than in a random place. In a way it puts my mind squarely into a temporary visit of a second home—one that I rarely visit anymore. Nevertheless, as soon as I take the first bite lying on the blanket next to the ocean and the humid breeze begins to hit my face, it feels like nothing else in the world matters, and all my worries drift out into a calming wave...away and away.

Picking a Side → What I really didn’t expect

 Well, I’ve got to say, this blog has shifted over the past week. I've started to use a pencil and eraser, which is something I never thought I’d do. I always told myself that I hated pencils–hated the feel, the sound, the smell, the effect on the paper. But, after giving it another shot, my opinion has significantly changed. I bought a pack of U.S.A. Gold #2 Pencils yesteryear and tried it out, and now I’m hooked. The dark, rustic graphite stands out on the page as you glide your pencil across. On top of being a good core, the pencil is extremely smooth. I used to dislike pencils because they couldn't come close to the smoothness of any ballpoint pen, but now I feel as though it’s unfair to compare the two; you’ll obviously never experience the same feeling. Even though I prefer blue ink over greyish color, the earthy smell and scratchy sounds that emanate from your desk makes writing with a pencil worth it.

Back when I was in elementary school–around eight years ago–I used to be obsessed with pencils. Admittedly, more than an eight-year-old should be. My teacher had a system of pencils in which each student would receive their own, brand new, Dixon Ticonderoga Pencil that had their student number written on a piece of tape, wrapped around the top part of the pencil near the ferrule. The good part? You could ask one of the teacher’s aid (that attending the neighboring middle school) for a new, fresh pencil anytime you needed. I loved this system. I would constantly overuse or ruin my pencils just to ask for a new one, simply because I loved the feeling of a fresh pencil that was long and had an untouched eraser. I seemed to be the only kid in my class who cared about pencils that much. I remember stealing fresh pencils from other classes too: one time I sneakily tried to stand in front of it so I could snatch it off the desk from behind my back, but I’m pretty sure one of the kids saw it happen anyway. In other words, I was a fanatic for a long time throughout my early years of school.

Now that I’m back to using pencils, I think I’ve rediscovered why I loved them so much years ago…

Spam Vs. Bacon

 Yesteryear as I was eating at a Hawaiian-Themed restaurant, I noticed that the eggs with Spam were more expensive than the bacon. I always thought Spam was the cheaper option, so I did some research to find out that it actually is. The reason it’s slightly more at the restaurant was likely because they provided more pieces of meat. There was a slightly heavier amount of Spam than bacon, which causes it to be more expensive, even if Spam is just mystery meat… Or is it?

I love both meats, so it’s honestly hard to compare the two and figure out what’s better. Spam has a slightly unique flavor that can’t really be described or compared to any other meat. Technically, according to the company, Spam is made out of “pork with ham meat added”. It’s not really mystery meat, but I don’t really get a pork-y taste. Regardless, the salty, juicy flavor is perfect with a side of eggs and rice. The same goes for bacon. The smoky, salty flavor is perfect on a Saturday morning, even if it’s not that healthy for you. Oh, and the crunch is better, too.

If I were to choose one, I’d say that bacon goes better with slightly more things and smells more appetizing than spam. 

Either way, both are delicious. 

Remembering March/April...

We're almost halfway through the month, and already this March has absolutely not lived up to the last.

I felt a weird contentedness and an overall sense of elevated spirits last year, excited by my growing passion of writing in this blog and the track season that was in full swing. I think I feel less happy now because I'm realizing that my childhood is about to come to a complete halt, and the real world is about to hit me like a truck, as cliché as that sounds. Also, the weather has been pretty shitty (annoyingly hot), so I'm not able to post about the rain again. 

Here's a journal entry for my AP Lang class I wrote last year in April (which I know isn't march, but it's relatively close): 

The Google Doc File

Funny but only to me.

Today at another track meet one of my plastic water bottles opened up in my backpack and got everything inside soaked. Thankfully, it was disgustingly hot today (at least for a Californian), so most of my stuffed dried off pretty good after letting it sit in the sun. 

This has happened to me so many times before, it's not even funny. I think the cap unscrews just enough when I shove my track uniform and shoes in my bag with all the half-closed water bottles. As expected, all of my papers in the folders are only wet at the bottom. Seeing this, however, takes me back to the last time I was in Kauai and my aunt carried the iron from her hotel to a relative's house. The water inside the iron spilled all over the bag, making her book and her daughter's book have the same looking water stain as me.  What an odd way to get your stuff wet. At the time I thought it was kind of funny. My aunt didn't even seem too bothered by it. Today when I saw this happened to me again, I shrugged my shoulders with indifference and laughed internally in pleasant memory.

Liberty Paints

 KEEP AMERICA PURE

WITH 

LIBERTY PAINTS

Here's some notes I took in class about Chapter 10. Probably my favorite chapter in the novel (besides Ch. 13), and one of the best I've ever read. I was re-reading it and got sucked into the paint plant all over again—that's how well done it is.

Another panic

Yesterday on my way to school, I started to go without plugging in my iPod into the aux cable. At a stop sign, I fumbled around for it in my pocket and tried to shove the cable in, but for some reason it wouldn't budge (you can probably hear the internal "fuck!" through the screen). I pushed harder, but of course that didn't work either, so I gave up and went the rest of the way in silence. Now parked I shined a handheld flashlight into the hole, revealing a tiny piece of metal lodged in the bottom of the jack (now an audible "fuck!"). 

I spent the next few minutes hitting the iPod against my copy of Invisible Man to get it out until it finally relented and flew out. I have absolutely no idea where that metal was from or how it got in the jack, but for a minute I got scared this iPod would be done for.

This shuffle is probably one of the few things I really don't want to lose. I know people think it's "performative" or "doin' too much" to use an iPod instead of your phone, but this thing is small, doesn't need service, has its own battery, and just works. Apple Music has disappointed me lately with the unfortunate destruction of the radio and the new interface, so now I only use it on my computer and when I want to wear AirPods. 

No, I'm not trying to be different. I simply like this product for what it is.

Review: DJ & Arthur New Hope Episode 2

This a fun part 2 to the series they started a few weeks back. I especially like the perspective changes and the fact that we literally move into DJ's subconsciousness to fight enemies and ultimately level up. It reminds me a lot of the final part of EarthBound where you enter Ness's mind (Magicant). In my eye, the monsters he's fighting and the experience he gains is from his own internal conflicts and "monsters", and the leveling up after he awakens can be interpreted as a symbolic growth of overcoming said internal challenges. If you take it literally and in the context of the story on its surface, he's just fighting a monster in a dream world to get more EXP, like an RPG game would normally entail. However, the fact you can run with both ideas makes the video more enjoyable. Even if this was unintentional, DJ's quote of "I don't like killing, I really don't. I hate hurting things that have feelings and lives," can further illustrate the notion that although overcoming your greatest internal conflicts is altogether great, sometimes it helps to realize the root of the issue and the fact that the process may not leave you feeling glorious. In the case of DJ, his triumph came at the cost of having to hurt another "living" being, which could be diminishing the symbolic representation of his childlike self (plush dolls and video games).

If this isn't the case, then it also works to say that he merely defeated a monster in a fictious game. Indeed, the entire premise of the series more or less diffuses the inner passions for video games and skit-making to YouTube, and I believe seeing it all only in this light is perfectly okay, too.

Thank you DJ and Arthur for making this second part. Meantime I'll sit tight for a part 3.

New! Super Mario Desk 2: Yoshi's Island

I got a hand-me-down desk today that a family member wasn't using, thus I completely removed my old black desk. This one is white and a great deal smaller, but it gives my room more room and somehow finally gives me space to have a paper and keyboard in the same space. I can finally do physical homework with a keyboard in front of me. As I'm writing this I'm procrastinating on my chemistry homework. 

This is pretty much all I have to share today. 

Math Books and "Calculature"

You can infer from my most recent YouTube post (https://www.youtube.com/post/UgkxcWlsbQ-UTqbLsD7ipZcJYUlmtPIhrzZ6) that I'm sort of looking over the next concepts of math. And perhaps the only, only thing that is appealing about opening this book is the gloss of the pages. 

So I scrapped that and left the book siting open on my desk. Later at a track meet, a friend (who's in BC, super smart) helped me understand how to do it a little bit better. Another (BC) teammate told me that learning stuff from a textbook is hard because it often makes easy concepts sound/look much more difficult than it really is. That made sense. When I looked back through the book at the theorems and definitions I already know, the verbiage and notation were pretty confusing. 

This isn't to say learning via a book is impossible, but maybe it would help to use it in conjunction with the limitless (pun intended) online resources. Or, you know, just register for a college class if you want.

If you're going to be a senior in high school someday, I'd strongly recommend taking AP Calc and AP Lit concurrently if your school offers it. That way you can say you took "Calculature". I know some students get ahead in math and take Calc before their senior year, but at the very least, I think that AP Lit should strictly be a senior course at ALL schools. 

As a bonus, here is the math my friend did during the meet: 

IIRC the question is on the left side, and anything that seems like nonsense is because it's other work from other questions or just explanations.

Don't accidentally

 Don't accidentally spill some 6M hydrochloric acid on your finger. It feels like pineapple on your tongue, on your finger. It should make sense to you why it feels like that. Still, scary!

A thought that rushed in and intertwined with me

Isn't it so characteristically American to gawk over Fridays? I guess I'm feeding into that—and flexing my American muscle—since recently I've thought of how satisfying the past Fridays of this year have been.

After admittedly being thrust into a zero period by a mistake of my own fault (that still angers me to this day), the world nearly crumbled around me. I couldn't bear the thought of being forced to wake up early for something as repulsive as math, let alone calculus. Despite my complaints and childish protesting, I did have to be the one that drives themselves to school to do calculus at seven in the morning. 

Looking at it now, it's really not that bad. I drag myself out of bed at around 5:50 AM to give plenty of time to eat and drink coffee, leaving the house at about 6:55. Every morning, without fail, I squeegee the dewy windows of the car before heaving my backpack into the backseat. Then, I plug in the iPod shuffle into my auxiliary cable, flick the seat heaters to full blast, and clutch the parking brake down as it disengages with a click. Normally I would scoff at a methodical, rigid routine like this, but the fact that it hasn't really changed at all is the only source of comfort I get from this zero period. No, I'm not autistic, I just like stupid shit like this that I can think about later.

Twisting between the windy heights is a rare time to let my mind wander as I stare at the yellow line dividing the empty street. I love the distinct sound of the car's engine only audible in the quiet side streets. Maybe this is the only reason that makes me want to go to zero period to learn about stupid derivatives. 

Fridays, on the other hand, are a nice change of pace. It's the only day of school I can sleep in, since school doesn't start until 9:00 AM. 9:00 AM! In my case, it's a weekday that has the faint taste of a lazy Saturday morning (another defining feature of this blog and my channel). I love seeing the sun almost fully risen when I wake up, and I love being the last person to the leave the house.

The drive to school is energetic and void of that dreary morning sky. An elementary school near our home is about to start, so naturally it makes me happy seeing all the families walking to the school with their children tagging along. When I arrive to school, the parking lot has a "high-schoolly" bustle and a good mood that's completely missing on a 7:00 AM Monday morning—obviously. Once I'm done saying my hello's and jumping between the passenger seats of cars, I head inside to the busy quads of the school just as the first bell rings...

I can almost feel the weekend.

I get it: my little pleasures of life are soon to change when I get hit with the reality of the real world. Still, allow me the time to enjoy it one last time like all my other classmates.

A video...

My revelation on what to write about today came to me this evening. I just saw a video on YouTube that angered me a bit.

It was of some chump who ranked popular extracurricular activities in high school on a scale of 1-10 based on how good they look on an application. Already, the premise of the video is extremely generalized and reeks of clickbait. How is it possible to casually rank random, unorthodox extracurriculars on a frustratingly simplistic scale? (It's not). Chump, we're not ranking someone's looks. You're ranking activities with depth, layers, and complexities you didn't bother all to mention in your 1 minute video.

The chump claims they collected this information "based on years of direct conversations with admissions officers, thousands of real application files I’ve analyzed, and repeated patterns I’ve seen while helping students earn spots at top universities", but what I fail to understand is how the vast amount of alleged data they've gathered is adequately packaged into a one minute video and reflected across the mere 8 activities mentioned in the video. Regardless if her "advice" is good or not, it is misleading and shady to make a video essentially slamming some extracurricular with a simple line like "almost every above average student is in it". What if they've done considerable work while in it? What if they were in other activities alongside it? What if it was the only thing their school offered? As expected, none of this is considered, and the activity is simply ranked at a 3/10. I don't think it's fair to dismiss an activity you find generic or "boring" because a lot of people are in it. Again, even if it is generic, there wasn't enough in the video to discuss the layers of why it may be considered that way. Looking at it as a whole again, I don't understand the point of this video at all. Are you trying to instill fear in people that did 3/10 activities and cause unnecessary anxiety? Are you trying to brag about yourself by ranking activities you likely did at 10/10? Or are you just trying to make money and be an influencer?

One might argue that a smart, capable student (who obviously wishes to go to an Ivy League) is probably able to deduce that the specifics and exceptions are missing, but that doesn't dismiss the fact that the video itself is wholly unrepresentative of the true process of fleshing out one's extracurricular choices and how they choose to display that on the application. Seriously, what normal student looks at some stupid video from a chump on the internet and decide "Duuuuuuuuh... Guess I'm not doing that..."? (I hope you're able to tell that I'm being facetious).

Unrelated to this, you probably suspect that I disagree with a lot of the push to race for top colleges. If your portrayed journey on that application is untrue to yourself, your identity, and your being, then what's the damn point? Many of the comments on the video focused on the fact that you should do what you like and what truly represents you, because you shouldn't waste your years doing otherwise. I know some are going to disagree with me on this. I know that for some, getting into a dream school is pretty much their only purpose in life from birth to senior year, and whatever happens after is...unknown. That's okay. Please continue to have your opinion.

This is a short rant that I wanted to do just from that video. I think it goes back to the issues of short-form content that plenty of people have noticed, and in this particular case the unnecessary glamorization of college admission and this mentality of a one-size-fits-all in admissions (This is this chump's entire online persona, and probably their personality for that fucking matter. For god sake, there is more to life than this, and really who are you as a person when you're suggesting people essentially give up their soul in a not-so-obvious-but-obvious manufactured "blueprint" of college admission journeys instead of just letting them grow themselves? Wow, it's ironically the most backwards and controlling thing to suggest something like that when the chump's supposed purpose is to encourage students to authenticate themselves and show that to colleges.). The fact that it's allowed to be up and circulating is kind of disheartening.

Above all else, be careful what and especially who you listen to—even me.

My Reliance on Coffee

Have I not made it clear that coffee is a huge theme of this blog and my online personality? If not, I'm here to drill it in again.

It was just one of those Mondays, because today I left the house for school without my coffee. With my luck, this was only apparent when I was well past the "point of no return" from home to the school. Cue the audible sigh. I know that this is probably the most minor first world problem you've ever heard in your life, and I hear you saying "Quit your complaining", but honestly this morning sucked without it.

I am obviously well beyond addicted to coffee, so this morning felt extremely sluggish and irritating. Coffee gives me this little kick inside me to make me actually (sort of) want to go to school and pay attention in class. It was all too noticeable when I didn't have it; today I felt lazy and bored in class.

To make matters worse, the effects of my lack of caffeine carried on throughout the day like an annoying little parasite. I had a headache the entire day and a much higher appetite than usual, since I guess coffee curbs your appetite as well. Knowing the demoralizing effects of a coffee-free life, I think I'm going to keep drinking it and turn a blind eye to those who claim it's bad to be addicted to it at my young age. 

And tomorrow morning, I'll be sure not to forget it this time.

Procrastinating

As I procrastinate my assigned text, East of Eden, I've been practicing some of my own writing (usually in the form of prose) while watching videos and browsing online resources on creative writing. I'm both surprised and not surprised at all the complexities within creative writing. 

I like to draft up contemporary fiction short stories for nobody to read but myself. They are flawed, horrible, and probably embarrassing, but it's a good way to see how the things I learned can manifest themselves on the page. Like a bit of a caveman, I'm writing them with pen and paper. To be honest, this isn't something new that I'm trying now––I've actually been doing this for a while since I first tried my hand (get it?) at creative writing. I have an entire folder on my computer titled "Creative Writing Projects" where most of the drafts and copies are handwritten at first. I vowed that the folder should never see the light of day, but I doubt that anyone will be able to read my shitty handwriting anyway.

Frequently I hear the argument that handwriting slows down the process significantly so that you can think more about what you compose on the page, and that by not using a computer, you're less tempted by all the distractions that can pull you away from staring at a boring looking Google Doc. For me, though, physical writing allows me to easily share my work with the one of friend at school who I'm comfortable sharing my shit with. Plus, I feel more accomplished having a few sheets of written paper that I made organically versus a screen that has no tangibility or sense of "realness"(?) to the work. 

Some online say that writing by hand caused them to refrain from erasing or changing work too much while drafting, but even when I write by hand, I still find myself crossing out words, sentences, and sometimes paragraphs as I draft. By the time I reach the bottom of a page, it looks like a chaotic mess of ink. I don't find this troubling, though. Other manuscripts from famous authors like F. Scott Fitzgerald show intensive crossing out and erasing, which is basically the same as if you're pressing delete or ctrl+x on a computer. But again, it's more intentional and permanent; you will forever see the points in which you are doubting your self or where you significantly reworked a scene. The good thing is is that it's never truly gone like it would be on a computer. 

None of it's bad. Part of the creative process, I think, is fucking up a lot and fixing it and fucking up even worse than what you did before and realizing you should've left it...etc. Whatever method of writing or drafting of a creative project that works best for you is the best.

"There was no possibility of taking a walk that day"

Except that there was a possibility.

It's been sort of warm where I live during the day (In February!), so to escape the gradual stuffiness that builds in the house, I've been taking walks at night. By around eight to nine o'clock, the air feels thoroughly fresh and chilly. It wouldn't normally be that nice to walk during the night in shorts, but after being irritated by the warm weather for the entire day, the cold weather is extremely refreshing. I know it's a little mundane and cliché to talk about the weather, but the heat creeping up this early in the year has definitely raised some alarms for me and others. Regardless, I move on and brush it off like most things. 

There is no rhyme or reason for suddenly going out at night for walks; I guess I felt compelled to wind down looking at the houses and the neighborhood and wondering who lives there and what they're like. I prefer it this way. There's practically nobody out, especially since my neighborhood has a lot of families with young children. Why in the world would they be out at nine o'clock at night anyway? 

So it's me with my thoughts and some music as I let my body drift aimlessly and languidly throughout the streets. I relish in pure solitude that lets me think and think and think. About anything, really. Think about life. Think about school. Think about my friends. Think about the music. Think about writing. Think about the books. 

For those that love to be with their thoughts in a cool breeze, evening walks are definitely something to try.

The March Challenge

In honor of March 2025 being the most active month in this blog (containing the most posts out of any month), I wanted to do a challenge in March of this year that attempts to relive that month as best as I can remember it. The blog posts, videos, photos, and writings obsessing over AP Lang is unable to throw me back into last year. 

This time, I want to try and make a meaningful, mid-length post every single day of the month to break that record again. March is such a weird month. The stress of AP classes is starting to creep up, Track and Field is in full bloom (stressful as ever), and the weather is generally not too cold or hot (since it's spring). 

I highly doubt that this March will come close to last year, but maybe just trying can help me cheer up a bit.

Warmth

Entering the house provided little relief from the outside air. Tired from my exercise, I was eager to hop in a steaming, pleasant little shower. My eagerness rose even greater as I gazed at the water spewing from the faucet. Then, ahhhh...the feeling of the hot water on my skin was incredible. I guess when it’s cold, scalding water feels pretty normal. By the time my shower was over, the room was nearly a sauna. Unfortunately, stepping out was painful. As soon as the water stops, it feels like all the cold air suddenly rushes you at once and leaves you feeling more frigid than before. The breeze from the bathroom window nipped at my still wet hair. Maybe it was a sign that my grasp for warmth hadn’t been fully met. The shower was merely like when you desperately put a car’s heater to full blast to spread the warmth faster, to no avail. The real warming is sort of a slow process. 

Self-Inflicted

I was walk walk walk 

walking along with path, when

suddenly I stopped. OW!

Burn baby burn, it burns! 

The hot stuff bled through my thin,

 black, long sleeved shirt that stretches slightly when you pull on it.

I remember my cousin commenting: 

"You're wearing all black!",

and ever since then I treasure it.

But not now. It let some scalding stuff slide through and burn me,

spread throughout and oh, oh, oh, it hurts.

And now it feels like my head is feeling lighter.

But when I looked down 

at the damage,

There was a tiny, star-shaped hole in my chest.

Now I won't get to see the rest.

Now why you wanna go and do that, love, huh?

 Yo,

Lemme just fuck wit' it for a minute

--- Q-Tip 

Beside the Car - A Poem

Quick—

Hide!

They caught us

kissing beside the car.

Your lips taste like heaven,

like pink champagne and strawberry cake—

sweet and fizzy and dangerous.

Your face red with infatuation,

Wearing sweatpants and snug boots in this freezing wind.

My back is pressed against the metal,

heart knocking so loud.

Stop smiling,

you’re making it worse.

But we have to stop,

escape this awkward spotlight.

You slip behind the passenger side,

and I duck toward the driver’s door.

I dart to it,

nearly tripping over the curb,

trying to look casual

like I’ve never kissed anyone.

HONK! HONK! 

Hey, who’s she?

Who?

That.

Oh, just a friend.

You sure?

Yeah, a friendly friend.

Uh-huh.

What brings you?

Going home, obviously.

Okay, bye. 

They roll away.

Silence. 

We stay frozen.

One.

And two.
Then your head pops over the side,

hair falling into your eyes,

Grinning.

Coast clear, sweety.

You can stop hiding

and get back over here.

I want every part of my skin to touch every part of your skin.

Please, honey, throw your sleeved arms around my neck. 

I wasn’t done kissing you!

If another car comes,

Let them look.

(This is a work of fiction, obviously)