Insomnia

Jesus Christ. Is insomnia contagious?

Guh. Sick.

I'm sick.


It's a love hate relationship.


I hate being sick. The stuffy noses. The itchy throats. The sneeze that lodges itself somewhere between your nose and your mouth and refuses to come out. The feeling that all your energy has leaked out of your nose along with the Yangstze River of boogers. Sick = Suck.

I love complaining about being sick. Mom says: "Clean up your room!". I say "-sniffle and look pathetic-" And Mom goes "Shao lai le. Suck it up.", grumbles, and leaves me alone. Then I mope around the house, sniffling, sneezing, groaning. Mom and Dad scream "JUST EAT THE DAMN MEDICINE." And I say, "No. I'm working out my immune system. ): " Fun fun fun.

Maybe I'm not sick. Maybe its allergies. Maybe my throat is just sore because I have been singing the Lesbian Fight Song at the top of my lungs for the past two weeks...

Maybe my subconcious desire to be on House has taken over my body...



One can only wish.

WWIII in the Casa de Wang

Well...more like Cold War II.

I've learned from experience that talking about your problems amplifies the emotions behind them. I figure blogging will do the same thing. It's like talking, except no one is listening.

I'm way more calm about this than I should be, I know. I already had my cry. I felt like an idiot afterwards, but it was a great cry nonetheless. Sometimes I don't understand him. Who am I kidding? I never understand him. We're too much alike, he and I. How can I begin to understand him when I can't even understand myself. (Ooooh, deep question of the day.)

Like dissolves like. Opposites attract. My Dad and I are like...living in parallel universes. Our personalities are so identical it's almost horrifying. We're both introverted extroverts who live to entertain but hate to take charge. We both have unpredictable temperaments and do things we later regret. We both say things we don't mean and are too proud to apologize. Easily provoked. Dependent on the affections of others. Suffer chronic bouts of depression. Good God, I even have his allergies. (Why couldn't I have inherited his hairless legs?)

Things can always go either way when we're together. My mother is always at her wit's end, trying to make us see that we're really similar. But she's got it all wrong. We know we're similar. We just don't understand how someone so similar to you behave in ways you simply don't agree with. That's where the parallel universe concept comes in. It's like we've been dealt with the same hand of cards, but we have chosen different ways to play them.

At the same time, our relationship is nothing if not hypocritical. He'll say "Be careful what you say. Words hurt." And then he'll turn around and tell me that "Indians can't drive because in their country, they only have cows and sheep." Or that my friend "looks mentally retarded". It makes me so angry to see these faults in him - talking with his mouth full, cutting in/over other people, being insensitive - only to realize that I do the same things myself. It's like we can look at each other and see the faults that we can't detect in ourselves.

I'm not going into the details, because I'll just feel silly for overreacting. But I'm just going to come out and say that I'm being a big girl about it. He hurt my feelings. ): Recently, I've been reflecting on unconditional love. I say hurtful things to him all the time without regard to his feelings. How many times have I hurt his feelings? How many times have I made him doubt himself? Instead of feeling hurt and angry, I feel guilty. For making him feel guilty. Look at this Asian party, guilt all around.

I'm just going to be honest to myself and say that this is not about him saying that I suck at piano. This is about the fact that I've always desperately sought his approval. I want to hear him say he's proud of me. My mom tells me she's proud of me all the time. My Dad is always oblivious of my accomplishments but attuned to all my failures. I still remember what he said to me after I placed second in the third grade spelling bee. "I thought you were going to win for sure when you got 'adhere'. Even I can spell that." Words hurt, Dad. I wish you'd use them more considerately. When I got my B in French, Mom told me that it didn't matter, that I tried my best. You told me that it made you want to cry, the fact that you wouldn't be able to hear me give a speech like Amy.

I've always done wrong by you. In third grade, they didn't let me skip a grade because I was too immature, had a bad attitude. You fought for me, but in the end, I let you down. I guess you've always supported me in your own little way, but I've never come through for you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being a constant disappointment, and I'm sorry for hurting you.

When I came back from Thailand, you told me you were proud of me. It's the first time I distinctly remember you saying those words. I know you've probably said it in the past, but its the first time that I truly realized how precious those words felt, how much I valued your approval. It made me ashamed, because I know all the bad things I did in Thailand. I didn't deserve your approval then. Then, I went to Taiwan. Hell, I was proud of myself for Taiwan. When I came back, you said nothing. But this time, I already knew you were proud of me. I think that after the first time, you figured I would know it without you saying. But sometimes, I wish you'd say it more often. Other times, I'm glad you don't.

Through all the bad times we've had, all the stories we now have to scare our white friends - the hole in the wall, the nails in the fence board, the rolling pin - I don't think I've ever regretted having you for a Dad. I'm proud of you too, I guess. Even though you're mean to Mom and you never appreciate all the shit she takes from you. But you do good things. You have a big heart. And you tell it as it is. I've never told you I was proud of you either.

I figure this is going to end a lot like the Cold War. Mom will come crawling out of her bomb shelter. You and I can go on pretending like nothing ever happened. But tomorrow you're leaving for Sacramento to advertise your new company. I hope you do well. I'll pray for you. I'll pray that God will bless the company's future.

I'm still a little hurt. I'm still a little angry. But I love you. Unconditional love is hard to come by, but I'm giving you the best that I got.

Karoake and SATs

So I'm sitting at home, desperately trying to cram for the SATs tomorrow, but hopelessly distracted by American Idol Karoake II. Damn it, Amy. You know I'm weak-willed.

There I was, trying to figure out what the angle x was in two tangential circles, and Islands in the Stream called to me.

ISLANDS IN THE STREAM
THAT IS WHAT WE AAARE
NO ONE IN BETWEEEN
HOW CAN WE BE WROOONG?

Well, guess what's in between? The effing SATs.

Tomorrow, I sell my soul.
I put on my lucky underwear.
I actually pray before I eat breakfast.
I shave my legs.
I lotion.
I plaster on a fake smile, steel my resolve, and take the plunge.


My vocabulary is shot. Apparently, porn doesn't teach me as much as I'd like it to. They should make SAT enrichment romance novel...

Hmm...I'll blog on that when I get my porn back (-cough- THIEF -cough-) My jollies come before yours! haha.

Anyways, back to intense studying. (Neopets, livejournal, blogger, Facebook, Yahoo crosswords, Superjunior MVs, Karoake...)

I may not get into a good college...but I can do Karoake on EXPERT. >:] Life goal? Consider it accomplished.

FML

You know you that feeling you get when you see people walking around going "RAWR, FML!" and you say "Ha. I'm sorry. My life is dandy and fluffy. How delightful!"

Well...that feeling disappears...FAST. Here I am, eating green, sweet, coconut rice, sobbing into my bottle after an epic fail at San Jose State. Panel! You FdML!

Waiting.

The best times of our lives are spent waiting.