tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6686346367371107202024-03-07T19:56:38.758-08:00Ulyber Mangune .Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-12836297367281588682013-06-01T03:50:00.002-07:002013-06-01T12:45:28.382-07:00Eleventh Post.<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Happy first of the month. My last post was almost three years ago. Well, that's completely irrelevant to everything, so here we go with the real introduction.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I think about things that end up changing my life, or things that teach me the most necessary things, I think about people, important memories, or really small, simple things. You can then imagine my embarrassment when I find myself changed after watching a movie like "The Great Gatsby". </span></span><br />
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<b style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 20px;">"Learn to love the most, learn to be loved the least." </b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Many of you, or maybe only some of you that enjoy being anonymous, have asked me questions like "Do you still love her?" and "Will you ever share your side of the story?". Some have given quite lengthy messages telling me to stay hopeful towards her, while others tell me politely to move on, stop trying to change what I can't, and that I have better days ahead. This post will be my public way of answering and responding to all of these messages.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have a need to be needed. I not only love to be loved, but I breathe it, and without second thought, I allow anything that I can allow to fill the space love leaves when it leaves. Lately, and as before, they are not healthy things, but hurtful. Hurtful enough to make up for the amount of hurt that love is capable of giving, and numbing enough to make up for the amount of happiness that love is capable of providing. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today I've finally learned that the need to be loved is a need that shouldn't exist. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is regardless of the fact that the need to be loved is a need that can never be completely rid of. Clarifying, I am referring to the love that the majority of us search for--the animated Disney ending, the tear-jerking movie, the soulmate/princecharming/dreamgirl, kind of love. Needing to love hurts, and will always hurt, because most of the time, you'll always need more of it even once you've finally gotten it. Not to say that there aren't any exceptions to this. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There are always the lucky ones. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've given up trying to be one of the lucky ones. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's the people who aren't loved that deserve it the most. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Ironically, these are the people who have the opportunity to love the most. To amount to something greater than themselves, to amount to a change that everyone can feel, by sharing love. Sometimes, they settle for the small things; by being that art teacher at the middle school, by being the soup kitchen volunteer, by always going out of their way to find another smile on another face. It doesn't mean that they've stopped needing to be loved, or that the fact that this love refuses to find them has stopped hurting them inside. It only means that their capacity to love has grown as much as the time has of them not possessing love. These people live off the other love, the kind that you get from family, from friends, from people you mentor, and from people they've inspired. In their lack of being loved in the way we all want to be loved, they provide more of the love that keeps them breathing, and consequently provide the change in the world that makes it a better place. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This isn't to say that they still don't hope for it. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But hope is a dangerous thing--all good things in amounts of "too much" are the most dangerous. Not being loved also provides the more appealing route to give up. Most do, and they pass. Even death is a better place than a place without love. I've been on that route, though not completely. The great thing about giving up though, is until you've completely stopped breathing, you can always take steps forward. No matter how small they are, they're still farther than they were. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I changed Krystle. Throughout our relationship, she was in a bad place, and she needed to change. She did. However, the transformation didn't completely finish until I hurt her. She's happier now, so please don't hate me for what I've done. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In this same way, she's changed me. Throughout our relationship, unbeknownst to me, I was in a bad place. I needed to be loved on a large scale that I still live with, and that I am still ashamed of. She made that scale smaller. However, the transformation didn't completely finish until she hurt me. And only months after our breakup, after her love has completely gone away, that I've realized what transformation I'm meant to make. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I've always wanted to change the world. I will now. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But I still hope. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-57403756636127452162010-11-26T04:49:00.000-08:002010-11-26T04:49:58.227-08:00You ever feel like you've been so wrong about something that you must have been wrong about everything? Even if it wasn't your fault in thinking that way, that you felt as well as others felt that you were right, but over and over again it seems like you're not?<br />
<br />
If you think that I'm wonderful, an inspirational leader, someone who just has life in the bag, I want you to understand that I go through this and am going through this. I don't know who I am just as much as you. Maybe even more so (or less depending on how you think of it).<br />
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Sometimes, I feel like I'm the very scum of this world, spreading messages that I am only hypocritical to, or messages that aren't actually the best ones even though my intentions were good. Sometimes, I feel like I do nothing but hurt the people around me, especially the ones closest. Sometimes, I feel like I'm really just a bother to everyone and they are unknowingly being dragged down by associating themselves with me.<br />
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These are all my thoughts and insecurities piled in to a paragraph. And this crap part of it is, the things in my life don't prove them wrong. I don't go out anymore, I try to be the best that I can be and only limit myself to a very select number of very few people to be close to. But even still, I can see myself abusing them, hurting them, and because of it, see that I'm only dragging them down.<br />
<br />
I'm trying my very best.<br />
But sometimes, I really truly feel like my best was never good enough...<br />
<br />
that maybe its only made things worse.Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-44800092197597763402010-06-07T16:13:00.000-07:002010-06-07T16:13:35.506-07:00Dear Chelsea:You started off intimidated by me, you, a veteran dancer of 16 years, intimidated by a second-rate freestyling hip-hop dancer of four. Funny girl you. You only broke the barrier at NFLC because of a mutual friend you were creeped out by. You went from intimidated to estimating the shortness of my manliness in 2.3 seconds. Then to the lack thereof in another 1.2. That's how we started getting to know each other. Great story.<br />
<br />
Then throughout the beginning of the year we stomached getting up and arriving at the high school at six every morning. Six o'freaking clock. Both of us with our bed faces and bedhead still on, sweatpants dragging, we'd start up the ancient 135 year old espresso cart taking inventory, getting milk in to the fridge, getting the money. We did that for a couple of months as we got to know each other and began realizing that we shared the same ferocious [lol] passion for dance. You realized what only a few people know about me from our high school, my aspirations, the things that drove me, the things that kept me waking up, in that first month. And still, only a select few know the real me, the real Ulyber with his real insecurities.<br />
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You taught me things that I didn't know I could learn, things I needed to know but didn't have a starting place to learn them. You taught me how to <i><b>dance</b></i>.<br />
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Before then I had never really learned combinations or choreography, I didn't know what a stupid <em>plié </em>was or the difference between contemporary and modern. You were the one that eventually got me in to Betty's godforsaken Jazz II class and the Company. And you were the one that gave me the confidence in knowing that my aspirations weren't just dreams but tangible goals that I really could reach. Shit, you even let me take your speakers.<br />
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I'm graduating in less than 4 days now and I thought that it was about time that I thank you for everything that you've done. I'm really not the sentimental type that likes to be gushy about things like this, but I want you to know that you really have no idea how much I appreciate these things... even just being my friend. I still read that post you posted on my birthday. Friends are hard to come by for me around here, but you made up for it.<br />
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Thank you for making my senior year wonderful.<br />
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I know an 8GB iPod is nothing compared to your massive library, and I know it really doesn't come close to how much I really do appreciate everything, but it's all I got. Hopefully that's a good enough thank you for now.<br />
<br />
We'll keep in touch. :D <3Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-23238769935505961082010-05-21T08:33:00.000-07:002010-05-21T09:13:41.410-07:00Dear Krystle:<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Hey there Sugerbooger. How are you? I hope you're doing good. :] I'm not sure how much you check up on blogspot so I'll probably send you a text right before I get to Raymond for you to check. It's currently 8:23 and you fell asleep on the phone while I was talking to you. It made me smile. I was just talking and you were quiet. I shut up and got out of my car quietly to start packing (what I'm actually supposed to be doing right now), went in to my room, and listened to your soft rhythmic breathing on the phone. I know tonight will suck if I won't be able to get signal, but I hope you know that however much you're missing me, right now even, I feel the exact same...maybe even stronger. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It really is the little things you do. Waking up with you, especially this morning, and singing songs ranging from Soviet Union propaganda to Whitney freakin' Houston. Hearing your different giggles and laughs, and you repeatedly "Mwah"-ing me on the phone. Staying up until 2 in the morning and spending half an hour trying to wake me up by repeating my name over and over again, or creating little "pushers" to get me out of bed, like saying you updated your blogspot and I should go check it, or just telling me you love me and if I love you back I should get in the shower or I'll be late.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I truly have never felt this way before. It feels. Magical. Like Disneyland. :] Too bad Disney isn't the happiest place in the world...</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">unless you're at Disney. ;] </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Had to throw in something cheesy before I sign off. :D I got half an hour to pack. I love you babe. So much. Don't !@$!ing forget it. Okay? Mwah. :]</span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><3 </span></span><br />
<b>HoneyBunny. </b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">UPDATE! </span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">8:51. Had to update the playlist a little bit. Hope you like it. You're stirring on the phone. Gotta go say I love you on the phone and tell you to go back to sleep. I LOVEYOU OUEO WYEOAWYF OYEOFPIAY IUEFOAWIUJEFL;KDNBVJSL</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">weh~!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b>RE-UPDATE!</b></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">To make you lol. :} </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><b>http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MQ78IlJs5JQ&feature=related</b> </span></span><b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span></b>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-56089314003822438322010-04-18T20:32:00.000-07:002010-04-18T20:32:38.541-07:00Vent Session 3 .<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">All right. Let's forget about all this normal formatting and styling of my posts. I need to get this off my chest. If you don't know me and you're reading this, I am well aware of the fact that I'm going to come off as conceited, but as a stranger, I'll confide with you anyway. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">You know. I love it how people say "be careful what you wish for". I've realized that no matter what you wish for, there will <b>always</b> be a downfall to it, no matter how you think it'll benefit you or others, someone will <b>always</b> get the short end of the stick. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I suffer from something I'd like to call Superman Syndrome. Ever since I've taken on my dream of inspiring others, of making the world a better place and all that cheesy whatnot shit, I've run in to this more and more. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm lonely.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm insecure.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's kinda funny because even if you do "know" me, you're probably sitting there shaking your head asking what more can I ask for, I've got friends, lovers, talent, blah blah blah, what do I have to be insecure about? </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This is where I share even more than I've shared to the public. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">It's a funny deal when your name rings a bell whenever its mentioned in your high school or city, when people your own age look up to you like your not just as screwed up as everyone else. It's lonely. I've been placed on the first place pedestal, and everyone's applauding, but after the lights turn off, it's like I disappear. Behind all the lights, the fame, the dream, I'm a person. Just a person that nobody seems to see anymore. To them, I'm not a person. I'm that figure on that pedestal. And to them, to you, that's all I am; a figure that doesn't have his own personal problems to have to worry about considering he's so hellbent on fixing all the other big problems in the world that people don't pay attention to but since he is, woo, I'll support this figure. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As much as I love to say I deserve this first place spot, I can't say it... I'm always worried I'm going to let you down..</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I've been called talented, inspiring, I've been called superman. But underneath it all, I'm fighting constantly to live up to a name I'm not sure I can even meet. I've been promoted, and now I've become "intimidating" because of it, and because of that, have become even more alone.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I know it's only going to get worse. My dream needs me to be this figure. My dream needs me to handle the pressure. My dream needs me to get used to being lonely.</span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">All I've asked in return is one person to love, one person to understand the person, not the figure. I love someone now. I have such high hopes for us. I really do. But frankly, I don't think she understands. But I love her enough to go back to square one. I'll never be able to explain to her this feeling, and I'm sure that you're quite confused right now, babe, but if you ask me about this, I won't be able to explain it to you. Just know I'm willing to do anything and everything for us, and if it means shoving down my fears, insecurities, pains, and all the other person shit in me, I'll do it. </span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I've chosen to chase a dream that asks for me to be put on a pedestal, and to truly be in this dream, I need to be selfless, to forget me, to be the figure.</span></span><br />
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</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I need to eliminate the person.</span></span>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-25144378096269869092010-04-18T16:40:00.000-07:002010-04-18T16:40:13.022-07:00<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Back to square one. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">At least now no one important gets hurt. </span></span>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-191786008666335592010-03-23T10:14:00.000-07:002010-03-23T10:14:58.659-07:00Tenth Post.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">I was on the computer this morning. Checked my email, half asleep, but not anywhere close to half awake. Fresh out of the shower jamming to Passion Pit and sippin' on V8 Fusion from the bottle, it was by far not the worst morning in the world. Then I violently shook the V8 before taking a sip, because everyone knows that gets the good stuff swirling around. I realized pretty quickly that I hadn't put the cap back on when it hit my face. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><b>"It's like finding a pattern for where each raindrop falls in a thunderstorm--you're never going to find it". </b></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">It's kinda funny how much life will operate on swells. One moment, everything feels like a nice, everyday kind of routine, and then a week later, your grandma dies, you find out another family member has a life-threatening sickness that the doctors don't know how to fix since they don't know what it is, you find the person you love, you find the person you like, and/or you buy your first pair of tights all in one week. Even once you start getting an idea of how the waves come in life, life changes its game on you and turns itself in to a kiddie pool in the middle of a tsunami. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">Ever since I started realizing how much life is like a battle against an arrogant child bent on ruining your mood and your only real weapon against the kid is being happy anyway, I started living life and looking back at everything I do presently and in the past in 3rd person. I am constantly thinking about why I'm doing something the way I'm doing it in the middle of doing it, while comparing how I did it when I was younger. Do you follow me? Well, I hate Twitter too.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">Because of the way I think, I over-think. The simplest situations are the most complex mazes inside my head once they've been through my thought processes: torn apart, put back together backwards, recycled, picked up again, redone, and then thrown away in to storage, kinda like throwing a Pokemon in Bill's PC. Everyone knows the Pokemon in Bill's PC never see the light of your gameboy again. But when it does, you appreciate it once more and you get surprised finding the Pokemon in Bill's PC because you don't even remember catching it. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">I know. Pretty retarded. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">I'm not changing that though. Because of my way of thinking, I've been able to keep every memory fresh from constantly comparing every experience that I have now with once that are even vaguely related. It means I can keep myself in check, it means I can compare what I was to what I am.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">It's weird knowing how much I've changed, or at least having an idea of how much I've changed. It's like imagining yourself as the elementary school student you used to be but meeting the you that you are now... constantly. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">If you've read my posts before, I mentioned in a previous post how I was building self-confidence for the first time in my life. Up until that point, I've lived my life allowing myself to be stepped on and hurt in every level relationship I've ever been in; I was fine with the fact that by letting myself get walked over, the people I cared about never got hurt by me--I was a tool that only had a function to make you smile. I was that nice guy.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">But I'm different now.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">As much as people say that everyone wants a nice guy, they don't. Society needs you to be confident, have swag like a jerk. Have swag like a jerk but not be a jerk. Act like a jerk without being one. Be a nice jerk.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">Doesn't make sense? I don't get it either.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">In every new relationship I'm getting in now, I'm horribly scared of the fact that I can hurt the other person. I'm still that little kid inside that just wants you to smile. But now... just the fact that I know I can make you feel pain horrifies me. It's like stepping on to a frozen pond you're not familiar with and you're not sure where the boundaries are for where the thin ice is. Would be fine if I was the only one that fell in to the freezing water, considering I was the one who jumped on to the pond in the first place, except, you're on this pond with me. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">I haven't found that balance yet. [Reference to Sixth post]. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">I'm sorry to all those I've hurt already, and sorry to those I might hurt in the future. I'm doing my best and I promise I'll dive in after you; even if it kills me. But no matter what, still remember that that kid is still in here and that kid still just wants to see you smile.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;">Have a good day world. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">☮♥</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #4c4c4c; font-family: Verdana, Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span></span></div></div>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-16572818904057761772010-02-25T10:02:00.000-08:002010-02-25T10:02:26.117-08:00Ninth post.<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Sometimes when you're searching for change, you become short-changed or over-changed, but either way the changing of whether you're short or overchanged changes regardless of what change you want to find.</span><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana;">"Change is always changing. Be prepared.</span></strong><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;"><strong>...but for what?</strong>"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">My plate is overflowing with food that I'd rather donate to Haiti than deal with anymore. It's not that I don't like what I'm doing, it's that too much of what I'm doing are things that I'm required to do; those are the things that are dragging me down. Everyone knows that even a good book starts to suck when you're required to read it. I'm constantly trying to balance making choreography routines for performances, learning new choreography, signing up for classes at college, applying for college, and at the same time trying to balance my high school life, my life in general, and life as an FBLA officer...I'm dying out here and the only person that can pull me out of the crossfire is me. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I've made a lot of the bullets that are being fired above my head because of my insecurity, a once almost tangible--slash that, a tangible object molded in the shape of high-caliber, armor piercing rounds. The worst part about it was I wasn't the one being shot. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Sure, a couple flew close enough to graze, but the ones that were really hit were the ones I cared about the most; I was the one making the bullets to kill off the ones I loved. I know I did that, godforbid not purposefully, mind you, and so I ran and brought the bullets with me. Brought the bullets out of production and now they're all kept inside me, to no longer hurt anyone else. I only hope that the wounds will heal... even if the scars are embedded to deep to ever forget. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I'm sorry. I know that's not enough but I can't give anymore than that. At least not for now.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I've promised myself and others a lot of things, and I'm not going to break them. I'm still changing; I feel myself changing. The ones close to me that managed to dodge the bullets know. Thank you for sticking around. Thank you for giving me another shot, no pun intended. Thank you for being there, for being beautiful, for helping me change...hopefully this time for the better.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">And to that one special person out there. Tomorrow is never guaranteed, and I really can't promise anything anymore about it. I'm scared of it too. But I will say that with every day that passes, every thought that even vaguely relates to you, tomorrow feels closer and closer. And hopefully, when tomorrow gets here, it won't be for me, or for you, but it'll be for us. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Until then, get ready world:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I might be dying, but I'll go out with a bang so big, it'll make another universe. </span>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-58612666201409874102010-02-04T08:30:00.000-08:002010-02-04T08:30:18.725-08:00Eighth Post.<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">It's funny how much can change in a minute, an hour, a day... let alone 18 years. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">"<strong>Just be yourself. Wait, who is that again?"</strong></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Birthdays come and go and they won't stop coming until you're dead. I've always found them funny because you expect to feel... different, after each one. Yet, more or less, the chances are you're going to be exactly the same and feel horribly disappointed. Or happy that you're the same, I guess. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">As my birthday countdown dwindles to two more days, I feel myself anticipating something, but I'm not sure if its a "change" in me that I'm anticipating (even if I know those don't happen). I constantly have flashbacks throughout the day, something I do to compare then and now. Whether it be a fond memory, a bad memory, or comparing how I reacted to a specific situation recently than to how I would've reacted or did react to it in my past, my history is something that stays fresh in my mind.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Now don't get me wrong, I don't live in the past. I've had a lot of struggles with that before, being stuck back there, one of the reasons that I'd blame for helping contribute to my destructiveness my freshman and sophomore year. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">But, as I get closer to this age of the big 1-8, these flashbacks are going off the wall; m</span><span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">y life flashes in my mind more times than a continuous shutter on a camera capturing the individual flaps of a hummingbird. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I've grown up alone, found an alternative way to not be lonely, became alone again, found yet another alternative, and now I find that I'm alone again. But this time around, I'm not making some half-assed alternative; my "alone-ness" has turned in to my independency.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">It's hard to hear everyone saying to just "be yourself" growing up. Changes happen in so many ridiculous ways in such little time that saying to just "be yourself" is ironic. People get so caught up in trying to be themselves that they forget who they are. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">The "You" now is different from the "You" that was began reading this. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Being yourself doesn't mean you need to stay the same. Being yourself means being comfortable with living with you... cuz then again, if you can't, who will?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I've realized I've come a real weird squiggly path, and I have a feeling its only going to get squigglier. But, for the first time in my life, I think I can proudly say that I'm comfortable.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I'm going to be careful with who I'm going to bring close in my life now; I'm not going to let myself go back to what I was. This doesn't mean I'm going to shove everyone away, not socialize the way I do now, or really change from what you know as me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">My life has always been an open book with an unwritten ending. Some of you will be a part of the book, and some of you will read it. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Either way, I appreciate you being a part of my life.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Thank you for pushing me this far everyone; now its time for me to push myself.</span>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-40098799972757473162010-02-02T10:28:00.000-08:002010-02-02T10:28:32.299-08:00Seventh Post.<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">You ever wonder whether or not life is real? Ever wonder if life is really like a movie, and you're Jim Carey, and everyone else are just extras put in place to influence your decisions for the next plot twist? Then you just cast it out of your head once you realize how self-centered that would be to truly believe in? Whether or not it's true, I'm not very fond of my director. </span><br />
<br />
<strong>"<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Waking up only hurts when you know you've stopped dreaming". </span></strong><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">That's what I decided to be my senior quote in the yearbook. Lately, I've been reprioritizing everything, questioning every ounce of me and what I believe in. If you read my posts, you've realized that I am dependent. And because of these posts, I've realized that I need to do something about it. I've always put it off, procrastinated, made an excuse, an alibi. Some of them are even pretty valid excuses. But then again, when is an excuse ever justified?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I've realized that I am dependent because I don't have self-confidence.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I know that the only way to gain self-confidence is through yourself, and if you don't have it, then that means the only person in your way is the person you see in the mirror everytime you look. But that's the thing. I know I'm talented. I know I've been able to achieve a lot of things at an early age. But, the line between being self-confident and becoming conceited is a line that I can't quite place anymore. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I started building self-confidence last year, when I started acknowledging what I was really capable of. It felt good. I truly didn't need a crutch; I could walk around without a limp. But as soon as I did, the few friends I have (because at this point, mostly everyone are just aquaintences) saw me as cocky; a Ulyber that they never knew. They threw out everything that they had learned about me over the past three years in the few months that I allowed myself the luxury of believing in myself; I was seen as a jerk.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I lean on other people because that's where I find my confidence. I know it's not healthy. Going where I need to go, jerks are as common as grains of sand on a beach. I don't want to be that. I'm horrified of the possibility of turning in to that. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">So that's why I've screwed up, why I've been a machine that needs to be constantly fed coal to produce a product, no matter how bad the cause and effect relationship is. But now, I've decided.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I'm changing. I will be self-confident. I don't know how this is going to change me, or if it even will, but I will find that line, regardless of how many pairs of glasses I needed to wear to finally unblur the divide between cocky and confident; it will be clear by the time that I'm finished. I have a goal, an aspiration, a dream, and I've realized, beleiving in myself doesn't just mean believing in my abilities; I just need to believe that I can do this without turning in to Mr. Hyde. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Some people will hate me for this, just as my own friends did as I grew in confidence. But, at this point, I'd rather have them hate me off the bat, than to hurt them later on when they realize that my burden is my burden to carry, when they've become too close to ever let go. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I'm never going to be able to do this alone. I'm not Drizzy Drake; I want this ish forever but I'm not afraid to say that I'm not doing this alone. I'm a toddler riding my first bicycle; I'm still going to need help riding in the right direction. I hope you will stay along for the ride.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Thank you all for still caring. Let's just call this an IOU.</span>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-7982663975886694172010-01-21T08:15:00.000-08:002010-01-21T08:15:33.791-08:00Vent Session 2<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's funny when people try to say that you don't know what you have until you've lost it. I think it's funny because I've only now realized that regardless if you know what you had, you'll still feel lost without it. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana;">"It's for the best... right?"</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I'm a dependent person. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Ha. You have no idea how long it's taken me to just be able to go off outright and say that. I'm dependent. I can't... hold myself up as much as I thought I've taught myself to. I can't go through my day without trying to please someone, entertain them. And yet, I know I can't afford to live like this.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Sometimes... I'm just at a loss of words. Sometimes, I just can't... express whats going through my head. I started writing this entry expecting myself to write something, but I can't. This is one of those times. So, lets just try to pour this out. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Decisions are flying around in my head, desperately trying to find loopholes like they were airbubbles; it feels like I'm drowning underneath a frozen pond. But the catch is, everything's upside down. The air bubbles are really just water, and I'm really just standing up, and I'm really just desperately trying to find a way to drown myself. Whether you were air or water, I'm afraid of the fact that you were either one, considering the importance of either item. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I think everyone's been at a point where they've been given something and had it taken away, or they gave it back themselves. Either way, it's a screwed situation. Even when it's the smarter idea. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">It sucks to understand why someone should give it away, where someone is coming from, agreeing with their logic, agreeing that its the smarter/best idea, but still disagreeing with every ounce of body and soul inside you. It's like eating vegetables. Times 9 billion. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I know what I've lost, but at the same time, it keeps feeling like I'm losing more and more. On the other hand I know what I can gain, too. But is it worth it? I promised myself I'd make this easier, not harder, but this is just going to revolve around and around in my head until I get this out. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">It scares me how alike we are, but at the same time so different... I guess you being strong enough to face this head on will only force me to, too, huh?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">It's for the best, isn't it? </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">In a perfect world, I'd be able to just close my eyes and until time gave an answer. And, taken your role, you could just wake me up.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">But then again... in a perfect world, you'd be there to fall asleep with me. </span>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-59946226161839862092010-01-05T10:42:00.000-08:002010-01-05T10:42:05.126-08:00Sixth Post<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Wow. It's been a long time.</span><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">"Life is all about getting screwed. It's just up to you to make sure those screws all go in the right place."</span></strong><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I'm just going to go ahead and skip making the excuse that life has been too busy for me to blog. Quite the opposite really. Life finally went in to a "lull" for me and I enjoyed doing absolutely nothing; something that put me in to a type of procrastinatic mindset. I have no doubt this is going to bite me in the butt really soon.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I recently went in to a discussion about a number of things with my step sister and my parents. My step sister recently turned 25 and we had gone out to dinner and she ended up asking my parents how it feels to be raising "a prodigy". She then continued flattering me during her own birthday dinner while I denied it all, until my step father was able to save me; counter-attacking by flattering her right back. But, hours after her few comments, I still found my thoughts lingering on them. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I am ready for the next phase of life.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">At least I thought I did. My first two years of high school were the lowest points of my life, a point in my life that we will call Q1. When I finally got my bearings again around my sophomore year, my life became ridiculously busy, a fact that is still present today. No pun intended. We will call this point in life Q2. But now, more so, I have experienced performance after performance and countless opportunities that have been luckily coming my way, but recently things have been slowing down. It's made me feel as if I'm not doing what I need to be doing to keep things coming, that things shouldn't slow down but rather increase the harder I work. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I was getting bored. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I talked to my parents about this, voicing my frustrations on the ride back home from the dinner about how I needed to be in the next phase of life, that I've achieved what I've needed to achieve as a "measly high school student" and I need to be able to start my aspirations now. He called me out right away in the most frank way possible.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">"You're impatient". </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Every phase has a reason for being a phase. I knew that. But what I didn't realize until then was each phase also needs to be appreciated. There's a reason for everything that happens, the fact that every action has a consequence is proof of the theory. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">As I mentioned in one of my first entries, life is about achieving a balance. Once life is balanced, then that is the perfect "utopia". Except, life can never be balanced. And once it does, the average human would become bored of perfection and therefore upset the balance of everything being "perfect". Rather, balance is achieved from experiencing the most extreme lower quartiles and the most extreme higher quartiles. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Imagine a scale and unweighed objects to the side. In order to achieve balance, you have to slowly put the objects one by one on each side of the scale. The farther away from a perfect balance the scale gets, the more knowledge you receive about how much each object weighs. The only tricky thing is, in real life, those objects will <strong><em>never</em></strong> have a set weight. It is a constant game of seesaw that you are bound to fall off from. The point of falling off though, is realizing which objects weigh more at the moment, and learning to stand back up again. The phrase that has been overused but so undervalued, </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">"If you fall down, pick yourself up and dust yourself off". </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Know that sometimes, gravity weighs a lot more than it should. Know that sometimes, the weights of those objects will change so quick that you won't have the time to react correctly. Learn from them and understand most of all, you're not the only one fighting teeter-totters. Don't be afraid to ask for some help back up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">I've hit the lower quartile, a quartile that is bound to become lower one day. I've hit the upper quartile, a quartile that is also bound to be broken. And now, I've finally hit the median, a place where I've found balance. I am enjoying it. And now, I am treasuring this brief point in my life. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">But, as nice it is... seesaws were never as fun when they stayed still.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Life is a playground built on concrete; know that some of us are still here to hand out band-aids for when you trip. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: x-small;">Until next time world, </span><br />
☮♥Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-47206552317674324722009-12-11T00:33:00.000-08:002009-12-11T00:33:11.938-08:00Fifth Post.<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I woke up today. I went through my day. I accomplished a lot, messed up a lot, big ones and small ones under both categories. Should I be disappointed or proud?</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">"Just because I feel strongly about something does <i>not</i> mean I'm a geek".</span></b></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I don't usually watch documentaries; they aren't my cup of tea mostly because sometimes, I'm just too lazy to learn. I'm not afraid to say that out loud, but rather, I'm ashamed of the fact. My dirty stereotypical teenage fact. None of the cool jocks ever watched documentaries in their free time, or else they'd be bunched with the geeks. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Geeks. <br />
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I was never ashamed of the fact, but rather, I'm afraid to say it out loud; I wish I could be one.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">There are a lot of things I support in life, some a little more and some a little less than others. I watched "The 11th Hour" for an extra-curricular class today. A movie about global warming. Skip the following paragraph if you don't want to bored with the rundown of what global warming is.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">It's going to kill us. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Now some may say, it's bound to happen eventually. Which it is. But why live life with such a ridiculously <b><i>stupid</i></b> ideology. You know, it sucks. It sucks really bad. We know that we're doing things wrong and we wish so bad that we could change things. But you know what's stopping us besides our own little excuses and the fact that we don't have enough willpower to give up all of our "earthly belongings" and become "one with Mother Nature" again?</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Society.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm not a scientist. I'm not an expert. I'm a teenager. But, I have dreams.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">As we grow up, we're trained to realize that the world is a dog-eat-dog type of place, where "Survival of the Fittest" is a theory that no longer happens in nature but only in board meetings and the streets. Why does it need to be like that? We grow up learning that if we don't wear the nicest clothes, or look the very best, we're not going to have as many opportunities as we should. We grow up learning that if you work hard enough, you can gain a really good income and live a good life. The part our parents missed is the fact that gaining a really good income </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">to have a good life</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> has the same relation as swimming in the Pacific Ocean to become a world-class contemporary paint artist; there really is no relation.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">We're trained to think without money, there is no hope. Except hope was never something that could be bought. </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I thought about it for a really long time and I want to start something. I've always wanted to start something, as everybody else does; start a something to makes you turn in to more than a somebody. I want to start a campaign. What happens in this campaign? I want everyone to dress and only buy clothes that are cheap. Comfortable, cheap clothes. When you're going to school, wear sweats. Cheap, $5 white tees. Try not putting on any makeup. Crazy sounding? Start slow, take away the eye shadow first, then the blush, then the foundation. What I'm pretty much asking for you to do, is to look stank.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Why. Why why why why why. Let's think. When something out there is expensive, more or less, aside from the tiny few, most of the bucks is being spent because of the brand. Northface, for instance. True Religion. Sure, they both look good. Seriously, they look great. But do you REALLY think that it cost the company THAT much to make your one pair of $600 jeans? Or your $400 windbreaker? </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I'm asking you to look stanky because of the following reasons:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">1. It will redefine our culture.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> 2. Being beautiful wouldn't have so much to do with what you look like in the mirror. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">3. The hundreds of dollars you save can go to better causes.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Number 3 has a lot more background to it than you think. Say you start buying a lot of cheap clothing. They're cheap for a reason. Either they're uncomfortable, they're used, or they're made through sweatshops. You know why people work in sweatshops? Because they don't have any money. If our whole culture shifted, and changed to buying inexpensive things, the amount of money saved would be enough to solve world hunger. Enough money in fact, that sweatshop workers wouldn't need to work in sweatshops anymore. Then, on top of that, the popular brands will start lowering their prices, while the cheap brands will increase theirs. This will create a market that has prices at a median average. When it hits that point, we will have the upper-hand on the market and we would be able to start vouching for things such as making the companies become even more environment friendly, and create even more awareness through these companies. How? Greed is what fuels our companies now. They will and have done everything they can to get as much money as they can no matter the expense. When we start vouching for companies to become more "green", their products will have a higher demand, therefore increasing their profit and creating competition for other companies to follow suit in their "greeness". </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The idea is far fetch'd. There's a lot in there that I know could go wrong, but a theory is a theory. I don't create these to argue with people, I create them so we can build off of them. Disagree with me if you want, but help me make the plan better before shutting it down. This is why I want to be famous. Sure, it's because I'm competitive. Sure, it's because I wouldn't mind the money or the fame. But those are all just sprinkles. I want to have the power to inspire a larger audience. There are two things in this world that can solve any problem. They are inspiration and love. Once somebody can be inspired, or loved to the point where they can love too to the point of selflessness, what problems could come up? </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">One day, this campaign idea of mine will be more than just an idea. And as hesitant as I am to post this idea on the internet because of my competitiveness, because I want to have that type of credit, I'm going to post it anyway. Life shouldn't be about "me" anymore. I shouldn't have to hesitate or think this way. If anyone can start this campaign now, go for it. I'm not asking for credit, I'm just asking for change. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I'd call the campaign <b><span style="font-size: x-large;">"Proud to make Sense." </span></b><br />
</span></span>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-51393627361845477912009-12-06T02:28:00.000-08:002009-12-06T17:00:40.341-08:00Fourth Post.<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I performed in a play today. My first "acting" experience even though I didn't have any lines. Singing and dancing win? </span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>"In finding humility, we can find ourselves". </b></span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This year, I've been going to school and doing espresso. Something I enjoy doing because even though it makes me have to be there every morning, and sometimes even at 5 every morning, I get to spend an hour and sometimes more just dancing in between periods to wait for break to clean the espresso up.</span><b> </b></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">As an aspiring dance major, dancing is the one thing in my life that I know I will always love. Plus, Chelsea (girl in picture) teaches me moves and helps me just chill and have a stress-free morning to start off my day.</span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">After that morning, I respond to emails. I do more emailing than an average teenager texts in a day. As State President of FBLA, a big part of my job is doing behind-the-scenes work by making sure everyone's doing what they're supposed to. It gets stressful. </span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Every Tuesday and Thursday, I volunteer at the Northshore Family Center to help with their Afterschool Connections program for kids between Kindergarten and 6th grade. The kids are amazing. I love them. It lasts from 3-6pm and is recklessly tiring. Sadly, my contract with them just ended, and they have stopped their program until January, their next season. It takes up a lot of time and energy and money (gas...) but I love the kids. I'll probably sign up again.</span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">For the past few months, I've been having my first experiences with the world of theater. A while back ago, an old friend of mine saw me perform at my homecoming game's football halftime show. She had me come in a few times at the Performing Arts Center in my town and I got recruited last minute in to the theater show. It's been an amazing, stressful ride with these guys, but it's been worth it. We had our opening night show tonight, with a turnout of about 200 or so people. It was a blast. We have four more performances happening.</span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I finished my UW personal statement today too. I'm still trying to figure my post-high school life out, not to mention just my life in general.</span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I just finished watching Ink today. Not a big popular movie, but almost indie-seeming, kinda like Wristcutters: A Love Story. Ink has become one of my all-time favorite movies.</span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">You know, things get stressful. Things pack up and bunch up and then all of a sudden your closet door opens and everything spills out on top of you. Sometimes it can happen on of your good days, and you can just laugh about it and put everything back in. But sometimes it can happen on one of your bad days, and instead of standing back up, lying down and just crying is the end result. </span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">In the end, both are on the same scale of "goodness" in my opinion. In both situations, everything you've kept in have finally been able to come out. The one thing you need to realize though, is that each time you put things in, the more space its going to take because of the fact that the more times you have to stuff it in, the more tedious its going to be. Try taking things out one by one instead, next time just try to pack things together.</span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Life gets hard. It gets tough. There are a lot of people out there that just want to push you down, kick your gut, and laugh harder at every tear that falls. But realize, there will ALWAYS be people there desperately reaching their hand out to you. Sometimes, we forget about them. But realize, some of those people, regardless of being forgotten or not, will cry harder than you, fight harder than you, and becoming even more frustrated than you. Why? Because you're somebody to them. And they're the type of people to give their life to you. <br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Don't forget those people; be one of them one day.</span><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><code style="font-family: verdana;">☮♥</code></span><br />
</div>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-12620654519753548742009-12-03T22:34:00.000-08:002009-12-03T22:34:23.667-08:00Vent Session 1<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">"Don't ever think smiling is a bad thing".</span><br />
</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Just some food for thought. Why do we walk around our hallways of life and go through so much trouble to </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-style: italic;">ignore</span><span style="font-family: verdana;"> the other person walking past us. Whether it be at school, work, outside, we look elsewhere, pull out our phones to make it look like we're texting, desperately trying to find ways to not make eye contact with that other person going the other direction. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-weight: bold;">Why can't you just smile?</span> </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Who cares if they shrug it off, who cares if they get mad and cuss you out about it? Don't be ashamed and better yet, don't get embarrassed when you know you've done <span style="font-size: small;">nothing wrong</span>. If my hopes are still a little more than hopes, there will be at least <span style="font-style: italic;">one</span> person who will return yours right back. </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-style: italic;">One</span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: small; font-weight: bold;"> person who will appreciate that smile</span>. </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Strangers will get stranger when you treat them as such.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">I'm trying to find time to get on the internet, but I'm losing time to even eat. It's been a massively stressful week for me with 15 hour days since Monday. Please bare with me.</span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: xx-small;"><br />
</span>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-31014091322092290732009-12-01T22:05:00.000-08:002009-12-01T23:15:31.252-08:00Third Post. [Happy December]<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">I got nominated "Most Hyper" of my senior class today. I wonder if I should be offended or not. Oh well, it's not like I care; I get to be in the yearbook for the first time. </span></span><span style="font-size: 100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold; font-family: verdana;"> <br /><br />"It's only awkward once you start thinking it is. And when you think it is, just smile and try again".</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br /></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family:verdana;">While running errands in the hallways, I managed to glimpse a reflection of myself in a door leading outside. I slowed down for a little bit; allowed myself to familiarize myself with the image. Of course no one was in the hallways at the time, so no one had to wonder why I was being so narcissistic all of a sudden. What I realized at that one moment in time was I couldn't recognize myself. I looked...different.<br /><br />Sometimes you can't describe something, and instead you can only feel it described within your own range of emotions. Kinda like carrying a baby and excitedly saying "It kicked"! People can only nod, acknowledge your feelings, and go on with life. The closer ones might be able to come over and share a small portion of your feelings, but that's about it. Close, but no cigar. When that reflection reflected back at me, it was like I had gotten pregnant but I didn't have anyone to describe or share it with. Which is probably for the better.<br /><br />I couldn't recognize myself...it was different. I thought it was someone else in that doorway, that maybe it had been open and maybe another five foot seven-ish inches of Filipino, Spanish, and Chinese had maybe magically transferred itself in to the open air and began imitating my actions.<br /><br />There's a funny point in life, accented in mine a little more than some, a lot less than most, when you realized things are different. I constantly compare then and now, and because of that, I tend to say things like "That was three years ago...Oh crap. That was a whole <span style="font-style: italic;">three</span> years ago", which usually makes older and "more mature" folk scoff and think something along the lines of "Wait 'till you're older". Sometimes they lose touch of what it felt like being young.<br /><br />Two years ago, I was immature. I was clueless. Ignorant. Simply put, I was stupid. Not saying that I won't make a questionable/dumb choice every now and then, but at one specific moment in time, lasting a few months long, I was shoved in to the "process of maturing" by a number of very good people.<br /><br />This school year has only lasted 2 months, and yet I feel like I've already spent a good 2 extra years in high school. My parents used to not trust me walking to the river for an hour or two, and now I leave home at six in the morning and I don't get back until ten. Like today. Things have changed.<br /><br />Sometimes, when we see our reflections, we see changes, we see our scars, our hopes, and what we've been given to work with now. Sometimes we just see our reflections to make it "pretty". But more than sometimes, we forget that it's not what we show outside that changes all that much.<br /><br />I looked at my reflection today and realized it wasn't it that had changed; in fact, it was perfectly the same. What changed was how I looked at it, how I took in my scars, my hopes, and my current work/benefit package. What changed wasn't my reflection, but me.<br /><br />Change is horrifying. It's shocking and most of the time, quite absurd-feeling. But whether that change is for you or against you, life has a way of giving you a choice to either smile at your reflection, or break the mirror. Some just draw on the surface, but in the end, the lines and marks will just wash away.<br /><br />Whatever comes through your life, I hope you can keep that smile on.<br /><br />Stay afloat world.<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><code style="font-family: verdana;">☮♥</code></span>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-85742566581435583012009-11-30T13:06:00.001-08:002009-11-30T13:27:52.018-08:00Second Post.<span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">Don't you hate it when you go on a break and don't have to do anything for a few days, then all of a sudden getting shocked back in to work and feeling like you were pushed in to the Arctic?</span><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;font-family:verdana;" >"The longer you don't take out the garbage, the more you're going to have to take out".</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:verdana;">First day of school after a nice little break of five days. Wake up @ 5, get to school @ 6, work and dance at the espresso for two hours, then answer emails and try to get my crap done. I've pretty much realized that the older you grow, the more responsibilities you're going to have. But if you decide to put them off and ignore them, you're going to end up with just as many responsibilities; you're just going to have to deal with them all at the same time when you finally decide to stop living ignorantly.<br /><br />I've made my own package of little screw-ups, and I've been working hard to open this little Pandora's box. I don't like complaining because I've put myself in this position of having to work last minute to make up for my life, but sometimes it just gets kinda overwhelming when you look at your calendar and it looks like a 3-year old scribbled all over it with a crayon. Then you realize that those are events that you color-coded to keep track of what you have to do everyday. I know some people might take this the wrong way, but you know? I feel old.<br /><br />I ate by myself at lunch today. Not because I was feeling "emotional", or because I didn't have a choice. I just didn't have any energy to try and socialize. Just needed some time to not have to think or worry about anything besides shoveling the next chip of mystery meat school nachos in my mouth.<br /><br />Times like these, I feel like I've lost touch with my teenage side... I'm being brought in to adulthood in a car that's speeding faster than I feel comfortable riding in.<br /><br />Well, that's life for ya.<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-size: 85%;"><code style="font-family: verdana;">☮♥</code></span>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-668634636737110720.post-66940946303605272932009-11-29T13:56:00.000-08:002009-11-29T15:28:48.344-08:00First Post.<span style="font-family:verdana;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Funny that I've sat here for the longest time and criticized bloggers like they were a different breed of people. I think today's phrase of the day's going to be</span><br /><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:100%;">"Never Say Never".</span><br /></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">So regardless of the fact that this is my very first blog entry, I'm gonna skip the formalities and just get in to the groove of "blogging". Kinda weird thinking about it, eh? I've always wanted to keep a diary, but I never thought about posting it online for the masses to read.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">These past few weeks have been rough. Life gets kinda funny sometimes, and this is one of those times. Throughout living, I've realized more and more how much people strive to do nothing but reach an equilibrium, a point where they can happily stay and say "Things are good". It's not bad, its quite nice actually. I mean, think about it. Once you have things balanced, whether it be about balancing your interests and your VIPs in life's interests, or about balancing your dreams with reality, you have things pretty good. Now more than ever, I know that I've never been balanced.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">When I was a kid, I started off creative, started off being great with the girls. True story. Then, I got in to computers. I lost my creativeness; I turned in to a left-brainer. Ten years later, I lost my love for computers and finally figured out my love for dance. Skipped left, and turned right. And now, I'm having real girl problems for the first time in a very long time. There are tough decisions to make, sacrifices that need to be made regardless of how they might make you feel. It used to be easy, even if it hurt. Just ducking down, and always thinking about the other person before yourself. But, as you get older, you realize that sometimes you need to make sure to be happy for you and not happy because they are... The final step to becoming independent.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sometimes, putting things on hold doesn't mean saying The End to the story. It simply means that the author decided that it'd be better to bring it back later in the plot to reach the climax, because if he doesn't do that, the real ending just won't end up as great.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Take care world,</span><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><code style="font-family: verdana;">☮♥</code></span>Ooblerrhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08811370877352423733noreply@blogger.com0