I am not my own.

Etiquetas: thoughts

The scariest thing
would be coming back unchanged
and still a heathen.

In other news, I'm doing pretty well :) I've managed to shed the unfriendly scowl-y persona I adopted in the hallways of BIS in favour of one more smiley and kooky and approachable. I even strike up conversations with people sometimes! Which must mean I'm a lot more comfortable with myself than I used to be :)
The work is straightforward, but labour-intensive. We are expected to spend at least 4 hours outside of class on each course every week, but you usually end up spending more. Most of my teachers know who I am/am aware that I exist simply because I'm usually the only asian person in the class :P And everyone remembers my name because it's so cool: Chillin' :D
I even found a friend to sit next to in Writing&Lit and ArtHistory :) His name's Emile and he's 24 and very well-travelled.
It's strange, but I find myself befriending a lot more guys than girls. "But what's so strange about that, chiazzz?!?" you may ask. Welllllll just the fact that prior to DCAD, I rarely hung out with guys (not counting Adrian and Marcus). And now? I am on tickling/poking/making-funny-faces basis with Dmitri, I sit next to Emile in 2/5 of my classes, Alex talks to me whenever we bump into each other, Emile texts/facebook chats with me, I joke around with Andy (or Dmitri or Isaac) during the boring parts of Drawing I... I have more guy friends than girl friends! o_O

I spent the labour day weekend at Hannah's. Her extended family came also :) The other kids are enamoured with my name. My time there was peppered with many spontaneous cries of "Chillin' Kwa!" and "dude seriously your name is so cool." And I am now also on tickling/poking/making faces basis with Emmett :)

Etiquetas: thoughts

Pick your friends. There are those who would call themselves friends and those who act like friends (and those that deserve no friends). Cut loose the ones that make you feel less than yourself. Less than you could be. And the ones that stay up with you into the wee hours of the morning? The ones that indulge in your quirks and forgive your mistakes and overlook your imperfections? Those you keep. For as long as you can. Until you change and grow and change and grow beyond what you are, who you are. Beyond what you ever had in common. And what's left is nothing, because what was is intangible and frail and requires constant care. Constant. Attention. Are you listening?

Pick.

Your friends.

Etiquetas: thoughts

She doesn't know what he's talking about when he tells her she's doing it wrong. She never knows what he's talking about. You'd get riled up too, wouldn't you? If you had to attempt to explain yourself four or five times? By the third repetition, he was ready to grab her and- and pound her head against the wall. And then he did. And the all-too-familiar look of bewilderment was still plastered across her stupid face, so he did it again. And again. Until her face wasn't a face. Until she wasn't looking at him anymore. Then he wiped his hands carefully on the kitchen towel (because she'd freak if he got any stains on the living room carpet) and left for work.

Etiquetas: thoughts

Mocks start on monday.
Biology on tuesday;
I need a seven.

Etiquetas: thoughts

[emo creative writing practice] What would it feel like to love? To really truly adore someone, so much so that their flaws are like shadows: intangible and weightless and only visible if you squint. Their every action, every interaction with you you have managed to memorise, to hoard like a dragon with his gold, and during the lonely nights, you bring them out in the pressing darkness where they glint and shine and sparkle and keep. You. Warm. Ignore his ignorance of your feelings. Pretend, just for a second, that that warm smile, the one he flashes you while he tells you about some minor infatuation, is for you. And finally, when he stands with another on the altar, close your eyes and imagine that he recites his vows to you.

What would it feel like to love? Oh, I couldn't imagine. [/emo creative writing practice]

Etiquetas: thoughts