Sucralose

What is it, to give, and not receive?

What is it, to try, to provide, and not have that same decency returned?

Artificial. That's what people are, after the fact. That's what everyone ends up being, at the end of the day. Who even is real? Nobody's real. Everyone has their image, their version of themselves that they want to promote, that they want to portray. Everyone wants to be something, to show people a version of themselves that's better, more beautiful, more pristine, clean cut. But who even is that perfect, at the end of the day? Who even is that good, that right?

No one.

We're all fucking fake.

Headmistress

The problem with being the other woman, you see, is that, at the end of the day, you're the one who gets left behind. And there you are, alone, left in the dust, not sure how you got there, your tear-stained cheeks burning with what may be rage, or pain, or perhaps, a combination of both.

And you realize in that moment, that you were duped, tricked, deceived; and as you attempt to choke down the bitter taste of bile and keep your composition, you finally accept the fact that, no, he was never going to be yours.

Because you were a dream, a fantasy, something ethereal that could not be touched or held, until you weren't. Until you let him in, until you gave him a chance to hold you, to touch you, to leave his mark on your skin, your soul, your heart. And all of a sudden you're old news, you're a dirty secret, you're an unmentionable, something that is blocking him from his happy, normal life.

And everything you wanted, everything you hoped for, turns out to be a sham; all of the feelings, all of the emotions, all of the things he said to you, made you experience, are abruptly yanked away from you. And no one knows.

No one knows how much it hurts, how hard you've fallen, how hard it is, after a life shattering fall like that, to climb back up, to dust yourself off.

And there's no such thing as starting anew. There's no hiding from the fact that things did happen, that wanton desires, desperate words, feverish emotions were exchanged. There's no way for me to see him again, and not feel something, be that something anger, hate, disppointment, regret, sorrow, desire, infatuation, love.

Because I loved him. I really did. And before all this happened, I at least had the chance to say that I was able to live, and function, despite these feelings. That I could keep them at bay and be happy, that I could look at him with appreciation and admiration. That I could turn to him, trust him, confide in him, that I could wish, once in a while, that maybe someday I'd be able to be with a guy like him.

But instead, I ended up being with a guy that was him, and while I had the most incredible, most amazing couple of days of my life, I traded in my dignity, my morals, my self respect. And worst of all, I traded in my happiness, for what I thought would be his, because I loved him so much that I stopped caring about the consequences.

So here I am, tears in my eyes, alone, and somehow, the tables have turned.

Because, somehow, he's now the fantasy, the dream, the untouchable; just barely out of the breadth of my fingertips, and firmly planted in her grasp.

Consolation Prize

2nd place.
Why.
I'm not a backup plan.
I'm not a consolation prize.

And I won't be, no matter how much you might try to make me that.

Goodbye.

Baby, you're a dream but a nightmare

He's Korean, 6 ft tall, 180 lbs, has two chest tattoos, and packs heavy.

He's the man of my dreams.

But he really isn't.

I thought he could be. I thought he was what I wanted. He fit the description, he fit the dream.

He was exactly what I had been hoping for, begging for, praying for, all these years.

But he really wasn't.

I thought, that being with him, I would feel proud, and happy. That I would finally be content.

He was so nice, and caring, and interested in me, and that's all I needed, right?

You know the answer to that one.

Because the problem with dreams is that they aren't reality; they're filled with assumptions, and creations of the mind, imaginary features and storylines and mythical characteristics which, in reality, do not exist.

He's beautiful, he's gorgeous, and he wants me.

But I don't want him.

I don't want him, because he's rough around the edges. Because he does, without thinking, without considering who I am, what I want. Because his ideals and morals are completely misaligned to mine, in a innate, immovable way. Because he cares about himself, so much more than he could about me, and because he's misguided. I've lead him astray. He believes that, in me, he will find that docile, sweet, submissive, cute, demure Asian girl, who'll give in to his every demand cheerfully, who'll comply with his way of life, and his style of thought.

But like I've always said, it's just my eyebrows.

I'm not that girl, and honestly, I don't think that girl exists. But either way, I'm not the one he's looking for, and neither is he the one I'm looking for.

So maybe I went into this the wrong way.

Maybe I need to stop searching for a dream.

Maybe I need to start searching for reality.

Nihilism

There's gotta be something wrong with me.

I've always lived in this state of uncertainty when it comes to guys, always. And I'm not sure when it started, but at some point in my life, I stopped trusting them. Nothing they do makes me feel secure, and everything they say sounds like a lie to my ears. I don't know how to trust, I don't know how to believe, because everything, all the sweet nothings, sound exactly like that.

Nothing.

It all sounds so fake, like a set up, a predetermined script that they're reading off of, just to get into my pants. And then, once they've achieved that, it's gone. No more adoration, no more excessive declarations of love and admiration. All, gone.

But does it disappear because of them, or because of me? Does my temperament shift, after I've been with them? Do I stop trying as hard as well? And if so, why? Is it because I'm afraid, because I'm terrified of the idea of showing them my true self, of being actually devoted in them?

Because I'm afraid, maybe, that they don't actually want me?

It sucks. It sucks, because I do know why I deal with people like this. I do it, because growing up ugly and fat fucks you up. I do it, because for the longest time, I was that girl who literally people would laugh about over the idea of dating. I wasn't attractive, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how many diets I went on, no matter who I hung out with, what I wore, how much I tried to relate to others.

At the end of the day, all I got was a "Wow, Liyan, you're actually pretty cool. I'm glad we're friends."

Over these years, I've changed. Internally, yes, but more so externally. I learned how to be hot. I learned how to be desired. I learned how to take pictures at the right angles so guys everywhere would have to hold there breath not to explode. I'm a pro now, at portraying myself as something else.

Something beautiful.

Except I'm not. Because on the the inside, I'm basically the crummy old executive of a corporation, a tired, angry curmudgeon, trying to push out their product: my face, my body. I date guys not because of who they are but because of the achievement I get out of it; I date guys who are way more visually attractive than me but whose personalities don't align at all with mine just so I can prove that I am hot, that I am worthy, because I can date good looking people, and because good looking people are attracted to me.

What happened to my self worth? Do I even have any self worth? Or is it just a vicious cycle of me, trying to appease my inner demons by showing the people from my past that I'm now supposedly better than what they saw me as in the past?

All I want, is for all the boys who laughed with their friends behind my back in middle school, for all the boys who made my life a living hell, for all the boys who asked me to tell my friends that he thought they were cute, to fucking realize that I am attractive.

Because all of those situations, situations where I was stepped over and pushed aside, have left me in a position now where I have to find external validation of my appearance.

And the problem with that, is that I find these guys who are only really interested in my appearance. Or, even if that's not the case, that's how I see it, because that's all I can assume. Because why date me now? Why only pursue me now, after I've gotten pretty on the outside?

Why didn't anyone want me back then, if I've always been the same on the inside?

Adopted Motherland

I just got back from Korea and I honestly can't realize the fact that I'm no longer there. It's crazy, because I discovered a new level of happiness, a sort of eureka for me, in my journey.

I mean, it wasn't all great. I got stung by a bee and reacted immensely, I had problems with my contacts, my ear got infected, and my friend and I fought like mad over some guys. But despite the bad, so much good came out of it. So much that I honestly changed, in a week, changed into something that I liked, finally. I stopped being unnecessarily clumsy, I stop dropping food on myself, I ate when I wanted to and not any other times and I got really, really pretty and sensible with my clothes.

I finally found a reason to put in effort, to better myself. And the results were amazing. There were old Korean tent restaurant owners who told me I was pretty, there were gay men who gawked over my chest and poked at it with amazement, there was an unnie who made me feel so accepted and welcome. I laughed and ate and spent time with these people, who i hope I never forget:dipping dots guy and lightsaber dude at everland, 24 hours dancing kid in hongdae, white shirt kid and mini taemin in itaewon, my adopted grandparents, the entire staff at always homme, the guy who I can never remember but will never forget, whose name starts with a Ch- at NB2, the guys from Singapore, the nice cab driver, and especially Eric Nam.

So many people, so many interactions, so many first times, hopefully not last time, so many emotions, desire, gratification, lust, euphoria, freezing my fingers off and crying in public  laughing and screaming and jo kwoning, scare your friends, having a family to feed, cats, cats, so many cats. Working through the hardships and building a stronger friendship, clubbimg until 5 am and still being the first ones to go home, getting hit on by koreans and in a gay bar, riding the t-express until we were too embarassed to face the ride staff, making a wish at the wish tree, crawling out of paintings, getting mistaken as one of the natives, having more fun and feeling more free than I have ever felt, ever.

I'll be back, Korea. See you soon.

Deriving Position

It's strange, how the little things in life have the ability to shift our moods ever so slightly, in an almost unnoticeable way. And it's even stranger, when those little mood changes push from one end of the spectrum, past the midpoint, and into unfamiliar territory, and all of a sudden, I realize.

I'm content.

Yes, it only has been a week. A week since I felt my entire world crashing down upon me, a week since I was emotionally in pieces, a week since I felt everything, and then nothing. But I am okay. And is that bad? Is it bad that I've gotten over it so quickly? Is it bad that I've healed from that, that I'm not so broken and hung up on it anymore? Is it bad that I can care about the other aspects of my life, that I can focus on the important things?

Is it bad that I can be happy, so quickly?

I don't know. Maybe in another's eyes, I'm heartless, I'm psycho, I'm a whirlwind of unnecessary drama and feelings. And I can't deny that I'm not all those things. I can't claim that I'm a dropped pin at the center of a standard deviation curve, able to mourn for exactly the right amount of time to be socially acceptable. What I can say, however, is that it is who I am, and I can accept that, because I can accept the feeling of being happy.

And the thing is, this contentedness is due mainly to such minute details of my life. Knowing that I matter greatly as a friend to a number of people, finding out that I'm doing really well in my hardest class, meeting someone who puts a smile on my face, making friends with people who I never expected to before; these are all things that are contributing to my current state. These are the things that make me happy, these are the things accelerating my progress away from the dripping mess I was last week, and it's such a great feeling. It's a great feeling not having to lie to myself that it's going to be okay, because it is okay. Being able to wake up in the morning and not think immediately of what could have been, being able to listen to an old song and not feel a nasty twinge in my heart, being able to just be me again, it's so refreshing. It's so wonderful, and I'm so glad.

So maybe it's been a little fast. But it's good, in my opinion, that it's been this fast. It's nice, to be able to get over something like that with this speed, because now I can keep on with the other things in life. It's not like I don't care about what happened, or about him anymore. It's just that I can live despite it.