It's hot. I'm bored. I'm tired, even though I just slept 13 hours. I'm lonely, but dating is hard and I don't like the idea of settling. There's leftover makeup on my face from last night, and I know it'll give me acne, but I'm too lazy to go wash it off.
I applied for my dream job last week, and I've yet to get a response. I keep checking to see if I actually sent the email (which I did), and now I'm doubting myself.
I feel inadequate. Did I not make a good enough impression on my supervisors when I was interning? Am I insignificant, so much so that I don't even deserve a letter in response, something that at least signifies that someone, somewhere, actually read my message?
I usually bottle these feelings up. Yeah, yeah, let's just talk about our cliched problems now, why don't we.
Honestly though. I'm always confident. That's my thing, that's my image. I'm always sure of myself, always.
Except I'm not.
I'm really not.
I'm scared, all the time. What people think of me, and what they see in me, is really really important to me. I'm fake, a lot of the time, just as an attempt to be likable. Which is ridiculous, but I have a really hard time inspiring that feeling of "I'm great and everyone should like me" by myself.
I need constant affirmation that I am, indeed, "the best." I'm sure some of my closest, oldest friends may have a sliver of an idea that this is the case, but I'm good at acting. I'm good at seeming like I don't care, that it doesn't bother me.
But in reality? I'm extremely weak to rejection. I hate the idea. I don't heal easily from it at all. I make this big deal of how make up is just something society puts upon girls as a regulation of BLAH BLAH BLAH but in reality, I wear it to almost every social gathering. I get super hurt and broken every time anyone rejects me romantically, and yet I act like it doesn't bother me and "I don't even want a serious relationship right now anyways." And every time something like this current situation, where I'm waiting for a reply, an acceptance into a field that I can only dream for, occurs, I get so ridiculously antsy and nervous, to a point where I turn to even religion for hope.
But why?
Why am I always so dissatisfied with myself? Why don't I ever think I'm good enough?
I mean, we can all blame our problems on our upbringings. With the traditional Chinese parent system where nothing was every good enough, perhaps now I've placed that idea on myself.
But I want to go beyond that.
I want to be good enough.
No, I want to be better. I want to be able to live everyday with the mentality that I am amazing, that nothing about me needs to change, and I want to reach that internally. I want to stop relying on external forces of recognition and confirmation when it comes to my self-worth.
It's so hard. But I have to try.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
...And My Love Life's DOA
I think I kissed my dance instructor.
Okay, so that's not exactly the best thing in the world. It also doesn't make much sense-how can I think I kissed someone? Shouldn't I remember the people with whom I get THAT intimate?
Well, apparently not (which basically accounts for me getting Strep, and then ending up in the ER and...well).
I guess I should recount.
So a week or so ago a few friends and I went to a rave. Now mind you, I am NOT about that life. Really. I swear. Nonetheless, one of my friends' roommates happened to have never gone to a rave before, and well, you know how it goes.
Anyways, all of us ended up a bit "punch-drunk" before we hit the venue (quote Easy A: "we had a few pre-cocktail party cocktails...like...before the cocktail party...with cocktails"), and I left my glasses elsewhere, so by the time we got to the rave, I wouldn't have been able to distinguish Leonardo Dicaprio from Meryl Streep (okay, it wasn't that extreme-maybe Leonardo Dicaprio and Ryan Gosling...)
So we're at this place, and of course, drunk me (which is the more hyper, more entertaining, louder and somewhat looser version of normal me) starts to get her dance on. It's like an out-of-body experience, no joke. I'm doing things that I wouldn't even dare to do in sobriety, moving and shaking things that normally barely even bounce.
Of course, enter guys. And I mean A LOT of guys. Not even in a bragging sense-I kind of "let it go" (cue snowstorm and violins), and I basically ended up moving around to quite a handful (or two) of random guys that I could barely see, with my lips gracing every one of theirs. And no, none of it was classy.
I am appropriately ashamed.
At some point in the night, however, I distinctly remember dancing (and macking) (yes, I did just use that word) with a tall hispanic guy, whom I excused myself from at some point later to go rejoin my friends. It was a very no-strings-attached sort of thing, and I didn't think too much about it.
Until Monday.
That was the day I walked into my Hip Hop I class, and came face to face with...well...what seemed like a very familiar face.
Now, here's the part where I bring in the fact that I was obviously not visually capable the night of the rave, and thus cannot confirm nor deny that I indeed, khkhm, kissed this person. Perhaps I've seen him on campus before. Perhaps I've seen him at work. I couldn't say. But the creeping familiarity was there.
Of course, even if it was him, I highly doubt he'd remember me-the venue was dark and I was wearing a lot of makeup (to the point where I could really have been anyone) so I'm not going to bring it up. Better safe than sorry.
But wow. Talk about lesson learned.
(Though it would be fitting to say that he can definitely still get my heart pounding)
(That was a bad joke)
(I'm sorry)
Okay, so that's not exactly the best thing in the world. It also doesn't make much sense-how can I think I kissed someone? Shouldn't I remember the people with whom I get THAT intimate?
Well, apparently not (which basically accounts for me getting Strep, and then ending up in the ER and...well).
I guess I should recount.
So a week or so ago a few friends and I went to a rave. Now mind you, I am NOT about that life. Really. I swear. Nonetheless, one of my friends' roommates happened to have never gone to a rave before, and well, you know how it goes.
Anyways, all of us ended up a bit "punch-drunk" before we hit the venue (quote Easy A: "we had a few pre-cocktail party cocktails...like...before the cocktail party...with cocktails"), and I left my glasses elsewhere, so by the time we got to the rave, I wouldn't have been able to distinguish Leonardo Dicaprio from Meryl Streep (okay, it wasn't that extreme-maybe Leonardo Dicaprio and Ryan Gosling...)
So we're at this place, and of course, drunk me (which is the more hyper, more entertaining, louder and somewhat looser version of normal me) starts to get her dance on. It's like an out-of-body experience, no joke. I'm doing things that I wouldn't even dare to do in sobriety, moving and shaking things that normally barely even bounce.
Of course, enter guys. And I mean A LOT of guys. Not even in a bragging sense-I kind of "let it go" (cue snowstorm and violins), and I basically ended up moving around to quite a handful (or two) of random guys that I could barely see, with my lips gracing every one of theirs. And no, none of it was classy.
I am appropriately ashamed.
At some point in the night, however, I distinctly remember dancing (and macking) (yes, I did just use that word) with a tall hispanic guy, whom I excused myself from at some point later to go rejoin my friends. It was a very no-strings-attached sort of thing, and I didn't think too much about it.
Until Monday.
That was the day I walked into my Hip Hop I class, and came face to face with...well...what seemed like a very familiar face.
Now, here's the part where I bring in the fact that I was obviously not visually capable the night of the rave, and thus cannot confirm nor deny that I indeed, khkhm, kissed this person. Perhaps I've seen him on campus before. Perhaps I've seen him at work. I couldn't say. But the creeping familiarity was there.
Of course, even if it was him, I highly doubt he'd remember me-the venue was dark and I was wearing a lot of makeup (to the point where I could really have been anyone) so I'm not going to bring it up. Better safe than sorry.
But wow. Talk about lesson learned.
(Though it would be fitting to say that he can definitely still get my heart pounding)
(That was a bad joke)
(I'm sorry)
Day 1
Ok, so I just spent about an hour trying to figure out what to write in my Profile Introduction. Does that mean I don't really know who I am? That I'm lost, in ways? That I'm trying to find an outlet for my confusion, that I secretly seek an answer to who I am and what I believe in?
No.
Honestly, I think it just indicates that there are things about me that are perpetually altering, parts of me that I will never be able to understand fully, due blatantly to the fact that I will never be me. I'll always be some rendition of the me I know in this instant, because, in every instant, I will change in some way, whether huge or microscopic, so that I'll never be really able to put myself down on paper.
Now, before I rush into the metaphysical side of my little rant above, let's change the subject. Today is Day 1, as is so eloquently pointed out by this utterly creative title that I have placed upon this post. What is the meaning of this blog? I'm not sure. Maybe I am using it as an outlet. Maybe it's my thought toilet, where I can bend over and hack up the word vomit that regurgitates now and then, while my few readers hold my hair back and pound on my back. Maybe I secretly want to gain some sort of recognition in the world of blogging, some sort of following for my incredibly inflated level of narcissism (okay, maybe not quite that). Either way, it's a place where I can put my mind, a sort of comfort couch, or like one of those things they have at the zoo where you put a quarter in and it vibrates your feet for 2 minutes. But, you know, for my mind.
Hopefully I can keep this up. I'd like to be able to consistently update, though I hold no promises-when it comes to things like this, I do lose interest pretty rapidly, and I end up flaking out before the month is up. But I'll try, so bear with me.
So I guess that's about all I really need to say right now. Please don't be offended by anything I post (or you know, just don't let it sit in your mind and bother you because honestly, I'm one person, and if you care so much about my opinions that it actually hurts you, then really, you shouldn't be following my blog.), and I am always open to comments and input. Input is good. Input helps me grow.
Oh, and one last thing: Hello Blog! It's nice to meet you. I hope you're excited for this journey.
No.
Honestly, I think it just indicates that there are things about me that are perpetually altering, parts of me that I will never be able to understand fully, due blatantly to the fact that I will never be me. I'll always be some rendition of the me I know in this instant, because, in every instant, I will change in some way, whether huge or microscopic, so that I'll never be really able to put myself down on paper.
Now, before I rush into the metaphysical side of my little rant above, let's change the subject. Today is Day 1, as is so eloquently pointed out by this utterly creative title that I have placed upon this post. What is the meaning of this blog? I'm not sure. Maybe I am using it as an outlet. Maybe it's my thought toilet, where I can bend over and hack up the word vomit that regurgitates now and then, while my few readers hold my hair back and pound on my back. Maybe I secretly want to gain some sort of recognition in the world of blogging, some sort of following for my incredibly inflated level of narcissism (okay, maybe not quite that). Either way, it's a place where I can put my mind, a sort of comfort couch, or like one of those things they have at the zoo where you put a quarter in and it vibrates your feet for 2 minutes. But, you know, for my mind.
Hopefully I can keep this up. I'd like to be able to consistently update, though I hold no promises-when it comes to things like this, I do lose interest pretty rapidly, and I end up flaking out before the month is up. But I'll try, so bear with me.
So I guess that's about all I really need to say right now. Please don't be offended by anything I post (or you know, just don't let it sit in your mind and bother you because honestly, I'm one person, and if you care so much about my opinions that it actually hurts you, then really, you shouldn't be following my blog.), and I am always open to comments and input. Input is good. Input helps me grow.
Oh, and one last thing: Hello Blog! It's nice to meet you. I hope you're excited for this journey.
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