Hey, I'm Okay.

I woke up this morning from the immense amount of equator-worthy heat and I realized that I'll be fine. In the heat of things last night, I left myself in a terrible, vulnerable place, somewhere that, now, seems like a childish escape that I cooped up in, so that I could hide myself from reality.

But I don't need that, and that's what my mind finally figured out this morning. I have more important things to fret about, so many aspects of my life that I should be putting my time into. I did what I did, and really, there's no point in worrying over whether it was the right decision or not. It's happened, it's over, and I'm just going to have to move on. So I will.

I started this post today with Megan Lee's "8dayz." For those who don't know, Megan Lee is a Youtuber-turned-K-pop Idol, currently working in Korea. She's known for her soft pop ballads, and I felt that this one was appropriate. It's in Korean, and although there is an English version, I feel that a larger portion of the Korean version's lyrics apply to how I feel right now.

Because "This is a new day." and I'm okay with that. I'm ready.

Cataclysm

I've been pretty absent from this blog for the last few weeks. I can pretend like it's because I'm trying to pace myself and not become too obsessed about posting, but really it's because I've been lazy. Not even busy, just not inspired enough by my life events to create an entry.

It's been a messy two weeks, honestly. I still haven't heard back from the dream job, and I've basically given up hope at this point. I'm doing better at work, but I also want to leave more than ever. My classes almost don't exist to me; they feel unimportant and surreal, and I'd rather stay in bed (though I can't).

There's a heat wave hitting my part of the state right now, and it makes life a living hell. The humidity is impossible and there's a constant sheen of sweat on my neck-my laptop overheats way too quickly and I feel an inevitable net of lethargy cast upon me, as if any motion will only render me the most terrible of all consequences.

But these things are not why I'm here, finally posting after two weeks. Anyone can see right through my heat rant and realize that it's just an intro, a gateway to the bigger, deeper concepts in which I'm about to submerge.

So why am I updating?

Well, in the past week I've found myself in a personal dilemma. Yep, here we come with the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God (or whichever higher being that may or may not be out there). I'm baring it all.

Of course, like any predictable girly anecdote, this one starts with a boy.

So reel back to a week ago-I'm at a social event, I'm drunk, and I'm with my friends. I start a conversation with a Guy, not thinking too much about it. His friend comes over, and I try to set him up with my friend. In this process, Guy also turns out to be pretty interested in me. We dance. We hold hands. We kiss. I somehow end up giving him a fake name, but my real phone number (Is this a sign?).

The next morning I wake up, complaining about the sunlight. I forget, even, that I gave him my number. My friend and I get bagels. I get a text.

It's him.

My initial reaction is panic. Who is he? Why is he texting me? Should I just say he got the wrong number? Instead, I confirm my identity. I reply with a "Hey." I throw in a :), and I don't know why (Is this a sign?).

We start talking, and in the back of my mind, I'm telling myself to stop. I'm telling myself to tell him that I'm not interested, that it was just a one-time thing, that I'm not looking for anything. But he seems nice. He seems fun. He seems like a good kisser. And somehow, an hour later, we have a date on Sunday (This is a sign, right?).

Throughout the week I worry. I flip and flop, back and forth, wondering if this was the right decision. Several times I get to the point of texting him and saying it's off, coming up with a basket of excuses for why I can't go out with him.

I never send any of those texts. Instead, we talk. Cute little nothings, but it's sweet, if not perfectly genuine on my end. Sunday gets closer. This doesn't feel like reality.

Sunday comes, and I spend, literally, 4 hours getting ready (Is this a sign? What even is a sign anymore?). He said he'd pick me up at 8:00pm. He's here at 7:59. I see him, for the first time, sober. He's cute. He's actually really cute. I'm starting to think he's out of my league even. He drives, and we make small talk. He's moved a lot. I've moved a lot. He's funny. It's nice.

We get there. we walk. He's sweet. He's thoughtful. He's polite. He holds my hand. He shares a funny anecdote. We find a place to sit and he kisses me. I kiss back. It feels great. We move around, taking our time at a playground, and on a hill. We scope out a random building, and he jokes that if anyone asks, we're looking for a church to get married in. He asks me to teach him Chinese. He's not very good at it, but he tries.

We settle down by the beach. He pulls out a towel, so we don't get sandy. Things heat up, and I know what he wants. But I'm not ready. I'm not prepared, and I tell him, and he accepts it. He's disappointed, but instead of lashing out, he's kind, he's selfless, and he has my feelings as priority. We end up lying on the sand, looking up at the stars.

He takes me home, and he's a perfect gentleman. He insists on walking me to my door. With my persistent words, he returns to his car, but he doesn't drive away until I'm safely inside.

And then reality hits. And I realize that we can't continue. Truth is, under everything that I've said and claimed, I'm scared. There are so many factors that come into play-I don't know if we have enough in common, I don't know if I can fully trust him, I'm not sure of myself, I'm not ready, it's moving too fast and I don't feel like I'm in control, I'm afraid of what my parents will think, I'm afraid of how it might affect my life, and I'm just so so afraid.

And because of that fear, when he texts me today with a fun, flirty "Heyy :)" I don't respond. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to break up with him, though is it even that when I haven't even dipped my toe in this relationship?

So I wait. I ask a friend for advice. She's super helpful, even if she doesn't realize. I finally do it. And while I'd made up a bucket full of excuses before, I throw them aside again. I tell him I'd meant for it to just be a one-time thing, that it's going too fast and I don't think we can do this anymore. And then I put my phone away. I'm scared of what he might say. I'm afraid of how he might react.

An hour or two later, I realize he's responded. I can't bring myself to read the text, so I hand it off to a friend, asking her to read it out loud. I brace myself for the worst.

Even so, I'm not prepared for what I hear.

"It's chill. I completely understand."

I'm relieved. I am relieved right? Isn't that how I should feel? Like I'm free?

And yet, furtive tears begin to leak from the corners of my eyes. I shake it off, wiping them away as I assure my friends that they're tears of relief. I push it to the back of my mind. I tell myself that this is good.

But here I am now. I'm alone, in the dark, and for some reason, I'm still crying.

Did I make a mistake? Did I pass up on something that could have been it? Did I turn down a guy who, in all terms necessary, could be defined as "perfect?"

So now I'm sitting here, by myself, and all I can think about is what I've just done. I don't think it should hurt as much as it does right now. Did I make a mistake?

I don't know. I really don't know. But it's for the best, right?
I really hope I'm right.

Redeem Yourself

Sorry.

It's a tiny, 2-syllable, 5-letter word. It really isn't supposed to be that difficult a concept to grasp. According to Merriam-Webster's online dictionary source, the term 'sorry' is defined as this:

Feeling sorrow or regret.

Emphatically, the term sorry, before being 'used' as a way to show regret or misfortune, stands primarily as an expression of feeling, a necessary feeling showing that one not only comprehends the grossness of a situation, but knows to feel shameful about said situation. In practice, it is a similar feeling to owing someone a large amount of money-it's a feeling of anxiety and debt, paired with a deeply-rooted, self-inspired need to make up for whatever one has done.

Unfortunately, this "supposedly" simple idea has proven so difficult for so many people in modern society; more and more often do people feel self-righteous and impossible to failure, trying to push blame for their own mistakes, creating excuses or turning a blind eye to their personal wrongdoings. It really is the bane of society's existence, in a sense-with the reign of narcissism and an inability to back down, the world has seen wars and political disputes over tiny, insignificant matters, ones that have been stretched out past the breaking point. From individuals to entire nations, people thrive on the basis of who's right and who's wrong, on who gets to win the argument this time, on who stepped on who's foot, or wrongfully claimed who's island, or accidentally bombed who's land.

And yet, people have remained unrelenting, turning tiny altercations to major, newsworthy conflicts, which brings back the point of how ridiculous people tend to be when it comes to admitting their wrongs.

But really, how hard is a sorry? And I'm not talking about a meaningless sorry, a sorry to get away from the argument, a sorry to hide behind, or use as evidence in future mentions of said event. Sorry isn't an empty word, and it should never be treated as one-going back to the dictionary definition, sorry is a term that embodies not one, but two entire emotions. Sorrow, and regret, and without these two emotions, sorry is practically synonymous to saying 'screw you.'

Personally, I feel like it's important to me that I am surrounded by people who can appreciate the power behind this loosely-thrown term; this comes from my childhood. When I was younger, I never said sorry. Ever. Because I never felt that I was in the wrong, and I would stand up for my ideals, no matter how irrational they were. And while one of my parents would try to convince me to say that "I was sorry" to the other, I wouldn't back down. I wouldn't use that term until I completely meant it. 

So what's the point of using the term if one does not mean what he or she says? Doesn't that "sorry" immediately become a dirty dishrag, tossed around haphazardly and infecting the trust of those who receive it? In that case, one might as well keep the word at bay.

And yes, remorse is an important feeling. It Is an internal emotion that should be felt with sincerity, and the words "I'm sorry" should be used with caution, not carelessness, to avoid misuserstandings, both outside and within.

Blank

I miss you.

It's these late-night, early, early-morning situations that bring me back to you. To this feeling. I miss you, all of you, every trace of you, every inhale, exhale, inhale, pause.

Pause.

What am I doing? How can I miss something I never had, love something I never knew, want you back, when you were never here? Clearly I'm mistaken. Clearly I'm mad. Clearly, or not so; perhaps each of my sentences should start with murkily instead.

But I do miss you.

I love you. Still. It's stupid, it's crazy, it's irrational and baseless and I'm vulnerable and shallow and young but really, really, who can judge? Isn't that the foundation of love, the lack of one?

It's been so long. So long since I last saw your face, so long since our last real conversation, so long since you looked at me with calm eyes, spoke to me with kind words. It's been so long, yet unlike drug withdrawal, the pain seems to never end. There is no rehabilitation. Sometimes I can dull it, sometimes I can push it down, past my diaphragm until it suffocates, like a tiny flame, turned into barren ashes. Except those ashes never completely die out. There's always the last spark, the final flint of life that comes springing back into full-blown inferno, on nights like this.

On nights like this, I sit in desolate solitude. On nights like this, I open a new browser window, and read through all our old chats. On nights like this, I hold back the tears, hold back the regret; I hold my breath, until I feel woozy, wishing that you'd be here by the time I let go.

It's not like I haven't tried to clear you out. I've deleted your number from my phone, but it's still here in my mind. Do you ever get that? Those specks of memory that somehow get so obstinately lodged into the canals of your brain that no matter how hard you try to forget, they still manage to cling on?

Cling on, the way I'm doing right now, in such utter desperation?

It's pathetic. It's laughable and ridiculous, and come morning I'll look at this post and wish I'd never written it. But in the depth of tonight, I have no resentment. I want these words out. I want you to know, even if you don't and won't ever know, how much I miss you. How much I miss us, though we were never really us.

But I still miss us. And I want you to miss us.

Sometimes I over-analyze your previous words, those sweet nothings from our long forgotten past. I guess they were really nothings. Nothings, that, over time, became even less than that. Is there anything less than nothing? You used to tell me the opposite of love wasn't hate, but rather, indifference. Is that what you feel now? Do you even remember me, remember what we had? Perhaps, in your mind, I am but a distant whisper of an entity, if that. It's okay though, really. It's probably better this way.

It's probably better if you never remember me. If you never come to realize how I really feel. And on my end, I'll try not to feel. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, and the amount of time and space that separates us is so immense. I feel like I'm drowning. I can't latch on anymore. I don't have the strength to persist in holding my breath.

I need to breathe. It'll hurt at first, but the pain will dull; and then, maybe, I can feel what you feel.

Indifference.

42, thank you. Thank you for allowing me the chance to grasp the concept of love. Thank you for giving me this boundless expanse of emotions, over all these years. Thank you for showing me a part of myself that I would have never discovered alone. Thank you for helping me become who I am today.

I'll always love you, even when I no longer do.