New diet, new exercise plan. New photos, new friends, new places, new relationship, new ring.
Why is everybody so obsessed with change? In a world where we reminisce on the past so fondly, of times when we weren’t addicted to our smartphones and we played outside. When we wrote diaries we never finished and chatted on phones late into the night. When we set away messages to our friends and %n was clever.
This year won’t be about a new me. It won’t be about looking forwards to what we will forget. It will be about remembering the present, and recognizing that sometimes the things we hate most are what we end up missing.
Do you ever think your friends are lame? Not all of them, generally, but some of them. I imagine I can’t be the only one. Not to say I’m the most awesome one around or anything (I am), but sometimes it’d be nice if your friends were as awesome as the besties you see in TV and movies.
TV and movies ruin everything. They invented love at first sight and convince you that perfection is out there, waiting for you to reach. That if you do good things, and if you are quirky and attractive and embarassing you can still manage to snag the hottest, most perfect girl out there. As if.
I read an interesting comment on the past, present, and future self. That you need to be good to your future self and be grateful to your past self for what they have done for you. E.g., thanks past self for working out yesterday, and I’ll pay it forward to future self by saving you $10 and making a salad at home instead of going out for hamburgers. Reading a book to make future self smarter, and thank past self for driving me home sober last week. It’s weird how much I’d be willing to do for others and yet I treat myself like crap so often. Something’s gotta change in this equation.
What’s with everyone being in a relationship now? I talk about this with all of my single friends. 40-50% of all of my friends are in relationships, with half of them being pretty serious (1+ years) now. It scares me. Yes, I know I’m young. Yes, I know I have my whole life ahead of me. But it’s just weird, thinking of going to my friends’ weddings in a few years. Seeing them have kids, buy a house, settle down. I wonder which of my friends’ spouses I would like. If things would ever be the same.
Apologies for this post being another boring one.
Well, I suppose some thanks are in order.
Thanks past self, for writing this blog. I hope future self enjoys reading it again.
I’m not good at a lot of things. Maybe a lot of people aren’t.
Sometimes I kill mannequins when I give them the wrong drug.
Sometimes I get rejected. Sometimes I cheat.
Sometimes I sleep and wake up at 11 PM. Sometimes I can’t sleep.
Sometimes I write crappy short stories to try to improve my writing. At least it makes me feel like I am doing something productive for myself.
Life in songs is always more romantic than in real life. Even songs like “Royals”, about the realism of life, is more romantic than anything ends up being. In actuality, life can be quite boring a lot of the time. I think about if people who live exciting lives do the same thing I do on a regular basis. How exciting are their lives in reality? Is it so much better than mine? Do they have more fun when they go out to their fancy parties than I do?
Alyson never opened her eyes all the way. She thought she looked more seductive that way. She is as cold and empty as her nickname suggests. Her skin never felt warmer than yours did, not even when I held our hands over the crackling embers of our dying flame. Alyson slid out from warm covers into snowy nights, only returning to bed when flakes of ice dotted hazel hair and melted over eyelashes, curling up against me again, her frosty skin against mine. I don’t remember her laugh, but I remember her smile. The way she blushed when I tried to clean the coffee stains I left on her scarf, the first time we met. How her hands lingered when we touched. Exhaling foggy breaths to melt our car, back when we had no reason to leave. If I could keep her warm, maybe she’d never leave.
Sarah’s smile was worth a ten percent tip, and often a cigarette. Golden strands of hair drift over green eyes when she looks down to text. She tosses her unused napkin into an unfinished plate. She’s never clenched her perfectly straight teeth. Sarah sits in the back of my mind, the front of the theatre, and the centre of the metro. She’s never stood, letting her hips and her knees sway into the trembling waves. When she hugs me her arms never squeeze and our cheeks never brush, but she always lets me go. I love her almost as much as I hate her. She doesn’t.
What is it like to be rich? I’ve never known. Not to say that my family is not well off, far from it. I’ve hardly ever known what it is like to be poor, because I just never felt like I was. Do people know they are poor?
I used to live in a 5 bedroom house, with at least 16 or so inhabitants at any one time. People would float in and they would drift out. Uncles, aunts, and second cousins. What we lacked in money we made up for in food, in company, in baskets of fruit and boisterous Vietnamese. I remember when my mom used to buy a box of Sara Lee pound cake every now and then, and give me a cold slice as a treat. It’s still one of my favorite desserts.
"Money can’t buy happiness." That’s ridiculous. I literally buy happiness every day. That kind of fleeting happiness that you get from an ice cream cone or unwrapping a new cellular phone. Before you crave something new. It’s like a rush of adrenaline, a floating feeling. That feeling when you drink a Fizzy Lifting Drink and float slowly to the ceiling…seconds before you *POP* and come crashing back down. That moment where you can almost touch the stars.
I found out my friend was extremely rich today. I mean just overflowing with cash. When I found out, she wasn’t too pleased. “Ugh, I just don’t like people knowing. They start treating me differently.” I scoffed. Like I was going to suddenly ask her for money? Expect her to start taking me out to lunch and asking her ridiculous questions? “Do you wipe your ass with hundred dollar bills?” That’s what she told me her other friends asked her. I laughed and yet I wondered. I burned a dollar bill once. Just to say I’d done it.
I was reading on reddit the other day: a user’s grandfather had died, and one of the last things he told him was “There is only one thing I care about now, and that’s family.”
But that crash always comes. The one before you get what you want. That sugar high, that faded feeling, that hangover. And sometimes you don’t remember what got you there in the first place. Sometimes you don’t remember the night before - the drinks you had or the jokes you shared.
Everything changes! Have I written about this before? I hope not.
I’m in Fresno now, and I figured I should keep blogging whether it is just to keep my sanity or to come to terms with the fact that I don’t really have a single friend in the nearby area. I suppose this post may be more about myself than it usually is.
My first patient died last week. And then another. And then another. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t my fault. It’s really sad, talking and joking with them one day, and the next day they are just simply gone. One of my patients I shook his hand on the way out of his room and shared a joke with him and he died less than 2 hours later. I don’t even know how to feel or to react. But my doctor put it the best way I could imagine. “It’s okay, because at least now he’s not suffering.” How else can you cope? I’m not sure.
Sometimes it is hard to know or remember if you have friends. And I see what they mean, it is damn hard to keep in touch with your friends. We all have our own lives and our own challenges to face and you really have to go out of your way to catch up with people. I’m trying to be the better friend here, but it gets hard when you realize you are the only one seeming to make the effort. And so if you drop all your friends, what is left? Maybe I need better friends.
I think this change is good for me. This next year will help me get to know myself better. Get to know what I’m good at, what I’m willing to do, and what I can do on my own. I already managed to find my own housing situation on craigslist, looking at the places on my own and everything. Even when I asked my parents for help, they just told me to choose on my own. By next year, I’ll be completely financially independent of them. I’m really not sure how I feel about that, or if I’m even ready to be an adult. Is twenty one too young?
I’m sorry that this blog was not as interesting as most are, but this one will just be a place to put my floating thoughts so I can reflect on them later. Sorry bout that.
You never know what’s going to greet you when something knocks on your door.
Sometimes, it’s opportunity. A FedEx package, maybe. Or a friend you weren’t expecting. Abandonment? The future.
People cry for a lot of reasons - for something they’ve lost, something they miss, or something they will never have again. But we never cry for the things we will never have, or need, or know. And ironically, that’s the greatest tragedy of all.
I think cooking is an amazing thing. It’s different than anything else you can gift to someone. When you cook, you put your creativity, your passion, your soul into your food. And when someone consumes your food, you add to their livelihood and their health. Literally, your creativity is nourishing them and sustaining them. My passion is literally nourishing their body and mind. And that’s why I cook.
It’s all about putting things together. Mixing a bowl of dry ingredients, bonding with your best friends (and the ones you don’t care for, but will always miss their smile when they’re gone), melting butter and sugar on the stovetop while giggling to your friend’s Thanksgiving anecdote.
They always say don’t cry for what you’ve lost, smile because it happened at all. But they’re all liars.
Cry for what you once had, but smile because knowing something is lost makes you treasure it more.
Cooking, friendships, missed opportunities. Crying, laughing. Whatever.
Today: Blackberry pancakes, Stand By Me, and Limbo.
I guess everything in your day kind of fits together when you want it to. Something old, something new, and something kind of in the middle. Try to bridge those connections and you can make it work. You usually can.
I spend a lot of days on my own now, and it gets me to think if I ever belonged anywhere in the first place. You know that straggler in every friend group? The one that drifts, and nobody minds, but the one that’s never the “best friend” or the one you HAVE to have there, because what kind of party would it be without them? I guess I’ve always had that insecurity. That feeling that maybe that person was me.
And now I think I’m pretty sure of the situation, one way or the other. Pretty sure.
Listening to “The A Team” on repeat because you just realized what it meant.
Crying when “Stand by me” came on at the right time.
Sometimes your days don’t come together though. Not like puzzle pieces. Songs you can’t remember the name of, forgetting to wash your dishes, and thanksgiving leftovers. Discordant and unrelated. Unconnected. Just there.
But I’m convinced there’ll always be a couple of people that will have my back. They say sometimes the straw breaks the camel’s back, but sometimes it’s all that’s holding it together.