what a beautiful day to not be in high school
What’s the point when things are meaningful to you, but just arbitrary to everyone else? What’s the point when you can see something deeper but everyone just wants to play in the shallow end?
1. Your skin may never be perfect, and that’s okay.
2. Life is too short not to have the underwear, the coffee, and the haircut you want.
3. Everyone (including your family, your coworkers, and your best friend) will talk about you behind your back, and you’ll talk about them too. It doesn’t mean you don’t love each other.
4. It’s okay to spend money on things that make you happy.
5. Sometimes without fault or reason, relationships deteriorate. It will happen when you’re six, it will happen when you’re sixty. That’s life.
you know you’re getting old when you walk into a library and head straight to the non-fiction section
It’s midnight, and for some reason my head is already spinning with a million things to say. It’s just one of those nights, I guess.
There will be a time and place to say all these things, I’m sure. I can’t help feeling that the time and place for some of them have already passed and gone.
I know I have been neglecting my personal writing/blogging for some time. I’ve been busy. Well, before June. Recently, I’ve just been lazy. It’s not like I feel obligated to always update, but it’s just that there are a lot of thoughts pent up in me and it might help if I got it out. I didn’t even realize these thoughts were here until now. And I just don’t really know where to start.
Well, it’s summer. My days are going as summer days go. Watching movies with my brother, running laps with my sister, stargazing with my mom and dad. These days I’ve been feeling so lucky; I am so blessed to have this family.
In other words, I’m doing well. G’night.
I used to have a lot of anger and stress growing up. I was immature, impatient, and sometimes selfish. But I first started getting into this “honest” style of writing when I felt trapped. I was alone when I was younger. No one really knew me nor did they care to get to know me. It’s tough having feelings when you can’t share them. That is what it’s like to be extrovert. I remember when I wrote my parents a letter out of anger. I think it was when they were fighting too much. I had no guts to give it to them by the time I finished it, so I decided to mail it to them. I addressed it to my mom and dad, and I kept it anonymous. It probably said something like, “Hey man you should probably be more considerate of your children when you’re screaming at each other in the kitchen” or something. Obviously not word for word. I was only 11.
They evidently knew that it was me. I didn’t put a stamp on it, but the from and to address was the same. But it did manage to make them laugh and it made me laugh when we read it a few days later when the feelings had disappeared.
Through that I started writing a lot more. From stupid poems when I was in grade school, to just raw thoughts and feelings when I was reaching adolescent. I learned that feelings are okay to have, but they are forever fleeting. You may be happy now– or sad– or maybe mad. But like a buzz of alcohol or a high, no feeling is really forever unless you’re psychotic. But that’s what living is. Living is to feel. And for me, it was through writing that I keep my feelings the way a person takes photographs of memories. My writings are my treasured feelings.
I started writing to myself. With stamps and everything. I’d mail myself sad letters, happy letters, angry letters, and sometimes love letters. I learned that the “hateful” letters didn’t matter to me when I read them again. And that was when I learn to not keep hate in my heart. Hate doesn’t matter. It doesn’t feel good to read about it again. It’s better left forgotten. It is a toxic to your personality. Of course today I still sometimes feel ill towards someone here and there when they’re being shitty. But I try my best to let it go. It’s really hard. But I’m trying. I know that it’s not healthy.
"To Han, from Alexander." The name just rung comfortably in my ears. Like Alexander the Great… It sounded safe. And that was how I got into writing and how I came up with the alias: Han Alexander.
Because it is a constant reminder that Alexander is there for me. I just gotta pick up my pen.
You need to love yourself first, man. I know it’s hard when you are infatuated. But infatuations put someone before yourself, and that is one of the most devastating poison I know. You got to remind yourself that you are far beyond what people tell you that you are. You are far beyond the thoughts of that person. You are far beyond the desire to touch that person. You are far beyond what you miss about that person. You have so much ahead of yourself, and the only thing that is stopping you from going far is another pathetic of another’s existence.