Boys, Boys, Boys

1) No matter where I am or what I'm doing, be it driving or strolling, in Boston or in NYC, every fleeting biker who passes through my peripheral automatically draws my full attention. Even though it's been over a year since we last were together, my eyes never stopped searching for him.

2) UO the other day and recognizing Isaac was pleasantly strange. Since graduating, my days have been accented with washes of nostalgia--not so much over Nobles ironically, but over all the people and experiences who so powerfully informed the young person that I was and the adult that I now am. Those phase-like friendships, as brief as some were, as dangerous as others were, all were drops in my well and memories that I haven't forgotten. They always nourished me in one way or another, but stayed nestled somewhere deep in the back of my mind. 
When I finally recognized him, it was like tapping back into that well and bringing to surface all the 16-year-old feelings I carried for him and memories that I once so cherished. I remember laying in bed at 3 or 4 am on more than one occasion, waiting on his texts and abandoning much needed sleep. We would text day and night, and I loved the thought of being on his mind even if I wasn't his love interest.  
The night he first smoked weed, he was nervous and confused. He talked to me throughout the night because it comforted him, and that's how I became the first person in his life he told. He was the first boy who turned to me and confided that experience, but he wasn't the last. Ha, I don't know how I ended up in this role, but I find it so deeply endearing to be this type of confidante to these dudes. 
He was adopted, which I for some reason at the time found so wonderful and unique.
I fucking loved the way he wore his black leather jacket, white beater, and hypebeast kicks.
Lastly, I felt safe when we hugged, and disappointed whenever he'd spend time with the other Kim in the studio. I'd get all dolled up on the days he told me he'd visit, sweating in that damn studio but praying that I still looked cute, only to either get a no-show or share him with her.  And the day I swear we almost kissed absolutely rattled me.
It was all so pathetic on my part, but it's scary to admit that in some ways I haven't changed. 
I still long for boys I have no business waiting for.

3) This dude's mad sweet and adorable--and I'm a sucker for tight squeezes, skateboards, and kisses on the cheek--but I just can't... I ain't about that long distance Boston x Lawrence type loves (unless it's Y-B!), and even more importantly, there just isn't any chemistry or any energy that gets me chasing. He just doesn't carry the confidence, ambition, creativity, or old-soul-wrestling-in-young-bones vibe that I've fallen for in the past. I also don't laugh enough in his presence... I can't love a guy who's less funny than me because that's a huge issue in and of itself! I hate being in this bitchy position, but it's mos def a case of nice guys finishing last... I just hope it's my loss and not his, and that he realizes how very shallow his perceptions and interest in me are. 
It's been five days since we met. This is silliness.

4) He needs to chill his tits. I respect his game and his perseverance, and it was a little entertaining, but the novelty of it all is wearing off. I am not good at holding conversations that aren't in person, slash I hate that time-consuming phase where you're getting to know someone through non-face-to-face means. I don't enjoy FB chat, I gave up iChat and AIM a damn long time ago, and I would rather not continue the senseless chitchats about meeting up or what you ate for lunch today (note: MacDonald's doesn't even qualify as food). I also am turned off as soon as I hear about their having an Asian fetish. Nasty.

5) Sebas makes me feel old... I've also come to realize that as shallow as I feel this is, I'm not attracted to guys who I have to always drive around slash take care of constantly (picking up his friends, help running errands, diarrhea). He was right in a way when he talked about the confidence that comes with being the driver--metaphorically and literally. He's one of the people I've been spending a shitton of my summer with, which I love, but lately the more I think about it, the more sure I am of my negative interest in being anything more than homies with Sebas. We keep hearing that we act like a cute little old married couple, which I think is fucking awesome, and I just want to keep that chemistry exactly as it is forever. I also love that he includes me in all his plans as if I were one of the bros--it's nice being the only girl sometimes. But he never stops embracing that I am still a lady, which I appreciate. (As a bad example, he got a hell lot of satisfaction out of tapping my ass in front of his friends without getting slapped hahahah. We're so rough around the edges and ridiculous.)
But... finding his dirty socks in my car was repulsive.  
And him peeing in Cristian's bushes while I was there was another con. 
And him asking me for $2 worth of gas money the night we went to Maya's was a little turnoff-ish to me because I never ever ask any of him.
And the way he's scared of the dark can be funny and adorable in one context but so unattractive in another.

6) I love Rah, I really do, and I can't wait to play in the streets of NYC doing hoodrat shit together. Of all the guys I know, I confided in him most about my XSM days, and he is the only human who makes me breathless from laughing in tactful ways. Tonight, he sent me atrocious FB screenshots of XSM, and I swear I could've died happy. At one point, he said, "He looks like Michael Jackson circa the day of his death," and it hurt how fucking accurate it was.

This is only a tidbit of the shenanigans that have been filling my summery days and keeping me content. I've less than a week before RHD starts up, and my summer can only get better from there (even though I don't like having expectations!). I'm just soaking up all these positive vibes to feel ready for the months to come. Feelin' blessed.

♥

Lately

Tidbits of things that have been on my mind lately...

The other day, as I was offering Andrew and him lots of snackies from the car before we drove down to the MAC, Grant laughed and asked me, "Why are you so pleasant, Kimmie?" which in turn made me laugh right back. "I'm not, Grant," was all I answered, but he asked the same thing later on after I'd offered him other things to eat. 

Moments where others' perceptions of me contrast with my own self-image always stick with me simply because of just that: the contrast. I don't typically consider myself a pleasant person. In fact, I see myself as difficult, cranky, judgmental, borderline pessimistic... a lot of people just don't catch or grasp these darkly human sides of me when my composure slips. They know me only for the moments in which I'm attempting to make those around me happy because 1) I enjoy good vibes, but 2) I'm atoning for all the faults that have never left my conscience. They haven't yet seen how shitty and crushingly disappointing I can be, but I guess it's only natural for us to all at some point be these things. At the end of the day, I'm thankful that anyone even dares to care about me. They're risking a lot in inching so close.

The other day, Shanti and I talked about how we'll feel come the big day, which then led into the reasons behind why we think we'll feel the way we will. She said something along the lines of Nobles having been her home for the past six years because her parents' house really wasn't a home she identified with, and how that's different from my situation because I had always been close with my family and therefore never saw Nobles in the same homey sense. I didn't bring this up at the time because it would've broken the flow of our convo, but my family didn't always mean home to me. Even though they were often there to take me out and make me laugh, I didn't always feel so close to Chi Hien and Chi Trang. I associated them with Ma, Ba, the authority figures who I felt never supported my real desires, because they were the driving forces behind the decision to place me in a school that gave me hell for many years. Ma, Ba would have never known how to get me into Nobles if it hadn't been for may Chi filling out the paperwork, editing my application, contacting admissions, etc. I resented them for a while, as I did Ma, Ba. Years before coming to Nobles, the home had already started to disintegrate into a place of distrust and secrecy; as Ma, Ba were falling out of love, I distinctly remember feeling displaced as walls that once made me feel secure began to smother us all. What was a home when not one of its inhabitants still wished to stay? Hyde Park made me unhappy, Nobles made me unhappy, but my ties to St. Mary's and AFH sustained me. But I digress... what my family is today and my place in it was not a birthright. We all had to commit, collaborate, evolve ourselves, and pick the family/prioritize each other to make our house our home again, and it took years but we made it to where we are now. I'm damn proud of the control I took in my parents' relationship as a mediator when shit started hitting the fan. I sucked up my pride, put in the time and energy, sacrificed my own happiness some days, played up my innocence, forced the parents and I to spend time together, forced them to remember they still had a child in their hands, forced them to remember the reasons for why they once loved and why they needed to stay. I was going through an age full of sadness, but I knew that they were suffering far more, which was enough context for me to feel obligated to change for them. My family and I are the unit we are today because we all eventually came to understand that to love is active. When you perceive less value in love, become passive, become apathetic, and stop contributing to it, you leave that love to wither. The moment you internalize a love as a lost cause, as something beyond your control, you relinquish the power to repair it before ever beginning the process of regrowth. At some point, I stopped holding so much contempt in my chest from every wrong I'd ever felt they'd made against me, and allowed my debts to them to seep in and reopen my gratitude. It may have taken me almost six years to do so, and I may not have always felt hopeful that this calm after the storm would come, but I sure as hell finally made it.

During his impassioned speech to us, Mr. M., at his breaking point with kids' disrespect, told our class that a young student's reluctance to new ideas caused by the oversaturation of information in schools is just about the saddest thing a generation can experience. To a certain extent, I agree (but I do think there are sadder scenarios out there). The two dickheads even at that point were still passing around their football and blatantly ignoring him as he spoke. They piss me off on a daily basis, and yet, everyday I'm afraid to snap on them because I always remember those rumors about what he did to A. Allen... They're ignorant, bitchass monsters. It's sick, it's frustrating, and it's frightening.

Mr. Baker had a different take on the saddest affliction to our generation, specifically to the students of Nobles. It came up at one point during our indie lunch, and he said that so many students here, who are so gifted in so many areas, ironically see themselves as not good at anything at all. "And that's just about the saddest thing, don't you think?" he asked. His wrinkly brow was further strained and wrinklier than ever, his big eyes full of concern. I wonder if he knew, if his eyes could just see, that I some days am one of those sad kids.  

Dana and Darren come home in about two weeks. The way just the mention of their father's name triggers me to feel sickly merciless hasn't changed, but I'll speak to his bastardly face as often as I need to to see my own cousins. I miss those babies, and my arms long for their warmth.

Although it doesn't feel like it, Graduation is awfully damn soon... Still, I've never felt more anxious yet ready to close a book and begin a fresh title. Even though these coming years (inevitably) will bring heartaches, sleepless nights, traumas, and scars, my open ribcage welcomes every new suffering that the universe has in store for me. Maybe I sound delusional, but I'm tired of feeling the same wounds, tired of growing insensitive to pain. I'm ready now to be knocked down in fresh ways, forced to reconfigure and face myself in new lights.

I'm ready to rise from the bottom. 

On the bright side...

...this week's been full of ridiculously fun times since Chi Hien came home. I haven't been doing my work as efficiently or as thoroughly as I usually do, but fuck it 'cause ohana comes first! Plus, it's senior year, and I'm ready now to try more than ever to truly live to the fullest each and every day. 
Only six more weeks...

Heated

People like him are the epitome of pathetic, the lowest of the low, the scum of the earth, the shit at the very bottom of all piles of shit, and absolutely need to have their asses handed to them. 

It was dumbfounding and downright shocking how racist he was. He kept asking for more pinto beans or some shit, but the server (who happened to be Latino and spoke English just fine) hesitated to keep adding more when they can only give so much per order without the price changing. Then, the man got irrationally impatient and started yelling at the guy, yelling for more of this and more of that, yelling that he'd pay for whatever price he needed to pay for the extras, eventually shouting out, "Can I get someone who speaks English here?!" 

Hoooooold the fuck up. What the fuck?

I was so taken aback by his blatant lack of respect and abounding ignorance. Everyone was watching and listening in complete shock.

What's worse is that I stood there with Chi Hien in line and said nothing. 

There was one woman in front of us, a few people sitting down at tables listening, and half of the Anna Taqueria's staff behind the counter trying to pacify the asshole. I shouldn't have held my tongue. I shouldn't have been scared...

He was a BIG, middle-aged white male, and because of physical traits alone, I was scared to speak out, scared of the fact that he could've physically hurt me or Chi Hien if aggravated. He kept banging on the glass between himself and the server, and it made me even more fucking pissed but also really nervous for everyone's well-being.

In the end, he got his burrito and x amount of beans and left about 5 minutes later. No one called him on his fuckery. All customers, Chi Hien and myself included, were passive bystanders who said nothing and avoided involvement, just waiting for it to be over. The Anna's staff simply did all that they could as fast as they could to get the man his shit and get him out. The poor server on the receiving end of the bullshit was submissive but clearly upset, and ended up switching with a coworker and serving us instead on the other side. The poor guy... I did nothing other than order sweetly and thank him profusely, despite having witnessed what happened between him and the motherfucker.

Makes me sick... I have no tolerance for shit like that, and I'm typically not one to ever back down from a confrontation... But today, I disappointed myself by proving to that man, to Chi Hien, and to everyone in that restaurant, that I wasn't brave enough to speak out against discrimination.

None of us were. 

Homecoming

Everything since coming home has been so up and down. I thought my sensitivity and emotional state were back at equilibrium, but I'm just as volatile as I was in my first days home.

I miss my Hanoi fam terribly, and everyday since leaving them I've longed to go straight back to explore the night on motorbikes, sit down for huge family dinners, go out with my cousins for late night snacks and long laughs and chats, run around the streets with the little cousins while dodging cars, climb creepy buildings to peep graffiti and skylines, hold every last item that belonged to ong noi and ba noi, visit their graves and light incense for them, fall asleep to the lull of an urban concerto, and wake up the next morning feeling alive. 

I love Ma, Ba, Chi Hien, and Chi Trang, but the love we're living with here doesn't compare to the love in Hanoi. We don't sit down for dinner every Sunday with every aunt, uncle, and cousin present. Each day, we're moving at a rate of a thousand miles per hour, passing each other by, exchanging maybe an hour's worth of words if we're lucky. All my cousins over there are so close, they're more like siblings, whereas here I don't see any of my relatives that way. 

The mefloquine's still causing these creepy, trippy dreams every now and then. Last night, I think I dreamed specifically about the marathon because I woke up with a tight feeling of fear in my chest. It was so vivid, so sick. I just kept seeing bloody body parts and heads in every direction, some landing in random vats of oil and literally sizzling into fried bits. It was just as vivid and horrific as the first night of taking meflo, when I woke up screaming and covered in cold sweat. 

I see those little faces of Kampot in my daydreams. The laughter of small children is still my favorite sound in the universe, the smell of the white flowers they tucked into my hair is still fresh in my memory, and Vuthin's reading of The Giving Tree is still one of the most poignant scenes of my life. I tear up when I think too long and too deeply about them.

I can't count the number of times my heart broke in those three weeks. In Cambodia, it was close to almost everyday. In Vietnam, it wasn't until the very last moment that I broke down. Chu Phuc, Chi Ly, Trang, Hoang, Bou Ngan, Trung, and I were standing right outside Immigration, and it was then that I knew my goodbye's would be final, that I wouldn't be staying another night in their home, that I would fly halfway across the world not knowing when we'd be reunited. I tried to utter a thank you speech that I'd been preparing and dreading to give all week long, but I choked on the first sentence. I told them that even though I'd been gone for over ten years, they loved and cared for me as if I'd been with them all this time, and for that I could never thank them enough. They shushed me, asked me to not be sad, and told me this was only a see-you-later as they all engulfed me in an embrace. I cried the whole way through Customs, Immigration, and security, not giving a single fuck about who saw me because my family at that point were far out of sight and irrevocably beyond my reach. It'd been so long since I felt that lonely, broken, hysterical. The last time I can think of is the night of the car accident and those sleepless hours in bed that followed, relentlessly crying in pitch-black darkness and silence. I remember pulling myself together before I got to the Immigration window, sliding the officer my visa under the glass. He looked at the paper, looked back at me, and said in Viet with a smile, "Your visa hasn't expired yet, em. Why not stay and play longer?" I laughed but the sound was hollow, and replied, "I want to, but I can't," before bursting into fresh tears.

At Cheoung Ek, the utter despair and tragedy, the bodies buried that were slowly resurfacing, the smell of the stupa filled with excavated bones and skulls... the very atmosphere chilled my soul and made my blood curdle. I felt so permeated by it and sick in every layer of my being--physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually. A priori in every sense of the phrase. I absolutely lost it when I encountered that little girl and her mother along the path. Inside the complex and beside the mass graves was one large pond, encircled by a dirt path and an enclosing wire fence. A mother and her daughter had built their shanty against the outer side of that fence and found a gap in it large enough for them to squeeze through. I watched them as they went through it with large plastic jugs in hand, and crossed the path in front of me, staring back at me as they passed. I smiled, greeted them, and they did the same. Then, they descended the pond's banks and began filling their jugs with that water, that water from the pond beside the mass graves, to carry back to their shanty. It just killed me, watching this small girl who could've been the same age as Dana, live in such utter poverty, using and drinking such sickening water. Imagine living within meters of 8,000 bodies dismantled and scarcely buried. Just horrific.

My mind's a vast collection of still frames and corresponding stories. Since coming home, I have not once talked about my experiences with anyone for more than 15 minutes at any one given time. No one really has much of an idea of what I experienced, and in a way it's isolating, difficult. Maybe I'm not giving people enough credit, but I honestly don't see myself feeling comfortable enough with anyone to completely unload and share all this heaviness. I wouldn't feel good about that because no one needs more sadness than they're already carrying. All of the moments I have shared aloud have been for the most part only the more positive, inspiring stories. I just need time to articulate and empty out from pen to paper these memories waiting to be written.

I'm dying bit by bit each day, but I'm not scared. I'm just living from moment to moment.

After biking on Monday, I felt content and alive once again. When I got her call, I thought she had called to ask about the marathon and maybe even congratulate me. Instead, she broke me the news, that it was for sure this time, and that she was scared and didn't want this. My mind went back to April Fool's Day a year or two ago, when she texted me that news as a joke but I took it seriously and called, my hands shaking in complete shock. I was pissed when she finally told me it was only a joke because shit like that was nothing to joke about. This time, I didn't shake. I wasn't shocked or even surprised. I was just tired. I didn't really want to talk to her, and to be honest I was unhappy that she'd killed my mood with this bit of information, regardless of the gravity. She's been really sad that his sister doesn't support them, but the sad truth that she doesn't know is that I completely side with that sister. Did she learn nothing the first time? For a cheap thrill with a dude she does not love, she's thrown away the key to innumerable opportunities (I hesitate to say future). Later that afternoon, the attacks happened, and she still had the audacity to text me and complain about herself. I stopped using my phone after that. 

Since then, she brings it up nonstop, and it's just annoying. It used to be nauseating, but this time it just gets on my nerves. I don't even know how to talk to her anymore... but this is what she wants. I hope for her sake she doesn't regret it.

Everything felt/feels so outlandish and surreal.

Thank the Universe Ba made it home safely and that no one I knew was physically hurt in the attacks. My blood is blessed.

Today was going really well until she fucking pissed me off. I tried to include her in the process because she's always bitching about her opinions and ideas not being taken into account and about the teachers always running shit, but then when I ask for her input she gets fucking huffy as shit. I presented my ideas and a rundown of the meeting we had, which she then shitted on. So I asked how she would do it instead. After she thought about it and told me her ideas, I critiqued them with more reasoning than the way in which she "critiqued" mine, but it pissed her off. She was getting unresponsive and shutting down in communication. Eventually she got defensive and said something like, "You're asking for my ideas but you don't like any of them." I'm asking her for the ideas because we're a fucking leadership core, and I never said I didn't like them, only that I had feedback on them that happened to not be what she wanted to hear. Andrew called her out on her behavior, basically telling her that she didn't need to be angry all the time to get her point across, that her anger was just ineffective in making change. Then that pissed her off some more and she fought back some. It ended when I asked her a question, and she refused to answer, so I walked away. After, I saw her she storm off from Andrew. Childish as fuck. Within the first days of coming home, I laid my fucking pride down to reset our friendship even though we'd both been at fault. But this time, I don't feel any need to apologize or initiate reconciliation. Because I've seen so much familial love, the way I see my friends has definitely taken a hugeass shift (for better or for worse, only time will tell). I'm not willing to put as much effort into these relationships as I did before. I'm not willing to meet anyone further than halfway anymore. I'm so burnt out of loving so unconditionally, of always making excuses for everyone, that I can't help but begin to see some friendships as disposable, this now being one of them. If she makes zero effort to fix us, then that'll be the end of it. She's been starting to look like Jenni, so I guess it's inevitable. 

He told me that despite how often she irrationally lashes out at him, he won't just drop her because he knows how much of the ground she stands on is made up of his presence and mine. Purely because of that fact, he just can't leave her and feel morally sound. He's a really good guy, and she's damn lucky she found him. Unfortunately, I don't share his moral bearing. 

And I was also sad today because I found out I wouldn't be able to donate blood for another 12 months. Fucking malaria rule. Thursday would have marked the beginning of my lifelong commitment to blood donations every 2-3 months. The attacks on Monday really hit home for me and manifested into this urgency to begin my commitment to donating now rather than later. But looks like I don't have any option but to wait now. I guess now would be the best time to get a tattoo since that'll also mark the beginning of no blood donations for 12 months.

Everything makes me melancholy, stressed, hopeless, or fleetingly happy. Today, Az's surprise email definitely made me happy, but later I remembered my scholarship apps and how I don't know how I'm gonna pay for school these next four years. It's sad to admit this but my dream school honestly has become my nightmare. The debt terrifies me, but I'm trying desperately hard to just trust that I will find a way.

Pissed

Oh my fucking goodness...she's been in this house for 60 minutes, and sadly, all I want right now is that she get the fuck out. How the hell am I supposed to get my shit done with her fucking lecturing me on how to feel about and act in my relationship with my mother?

My plans would not have become so fucking complicated and risky if she hadn't come home on a fucking Wednesday.

This house is volatile tonight. This stress is getting close to unbearable. 

Breathe

I'm gonna take a step back from my work and just vent like a little brat because I'm entitled to that much right now.

But I guess my personal disclaimer would be that I'm not unhappy...I'm actually pretty content. I'm just mad overwhelmed and running on toasted nerves.

Spent three days almost-comatose. Could barely sleep with all the pain. I don't like drugs because drugs failed me this weekend.

Dana texted me on Valentine's Day that she would call me over the weekend, but her call never came.

Lots of very bad news Tuesday morning which still bums me out, but I'm trying very hard to remember all the positive aspects of this experience, like the fact that I will feel better soon. My mouth doesn't feel like my own. I miss running my tongue over smooth backs of teeth and not feeling my gums rupture every time I smile too hard or speak too fast. I can't even talk quite normally because slurring and mushing my words together just feels softer on my mouth, but not so soft to my ego and my ears. I sound gross and silly.

I don't like taking my antibiotics. I've been to the pharmacy three days in a row, and four times in the past week. The Viet pharmacist is always helping me at pick-up, and I want him to be my friend because when I swiped my card to pay, he said, "Naaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiice," and it was a silly sound and made me happy. I have to go back again on Friday for more my mefloquine. And cancel my cipro. And get more amoxicillin maybs.

The hit and run. The man I watched run. And Co Thuy's father dying of cancer. 

All scholarships with deadlines between March 9 and April 1, I fucking have to bang out before I leave for Kampuchea and Vietnam. Dear Universe, I think I understand the word "shafted" now. Or maybe I don't. But maybe I'm close.

I'm just beginning to email and plan with Trang my Hanoi plans, but I'm already overwhelmed. She wrote back about two screens worth of gmail with suggestions and whatnot, which is fucking awesome and I'm so thankful but this shit craaaay. 17 days until Kampuchea, and 30 until I see Nguyen fam. So much to do in so little time. But thank goodness I have lovely cousins like Trang to help me plan and keep me grounded, reminding me of all the loved ones I have to look forward to seeing.

Khmer gives my ears the strangest sensation. I talked with Ba about this too, and Ba agreed. When I listen to it, I swear I'm listening to Vietnamese but can't understand any of it. It's so frigginnnn disorienting! The sounds are literally the same but in all different places. Vietnamese is probably what Khmer gibberish sounds like, and vice versa. I'm trying to learn as much as I can but it's trickaaaay and there's just so little time.

There are so many books and documentaries I'm tryna read and watch before I go but NO TIME. When I was in bed all weekend waiting out the pains, I watched S21 and grew solemn and heavy. Then I did lots of research. Then I read. Then I craved more. But I got root canal and had homework and shit to do :(

My birthday weekend feels mildly ruined before it's even begun...
- Chi Trang's coming home tonight, which I didn't expect. I worry that she'll want to take her car back and leave me unable to get my visa in Dorchie on Friday. I don't want Ba, Ma knowing that I'm going, so if she tries to drop me off at school and take the car that day, I am fuckeddd.
- Friday, Shanti's taking me out for a bit to start my 18th year on a chill note :)
- Friday night, I'ma force the family to look good for me and go out on the town.
- ^I need to plan aforementioned forced dinner party.
- Saturday at 8am I have The Root Canal Pt. 2
- Saturday morning, Jonathan's trying to have me still come in for layout when and just leave whenever I finish my pages. Sorry but fuck that, I already have enough articles and graphix to make and I don't think I'm gonna be in the best of shape after my appointment to sit around and layout pages.
- Saturday, both sisters plus possibly Drew and Truc will be home, so we'll most definitely try to spend the day going out, but layout will fuck with those plans which is why I cannot go to layout. They're coming home for me, so I'm not gonna waste their time.
- Saturday, we'll be out, and I'll still have mad errands to run to prep for my trip. I've barely gotten any necessary shopping done ggaaahhh fack fack fack
- Saturday, I wanna go to chua as a whole family and talk to an ong tai, cuong, and possibly ask for a blessing. This year is not supposed to be too lucky for me, given that snakes bite pigs.
- Sunday morning, I wanna make brunch for the fam.
- Sunday, I have at least 5 hours worth of Cambodia time that includes spinning, speaking with a genocide survivor, and going over extremely important trip details at the Snyders' house. The end of those plans also happens to overlap with the St. Mark's "mandatory" concert....fackfackfack Kate gon' keel me but I really don't want to be in, nor do I feel like I'll have the time to be if I prioritize Cambo and show up late to the rehearsal. SHIET.
- Sunday, I'll have lost time with family to all these mandatory things, unless I skip spinning and just meet up later at the Snyder's.
- I ALSO NEED TO WORK OUT DURING ALL THIS BECAUSE MY BODY'S BECOMING SAD.
- AND TIME TO DO MY WORK.
- AAAAHHHH HOW THE HELL DOES THIS HAPPEN?
- I wanted to do something cute with my homies but there's just no time to plan or do anything. I think I'll just postpone it for after I get back right before April.
- Chi Hien emailed me today asking if I had any plans for the weekend, and then I imploded onto this blog.

I'm panicking a hell lot right now while I still have an art history paper and homework to finish goddamnnnn.

I just feel mad smothered.

I'm a frail twig with the nickname "rooty" (self-proclaimed), and I feel like I'm falling apart these days--physically and mentally a bit. I just have a hell lot to do, and no room to fuck up. With the rewards I have coming my way, I need to fucking fight for them and prove that I rightfully earned them.

I had a lot of really nice conversations with Ba, Ma this weekend. We talked about ong noi, ba noi, which always makes me happy because they were the parts of me that I never knew the way I wish I could've. I never had the chance to.

The sweetest conversation with him last night until 1:30ish am. It made me happy. Poor kid won't just embrace how soft he is.

These days have been very, very strange, very unexpected, and very cray. More are coming soon. But I'm loving everything that comes my way, loving everything as best as I can.