I was almost an Astronomy major at one point.
i love ellie goulding
trying tumblr again
Ever since xanga went out of style, I’ve been missing some form of easily accessible space to pour my thoughts into on a daily basis. So let’s try this tumblr thing again. Which means I’ll have to learn how to use tumblr again, and how to find friends on tumblr again, cool.
directionless
Externally, not so much I guess. Haas business school, proud UCB student, higher chances of a secure job when I graduate, but the thought of this makes my heart stray. What I’ve wanted to do with my life is very different from the direction I’m actually going.
Somewhere, I fit in a more artistic world—at what angle, I have no idea, although I often yearn for something silly that I don’t admit out loud. If only, if only, this little girl could reach her dreams in this kind of narrow-minded world.
in a nutshell
- catherine: howd your convo w mom end?
- me: bad
- she was like go suffer and die in america
- and i was like wahhhh
- catherine: hahaha
- thats kinda funny the way you said that
- me: lol
- too bad none of its funny
what do you do when..
you can’t forgive him?
from what you remember, he used to be your hero. how he used to carry you on his shoulders so you could reach your little fingers into the sky and try to grasp the clouds, or take you out to the park and sit and wait until you were done playing in the sandbox when no one else wanted to go.
i feel sick. i feel like a criminal. a bad, bad person. where is my cage? my type shouldn’t be loose.
i can’t let go. of the moment the tender feeling of family was abruptly taken away. of the moment i got back on the plane and he just stood watching. he who would put me on his shoulders or take my hand while we crossed the street. of the moment several years later when i realized i hadn’t spoken to him once. of the moments while i tripped and stumbled over my first mistakes he wasn’t aware i had even begun to walk, and he wasn’t there to hold me and tell me it would be okay, and that that one was just a bad one, mei mei.
what hurts the most, is that he wanted to be there, though he was not. and how slowly he faded into a shell of what he used to be through his isolation, an echo of the words spoken at him. and when he caught the flu, i was too sick with my condition to try to understand, too wound up in these knots to grasp it.
and what i hate the most is not being able to let it go, after all these years. even after his condition, my condition, after recognizing it. i can’t untie the knot that bottlenecks this resentment, that allows it to sit and fester and thrive along the strands of my mind. even after we tried.
because we tried. and we tried.
what can i do?
"Life’s but a walking shadow,
a poor player, that struts
and frets his hour upon the stage,
and then is heard no more;
it is a tale told by an idiot,
full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."
a poor player, that struts
and frets his hour upon the stage,
and then is heard no more;
it is a tale told by an idiot,
full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."
— Macbeth, Shakespeare
timshel is the choice.
“The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin, and you can call sin ignorance. The King James translation makes a promise in ‘Thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word, the word timshel—‘Thou mayest’— that gives a choice. It might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a man. For if ‘Thou mayest’—it is also true that ‘Thou mayest not.’ Don’t you see?
Now, there are many millions in their sects and churches who feel the order, ‘Do thou,’ and throw their weight into obedience. And there are millions more who feel predestination in ‘Thou shalt.’ Nothing they may do can interfere with what will be. But ‘Thou mayest’! Why, that makes a man great, that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win.”
-Lee, East of Eden
This book changed my life.
"
When a child first catches adults out—when it first walks into his grave little head that adults do not have divine intelligence, that their judgements are not always wise, their thinking true, their sentences just—his world falls into panic desolation. The gods are fallen and all safety gone.
And there is one sure thing about the fall of gods: they do not fall a little; they crash and shatter or sink deeply into green muck. It is a tedious job to build them up again; they never quite shine. And a child’s world is never quite whole again.
It is an aching kind of growing.
"— Steinbeck 20. East of Eden
