A little thought

I think the phrase "just like a dream" holds a lot of truth. Something too good for our meager realities to conjure up, too vivid to encounter anywhere but in deep sleep. I guess our subconscious minds live a much more exciting life than their conscious counterparts. After all, most of their nights end in a blur, like a binge, a purge. It's lost memory, lost time, a lingering moment that stains the tip of my tongue with desire.

It's worse when I can't tell them apart. When these worlds bleed into each other. I wake up in a cold sweat because it can't be true, its not real.

All these thoughts are better during the day. Light is the best medicine, I take it in pills, I should know.

So when you get down on one knee, the tepid air goes frigid and I can't help but think of how impossible, physically, that is. Heat is always a trade - how can it just disappear? Did it fill the void that my disdain for you had drilled into my heart? Did it drive this ill conceived attempt to bind two sad, dreary people together? Why am I sweating when it is so so cold?

I suppose with perspective, I can see what you were going for. But if you could see with perspective you would understand me, a least a bit. Because there is some chance that these lights are romantic, soft, sensual, the kind of lighting that whispers words like ambiance and murmur. But under a thin spread of negativity, cynicism, temper, doubt - take your pick - is the dimness, the lackluster, the stale, contrived attempt at atmosphere.

You are talking but I don't listen. I think you are lying, that's all. Nothing personal, I just don't love you. Which I suppose is sad but nothing that should come as a surprise.

If I had said no to you, the first, second, third date, this would be easier. Why I don't tell the truth, I don't know. What I do know is that it has made me bitter at you, because you can't understand a yes from a no, or a goodbye from hello.

I guess it isn't your fault either, that you could not see in me, a friend or a foe.

Sometimes

Sometimes I want to change up my blog but I don't know how and I just plain don't want to. Man I suck.

Went to dinner with Mr. Brown today. It was nice, really, it was. I ordered some steak w/e it was bad. I'm sorry I DON'T LIKE BIG CHUNKS OF MEAT UGH. I've tried it and now I'm moving on from it. And apparently, it was good meat, so....guess it is just personal taste.

I'm getting scared now. I saw where I was living, saw the atmosphere, everything, the neighborhood, I don't know...It's so scary, now that I think about it. I won't be home anymore. There won't be things to eat whenever I'm hungry. There won't be someone I can talk to when I need to. No one will peel me oranges or wash me grapes when I'm studying like a banshee. No one will tuck me in and check if my windows are locked and closed. No one will do my laundry and remember which is my favourite shirt without me having to tell them. I won't have anyone dragging me on walks. There will be no more random trips to anywhere. No one will tell me to go to sleep. No one will make me sugar water and bring me bananas and advils when I can't walk from cramps.

Maybe I should have grown up sooner, because that would make this so much easier. Because then, I would be stepping into bigger shoes, rather than being thrown into them.

I hope I can fill them...

I could go on...

No more wake up calls, or drives to school. No more feeling if I have a fever. No more asking permission to go anywhere. No one will be waiting for me to come home from school.

Mommy I think I will miss you coming into my room in the morning and opening my windows the most. Because no matter how many friends or awards or gifts or clothes or whatever I have, nothing will be able to replace the comfort of being waken up by you.

I'm really scared, but I guess I have to go...

High School 2

I am drinking some Tropicana Orange juice...

Fruit juice in China is something special...You are lucky if it says "30% real fruit nectar!" on the label.

I went to Ikea today. I think that place has a very good business model. Don't cheat your customers. Charge enough to make a living, and enough to respect their living. Always keep thinking.

I bought 2 ice trays today. One was in the shape of little fish. The other was in the shape of rods. I also got my laundry hamper. It is one of those floppy folding ones...I don't need anything fancy.

My favourite part of today was looking at all the bedding. They have some really beautiful bedspreads...I'm particularly attracted to the flowery ones...but that's just me haha. There was a white bedspread with pink buds and green vines...it was so lush and dainty...possible!

My mommy said she had blankets for me already, so I could just pick a cover... It kind of makes me sad, that she's preparing for me leaving. It's depressing that my family is going to change once I move out, and it's all because of me. Someone told me a kid that leaves comes back differently - I guess we'll wait and see.

I'm submerging cherries in my orange drink. Theres an ice rod that I made from the ikea ice trays... Trying to cool down the cherries with the laws of thermodynamics. Y'know, heat lost = heat gained, yadda yadda yadda. Cherries float.

It is working.

I was thinking about high school today, after leaving ikea. Mandy said she bought her pots and pans there earlier. You know, I can barely remember my last days of high school. They don't really exist in my mind, and that is kind of sad. I remember my last exam, Law, and the anticlimatic spirit that went with it. The girls + Tony went to the mall, and then we ate noodles at my house. That was a sweet moment, but not from the school... I remember going back for report cards, but no one's heart was there... I guess it isn't amazing that there's been such a loss of affinity for a place that I loved so so so much. It's just the natural course, and I'm sorry Mr Brown but you were so right. I will always be looking at my high school days from the hindsight. I tried thinking about sitting in a classroom, back in those history/language rooms...it's far away already.

At my last cherry.

I like my cherries (make that apples, grapes, peaches, almost every fruit...and veggie...cept eggplant...no actually, even eggplant mmm.......) like my men: firm, fresh and sweet. Women too...haha...

I'm just thinking... Maybe if we never said anything to anyone that should get the response "did I ask?" we never really get to know anyone.

Do the things people say make them interesting? Or are the things people say interesting because of who they are?

I was thinking today...

I've known Mandy for 5 years...Sally for 5...Cassie for 5...Evgeny I can remember since elementary school...those pretty curls
I've known Tony when he was a little ESL kid, when he used to call me his sister..
Grace, you've haunted me since grade 2..
Billy...3 years...hey not bad buddy..
Alice...the first friend I made in a while
Harry, I hope we stay friends...you gave me so much confidence in myself

Who am I going to carry into the next portion of my life..
Who will I leave behind?
Or worse, who will leave me..

I am an easy girl.
An extra smile, a kind word, please..
That lingering moment
I'll see you all again in my dreams
Sitting around my locker
Number 333.

Christina Perri

Here:

The Lonely

Arms

Penguin

Tragedy

Jar of Hearts

Jar of Hearts:

Don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore?
I lost the love I loved the most.

I learned to live half-alive.
And now you want me one more time.

Arms:

I never thought you would be the one to hold my heart.

You put your arms around me,
And I believe that it's easier for you to let me go.
You put your arms around me,
And I'm home.

How many times will you let me
Change my mind and turn around?

I can't decide if I'll let you save my life
Or if I'll drown.

I hope you can see right through my walls
I hope you can catch me, cause I'm already falling

I'll never let my love get so close
You put your arms around me and
I'm home.

The world is coming down and
I can't find a reason to be loved

I never want to leave you
But I can't make you bleed if I'm alone.

I tried my best to never let you in
To see the truth
I never opened up
I've never truly loved
Till you

Put your arms around me...

Some Thoughts

1) When did you become my _________. I don't even know what to call you, other than close.

2) Deep down in my heart, I really want to connect with other people. I dunno why it's so hard for me, but when it's easy, it is SO easy...

3) Something is changing in the air.

4) I've made my choice. Cons: expensive, difficult, isolated. Pros: it settles like a feather in my heart.

5) Thank you for seeing me. I could cry from the contact.

6) I sometimes feel censored by myself, which is stupid.

7) Today was a very happy day.

8) I'm feeling confident.

9) I'll ask you someday.

10) This is number 10.

11) I don't have much to say about you. It's a fine line, I suppose, but we'll walk it for now, because it's hard to imagine anything else.

Title

Wonder how this is gonna go down

let's see.......

Lessons

Inspirational Quote

I hope I never forget this, as long as I live:

"You can't face your problems if your problem is your face."

"You can't face your problems if your problem is your face."

"You can't face your problems if your problem is your face."

"You can't face your problems if your problem is your face."

Happy Easter

I want to tell you about the time before I started keeping track of the days. I always thought getting older meant becoming more efficient, like a well-tuned machine. But after a while, I let that go, because it didn't make sense. The more we use something, the worse it works.

I guess we get better with age, but I haven't taken enough time to taste the days. I don't know much about wine, but you always liked to drink on the weekends. "To cleanse the palate", you would say.

"Alcoholic!" I'd say back, taking the bottle away from you.

I never really liked the taste, even way back, during Sunday services, when I used to go. I was a little woman-girl, in my itchy grey Sunday dress, but my youth did not stop the glass from being passed my way. It always burned going down, but not as much as the taste of religion being thrust down my throat.

We left the church, after my brother died in the army. My mother did not believe God could do that to her, take her baby boy. They still call me sometimes, tell me I can still be saved. They say there's even hope for my mother, but that is where I stop listening. "She's not crazy like you think she is," I want to tell them. "She's not crazy like you."

Of course, I don't.

You like my mother, I can tell. "So what," you said, defensive.

"Nothing, it's nice."

We were together for a while before you gave me a plastic egg. There were chocolates inside, and you told me to find the rest of them inside your apartment. "I don't celebrate Easter," I said.

"Humour me," You said back.

I played your little game. There was a green egg under the couch, with blue M&Ms in it, your favourite kind. I thought it was stupid, they all tasted the same.

"You don't understand," you always sighed.

I found a blue one in your turtle's tank, filled with a teaspoon of powdery brown nuggets. I fed them to your turtles, Franklin and Raphael. "You see those red patches on their heads? Raphael always wore a red headband and Franklin always had a red hat. There's a reason for everything," you replied matter-of-factly, when I asked you about there names.

"Oh shut up Buddha."

There was a yellow egg in your prized fifth grade baseball trophy, which you won for being the "most improved player". I used to laugh at you: "That just means you went from sucking really badly to just sucking a little."

I moved to the bathroom, and found a pink egg sitting on top of a pile of pink clothes. "I can't believe you ruined all your white shirts!" I had yelled at you, when you told me what you had done.

"Ughh, it's not my fault..."

"How is it not? What are you going to wear now?!" You ended up wearing a pink dress shirt to my cousin Annie's wedding. Then I took you shopping, to fix your new rose petal wardrobe.

"Where in the WORLD did you find pink M&Ms?" I yelled from the bathroom, when I opened the egg.

"Secret. Keep looking."

"Where are you?" I said, checking in the bathtub.

"Secret. Focus!"

I move into the kitchen, and find a purple egg on the counter, with a paper inside. "Look in the fridge." I read out loud. I open the fridge, and was greeted with an open carton of eggs.

G O T O B E D R O O M ! spelled the dozen eggs, Sharpie letters on delicate shells.

I run to the bedroom, and of course, you're waiting. You hand me a large egg shaped like a baby chick. It is light, and I open it.

There is a paper inside.

"Being with you can be EGGS-hausting sometimes. You EGGS-amine everything I say and do. You can be downright EGG-asperating. You even EGGS-ploit me to do your bidding. However, most of the time, I can EGGS-cuse your faults. In the end, being with you is EGGS-hilierating, EGG-citing, EGGS-travagant, EGG-cellent. You are the only one I want to EGG-perience life with.

P.S. I hope I never have to call you my EGGS-girlfriend."



Happy Easter.

Panda

It's nice like this...I wouldn't mind this a little longer.

Weather is gross but that's alright. I've got boots. :3

Don't buy salads from Mcdonalds. It's not worth it.

Treat yourself every once in a while. Makes a big difference.



Okay that's it I think.

Okay

I guess to every guy, their girl is beautiful.

Trying to see what it's like.

Huh...it's so hard for me to see things from someone else's eyes. I'm really trying. I see people and I want to know what it's like to be them.

I can't imagine it...I was getting pretty good at one point. I could try to put myself where they were sitting on the bus and imagine what it's like to be looking around. Wonder who they are...................


Anyways.

Parents are pushing me. Eh...

What did I want to say. Hope when I love a boy I am mature enough to see that he is the most beautiful. Hope I grow out of this...

I'm kind of sleepy. Just wanted to make some goals, I guess.

1) stop murmuring.

I think that's my only goal.

2) be strong.

nvm, just two for today. I told you I had so many questions.

You said you could answer them for me, but I knew you didn't want to.

It's okay. Didn't need that from you.

I think I'm going to find this out for myself.

Okay I'm done, prematurely per usual. Good night. :3

Photo

When I first arrived, I attended a community college. I practiced a trade, got a job. The first few months were good. I went out a lot, spent the money I made at night on dinners and drinks, then made it back during the day. I never went on dates - but the girls understood. They'd smile when I told them about her, the girl waiting back home. It's such a romantic idea.

Nothing lasts.

The rest of my money went to buying gifts. When I went out, we would go to malls and markets and fairs. I would see things - little lanterns, pink pencils, delicate rings, hand mirrors, picture frames. I knew her well enough to know what she would love them. So I bought them for her. I filled a drawer with these little things, then moved on to a second one.

Then threw them all out, after it all fell apart.

The only thing I saved was a photograph of us and the scarf. These were the only things I had before I left, the only things that still had a whisper of naivety.

It was a picture of us, at a zoo. I had taken her there in the summer time, so we could see the pandas. Even the Chinese have to wait, to see their own national treasures.

She looked like a baby that day. Hair in pigtails, wearing pastels and sneakers. I have to admit, I was slightly afraid to touch her, to kiss her. I didn't want anyone to mistake me for a pedophile. People have irrational fears, when they are not afraid for their lives.

She had a new camera - a present for herself, after long days at the bank. She took pictures of everything, all the animals, people with their kids walking along the paths. I laughed at the number of pictures she had of me, covering my face, hiding from the lens.

We - mostly she - tried to take pictures of ourselves together. She wanted one with the pandas, but it was too hard to get us all in the shot. "Let's ask someone to take it for us," she said, cheerfully.

"I don't know..." I said. "What if they take your camera?" I joked, half serious. China...haha...did not have the best track record with thieves.

"You are so negative. People are mostly good." With that, she walked over to the nearest person, a guy standing by a trash can. He followed us over, and nodded as she told him how to use the camera.

"Smile!" he said. "Let me take another one. This one was too close. You can't see the pandas." Slowly, he backed away, a step at a time. A step too far.

"Hey!" I shouted, as he turned and ran away. I started to chase him, but she held me back. "Let me go! I told you this would happen, he just stole your camera!"

"Yeah, and now he's gone. Don't worry. It's okay." She smiled, but it just made me angry. How dare he?

We left after that. She tried to cheer me up on the way home, but it was a moot point. I could have killed him for doing that to her. All the extra hours she worked, all the weekends she couldn't go out. She wasn't even mad. I don't know if that made it worse.

A few weeks later, she rang my doorbell, then ran in. "Look what came in the mail!"

She handed me an open envelope, and there were pictures - pictures of us at the zoo. I looked her, dumbfounded. "...What?" I gaped, like a fish out of water. "How...?"

"Here, read this, read this!" She pulled out a piece of paper from the envelope.

"Here are the photographs from the day I met you at the zoo. I'm sorry I took the camera - I needed the money. I hope this way, you can forgive me. You two looked really happy that day. I hope you stay like that. Sorry again."

"What the fuck?" I said. "How did he know your address?!"

"From this!" She handed me another photo. It was a picture of her, holding a sign.

I read it out loud. "Hello, my name is 安春 (Anchūn). This is my camera! If you have found it, please return the data card so I can have the pictures inside. The camera itself is yours! That is your reward for finding it! Thank you! :)"

My mind is blank. She smiled at me, waiting for my response, but I didn't know what to say. "...You make me speechless."

"I know. Anyways, here." She shuffles through the pictures, to the last one in the pile. "You can have this one. It's my favourite." It's the picture of us, by the pandas. The boy lied. You can see them perfectly, behind the glass fence. We do look happy.

She smiles. "Now I have to go to work. Have to save up again, for another camera."

When I left, she still didn't have enough for it, so that was the only picture we ever took together. I would have bought her another one, but all my money went to my plane ticket, to take me away from her.

Let me tell you now: it wasn't worth it.

Cemetery

I talk about her as if she is dead, but to be honest, I really don't know.

She could be. That is a possibility, but it is something I doubt. I don't know. She could have been hit by a car. Could have been struck down with cancer. There are so many horrible things that could have happened to her. It doesn't matter.

I know she is alive. Living. Without me.

It's just me, leaving stones to trace my steps, so her ghost can find me. It's just me, marking her grave along the edges of my memories. I bury her, these traces, in this cemetery, all in an effort to keep her alive.

I left China with almost nothing. Rather, nothing of real importance. I had clothes, shoes, money, whatever. I threw those in a suitcase and didn't look back as they were carried away by a conveyor belt. The important things, I kept on my body.

"It's colder there," she said to me. "This is for you." She handed me a little bag.

"Thanks."

"Here, lemme help you open it!" She tore into the bag, digging through the tissue paper flowers that I could tell, took her the night to make. She always liked opening presents, whether they were hers or not. "Lean forward!" she commanded, as she wrapped the present around my neck. "I knit this for you," she smiled proudly. "Wear it and think of me! Now, go, you have to catch your plane."

I hugged her one last time. I wanted to cry, leaving her like this, smelling so sweet, feeling so soft. "I love you," I said to her.

"Mm," she replied back. "Now go, stupid. You're always late!" I laughed and started to walk away.

"Oh!" she shouted, "Wait!" I turn back and she's smiling at me, sweetly, proudly. "If you even look at another girl, the scarf will kill you in a second. Don't even think about it!"

I should have went back, kissed her. That might have made a difference. I should have ran back, and told her that it would never happen. I should have visited, should have stayed.

Sometimes, we dig our own graves.

Spring

I eat the quail. It is a small victory, throwing stones at the ghosts that haunt me. It is cold now, a little slimy, but still palatable. I arrange the bones into a little pile. It looks like firewood.

I want to set them on fire, let the marrow burn, and then eat the ashes. I want to get rid of the evidence of my past.

These ghosts are unfazed by my efforts.

I guess part of it is my fault. I won't let myself forget.

This is the story.

There was a girl. I suppose I could describe her, but it is not worth the effort. She was beautiful to me. I don't want to talk about her heart, because that is something she gave to me, and who am I to give it away so easily.

I will keep her to myself, as much as I can. This is how I keep her alive.

Her name was 安春 (Anchūn)...quiet spring. Her birthday was in May, after the rain stopped and just before the flowers came in. The persimmon trees would grow fragrant, and she would hold my hand and revel in the light air. She used to laugh with me, keeping true to her namesake. The epitome of quiet grace.

Our English teacher used to call her Ann. She was always first in role call. Silly girl - English was never her strong subject, but she spoke more than anyone else in the room. The teacher would shake his head and laugh with us, with her - who could resist.

Her father used to call her 小公主 (Xiǎo gōngzhǔ) - little princess. He was the village's school teacher. In elementary school, we would stay in his classroom, cleaning boards for pieces of white rabbit candy. He cried when we went on to middle school, and left him behind.

When her mother was in a good mood, her name was 春春, Chunchun. When she was angry, I could barely make out the words coming out of her mouth. In high school, we would come back from the city to visit, and sit in her kitchen. She would laugh at her mother, flitting from every corner of the room, cleaning, cooking, speaking to other mothers on the phone. Her mother liked me. She would pinch my cheeks and tell me how good looking I've grown, and pat my head to thank me for helping her wash the dinner dishes.

I suppose if she had a younger brother or sister, they would have called her 大姐姐 (Dà jiějie), older sister. She used to tell me her regrets, at night, and thank me for being her friend. The emptiness of growing up alone breeds hopeless children. China's one-child policy saves the day, she used to proclaim bitterly. "What do I do then, when my parents are gone, and the house is dark and empty?"

"You have me," I would say.

"What if I didn't?"

To me, she was lovingly dubbed, 鹌鹑 (Ānchún) - quail. Our English teacher used to teach us homonyms, synonyms, antonyms...I still cannot tell them apart. Anyways, one of them is about words that sound the same but have different meanings. To the Westerners, everything we say sounds the same. But to us, there are nuances, lifts and falls - four types of them.

She could tell the difference between the spring and the bird, and she would complain. "Why a quail? What a weak bird!"

"They're delicate. Small like you. And they taste good." I tried to kiss her, and she leaned forward.

"In your dreams!" She pushed me away and ran, pretending to be mad.

But I could tell she wasn't. She liked the name just as much as I did, and I kept calling her that, my little bird.

On her birthday, I would take her out and order a table-full of quails. She'd pick them apart with her little hands, and joke about cannibalism.

It is almost her birthday again. I wonder how she will celebrate. I wonder if she will think of me.

I don't say her name out loud anymore. It doesn't do any good to call it out. It escapes my lips and it loses a little meaning each time.

These memories, like her, are slowly flying away from me.

These memories, like me, are slowly losing their way.

Dragons

I get into the van. "DRAGON HEATING & CONSTRUCTION" covers the side of it. I don't know why the Chinese like dragons. Monsters don't make me feel very lucky.

Max is driving. He is a good driver - I'm better, but today, I am too distracted. He knows that, and I am thankful that I don't have to say a word.

He is like a brother to me.

"Do you want to come out with us tonight?" he says when we get to my apartment building. "We're going out with a few girls from college. You could meet someone."

I laugh at him. "C'mon, don't joke. I don't want to come. Thanks for the ride." I get out of the car, and start to walk away from him.

"Hey!" he calls, rolling down the van's window. "Stop! Jesus, I know what you're going to do tonight. Just give up. There's nothing you can do, so why torture yourself?"

I freeze. "Shut up." I say.

"Ugh, you shut up, stop being so stubborn. She's not here. You're not going to find her. She probably forgot about you the second you stepped on that plane. Who would wait 5 years? Tell me, who?!"

I can't look at him. The day is too bright. There is too much spring air. I can't find any reasons to breathe.

"Please, I'm begging you. Just one night. You'll have fun."

"No." I hear him sigh.

"I swear to God, why do you have to hold on to her? You live here now. This is your life, this is your home, so grow up and accept it. She doesn't care about you. Don't you think she would have written to you? She could have called, or emailed. But she didn't. Fuck, I bet she's married with a kid already, and you are still mooning over her like a high school boy."

I look at him. He thinks this means I'm giving in. "You know I'm right. Come on, let's go. We're meeting them at six."

My hands clench in my pockets, around something soft and warm. I regret everything I have ever done in my life, because it all led up to this moment in time. I curse Max, for being the only person in the world who knows how I feel, and for being practical enough to try to change me.

Max is waiting for my response. I give it to him:

"Fuck you."

And then I run as fast as I can, like the coward I am, and watch him leave through the lobby window. I see the dragon on the back of the van, and wish my own demons would disappear just as quickly.

I make my way up to my apartment, on the 4th floor (sorry mother, that was the only floor available). I want to sit on my bed and cry. Max was right - I haven't grown up. I don't care.

Anger is anger, emotion is emotion. This is what I feel, and these April-May days just make it worse.

I am almost shaking when I make it to my bed, my head full of the words he said, my heart heavy with their meaning. I put my head in my hands. They are wet, but not with tears. They are slicked with a brown, salty liquid. I remember.

The quail.

The rooms fills with the scent, and I want to choke. I'm nauseous, dizzy. It reminds me of my home, my real home, and the girl I left behind. I cry, because I hate this stupid bird, for reducing me to nothing. I look up, for something, anything, to save me or kill me or tell me what I want to hear.

Mother, where are you? I am on my knees.

Why did you send me here?

There is nothing here for me.

Quail

I'm working today. That's good. These kind of days just make me regret leaving.

We're in a rich house today, per usual. I change windows, I insulate attics, I replace furnaces - parents warn their children about having futures like mine. It makes them want to study, so they have something more, because I am worthless to them.

It makes me cynical. It makes me want to chip their marble floors.

"Are we done?" I say to Max, who's manning the machine today.

"Yeah, right after I finish this room. Can you get the toolbox from the kitchen?"

"Okay." I walk out of the room, down the stairs. There are old bedspreads and table cloths spread along the floor like a runway. It's kind of nice, having a path to walk on, but I'd rather steal the sheets and use them at home. Not home. I don't know.

"We're almost done," I tell the woman in the kitchen. She smiles at me, old eyes.

"Would you like something to eat?" She says. Her dialect is a little different than mine, but I can understand her.

"No, it's okay. We're leaving soon. We'll be finished tomorrow," I say, suddenly shy. "Thank you," I add quickly. I can't forget my manners.

"Please, please, don't be bashful. Sit, eat. I am making quail. Or if you have to leave, take one for you and your friend." She tutters around the kitchen. "I will wrap it for you then."

I laugh a little to myself. Quail - expensive meat. These Chinese mothers - sharp tongues and soft hearts. I let her work - she reminds me of my mother.

"You remind me of my son," she says, taking out the aluminum foil. She wraps two quails carefully. "He's in university now. So tall, like you." She looks at me. I feel ten years old again, in the kitchen, watching my mother chop vegetables. She used to feed me pieces of pork and chicken. I want to cry.

Max comes in. There is a God.

"I'm done, let's go."

"Alright." I walk out behind him, halfway to the door.

"Wait, take these," she comes after me. "You need meat. You need to grow."

The sight of them makes me sad, for more reasons than one. I stuff them into my pockets.

"Thank you. See you tomorrow."

She smiles.

I miss you all.

My Life

I don't really blame them for calling me street rat or looking at me with angry eyes. Not like I make that much of an impression anyways. My parents always told me to "save face", but that's only for people who can afford it.

Only for people who care to afford it.

I get by. I have enough for food, for apartment rent. It's not really a home, not really a hotel. Definitely not a hotel. No one changes my sheets when I'm out - I'm lucky to have sheets at all, haha.

I'm not really bitter. Maybe a little. Maybe it pisses me off when I see those houses with crystal chandeliers and vases of real flowers, when I can barely afford cigarettes.

Some of the other guys steal from these people, but I don't see the point. Money maybe, but my mother always said beggars and thieves were just lazy people, who didn't want to work. I won't disappoint her in becoming one.

I've already done enough.

Besides, these rich families have nothing I need. I get by okay.

That's about all I do.

The way it looks, that's about all I'll ever do.

Happy New Year

Happy New Year. Lol.

Wanted to write but...got distracted. Maybe tomorrow.