靜心湖

It is past noon. A cool breeze sends shivers down the green water’s surface, different ripples criss-crossing in infinite directions. On one side of the lake the sun reflects itself, dancing like a fire at night. The birds sing, hidden away in the trees that have yet to shrivel and shy away from winter’s touch. Only a single one of these winged creatures makes its way across the sky, flying alongside the wind on this cloudless day. I’ve come to realize that this this lake is completely man-made: we’d dug the lake, filled it with water, and planted trees around them, thus attracting the wildlife that makes the music here. The only exception is the wind -- the trees still sing with each gust, and the water still rocks itself in unrest. The wind is the spirit of this lake, the one that brings here action. When the leaves scratch one another and the water splashes against itself, propelling the mallards to the vastness of this place… I see that the wind brings new oxygen to the lake and keeps the cycle of life here fresh and eternal. In a nearly controlled environment, wind is capriciousness, the reason for the differences we see each and every day. Without it, stillness will show its man’s vulnerability without nature: the same, the same, the same.

..connie..

Mightier

The words of a wise diplomat echo in my head that the pen is mightier than the sword, and the way I see it is that your mind shouldn’t be going to war with itself. Yes, some of today’s pens have adapted to have flashlight functions -- to emit their own light -- yet swords can only capture the rays from the Sun and reflect them outwards -- taking unoriginal ideals and being forced to stand for them. The moment I first held a pen I felt frustration. You couldn’t erase the marks… What would others say of my mistakes? For the longest time I resorted to the magic that was white-out, but realized how ugly it made my work: ripped, bumpy, and deliberate. But over time, I got over the fear of judgement and discovered its possibilities: the freedom of expression and peace of mind it induced, despite a period of unremitting doubt -- an internal battle in the process.

Of all the stories, a family favorite is one of me writing about a particular Chinese idiom: two characters on the beach fight over a toy, only to have it taken by a third. Before my perception of the world became as tainted as it is today, I penned freely, and one peculiarity was that the story mentioned above, as well as those about an enchanted forest, running away, and digging holes, were all children of my own mind -- and not reinventions of them after being girded by a bracelet of glass that shattered my impression of creativity and wonder. Never thinking the time would actually come, I sank to an especially low point when I was made to believe the only purpose of the pen was to please and satisfy others.

4th grade began, and every afternoon for three months was spent wracking my brain for ideas: what I’d do with a million dollars, a person who changed my life, why I thought Barack Obama would be re-elected… These “daily essays” were meant to foster innovation and critical thinking, but for me they turned into dread lingering in the back of my mind. It became a chore, these classes, and I quickly lost interest in the one thing that brought me solace in times of metaphorical recession and drought. Slowly, I began to accept this notion on writing: that it was a learned skill with a specific formula. Drained from the inhibiting and forced imagination, I searched for a way out, trashing pens regardless of their value, and resorting to violent quakes inside my brain that I refused to let escape.

I found years later that running away and giving in to the controlling sword was a solution for the cowardly, and the accumulated feelings from hiding were the most hindering of them all. Like a dammed river, my natural beauty was stripped away, but the moment I opened my eyes and saw the man-made construct that held my inborn faculties back, I knew my freedom had to be retrieved. I took up the pen once again after giving up on myself for so long, and it didn't matter to me anymore who was reading and what their opinions were. 

A realization and sudden impetus made the world stop shaking; a pencil case full of new colors and possibilities made me turn around and press on. Because I'd chosen to come through rocks lodged in Mount Everest, the permanence of pen marks no longer bothered me. They depict my journey from naive to expressive creativity, from a child who spilled her jumbled mind on paper to the girl who now realizes its importance at the time. They were the embodiment of my ambition, my potential, and now finally my perseverance. I can now say I am persistent in reaching my goals, and in changing myself because I have the power to. The sloping letters I make with what can't be dissolved are the heights I can reach and all the things I hope to do; they are a fortune of gold, and worth more than external forces ever will be. The pen is mightier than the sword: it's a rather satisfying sensation to not have to fight yourself for what you believe. I realized my writing, my pen, was mine, and at last I let the swords dull and the voices fade away.

..connie..

I've been on the brink so

My mom is the pencil because she always write.

My dad is the textbook because she he is smart

My sister is the sharpener because she always bite me

My grandma is the money because she is brave

My grandpa is the water bottle because he like to drink water

My Aunt is the bonus sticker because she always like to laugh

I am the eraser because I am small

///////

my mom is nothing

my dad is nothing

my sister is nothing

my grandma is dead to me

my grandpa is nothing

my aunt is nothing

i

am

EVERYTHING 1!!

..connie..

some shit i'm going to do!!1!!1!11!!!

Well I had a long and deep post I was too lazy to finish yesterday so until I do that, here are some "goals" for next year's English class (hope you find them useful... LOL).

In English class last year, I felt that my analytical reading and essays were the most lacking in skills. Based on these areas of needed improvement, I’ve created three specific goals for English 10 Honors.

1. I want to be able to understand difficult works faster. I am a very slow reader, even if the text is easy sometimes -- much slower than my peers. 
2. I want to be more organized in writing my analytical essays. Often, my ideas are scattered in my brain and it takes a while to organize my thoughts.
3. I want to be more engaged in class. A lot of times, I don’t raise my hand because I really don’t know what to say, but I do want to learn, and I can’t do that without being active in class and thinking at all times.

To achieve my goals, I feel that I need to start by reading more. My ultimate goal is to be able to form complex thoughts faster, and I need to read for that. I want to set aside a time for reading: other books of literary merit, books that the regular classes read, and even books that I simply find interesting. This not only broadens the areas I can analyze, but also expands my vocabulary. I will ask the teacher for recommendations as well. Next, I will practice brainstorming and outlining for various topics. Essays, whether take-home or on demand, require you to come up with ideas quickly (some times more quickly than others), and after an SAT class that asked us to write one SAT essay each week, I’ve discovered that practicing brainstorming is the key to thinking faster. One last thing I could do is learn the many “forms” of essays. I know that there’s no real format for essays, but that the most “basic” they teach you since elementary school is the 5-paragraph essay. I want to learn different ways of organizing information, so when I come across a certain topic I will have many ways to present an analysis of it. Right now, I really only have one way, and sometimes it doesn’t always work, so it’s always great to have options.

My greatest hope this year is to accomplish more than I ever have in English class. It’s always been a “boring” and “easy” class for me, but I’ve realized there’s more value in learning than I previously thought. I was always trying to show people that I was more than the Asian stereotype. Studying wasn’t the only thing I could do! But that resulted in me having too much fun and too many responsibilities outside of the classroom. I’ve realized that a balance and a bridge between the two sides of myself I want to keep must be built. Instead of rejecting my intellectual side, because it’s also a side of my personality, I need to let it grow. And I mustn’t neglect my creative side of leadership either -- instead, I should connect the two and use them together to become the best version of myself.

My greatest fear, on the other hand, is losing motivation. I’ve told myself all of the above every single year, but this year is when it’s felt the most strongly. However, I still feel that I will not be able to accomplish this: sharpening my faculties and using them to benefit everything I do, whether for myself or for others. I fear that I will stop and ask myself one day, “What’s the point of all this? I don’t have to make life this hard. I can just choose one side.” But just as the many faces of the American Dream, I know I need to find myself. This year is the first step in doing so. I fear that because of a slip in grades I will give up. I fear that a sudden interest in something I will probably soon forget will distract me from this goal I’ve been reflecting upon for the whole summer. I fear that I won’t be able to do anything I say I am going to do. But now, I just think of tomorrow. Not next month, and definitely not next year. Slowly, bathed in the support of all the people around me, I know I will begin to see changes.

(it was an assignment, by the way..... second day of school so of course i took it seriously)

..connie..

Jack-In-The-Box

I don't feel like sleeping or writing so here's something old.

When observed, it seems unreal, but when found, love is a gift -- an intangible Jack-in-the-box that never ceases to surprise. It is the most multi-faceted emotion, and when experienced with different individuals or groups can be encumbering or a joy, intense or gray. Seeming to be the driving force behind human nature, love is what propels us to dive into the ocean at midnight, or hibernate for winters with the bears. Because people care so much for an individual or group (love takes many forms, and one can love one or many), anything they do is significant and will cause a reaction from the lover. A cheater is present in a relationship, and since love is present, the one who was cheated on feels hurt and acts in retaliation. If the love is not there, there will be no response. Further, love is built by spontaneity and excitement, and is not true until it does not stop. Like a traditional Jack-in-the-box, it can be rewound and not require new batteries to keep going on. The jester popping out of the box is like the little fireworks in love -- the sparks that fly when a relationship develops significantly, such as the marriage of a couple or the protection of a mother for her child. Love is not a formula, is not constant, but continues forever if it is pure.

..connie..

I Am A Dangerous Place

Long time no update :P Enjoy~

I am a dangerous place --
Don’t come near!
A diplomat,
My children never settle.

Joy is withering
Resilience, barely there

I am a sky
Blue, forever and ever
Loud and thunderous
And masked by sweet marshmallow clouds

Fear is my alarm clock
Pretension, creeping up

But now the sunshower follows like Camille,
And I am a cactus in a swamp:
Concentrated,
In a dangerous place --
Don’t come near!

..connie..

ugly broken heart

More poetry... Wow, am I really that bored? 

Hahah seriously though... I have so much homework... And a biology test tomorrow... What am I doing?

i feel as the paper thin hospital gown you wear,

insignificant and unwanted but always there.

i feel as the one occasionally emerging from her shadow,

when in reality she lives in mine, post-recovery from an all time low.

why are you here again?

as i thought.

ailing,

over an ugly broken heart.

..connie..

jump rope rhyme #13

I've been really into poetry lately. And just beautiful things, I guess. Here is "jump rope rhyme #13" -- the counterpart to Spiky's "NOTHING" (see previous post).

don't know exactly how it happened,

by the wishing well.

we stood our ground and fought like hell and

until our arms fell down.

don't act like you don't see it now since 

Momma left this town.

she'd birthed you so you'd grow up caring

but now you've made her cry.

don't even get me started on Dad for

you are still his princess.

he'd say, "Hey, sweetie, how was your day?" 

and you'd just look away.

and now it's time for me myself

to take the chance and stand

above your words, the highest shelf

and make my entrance grand.

..connie..

NOTHING

Hey guys :) It's been a long time since I've posted anything of worth on here so I just took my friend Spiky's poem for English class.

A dog, a cat, a bug, a frog, baboons,

They like to eat potatoes during noon.

A horse, a cow, a moose, a goose, a bat,

They like to wear pajamas with a hat.

A man, a lad, a boy, a girl, a thug,

They like to go all crazy eating drugs.

My brain is stuck inside a little box,

When I am bored I always throw my clock.

When time is running fast my clock goes "tick,"

I'm sure I'll give you dollars worth of "this."

*Spiky: So I was drunk and wrote this on 3 AM so this poem is shittt.

..connie..

the Late 紅包

I came to a realization this morning.

Yes, yes. I had another outburst. It wasn't as bad as the last one in December and the word "outburst" makes me sound so pretentious but it's not like I care. I've never cared about what people thought of me, and I still don't. But I do care about other people.

So much that I often forget to care about myself.

I don't think I was even angry today.

I just broke. 

I shouted fluent sentences without my voice cracking even once.

My brain moved as fast as my mouth -- something that rarely happens.

Ever.

I wasn't going to write about the Late 紅包 until he came home, but it looks as though that's not going to happen any time soon.

I'm not sad, or worried, really, because I didn't know him. 

My cousin had run away from home just a few days before Chinese New Year's Eve -- the day we all got together, brought down the circular table from upstairs, and gambled with pennies until midnight. 

So that night, his whole family didn't show at my grandparents' house.

He's in his third year of college (including the year he flunked out, I think... I can't be sure), so I'm sure you think it's ridiculous. But Peter lived with his mother at her request. My aunt had about six alarm clocks set up for his lazy ass, but they didn't work. He was always late for class, and skipping who knows how much of them.

Like I said, I didn't know him.

I didn't know if he tried to please his mother. Maybe at the beginning he tried. Tried really hard. But then he gave up because he was never good enough. 

He began to rebel. 

My aunt grew into a bigger and bigger annoyance to him each time we went to a family gathering, and he stressed more and more.

I don't know whose fault it was, but I know I don't want to end up like him, which means I have the get my shit together. I know he was confused and angry and probably thought he hated everything around him, but I know I'm not immature the way he is. At least, I won't be after today.

I know we're both ambitious people, but I'm going to save myself before it's too late.

For so long I've lived for other people.

I know it sounds cliche, but why do things become cliche the more they happen? I don't think it means something is being overused, but rather, it is becoming a more and more serious issue. Why do you think so many people write about star-crossed lovers? It's becoming a bigger problem.

Right?

It's "cliche," but I need to start living for myself.

I wouldn't call it my breaking point, but the state I reach after months of build-up in stressful events is not pretty. Only twenty-one people have seen me in this state, and I don't intend for it to appear to anyone else.

The thing is, I don't even give myself all this stress.

Homework stress is one thing. I can handle that.

But the pressure of being some Jesus 3.0 has completely ruined me.

No, I'm not talking about being a vessel of communication always.

No, I'm not talking about all the times I've "saved your life."

No.

I'm talking about all those times my good judgement sucked like shit.

Wait. You know what?

Fuck this.

YES. 

I'VE WASTED SO MUCH TIME ON SO MANY THINGS AND PEOPLE.

Don't take it personally. I'm fucking serious. Don't be selfish like me.

All I'm saying is that, with all that time, I could have acted in my own interest and felt so much more pride in my creations. Don't read too much into it.

And this doesn't mean you should stop talking to me or asking me for help.

Just don't be dumb.

It's a disease.

Shit i have no idea what i just wrote

I apologize

JUST KIDDING I DON'T.

I DON'T APOLOGIZE FOR CRAP

..connie..