Nothing in particular.

I have Christmas lights and possibly the smallest but cheeriest tree set up in the corner of my room, where the laundry basket used to go.  I don’t know where to put the laundry basket anymore.   It doesn’t matter, because now (at any time of day, thanks to the amount of natural light this room gets) I am cheered by the soft glow of multicolored lights scattered about.  I still can’t decide if the pink one’s actually purple, but on to things that matter.

Did I mention the tree has tinsel and a gold star that swallows the top of it whole?

I am cheered, and I am homesick, all at once.  I just realized the day I slapped these things all up that I don’t get a real Christmas this year.  Walking outside, it’s bright.  It’s hot.  Things are green everywhere.  I thought I’d like this.  I miss white and brown and grey, sweaters, boots, the whole thing.  At least we’ll be in Chiang Mai at Christmas, which is at least cold this time of year.  But oh, the significant lack of pie, of odd Dutch desserts I can’t actually spell, of a tacky fiber optic color changing tree, and as I’m reminded right now by a tickling on my knee, a significant presence of mosquitoes.

Yeah, I know it’s early for this, but if you had exactly the setting I do you wouldn’t quite realize what time of year it is either.  Don’t worry, I’m not listening to my collection of Frank Sinatra’s Christmas songs yet.

In fact, I’m listening to 游戏 by 張棟樑.  Nicholas Teo.   I wonder if I can just study Asian languages for the rest of my life.

Thai is finally working with me, on the hearing and reading, at least.  How does one speak a language well?  I can’t quite seem to grip that (or the colloquial, either, damn it all).

Anyway, what I meant to get to is that I am homesick, and yet, I can’t imagine actually being home.  (Where’s the adventure in that?)  I can’t…imagine going back to how things were.  A lot of exchangers want things to just be the same.  Normal.  When they return.  I desperately wanted that when I left, so badly I imagined not leaving, preserving everything just so…

I want everything to start over.

Not everything.  Just everything around it.  I want my best friends there still.  (I want some of them to be much happier.)  But I want the situation different.  I’m not an Academite anymore, I’m not timid and veiled, I’m not content with waiting in any form.  I hope this means I won’t procrastinate anymore, but who am I kidding, I should be doing laundry right now.  I’m a stronger person now than I’ve ever been before, and I don’t believe in the same things anymore.  Life is getting easier.

Which is why it’s okay.  I’ll be going to Japan soon enough–this is, of course, sometime after I get a job and another job and some grant money; we’ll work on that later.  After I’m back in my home country.  Yes, sounds perfect.  Now, when do I go to South Korea?  To Taiwan?  To Singapore, Malaysia, Hong Kong, China?  I have a lot of money to earn.  And then I have to go back to Thailand, and pretty much everywhere else.  It only makes sense to move to Asia, with this itinerary.  …Two seconds later, I remember where I am.  Too bad my visa’s so restrictive on the leaving the country thing.  Meaning I can’t.

I read not that long ago a proposal to drive disease carrying mosquitoes to extinction.  They must all die.  I’m all for it.  What are they doing in my room?

Happy…?

So I officially believe they should make a directory of TV shows (preferably those Asian ones I can only get by download) categorizing their endings.

This should be based on their progression as a series–not depending on whether or not it’s exactly what you wanted, but on the basic feel.  There should be three categories.

Happy Ending.
Sad Ending.
Realistic Ending.

I offer up examples.

Smiling Pasta is the first type.  The two main characters are together, the two minor characters are together, and everyone involved is basically happy and things are perfect.

Sad endings are much easier to find in movies, since they can do that to you.  But I offer Summer Snow as the perfect example.  I cried.  Okay?  (Stupid Japanese dramas and their…drama…psh.)  Sure, it was worth it, but you have to be more prepared for stuff like that, and I guess it is a little bit my fault since nothing with a terminal illness can end particularly clean and well.

Continuing.  Hachimitsu to Clover is the perfect realistic ending.  It’s kind of like watching life, which is depressingly hopeful, if you will.

I say this because every time I pick up a series I undoubtably search around the internet for clues as to whether I’ll want to hug or slap the writers, and I always accidentally (as much as I can say that, searching for clues to the ending) find out what happens.

I skipped school today.  It felt good and I don’t want to go tomorrow, though I’ll go tomorrow.  I just wish badly I could find a way out of my Thursday class entirely.  If the teacher sets up another photo shoot with me while I’m stabbing myself with a needle trying to get a flower petal to both not rip and stick to the banana leaf just right so I can stop hearing the words, “Not beautiful,” from her…

I wanna get a haircut tomorrow.  I’ll drag Virginia and something nice’ll happen to the mop on my head.

Let’s stick with not.

I’m not lonely.  Except for that part where I am.

I actually used to be more content with things when I spent more time alone.  Maybe I’m just that kind of person?  That’s not true.  I suppose then anything felt like the most attention ever, and now I’m used to a different, often unmatchable level of things.  Talking to the boys on the way to class helps, but even then, I’m too embarrassed about my foreign language fluency to actually speak to them for real, and on top of that I’m pretty sure nothing in the world can make them all like me as much as they liked Mary.

Basically, I don’t know what I’m hoping for, but I hope it gets here soon enough.

I’m shy.  This, I hate.