A fairy tale’s silver lining.

Once upon a time, we were happy.

Whether I say it because I have to believe it–we all do, sometimes, whether the underlying is truth or not, and I quietly wonder whether it’s more true than false, or vice versa–is not the point.  We do believe it; we were able to smile then, and we’re able to smile now, looking at pictures of smiles, remembering words from smiling faces.

We were happy, and it’s bound never to be the same.

Nothing stays the same.  That’s stagnant.  Anti-progress.  Things have to continue on, and voices have to fade.  Smiles are renewed.  Is the twinkle in the eye?  We change.

Just as I’ve changed now.  I peruse through my iPhoto memory, letting it whisk my true memory back, and I appreciate the times for what they were then, and think of the difference between me and me.  I am essentially a whole different person from who they know, and as I keep wandering back into myself and who I probably should’ve been this whole time that girl gets lost even further into the distance.

Will they ever forgive me, or is it really such a matter?  After all, I’ve nothing to apologize for, since this is no intentional wrong-doing.  But I do know that what will feel to me like an improved version, a beautiful regression into something more pure and essential in myself, I will disappoint them.  I live life more purely now, and I sound like a stuck-up prat to even claim it, but it’s true.  I smile more easily than even those smiling pictures could tell.  I flit happily from friend to friend, undeniably in love with every step along the way, in love with the way life is, in love with the way I feel.  I’m actually able to write again, though I have this sharp tendency to want to mirror newly beloved characters more often than I wish.  (Read the Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer.  If you’re smart, you’ll buy all three before digging in.  If you can’t find the next book soon enough–don’t blame me.  I’ve officially warned you.  Bookstores aren’t open at 2 am, after you’ve finally pried yourself from the closed back cover long enough to remember my brilliant advice and curse the next six hours of sleep.  Likely much deserved sleep, but you won’t want to.)

Parenthesized book review aside, I’ve moved on to something new.  There’s no changing back.  What’s next?  And how much of my past gets left on the timeline?

You won’t like me when I’m angry

Well, I’m not angry, really, just frustrated.

Group of people at old school all knew me, were halfway friends with me, but none of them acknowledged that along with each other, that they had this in common.  They could have, might have chosen to get to know me better, let me in the ring, but they didn’t.

I’m halfway grateful, because some of these people ended up causing mild tribulations in my life.  But I’m halfway pissed, because instead of crying in my dorm because I was alone, I might have at least had someone to call.

Though, now it’s no longer worth the angst, as I’m better friends with the ones I still need and love, and I don’t mind the others going their own way.  Some, I don’t mind if I never have to see again.  I will probably have to, and I’ll behave in a manner becoming of a young woman, kindly and cordial and nothing more, because I’m a good functioning member of society and don’t think hurt feelings are worth my own satisfaction.  And I wouldn’t be satisfied anyway.

I don’t understand the notion of revenge.  I have never felt gain from it, nor do I think I really could.  There’s nothing better, to me, than coping and quietly moving on and away.  Past is past, don’t you think?

The point is this:  lonely nights suck.  But I’m willing to bet that no one knew I was alone.  That’s worst.

My fault or theirs?  If it was mine, I’ve changed.  It won’t happen anymore.  That’s a promise.  It’s already stopped.  Theirs, then I can stop thinking I screwed up.  I don’t really mind anyway, either way it’s fine, but I’m just, for this fifteen minutes, curious.

Traveling (motto, traveling…)

Eh, no one gets that reference.

It does stuff to ya, though.  For me?  Makes me sick.  Food poisoning, then I lose my voice?  No one said anything about fair.

I’m thinking I might end up with a life somewhere down this road.  I don’t mean that I’ll move to Thailand.  But something’s happening.  I’m just finally picking up and getting ready for it.

I’m nothing like what I was three years ago.  Two.  One year ago.  Nothing.  It makes me sad that there are people out there who think I’m still that me.  I didn’t like that me.  If I met me of three years ago now the only thing I’d want to do is hand me some hot cocoa and tell me to get over it, that I would, and that I have to be stronger.  Time to grow up, I’d say.

I like me now.  I don’t like that I’m shy.  I can’t talk to boys I think are cute.  I can’t always find something to do on weekends, but it’s okay.  I don’t need to.  I like me anyways.   So there.

Scared.

I edit because I care.

It seems to me that I am about to relive the pain of jumping without arms to fall into, all over again.

How can there still be things to be upset about?

And for what is not the last time, I surrender the fight.  Can she be happy?  Can he?  Then let them.  I can make logic from this, and eventually I will believe it.  I’m strong enough to handle this, and I’m well aware that in this situation, I have the least to lose, no matter how I might feel while I let it go.

It’s just…how to avoid the regret, I’m not so sure of.

Oops?

Okay, classic overreaction.  Mejor Amiga makes sense, thank God for that, because I can run off with something and completely lose a grip.

I do still have colossally bad timing, though who knows.  Maybe it’s all right.  Maybe it’s not.  I’m willing now to let that one figure itself out.

実は、私自分には信じないから。あたしの事が忘れに優しく出来ると思うって、だからあの人はあたしが忘れる。バカみたいなあ？あの人忘れないよ。

希望があるよ。それが人生には一番大事ない。でも希望がある。

I’m not translating that.

Just another post on relationships, with no *hearts*

Except for that one, of course.

My Theories of Human Nature class has struck again. Poetry will continue tomorrow.

I’m not entirely sure what we were talking about today. Marx, mainly, not communism entirely. I floated in and out and tried to keep out of the politics. Sometimes I think it would just be easier if I were liberal like everyone else here. That just wouldn’t be me, though.

The class was discussing Marx’s theories, I was writing in Japanese, what time did I go to bed? I don’t know.

Alienation.

That’s what got me. The sentence was spoken, in plain and pure English, “People naturally alienate each other.”

I thought about my group of friends–both my groups of friends–and began a map, linking person to person. Dark lines (make your mark heavy and dark) between the people I believed were truly friends with each other. Dotted lines between those who pretended they were, and not even that hard. Dotted and dark lines, when one person in the relationship was actually convinced of its existance, even though it was known better.

It was depressing, yes, and it confirmed it: People alienate each other, even friends, for whatever reason. I can see it everywhere. An honest to God friendship is rare, and I can’t help but imagining that’s the way it’s always been.

Of course, then you take a step back and wonder, is this just how I see it? Just because I believe that to be true, doesn’t make it so for everyone. Does that mean I’m right? Certainly some people really are deceived, and it hurts to think I might be one. I might. I have no idea.

That’s the thing. So much of this relies on pure faith. We’d discussed it before: does blind faith really exist? Well, if you ask me, it sure does. I have absolute faith in at least seven people in this world, and I need it. I can’t imagine life without it.

Mata ashita.