Mrh.

Ever know what it felt like, to know exactly what you’d leave behind and feel like walking away anyway?

I don’t know quite how dramatic it really is, but I’m wondering if I actually need to come back home.  Or if I need to visit home, say hi, and hop on out.

Sneaking suspicions tell me the latter.  Less sneaky things tell me there would be a lot of people quite upset over that.

Sorry.

I guess the point is that it’s the people I miss, not the life.  I like how Thais live it.  I can’t even begin to explain why.  Less expectation for me to be 40, more for me to be 13.  It’s fun here.

…And oh.  Yeah.  The boys are way cuter.  Who needs blonde hair blue eyed’s when you’ve got all these gorgeous, almond eyed babes wandering around?

I’m seriously doing it.

Months and months and months ago, I told you guys I was writing a book.  (You guys = the four people who read this.  It’s okay.  I like you guys best anyway.)

Well, I fell out of love with it.  The Chicago one.  Mostly because I haven’t found the courage to kill Jack London yet.  (Sounds awful.  That’s what you get for naming your characters after real people.  WordPress, it’s a character name.  Don’t get mad.)

What I didn’t tell you is that at the same time I was basically writing what I envisioned as a fanfic.  About me going to Japan on foreign exchange.

I thought it was some mindless drivel that I’d never actually flesh out, but rather scribble in for my own satisfaction, but I read the Twilight series, and it made me think of Kenta and Co., and it made me want to write it.  So.  I am!

I have 30+ pages (that are going under heavy revision while I wait for wordpress to actually load) and a plot, and I’ve decided on a couple details that I don’t mind flexing but plan on keeping consistent.  There’s an outline, basically, and it’s going to be functional as a novel.

I’m not putting a timeline on this, but I AM psyched to be writing something.  I don’t think I’ll even try for publication or anything.  That’s not something I’m thinking about in much more than passing.  I’m writing this because I promised myself I would.

Just wanted to share!

I wish

I wish I was pretty.

I wish I was actually as good at talking in person as I am at the computer.

I wish I could see my family without losing out on my friends.

I wish I was done packing.

I wish I could speak Japanese.

I wish I was in Japan at all.

I wish I was Asian, at least.

I wish I could speak Thai.

I wish I had someone to love.

I wish my standards weren’t so high that when there’s an opportunity for love I shut it down faster than I can think about it, even if it probably would have been worth while.

I wish I was a better friend.

I wish I had more to talk about, almost all of the time.

I wish I hadn’t eaten the brownie after all.

I wish I wasn’t still afraid to life life as me.

I wish I had a better idea on the me concept anyway.

I wish I would stop wishing and start something.  Anything.

I met a nice dog today.

Not even kidding.  I’ve seen him a couple of times–and yes, the owner’s a nice bit attractive as well, but I’m leaving that alone for the time being.  I only speak so much Thai…

The dog was Jumbo the Saint Bernard, and was fuzzy, clean, and wonderfully patient.  Two years old.  Size of a bench.  My family was running away until I went up and started petting him, after which the most menacing thing he did was sniff my leg and try to lick me when I went to walk away.

Makes me miss my own ball of fluff at home.  Slightly smaller ball of fluff, definitely more blonde, and a little more under the impression that he’s a lap dog–he’s been thoroughly deceived, all 75 pounds of him–but a big old pillow nonetheless.

I am going to have to marry a big dog lover.  Not just the small dogs.  The bigguns.  The dogs that engulf the chair.  And you are nothing if not willing to play with such dogs.

I really need to write a story.  Problem is, I keep wanting to write Edward and Bella with a specific character that’s been running around my mind for a year now.  I want to give her Jack, make him be her Edward, and turn him into a vampire–or something else fantastical.  And I don’t want him to die anymore, because I won’t be able to write them anymore after that.  But…he already died.  I can’t change it.  Oh, the amount of frustration I feel at this stupid……grr.

Maybe if I just write them I’ll figure it out, but to be honest, they’re not exactly what I feel like writing.

Yuki and Kenta are probably more what I’m looking for right now.  Probably, but I actually kind of want to write realistically.  Perhaps with purpose.  Perhaps not.  At least with a locale I’m familiar with.  If I didn’t dislike the way the Thais handle relationships, I’d set it here.  Maybe I could, with an extra-super-special Thai boy…but that changes everything, and I’ve already started the damned thing.  It’s like my own fanfiction with no source material other than every bit of well developed shoujo I’ve read.  I’m talking Honey and Clover, here, not Princess Something or Other Meets a Knight アイ〜〜〜！ Just so we’re clear.

The Japanese says:  AIIIIIIIIII.

Yeah no thanks, not feelin’ it.

Okay, time to do something productive with myself.  Don’t know what that is yet.  Don’t know if I have anything.

School might as well be a welcome relief.  But I’m still happy anyway, just mildly aimless right now.  It’ll work itself out with a bit of thought.

Twilight series…

Okay, two seconds ago I mentioned this.

Twilight series.  Stephenie Meyer.

Do it.  Read it.  I can’t imagine not enjoying these books.

PS.  Edward.

PPS.  Don’t read too much of the info if you’ve not gotten through the books first, especially not the FAQs.  Despite the clear warnings, I still managed to skim over things I didn’t necessarily want to know about the third book…

But do check her website out for some more on the books.  Especially helpful during times of withdrawal, unless you’re a glutton like me who managed to read every single outtake and special chapter in one night.

Stephenie Meyer’s site, Twilight section

The fourth comes out this next fall.  If you have any good ideas on holding me over until then, feel free to suggest.

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?

push.

I’ve decided I’m bitter about this.

This.  …single.  thing.

No, I’m not desperate enough to go after or accept anything that presents itself.  Mostly, I just plain don’t understand why it’s always me that finds herself alone.  Well, not so much alone as telling her friends, “Yeah!  He’s totally cute.  Quit worrying about it, he’s into you, be happy, oh, and while you’re out having fun with him, could you keep an eye peeled for a group of people for me to hang out with?  I wasn’t exactly watching, since I was keeping an eye on this guy for you and simultaneously trying not to crush on him myself since, well, I lost the war before I knew there was one, and haven’t really expected to not be able to stick around my best friend.  Yeah.  Thanks.”

They never do find that standby group for you.

The problem is, I really am happy sometimes to set up people.  If I had the misfortune to enter into a crush before fate shot me down, then I quickly get over said crush and begin to, essentially, watch a TV show.  I want the characters together, not with me.  And I’m happy, until I realize that I’m the perfect best friend and am going to die alone eating pudding out of plastic cups.  I’ll be a cheap old maid.

Those who disagree that I’m the perfect best friend type, you’ve likely been the one too busy being paired off to notice.

I pose this question to the cosmos (only to hear an echo, I’m sure).  Why am I always left alone?