RANDOM - Different

"I like this girl. She's different. An unconventional beauty."

It hurts and it flatters at the same time. At first it made me wonder if I was really that different, but then I took a look at the skinny, made up girl with her long hair and glossy lips and shiny nails next to me. Yes, yes, I was that different.

I have nothing against those girls. I envy them at times. How do they make themselves up so effortlessly? How do they know how to react in every social situation? How are they able to be such girls and just be so?

Because of them, I contemplated on growing my hair back out and changing my look--to be prettier. I knew I had my own "pretty" for I have often been called it, but I often dismissed it as less simply because it is not the norm.

I don't know. At other times I feel like it's only because I have cut my hair in such a way and worn glasses in such a fashion that make me my pretty. If I tried to become a regular pretty, I might simply slip away into the not unattractive but still unnoticeable.

I do like my unconventionality, but the thing is that it takes a certain eye to see it. I will not be loved by everyone. I will not appear pretty and self-absorbed, which I suppose is a good thing. However, I do so love those girls for their innocence.

But to each her own.

stay how you are I think is how I prefer it, I never get called unconventional, but considering who tells me I am pretty, I think it is that way anyway. But yes, I find it is your own look and personality, not the one you are trying to be that is who they end up liking. I like your hair style personally, but that is me, whioch I don't think I can classify as normal.

Thanks. ^^ And don't worry, I'm not planning to change. It's just that those other ones are just such... such girls. They're just such pretty pictures with large kohl lined eyes, long hair, and perfect finger nails. I suppose it's just the artist in me that is attracted to them. It's just that they're such a stereotype. They are walking, talking stereotypes, and I am fascinated by it. I would like to draw them, to analyze them, to understand if there's really girls under that same pretty shell.

But I am exaggerating. Of course those are girls, but what then makes them different when they all seem so much the same?

RANDOM - Two Types of Love

You see the difference between you and I is our idea of love. You think of love in that simple form of finding someone whose personality you adore--someone you want to spend the rest of your life with. There's is nothing wrong with that view, but it seems to plain for me.

I know that what I am about to describe isn't truly love. However, for lack of a better term, I shall refer to it as such.

What I look for is beauty. I look for something for my artist's eye to analyze, to dissemble, and cherish. I look not for perfection, although it is alluring; I look for the depth. I look for the intricacy, and sometimes not even that. Sometimes I simply follow the attraction and strive to pick apart its workings.

I suppose you could say I go for fascination.

It is not love, but it is as close to the like as my artist's affection can be.

RANDOM

A thought has occurred to me. I am so lost in the ideal of love that I scarcely do consider the person. I suppose one could describe my mindset as loving someone because I was meant to more than being in love with a person.

I am stuck in the former because I do not have anyone to love, yet still want to love. I cannot remedy this situation because I believe I am waiting to find that ideal. Because of that, I do not look at what is in front of me. I do not examine people. I live in a dream world.

But what of this talk of soul mates? Do you love each other simply because your soul mates? Do you love each other simply because you call each other boyfriend and girlfriend? Is it the title that has made you fall in love?

It should not be that way. One should fall in love for a person, not simply because. It is too meaningless that way.

But then isn't that how love is described? Simply because. There's is no one reason why one falls for another. There never can be one reason why. They say that when you try to figure it out and can't pinpoint the reason, then it's love. Of course, it could be naivety, but it is when there is just too much to ever consider only one thing. It is the person on the whole that one has fallen for. As for why, who knows? People strive to figure love out, but they can't. Love simply is.

I suppose it is the difference of falling in love and falling in love with being in love.

RANDOM

What was it, my dear former acquaintance, that had so interested me about you not two minutes ago? There was something I wanted to say, but, alas, it is lost to the wind. Whatever praise or slander I had of you will remain unspoken and unremembered. A pity I can't have it for a record of your character.

RANDOM

I enjoy your company. You are, as they say, pleasant. You have that rare talent of being able to put people at ease around you. I suppose that it is why I enjoy you; I am so rarely at ease around few.

It is a shame that I don't see you more often. But such is fate. We aren't meant to see each other much.

Oh well.

RANDOM - Flirting

I know before I've said that I didn't do it--didn't know how to do it--had no idea how to do it. However, I've been wondering if somewhere along the way I've somehow learned. I suppose it takes different forms and isn't always consciously done.

There was a moment today when I caught myself wondering how this looked. Certainly to the other girls it probably looked like flirting, but I was honestly in complete innocence in that matter. If a someone makes a witty comment, I will respond. Besides, I knew the guy from before. I'm more familiar with him than the other wait staff.

I don't know. Perhaps I am worrying too much. I'm being silly and defining what people think I'm doing as what I am doing. Really, dear, that is silly. I know what I'm doing.

...but do I?

I suppose it depends on your definitions of doing. Everything is relative.

RANDOM

I really do not like working in the day and then going to church after. It would be a different story if the situation at church where different. However, as it stands, going to church means exerting the same amount of cheery sociable energy as it does for going to work. I do not want to be pleasant to people. I do not care about other people at the moment. I care about me and how very tired I am because I woke up very early and couldn't fall asleep until very late. Yes, I was throwing a big, selfish pity party, but I needed it. A church picnic simply isn't the right place for one.

I really was not in the mood to make small talk. I hate making small talk. And that's all I can talk about there. You would think that they'd maybe discuss more or something, but it the same depth of conversation out of church and in church. That was a good sermon. I agree or I disagree. Why?

I did actually ask the pastor indirectly why we didn't have more messages like a more scholarly one that he just gave. I didn't expect him to respond that most of the congregation didn't really like those because they were too scholarly. It didn't occur to me that the simple emotional based feedings were enough for the rest of the world. The pastor then replied that we were lucky because we were smart.

I think of myself as intelligent, but not anything crazy. I didn't think that the rest of the populace was that far away from me. It was grounding for me--well, perhaps breaking grounding.

RANDOM

I do not want to be a part of this. I have never wanted to be a part of this. Everything about this event just screams that I will not want to go. I do not like meeting new people. I do not like exerting energy to be social with them. I do not like planning these things. I do not want to do these things when my heart simply is not in it.

Of course, I can tell you that, my dear father, because I know the response--you should care! Well, I don't. I just don't. And I can't make myself, you know? Caring and compassion aren't things you can really command.

And then you would shake your head at me and make me do it anyways even though you know that doing such a thing is against my will and thusly, very ineffective. Honestly, all I'm going to do at that event is mill in the back with the parents whom don't expect me to be social with them. I do not care about new students. Besides, I'm going to assume that most of them aren't in my crowd just because that's the way it's always worked. I'm not saying they aren't in my clique, but they just like different things and so don't have much in common with me.

I don't want to go.

RANDOM

What was college like?

Well, it was crazy. I had thought the time of my life had just ended, and I didn't really know what to expect. I half expected to walk through my college career friendless because I'm horrible about meeting new people, but I was lucky. I had two of my old friends with me, and somehow I miraculously became part of a group.

But oh, the demand of a social life! They are half my family and half my friends. It's such an odd conglomeration. It made us fight sometimes, but we couldn't be mad at each other forever. Gone were the days when friends fought so pettily, or perhaps they weren't for some. I suppose some people will always fight. I never really have, but in college had to do some expert side stepping to avoid it. Honestly, please leave the drama behind in high school. College is hard enough without dragging that stuff in.

And the freedom is amazing. You really can do anything you want under the judge of your social group and peers. You can drink; you can sleep around; you can get high; you can stay up the entire night, and no one will care. At first, one usually takes this for granted, but when one returns home, the loss is felt.

The work and studying you came to do is really so little of your life there, yet so much--everything, really. It is the number one reason why you went there, even if it may not be what's keeping you there. The first reason is suddenly made a necessity, a chore, something like taking out the garbage before going out. Of course, many times one will miss the garbage can in haste to leave.

The whole experience really forces one to grow up in one way or another, for better or for worse. It's a personal thing as to what each will do, but one thing is certain--you will be changed.

RANDOM

You know what I miss? I miss the boys. I miss the simple act of being near to them. I miss leaning on them. I miss being close to them. I miss the casualty in which we would brush up against one another.

I know I complained about missing physical touch from here when I was up there, but look here I am doing the same. I suppose it is like this because I finally found people to be close to up there, while here I never see my friends. I have seen them a grand total of three times and in all those times never any of the boys.

I think college has made me slightly boy crazy. Weird.

It's just that I think I'm addicted to their presence. It just doesn't feel right when I'm working with only girls for six hours. Of course, it feels weird working with all guys too. Maybe I'm just very conscious of the balance.

I heard somewhere that when girls are hugged by guys, there is something released in their brains that's supposed to be calming and happy. I really can't say I've gotten hugs from boys here. In a way, we do give more hugs, but in a way not. We are freer with giving friendly hugs to strangers, but we are shier about hugging to take. People here have the culture of being too nice about things--it's absolutely maddening.

I miss boy affection. Bah. I suppose I always have, but now I know what to call it. It's just that the lifestyle here doesn't allow for it.

RANDOM

So according to you, I'm a slut. You didn't say I was. You don't even have the slightest inkling. You think the best of me and place me in your innocent little world where everyone behaves.

I'm not as slutty as most, but I according to your culture, I'm just as bad. However, I do not think this is so much my problem as yours. You are too innocent. You will break. The world does not fit into your pretty little picture of good girls. Things appear to be what they are not. Good girls are bad girls whom don't get caught.

I'm not saying that everyone is bad, but it is idiocy and naivety to look at things so blindly.

This is the reason why you will never get the girl. You are too nice and too polite to ever take what you want. Yes, you will say something, but you don't do anything. It's that casualty that wins. You just don't have it. There are too many boundaries for you to cross. It will never work.

But I don't quite know how to tell you this with tact.

RANDOM

Oh how I resent being pulled along in the tide that I do not want to follow!

It's not that I want to go against that wave, I just don't want to join it. I'd rather hold back and sit in the water--maybe wait for a different one.

And it is not the wave that is strong. It is the people around me that are pushing and pulling. I am stuck amidst a crowd and cannot cut free. I'd much rather hang back and let them leave, but they won't let me go. It is just the motion of many bodies creating their own wave--a wave I cannot escape.

RANDOM

I'm falling in love with your eyes. I'm falling in love with your mind. I'm falling in love with the way you put images to words. There is nothing dramatic about it. It is not a high and dramatic life you lead; it is ordinary. Yet, as you write, there is more to your life then simple day to day things. It becomes profound.

There's something very nice about the way you word things. You don't overdo it or leave it completely unadorned. The way you tell about things is almost poetic, but not stiff. The prose is bound by your voice ever present.

Your voice.

I love listening to it, and now I find I love reading it. If your voice were personified, perhaps I would fall in love with it. Or perhaps I already have.

RANDOM

Stop calling it my project. It is not my project. If I wanted it to be, then I would have made it so. There is very little logical reason as to why it could even be thought of as my project. I am not a part of this club. I am only friends with a few of these people, and that is only because I was already. I am not social. I personally don't give a damn about these new students. I don't want to do this.

But I'll do it anyways because you're family, and I'm obligated to help you because you were somewhat pinned to do this as well. Just stop calling it mine. It isn't. It never was, and I don't want it to be.

RANDOM

And the world reaches out and takes more from me.

Yes, it was only a day, but it was mine. All mine. I didn't want to give it up. I wanted it for my own--to savor, to enjoy. And now it's being taken. Now I can no longer even love my last hours because they are spoiled with the knowledge that it will be soon snatched.

It's just that things rankle me so right now. I do not want to have to spend the night with customers. Oh how I loathe them! They approach us thinking the worst of us--that we are all high school drop outs working here because we've got no choice or future--that we are stupid and bound to get everything wrong.

I exaggerate. Not all are like this.

But they all must be always right. I had most wholeheartedly disapproved of the saying "the customer is always right." I don't care if they're the customer. They did not ask for the extra sandwich even though they thought they did. I am right. However, I am learning that it doesn't matter if I am right. Because they are the customer and the ones with the money, they are always right.

And I hate it.

RANDOM

It is an irritant. It is the fly buzzing in my ear but never there when I turn. It is the hope of a free day being snatched away. It is the physical discomfort of simply feeling like crap and not wanting to do anything.

It is me, bitterly typing on my computer to the empty cyberspace because I have nothing better to do.

Do these words even have meaning?

RANDOM

What is the "it" referring to? Myself? The world? I do not know. Perhaps it is everything. It simply encompasses all that I see, feel, and sense right now. It is my emotion and my experience. But it is so much more as well. It is the world. It is the people whom are a constant bother. It is everything that I don't want to do but will do anyways. It is it.

RANDOM

The release of such a barrage of words does something that sulking and thinking can never do. It is the extraction of some poison. Talking, yes, will do the same thing. However, it does not have the same effect when one is talking to naught but air. Besides, even if one does speak, there is no guarantee that the other will listen. They may not be interested. They may become distracted or they may turn the conversation to some other subject. And so the rush of words becomes dammed up. The flow is clogged, and it becomes the same as being alone.

Ah, but writing! For writing you need not another ear or pair of eyes. The words once down on the paper are out. They are there forever. Someone may read them and someone may not. We take comfort in the hope that perhaps someone may read them when they no longer matter to us. That, yes, we will be heard. And that hope is enough to comfort us.

RANDOM - Wallpaper

The wallpaper is peeling. The corners are curled up and sticky with old glue. The wall behind is some indescribable color of age and rot.

The paper is yellowing with age. No one remembers what color it used to be. It must have had blue flowers at some point. Or perhaps those are stains? The memory of the design is lost.

RANDOM

I know why I love your writing. This is going to sound utterly redundant because I wrote this before, but right now I'm really realizing it.

You don't write about drama. You don't complain in your writing. It is not a "oh, woe is me!" sort of writing. It is the writing of an ordinary day, and it is done with honesty and humility.

It is a rare thing to come across these days--especially in blogs. Personal blogs are pretty much a person's excuse to wail about the world and say how sad and pathetic they are. Most personal blogs are like this. It is rare that I ever see one that is written like a journal. It is a telling of events but not stripped down to that bare form of "We went beach. It was fun. [insert smiley]"

I adore reading your journal. It reads like a well written book of an ordinary life. Perhaps I should tell this to you, but I never seem to actually write it out. I have composed it a million times in my head, but how to word praise of something I enjoy so much? Though I am a writer, I am at a loss for words.

RANDOM

I look back on certain drabbles, and I am second guessing myself. Did I really write that? I was exaggerating. Things are never clear while you are amidst them. Emotion clouds things over a great deal, and these vignettes are written when emotion is most potent. Thus, things are taken out of proportion, stretched here and there, and tailored to sound most poetic and fitting.

This is a record, yes, but it is by no means accurate. It is not a record of thoughts purely mine. It cannot be taken literally but only understood by analyzing.

RANDOM - Title

I've never really thought of myself as much, but I suddenly must be much. I have a label by my name. I am no longer just myself. I represent more than me. I cannot simply stand in the back of the room and do nothing. It is not only my reputation at stake but theirs as well.

If I say the wrong thing, it is not only my fault but the company's. What I do reflects what they are. Because of this title, I am obliged to take responsibility. I must keep my mouth shut. I must watch what I say. I must make sure that I do not ignore people. I must be careful in ever way, yet not seem overbearing or bossy.

Oh the grief titles bring!

RANDOM

It is the silly dreamer whom falls in love across time and space with another's writing. Only the silly dreamer can accomplish such of feat of pure stupidity. It is inevitably a one sided course. While the silly dreamer grows to learn and know more about the other, the other is completely ignorant of the admiration. The affection may as well not exist.

Even if they were to one day meet, without contact, without some sort of give to balance out the take, nothing would come of it. It is that saying of how one can hear another whisper but he cannot even hear her scream. She knows so much of him, and he doesn't even know she exists. Such is the foolishness of falling in love across time, space, and writing.

Hence, why I will only fall in love with art--with the writing itself. The writing will exist forever and will be yours if you so make it. Art and beauty are not foolish. They are enough.