changes, huh?

:(

Sorry self. I don't care about grades as much as I used to.

You know, when I sift through old belongings, finding things from my past, I like to treat it as if it's kind of a memento that my past self sends me. A letter of sorts that make me remember again. When I look at pictures of me as a child, throwing up a peace sign and looking ECSTATIC because I got Pokemon Gold, it's kind of like I'm saying to myself, "remember to enjoy the simple things!" I start to indulge in nostalgia when I see dust-covered toys, old yearbooks, and CDs that I am embarrassed to have listened to (Linkin Park, Yellowcard, etc. Just saying). I engorge upon my memories as I find the past swallowing me whole.

So what brought about this sudden bout of nostalgia? I was cleaning out my wallet when an index card dropped out. I've had this wallet since high school and it was my first time cleaning it out in a while. On an index card was a neatly written schedule for the entirety of my junior year:

7:45-2:45 (School)
On tutoring days: Come home at 3:30-4:30
4:00-5:00-Leisure reading
5-6 Homework
6-9- Study, devote at least two hours a week to every subject
9-10- leisure reading/sleep
Quota: 5 hours a week of tutoring!
GET INTO USC! GET INTO NORTHWESTERN!

*le sigh*
You know what the me of back then is screaming at me now? "NUMBERS MATTER! GET A GOOD GPA SO YOU CAN GET INTO A HIGH RANKING COLLEGE! NUMBERS NUMBERS NUMBERS!" Everything would pertain towards a schedule, everything would go exactly as planned. My life would be divided into neat segments into which I would annotate every single second to be the most efficient me that I could be. If only I could go back in time and tell me that I should find a college that suits my personality, instead of something that was prestigious. There are a lot of things that I look back on that I would want to change but hey, it's stupid to dwell on it. We just move past it and go on with our lives.

But damn if it isn't hard to get past it.

There was this super selective writing program at USC, and in order to get into the creative writing program there you had to have a 3.7 GPA, you had to be *stellar*. The University of Iowa, which is the most accredited of graduate workshops in fiction writing, was extremely selective. The great pantheon of writers tends to showcase sheer genius: Fiztgerald recounts his days at Princeton, Toole attained a master's from Columbia, and all of this creative talent stems from elite institutions. I mean, there's only so much one can go through their own ability, afterall. A good chunk of successful writing is based on marketability, and hey anyone can cook up a pretty sentence, right? So when you have an even playing field, what's the basis behind success? When you only see a certain chunk of the world, you're going to have a very small worldview, and when you're someone that studies for the sake of getting an A, all you're going to associate with school is an eternal ratrace to climb up some ranking or another.

Why did I go to Harvard Summer School? Why would I spend $10,000 dollars on a two month program for college credits? Was it because I wanted to study at one of the best universities in the world? To experience a world that I would never be able to get into? Was it to expand my own worldview, to meet people from countries I've never set foot in, breathe in the foreign smells they brought with them?

Nope. It was simply because my parents didn't think that I could get into the most basic of universities in California and out of desperation sunk their money as a last ditch effort to "at least get me into UCI." UCR. Not even Riverside. My parents were simply afraid that the best that I could do was FJC, a community college that would be the end of one's future. All this doubt because I didn't do enough clubs. Because I wasn't "active." But I submitted to this plan because I wasn't confident in me either, and I wanted the future to be safe. Isn't that why we spend so many hours toiling away in the present? Why do we subject ourselves to miseries and work our backs sore and our eyes blind? It's in the hopes that there's a brighter future ahead. If we break our ourselves in the now, we are setting the foundation for a better tomorrow. It is the driving force behind ideologies, philosophies, and religions.

As I write this now I sigh, because I know what comes next. It's an easily predictable story and the next step can be seen as clear as day, the disruption to my structured future, the crack that would bring my plans on their figurative knees.

(You)

I would cheat on the open arms of the kennels of libaries on-campus to sip coffee with you in sun-soaked cafes. Books would be neglected in favor of long walks along city streets. Study sessions would center on each other, discussing our selves instead of our textbooks. I'm pretty sure I typed out more text messages than essays, more intent on memorizing you than any thing else. I was directly disobeying my parents' and my own intentions and I was the happiest I could be.

What is it exactly that attracts you to her?

I get that question frequently. I always use phrases that could be used to describe anyone else: your best friend, a renowned teacher, your mother. "She's nice, she's smart, she's funny." As someone who aspires to be a writer, it's embarrassing to say but I can't even conceptualize why I care so much about you. A million words, an infinite number of ways to construct them, and none of them are substantial enough to begin to define what you mean to me.

There's a nagging doubt in my mind, that maybe it was me that substantiated you, simply because you were something I never encountered before. The first time you experience something will always distort your perceptions. It's like the first time I had microwaveable meals when I was 11. It was out of the ordinary! Food I could nuke in a microwave and eat? AMAZING! The first time I had it I foodgasmed; now I can't stomach the smell of the stuff. You were my first escape, my first step out of my comfort zone, my first expansion of my small, small world, and maybe I'm confusing that with love. Whenever I try to imagine a future with you I always draw a blank. I'm happy when I'm around you in the here and now, to the point where I forget my future; but if I can't even imagine what it'd be like with you, then what's it really mean?

And that's what the future is, a question without an answer. A muddled view of things to come, and once it clears up it could be something you weren't even expecting. It's directionless, it's aimless, it's like this post I'm making.

So I got a letter addressed from myself in the past. Creepy, right? Before the end of high school we wrote these letters to ourselves, something our teacher would send to us after high school ended. And here's mine:

"I know you're hung up on [lolher?]. If you're still obsessed with her, accept her in your heart as your friend. Like [so and so] said, there really is nothing you can do if she only wants to be friends. But that's no reason to avoid her or whatever; she's really important to you, and I really think that she helps bring out the best in you. She gets you, and that's good. Be sure to be more open, so you can meet more people like her."

This hit me hard, just because right now I'm trying to distance myself from you. Instead of being impossible to define, I want you to be meaningless to me. Originally I thought you would solve all my problems and suddenly I start thinking that you're the crux of them? I don't know. Life is confusing. I don't know if I'm maturing, or thinking differently, or thinking immaturely. It's impossible to tell. But I'm doing all of these things because I want to be able to talk to you again, I'm doing this so I can hold you as a friend instead of pushing you away because I want you as a lover.

Value the past, so it can help you shape the future.

(for once I am speechless)