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Below are the 25 most recent journal entries.

	2003.09.03  02.00 parting is such sweet sorrow “You don’t write any more?” she said. “There hasn’t been anything I’ve wanted to say,” I said. “After all you’ve seen, all you’ve been through, darling?” she said. “It’s all I’ve seen, all I’ve been through,” I said, “that makes it damn near impossible for me to say anything. I’ve lost the knack of making sense. I speak gibberish to the civilized world, and it replies in kind.” - Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night Dear Journal, It seems that I never really address you personally, but always seem to find some sort of way to exploit your mass means of communicating my emotions (whether happy or sad) by writing something that peers can be empathetic to. At times, I meander through the actual process of writing by glorifying some sort of daily event (like watering the grass) and trying to shape it into a metaphor for my life. As an attempt to spice up an entry, I’ve also been guilty of reducing to the manipulation of font sizes and styles for an extra kick. While it seems that I have my moments at times, it seems to me that I have done a good amount of whining with an extended vocabulary. Sadly, I have been accused of being predictable (and sometimes even being predictable in my unpredictability), and even (gasp) bland. For all this, I am sorry. I have now come to realize how incredibly selfish and amateurish these old practices have been; and if they have damaged your own reputability in any way, shape, or form, then you surely have me to blame. No one likes having to look up words in the dictionary anymore, nor do they favor whiners. It’s just not the American way. The American way is speaking with a combination of words, littered with “bitch,” “fucking,” or “shit” (or using the word “hella” excessively if you’re from Northern California) while scarfing down a burger and slurping down a soda (“Yes, I do want fries with that”). Big words are associated with people who think they’re superior to others, and that in turn means estrangement from your fellow man. But let’s not focus on the negative. We’ve had some pretty good times together. Me: writing down these entries that people seem to like (for some odd reason); and you: relaying my message into the World Wide Web. Truly a match made in heaven. Because of all we’ve been through, there’s no real way to put this gently. Our relationship has been inactive for a pretty long time, and it’s really given me time to think. I’ve actually started writing in another journal (cue dramatic music). I just want you to know that it’s not you; it’s me. I really wish that we can still be friends, but it’s really up to you. I might write in you from time to time, but don’t think that gives you the right to fool around with my emotions. I am, after all, only human. You’re free to maintain custody of all my old entries, and keep all our old friends listed, but don’t harass them if they decide to add my new journal (since I don’t have an up and running friendster account, but I still want to know who loves me). - Chuang

	2003.07.27  16.55 home sweet home Home. The next time you see me, tell me I've gotten fatter (for once in my life), or at least say I got shorter. On another note: I've finally received my complimentary 18th birthday Gillette Mach 3 Turbo shaver (with shaving gel). The Selective Service System Registration was received, along with four TIME magazines, a copy of the most recent Maxim mag, and UCLA crap galore. Hey Mendoza, am I a man yet?

	2003.07.22  08.09 starting to feel a little at home Prior to heading off to Taiwan, few people were informed of my leave. My thoughts were that it wouldn’t really have an affect on anyone (I was actually surprised that Jen missed me, even if it was just for the link for zookeeper), but I told those who asked about my summer plans, and those who might be concerned, where I would be. Upon hearing my travel plans, someone actually told me, “I hate to break it to you, but Taiwan is dirty.” I felt some primal instinct to defend my place of birth in some way or another, but then another part of me thought back at previous Taiwan experiences, and could understand the person’s take on the place. I thought back at the cockroach encounters, the mosquito bites (they seem to especially like the imported American flavor of my blood), and the dirty drifting dogs littered across the streets; and I didn’t see how anyone could see anything but dirty. No one should feel like a stranger where they were born, but that’s always been the case with me. Aside from the language barrier, not knowing the place like the back of my hand, and parental guides not treating me like an equal on the itinerary front, the locals in general have always treated me differently when they figured out that I was on vacation from America. They didn’t necessarily treat me any worse or any better, but it was an unwelcome deviation of treatment. It was the little things. They would revert from talking Taiwanese to Mandarin, in a tone that made me feel like a baby. They would say that they could tell that I was from out of town just by looking at me, which made me feel like what Mulattos must’ve felt in the presence of purebred Spaniards. It discouraged me (a little) from digging deeper into the heart of my homeland, but deep down, I’ve always wanted to. This time around, I’ve gotten to know my mysterious birthplace a little better, and have been able to see why a trip to this place is worth putting up with the sticky hot atmosphere, the cockroaches, the mosquito bites. I’ve been able to see why this place is worth defending. The “EUREKA!” factor is indescribable. Simply a discovery that can only be compared to a collection of firsts (i.e. first date, first kiss, first relationship, first time finding dad’s porn stash…) into a single event. They say that “A picture is worth a thousand words” (If this is true, then this is quite possibly the longest entry I’ve ever written thus far). I know for a fact that they have a power over people (after seeing my winter formal picture, practically everyone here thought that I was married to Jen… and some might still think that). Taking a photo is like stopping to smell the roses; it gives you a good break from all the crap in life and you’re respecting your environment (plus you can brag that you’ve been there). I’ve taken the liberty of adding some pictures I took, conveniently lj-cutted for the sake of not slowing down the load time of other peoples’ friend’s page (and those who have added me as a friend out of obligation, not really giving a crap what I do with my life). Introducing: ( Michael Chuang, amateur photographer )

	2003.07.10  11.37 long time no update Daddy dearest once told me a tale about a cunning linguist that made his way to Taiwan intending to test his grasp of the Chinese language. To the man’s dismay, practically everyone in the land spoke an entirely different language altogether. So it was back to the drawing board. After figuring out Taiwanese, he dubbed it one of the most beautiful languages that he had ever studied. Taiwan might not be up there with Hawaii as a vacation hot spot, but it has still been well worth my time and money (plane tickets were cheap because of the SARS scare, but Taiwan is not on the list of places with SARS). To some, Taiwan will always be the land of Pilot Hi-Tec-C pens and Mono erasers. For the most part, I’ve spent my time in Taipei, which is a busier district (and is what I picture New York City to be similar to). The hustle and bustle of Taipei is complete with gas guzzling vehicles having the right of way, narrow one-way streets, seas of people on Vespas, a layer of smog in the air, and department stores everywhere. So far in Taipei, I’ve: 1. learned that riding as a passenger on a girl’s Vespa is both awkward and damaging to my masculinity. 2. been to a recording studio (A short segment of my voice is going to be on public tv!). 3. seen my little cousin Sean, who doesn’t seem to have grown an inch. 4. driven an ATV on a beach. 5. been spotted eating seafood with my uncle, while he was on tv in the restaurant (excited looks and whispers came from the people within, and free stuff came, paid by fans). He had time because he said he already filmed his character’s death. 6. seen and had lunch and/or dinner with tons of relatives. 7. taken a look at Taiwan from about forty stories from the ground. 8. been to a press conference for a new book. 9. been to an event for an upcoming television series. 10. figured out that Taiwan is even hot when its raining. I made a change of setting to a more rural area known as Lukang a few days ago because of some family business. Lukang people are more wholesome in general. Their eyes bright up when you say you’re from America and tell them stories about the American Dream. This is the type of town where you know practically everyone, and practically everyone is family. Asian courtesy is in full swing, with people really arguing over the dinner bill and the customary refusal of gifts that cost too much. It’s so much more different than a place filled with future suits willing to sell out anyone in order to up the corporate ladder, a place where a verbal contract and a firm handshake no longer holds its ground. Someone I hardly know willingly pays the bill (which is probably no more than a few bucks), and I instantly feel as if I owe them my life.

	2003.06.19  23.53 why? "Why do you write? No, really. It's not *always* one of those questions that should be asked only at 3 A.M. and in an altered state. Ask yourself during your most cogent hours and in complete sobriety. The answer may be as complex and individual as you are. Your reasons may not remain the same forever, they may shift over time or in reaction to life. Your motivation may be mundane or inspired, practical or divorced from reality. There may be pure and noble reasons, there may be entirely selfish reasons. You may even think you know, but really have no idea. Why ask the question? Because even the most superficial consideration may make you more aware of the value writing personally holds for you. It might also give you some possible directions to take and help identify some goals you may want to achieve. Asking "why" makes you vulnerable, but a writer's vulnerabilities should be explored and experienced." He was amongst a sea of peers, who were similarly swaying their bodies rhythmically to music that basically encouraged fucking with your clothes on. (Can you believe that as old timers, we’ll be blasting hip hop and rap music as we spew profanity to our children and grandchildren?) This particular person stood out because not only was he a friend, but he was with someone that I wholeheartedly believed that I loved. The only thing preventing me from dealing him a world of hurt, was that this friend was a good person (and the fact that, at the time, I had utterly no physical ability to do so, given my stick-figure-like physique). I felt obliged to feel happy for him, and even gave him my blessings, for he had confided in me his feelings about the girl. I might’ve put a burden on the fellow. Caught up with the moment of such friendly confidence, I had told him about my feelings (which actually came hand in hand with my blessings). A few days later, the same friend would approach me and inform me that he was dropping out of the rat race. He said that that night, he saw a connection between me and her, and didn’t want to be the one wedged between it. I felt guilty. I felt as dirty as someone must feel if they were caught watching porn. I felt like not doing anything. I’ll be the first to admit that I might not have a lot to offer someone. Given that fact alone, it’s strange to me if someone claims to have a thing for me. Surprisingly enough, it’s actually happened once. All that talk about girls not expressing their emotions, guys having it harder than girls, and a girl actually admits that they like me. The only thing wrong with this picture was that she wasn’t the girl that I wanted to like me. She wasn’t the girl that my friend just stopped liking because of a connection that he said he felt. I didn’t want to be with her, while picturing that she was the girl. It didn’t seem fair to her. She was a good person, and deserved better than second string. So I cleared things up, and she was actually willing to drop out too. Two people dropped out in attempts at bringing me a step closer to being with the girl. I felt guilty. I failed to capitalize on both sacrifices. And I still owe her a promised basketball lesson (not for dropping out. basketball was a prior promise). Looking back at high school, it might’ve been advisable to do something. But I always seemed to find a reasonable excuse not to. It wasn’t as if I was a total stranger to the girl, or that I didn’t exist to her, it was more a matter of my doubtfulness of my ability to be acceptable to her (or my dastardly nature, at the time). She was probably my one shot at any sort of high school romance, and essentially I blew it. But, the funny thing is that, in retrospect, I think that my only motivation for furthering friendship might’ve been because of immaturity. I was driven by a mentality that told me that “the grass was always greener on the other side”, and nothing would’ve realistically filled the insatiable void that I had deliriously invented. I remember an old episode of Smallville (which was my guilty pleasure on Tuesday nights that were free), and a love struck Clark Kent asking Chloe’s opinion about whether or not to pursue a relationship with Lana Lang (Doesn’t Kristen Kreuk sort of remind you of Jessica Yi? Or is it just me?): "... Once you cross that line, you can't hide behind the cloak of friendship any longer… ... Proceed with caution..." I feel like I’ve been fortunate enough to have crossed that line, and to have transformed that cloak into a warm and comfortable jacket that was available. I feel like a little boy who dips his toe in the water and, having realizing that it was too cold, was able to go play in the sand instead. So while there is a shred of regret for having done nothing, it can easily be overlooked because of a truly meaningful friendship. “…so if you’re reading… Write. That is… If I’m even worth your time” I remember a younger, teen angst-ridden self writing those words in hopes for a response that would not come. I was looking for closure, for clarification; and I would find it in the form of a yearbook insert, which would come many moons later. It wasn’t exactly what I was looking for at the time, but in many ways it was probably even better. I can picture quite a few people knowing who I’m referring to, even if I don’t use her actual name. I can picture some people not understanding the reasoning behind posting something that is this personal. I can picture some people not knowing who it is, and are itching to know (But if you don’t know by now, it’s probably best that you didn’t know). The operative question here is “Why?” There isn’t always an answer. Why do you write? "I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is thinking. It is more than living, for it is being conscious of living." - Anne Morrow Lindbergh "A writer writes not because he is educated but because he is driven by the need to communicate. Behind the need to communicate is the need to share. Behind the need to share is the need to be understood. The writer wants to be understood much more than he wants to be respected or praised or even loved. And that perhaps, is what makes him different from others." - Leo Rosten "I am a writer. I write out of passion, out of a need to improve myself and to understand the world around me. I write because I think too much, and because I am a liar. (For what is a good storyteller if not a great liar?) I write to be funny and sarcastic. I write because I secretly want to be God, or at the very least Steven Spielberg. I write for the self-satisfaction I get from completing a thought, and for exploring new methods of execution. I write as an excuse to quip. I am a creator. I write and that is who I am. Well, sort of. So I write to make this girl I've never met jealous." - Justin Jacob “In a race against inevitable forgetfulness and the incessant ticking of time, I frantically try to capture what I feel in my writing; for it is the only means of reassuring to myself that I am not ungrateful.” - Michael Chuang Mood: grateful

	2003.06.17  23.58 tv's take on solving matters of the heart Yesterday was the premier of Anything For Love, “America’s first relationship-reality-variety TV show,” which is basically a crafty way of saying, “another reality TV show”. I haven’t been an avid watcher of any particular reality tv show. The only reason I chanced upon this one was because, after going through the channels three times due to my boredom, it seemed to be the only thing good on tv during that timeslot (call it “destiny”). The basic premise to the show is that people are willing to do outrageous stuff for love and other people would presumably enjoy watching the good, the bad, and the ugly answers to their love-related inquiries. There was a blonde who was still in love with her ex-boyfriend (Ben). Afraid that he was going to marry the wrong girl, she was willing to plaster a gigantic picture of her onto a billboard transported by an eighteen wheeler that asked if the guy was willing to marry her. I’ll bet that on the way to the guy’s office (the place where she was going to “propose”) a few married guys named Ben, who were driving a minivan with their wives in the passenger seat and kids in the back, were slapped and accused of cheating. When the ex was led out, he really made an effort tell the girl that he didn’t love her in a gentle way, but the blonde was just really domineering. My dad (yes, sadly I watched this show with my dad) said that the guy was making the right choice, and that he’d lead a sad and miserable life under the commanding hand of that woman. Another case involved a couple that was planning on getting married on the show, after the results of a lie detector test was revealed. The idea behind the lie detector was that it would remove all doubt that either of them had about the marriage. She was an older woman, and he was a musician who would be on tour for days on end sometimes. The guy actually got the red light for his answer to “have you had any sexual relations with other people since you’ve been together?” The woman was crying like crazy. Surprisingly, after the few minutes of commercial break, all the tears on the woman’s face was gone, and she was ready to get married (this guy should teach a class or something). I don’t have much thoughts about reality tv shows, but this one really seemed kind of cruel and unusual, which (naturally) made it kind of funny (tragic-comedy!). I think I would do the best on that one other dating show, Meet the Parents, because I don’t have any ex-girlfriends that would be a man’s undoing on that show; friends don’t have too much dirt to dish on me; and I’m pretty parentally approved. All I would have to do would be to be (1) more outgoing and (2) get bigger and buffer. Number one because it gives off a sense of confidence amongst the chicks. Number two because I don’t want relatives trying to stuff me with food because they think I’m too skinny, nor do I want girls whining that they want my waistline.

	2003.06.16  02.12 join in the mayhem Assignment: Pick ANY 20 LJ users. Without revealing their names, say something about (or to) each one of them. Never reveal who is what. 1. It’s been great getting to know you better this year. You strike me as someone who can empathize with whatever I think, like we’re cut from the same cloth or something. Too bad I’m a pretty inactive guy, and I recall you saying that you hate inactive people. It was oddly refreshing to hear that I was half right when I identified you as the tp-er. 2. We’ve been old pals for a while now. I’ve always admired the way you write and speak because you always bring your colorful wit along. I think the USC/UCLA rivalry won’t put too much of a rift in our friendship, because you’ve been donning USC gear for practically the entire second half of second semester, and it still hasn’t made me hate USC anymore than I already do (note the sarcasm). 3. You get to be number three because all you do is pull up to the arch and throw up a three-pointer. Where’s the finesse? Basketball is the name of the game, and you should jam pack as much theatrics as possible. If you want to play entirely based on the fundamentals of the game, then I direct you to the television (because I hear that the WNBA is in season). In order to spice up your game, I recommend that you try bouncing the ball into the hoop from the three point line. No one will see it coming, and they’ll talk about it for practically the entire game (I do not guarantee a positive reaction to such a maneuver). 4. Several people have told me that you hate my guts. I respect the fact that whenever you have to put up with me hate does not seem to be the operative word. I’m not the one constantly commenting that you’re an idiot (but you have to admit that it is pretty funny). 5. I’m shocked and appalled that you label me as the “LJ guy w/balls” because on more than one occasion I’ve been recommended to “grow some balls”, which can only mean that this whole time I must have been cultivating an entirely different species of balls (Or even more shocking: that I’ve grown the balls, but my not having a girlfriend is entirely due to my being a loser). In all seriousness, in my twisted mind, I actually felt honored by what you wrote in my yearbook insert. 6. Having met many a person in my lifetime, it’s safe to say answer with a confirmed “no.” You can never be stupid enough because there is always someone slightly stupider (just like how there’s usually someone slightly smarter). 7. After writing your insert with the belief that you were going to UCI instead of USC (I’m really sorry for that), the answer is obvious: I clearly do not really know you (but I’m not opposed to getting to know you, because you seem like a really cool person). 8. WHAT THE HELL?!? 9. You’re a pretty decent neighbor, and funny as hell. I’d like to reassure you by saying that you’re making the right choice in sticking with the IB program, but for some odd reason, I just can’t bring myself to even type it out with a straight face on. 10. We were hell buddies, and then you opted for a cheerleading position (to be honest, I’m a little surprised that I stuck through it all). Thanks for the support. 11. I still remember those daily pee trips you used to take during Wind Ensemble. It was like clockwork. 12. Imagine the level of my discontent when I finally beat your hi score on zookeeper with 37070, only to have my little brother surpass that mark with an earth shattering, mind blowing, kick in the crotch, 45000 something (WHY MUST YOU PLAY WITH MY EMOTIONS!). 13. Someone once told me that it’s hard for you to talk to people because they always think you’re incredibly hot. I never really thought you were incredibly hot (would you settle with warm?). I’ve also thought that you’re voice was kind of duck-like, and I’ve only thought this about one other person in the world: Allen Axibal (It’s okay! I think it adds character!). 14. “I can’t… I’m a Jehovah’s witness!</big>” I feel guilty every time, but that line always puts a smile on my face. Word of advice: Buddhists rock (even if I know next to nothing about it)! 15. It’s funny that you said Scott is your God, and even funnier how you corrected yourself and said he was your slave. 16. You were supposed to be the conglomerate of two interesting personalities that were going to rock the world of Lj with your endless barrage of indirect (and sometimes confusing) references to episodes of The Simpsons. But you’re more like a two headed average joe, with one head that’s confused, depressed, and looking for that special someone, and one head that’s asleep. 17. Fighting past stereotypes is hard. But a stereotypical cheerleader is also good looking and nice smelling, while a stereotypical tall, semi-smart Asian boy can pretty much only be tall, semi-smart, Asian, and male. 18. ”Orgasmic”. (I’ll never be able to sort out whether or not you were the first to use that word to describe stuff or not) I think I know who to go to if I want music recommendations, or if I want to go to any music concerts (though I seriously hope I don’t cream my pants). 19. All this year people were saying how much of a pimp you are (and I think it might’ve gotten to your head a little on some occasions), but in the end, it took the Chuang charm to finally set you up with someone you seem to have settled down with (touché). You don’t need to return the favor, just buy me a couple of red socks for college (*wink wink*). 20. You still haven’t given me that promised insert (you’d think that my homie wouldn’t leave me hangin’ lik dat) AND those pictures (are we seeing a pattern here?). I think I’m just desperately trying to cling onto our friendship (because it’s one that I’ve thoroughly enjoyed). Looking through the messages scribbled into the pages of my inserts, a lot of people seem to want to keep in touch; but when it comes right down to it, a lot of them probably won’t. I hope you’re an exception.

	2003.06.14  00.22 sprinklers are for losers Watering the grass is relaxing. The stray wind driven renegade mist feels nice against my face on days when the sun is up, and the slow pace of my watering gives me an opportunity to soak up the neighborhood. The crows gather twigs for their nest in the giant tree near my house, the kids riding on their bikes, the delighted laughter of children splashing in water. The green hue on the canvas that is my lawn seems so much more satisfying when it’s maintained through the strokes of my hose-wielding hand. It’s beautiful. It makes me feel like an artist. A rainbow forms against the backdrop of the mist. Marvel at its splendor. My neighbor’s dad pulls up into his driveway, in his red El Camino. Pleasantries exchanged. “You graduated didn’t you? Congratulations! Where’re you going to college?” Cognitive juices start churning, electrical impulses travel, and it suddenly occurs to me that I’ve seen the man donning a USC shirt on more than one occasion. Before I think about any consequences, “UCLA,” is uttered, and greeted with an astounded, “Aww! Why do you gotta go and do that?” Truth be told, I don’t seem to have the hate USC mentality that some seem to. Maybe I’m just not programmed for school rivalries in general. Cases in point: Cedarlane vs. Mesa, Wilson vs. Los Altos, UCLA vs. USC. The oral surgeon who extracted my wisdom teeth was actually a USC graduate: “UCLA? You seem like a bright young man. So now why did you have to go and do that?” The only logical answer to give any USC graduates seems to be “for the money.” After hearing that, my neighbor says, “As long as it’s for that reason… Hey! Be sure to hook me up with tickets, because I know students get first dibs on that kinda stuff.” Promises made. Farewells spoken. back to watering i go

	2003.06.12  15.05 graduation A little history lesson: Hundreds of thousands of British troops were being sent into North America to police the dissent that had taken root within England’s colonies. Great Britain had well-trained troops, but since the Americans were fighting on their home turf and were fighting for a cause the tides soon turned. On July 4, 1776, a band of colonists banded together and wrote a little something called the Declaration of Independence. British King George III was fighting a losing battle, and eventually had to cut his losses in America. On the eve of this entire episode, the American Revolution, King George III wrote something in his personal journal: “Nothing important happened today.” I graduated today. I graduated from high school today. I graduated from Glen A. Wilson High School today. Whichever way I say it to myself, it doesn’t seem to hold any meaning behind it. Maybe I’m a late bloomer. Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet. It’s hard living on maybes. What if I’m emotionless? What if there’s really something wrong with me? It’s suicidal to live on what ifs. It wasn’t always like this. I remember an elementary school kid who used to tear up over Disney movies. He used to cry when the other kids wouldn’t let him play basketball during recess, after lunch. He cried after he got knocked out trying to stop a fight. Hell, he used to cry when he couldn’t do long division, until his mom slowly taught him what he’d been doing wrong. What the hell happened to that elementary school kid? Sometimes you lose sight of your priorities and life doesn’t even seem worth living (which might’ve been what the British did during the American Revolution), but measures have to be taken to bring yourself back in check with reality. America might still be a colony of mother England if the British troops had slapped each other and said, “By George, I’ll be damned if I’m going to let these bloody American rascals run off with our land!” (in perfect, proper Old English). American would sure be different… (Maybe this is a bad example, but bear with me here). It’s safe to say that I’ve worked my ass off for four years. A lot of people come up to me asking if it was all worth it. To be honest, I never really ever have a straight answer for them. Most of the time I either look them straight in the eye or avoid eye contact (depending on the person) and just crack a big smile, then most people just come to their own conclusions. The one thing I do know about the path that I’ve taken is that people give you a lot of respect just for going through with it. I’ve decided that respect means a lot to me. I can’t stand idly by while my good name is dragged in the mud (even if at least ninety percent of the world’s population can’t pronounce my last name correctly without proper instruction). Security guards patted us down. I’m not dead, so I guess I should be thankful for the seemingly unnecessary security precautions. I looked around and saw a sea of people donning red caps and gowns. The thought that I might never get the chance to see some of these people again in my life (except maybe at the ten year reunion) crossed my mind, but the though “When is this going to be over?” also came and went in my head. This ceremony felt like nothing. Everything bounced off me like I was rubber, when I desperately longed to be glue. Sometimes I think that high school would be a whole lot more fun if I got a chance to do it all over again, but what really bakes my noodle is the thought that it probably would turn out exactly the same way. So I have a thousand regrets, but at the same time not a single one (if that makes any sense). Well, there’s always college. There always seems to be another opportunity to turn it all around, which almost gives me an excuse not to live in the here and now. I’m anxiously waiting for something, that thing, anything. Someone once said that they’d wait an eternity for that special someone to come around, and that the entire wait was a journey. I told them that waiting is hardly a journey, and recommended that they do something. I should take my own advice, but I have no one in mind. Waiting is inactivity. Waiting is the devil. Why am I waiting? Patience is the key, son. All things come in due time. Nothing important happened today.

	2003.05.25  01.14 storytime: i feel also “It’s like you have no feelings. You don’t feel.” Sure, I go around day by day practically expressionless and indifferent to practically anything, but that was harsh. But I suppose I was a little unsympathetic to her desperate cry for every single soul to feel as wretched and miserable as she. Rejection is a horrible thing, but there’s no sense in dwelling on it. I hadn’t even been the rejecting party (or instrumental in the rejection process); I was just pulled along for the emotional roller coaster. It’s true. Misery loves company. She had the look on her face. You know the one; it’s the one that says: “You’re one sack of shit for not agreeing with me.” “You have no idea what it’s like,” says she. I’m amazed at how egocentric the world seems to be. Whenever something’s wrong, whenever there’s a kink in your plans, whenever you wish you had an eraser for your roadmap of life, people always think that they’re the only one in the entire universe who’s ever experienced such an injustice. Friends might give advice (if you’re smart, you’ll listen), but more likely than not, the recommended actions will be tossed out the window. “Thanks for the advice, but I think I’m going to go about it my own way.” Have you ever spent hours listening to someone whine about how miserable their life is, and then given them some prime advice, only to hear that line? It’s like those hours were entirely wasted. If you were going to solve your own problems in the first place, why the hell are you asking for advice? Don’t get me wrong. I want to help. But when my help is completely ignored; well, wouldn’t you feel the least bit irritated in my situation? It’s all clear now. She just wants me to sit here and at least pretend I’m listening to her complain about how God has dealt her a bad hand. She wants me to sit here and smile, to give a little nod now and then, and maybe even say “Yea… That totally sucks…” (sit) (smile) (nod) “Yea… That totally sucks…” (it occurs to me that she told me I had no feelings just minutes ago) mental note: “She is a jackass”

	2003.05.15  23.23 prom exploits Dad: “Do I need to get you some condoms?” Me: "WHAT?!" I can never know exactly what to expect from my dad. You got to hand it to him, he is about as unpredictable as they come. With prom in a couple days, and me worrying over this giant cold sore (which I decided would be the physical manifestation of all that is evil in the world), my old man still has what it takes to bring a smile to my face (it hurt, physically, because of the cold sore too). Having seen both American Pie movies, I suppose he had quite a bit of ways to poke fun at me through the use of sarcastic references to the stereotypical cinematic portrayal of high school life as ammunition. My dad told me that his boss actually asked him if he bought condoms for me, also claiming that his boss claimed to have purchased rubbers for his son (who was sent to Iraq, being a West Point graduate who owes some obligatory service to the U.S. of A.) ever since the beginning of his son’s middle school. Daddy dearest, despite being a pretty liberal father, was a little taken back by his boss’s recommendation to do the same with me. Dad gave me some credit, and decided that I would know where to go if I was ever in need of “protection,” but he asked me what I thought about it (just in case). The month of May, admittedly, did not start off peachy. It was somewhat expected, what with all the testing I had signed up for (this sort of voluntary action must parallel paying dentists to perform root canals), but I think it got the better of me. I usually take days one at a time, but now several days seemed to be conspiring against me, several planning to catch me off guard like some unruly mob out for blood. The late nights, the idea of my IB diploma riding on a few tests (so much work just for a little piece of paper), Mr. Garcia giving us practice IB Biology Higher Level examples the day before the test, the stress, the pressure; some element (or a combination of a few) got the best of me, which would give my disgusting oral infection time to fester in the course of a few days, right before prom. For the sake of those faint of heart, I will not go into the specifics of my physical aliment. I actually had to get antibiotics from my doctor, and the man got in some good chuckles when I told him I was going to prom in a few days. Having such a big cold sore on prom night has to be one of the worst things that can happen to someone in their high school career. This is the night that will be forever etched in your mind. Imaging having pictures come back to you, with your smile coming out to be some twisted smirk (hopefully it won’t get that bad). It reminded me of the time in The Brady Bunch when Marsha got hit in the nose by a football right before some big dance, and her nose swelled up like a beet. Even worse was what Eliza might’ve been thinking about. I was pretty concerned that she might be embarrassed, but she didn’t really mention it during prom (cue sigh of relief). Several friends actually predicted that I would ask Eliza, in spite of the fact that I was leaning towards not going to prom for a while. These were the same people that predicted I would probably ask Jen to winter formal. I’m getting predictable (must be something inherited from my mother’s side of the family). I asked her when spring break was about to end, by going to her house with flowers. She was going to go out with a friend (who I was in cahoots with), so I was able to surprise her somewhat. Eliza had been scared that it might’ve been someone else who was asking her to prom, and had actually slammed the door shut upon seeing a strange car (mine) in her driveway. I was a little disconcerted that she had to check with her dad, but everything turned out all right. I received a phone call from her, and my heart seemed to skip a beat when she said “sorry,” but it turned out that she was apologizing for not having a definitive answer the day before. The week that ensued soon thereafter was littered with IB and AP tests, not really allotting any considerable amount of time for casual conversation. I’d also felt a sort of anti-guy aura about her at times, by the way she seemed to be in her own little world, avoiding eye contact. Ideas that the same awkwardness might be experienced during prom night crossed my mind, and (reliable sources have said that) she was harboring such feelings as well. There was even talk, in my circle of sources that will remain anonymous, of her compiling a list of things to say during down times. I’m not as good of a conversationalist as one might imagine from reading my writings. There’s just something completely different about the written word. You get to work with an entire palette of emotions and ideas with all the time in the world at your fingertips. It’s empowering, but not sociable. But fortunately, conversation between the two of us seemed to be okay, not too many awkward silences and enough was brought up. I’ve been told that Eliza stumbled onto my winter formal entry, and took offense to what seemed to render her as desperate (which wasn’t my original intention). For lack of a better place to make an apology, and for what it’s worth (in spite of the fact that she might not even get to read this), I’m sorry about any misunderstandings that may have occurred. For those who may not have noticed, Eliza Kim is quite the saucy number. Someone actually said so, and there were other compliments like “nice nice” and “wow” when I said that she was my date. Something about the male machismo mentality just calls for a little chest pounding whenever you realize that by some stroke of good fortune you’ve managed to nab a date that’s smart, nice, and good looking. She probably has some idea that guys find her attractive, what with Billy always making compliments and constantly visiting her house to the dismay of her entire family. There were some other moments during prom that might be worth mentioning. First of all, Enming seemed to be drunk. His face was flushed red for a good part of the night whenever I saw him, and when everyone was taking pictures and saying hellos Enming approached me with this staggered walk and in what seemed to be slurred speech, he said, “Hi Michael! Nice vest! It’s an actual vest!” as he undid the first button of my vest and redid it. This entire encounter occurred a little too close for comfort, and I was forced to escort Mr. Glen A. Wilson well away from my personal bubble of comfort. We got to the hotel by Garrick’s car. Highlights include his piano stylings, his supposed challenging of Jessica’s boyfriend Arthur, and some drama about ditching Jayme for about half an hour. I didn’t think it was appropriate to talk in the car, due to the tension between Garrick and Jayme, so the ride home went about in practically complete silence, aside from the radio music. I’ll have you know that I didn’t drive off with Garrick’s car this time around (the man had actually learned something from winter formal, when I drove off with his car for a while, actually removing his car keys when he went into Washington Mutual to withdraw money). I had overheard talk of Eliza planning to go all out in the social partying front in college prior to prom, but I hadn’t really pictured it happening. She struck me as the girl next door type who was timid and reserved. A Night of Enchantment with Eliza was eye-opening, to say the least. She was wild on the dance floor. I, on the other hand, was probably not stellar. I attempted to keep up, and I didn’t really get any input about my dancing (which is probably an indication that I did somewhat acceptable). By the end of the night I was dead tired. After attempting to keep up with her on the dance floor, and witnessing her freaking a number of other girls (I thought it was sort of strange, but who am I to complain), the wild party animal in her was now clearly revealed to be somewhere within that pure white tone skinned, reserved exterior of hers. She’ll be going to UCLA too, so who knows, I might see her around. In any case, I won’t be as shocked if I see her chugging down beer, running around scantily clad, or taking body shots off some hot guy (maybe she won’t be this wild), and if I do have an Eliza encounter of this variety I’ll sure as hell be able to say: “Hey! I went to my senior prom with that wild party animal!”

	2003.05.11  14.17 note to self Prom was kick ass. Elaborate in the near future.

	2003.04.12  10.01 i still got it My biological clock is completely fucked up. I suppose the haphazardly organized sleep schedule is a remnant factor of the horrors of my first semester, but the funny thing is that I kind of miss being up for a productive reason. I enjoyed staying up to do something that came back with a good grade on it. All the drudgery called for my complete focus on one sole purpose, to which I could usually complete with a certain amount of excellence. It didn’t give me time to think about the trivial things that would gnaw at my very soul. I was hell bent on finishing whatever it was I had to do. Hell, I had nothing else to do. Being a student was basically my sole purpose in life. For a while, my dad would ask me if I had any homework, then he’d ask me how long I would stay up. I would always plead the fifth (since it was always hard to tell). Then he’d ask me if I would be able to finish all of it, to which I would reply, “I have to.” My dad would chuckle, and walk off. He doesn’t even ask anymore, and when my mother did, he actually answered for me (“He has to finish it!”), always with a big grin on his countenance. It makes me feel good, when I look back at the things that can be done when pressed for time, but I can’t feel good very long, not wanting to be the cause of any animosity amongst students. I shied from college talk. I answered only when asked. It all worked out, until I blurted out, “If you deserve it, then you’ll get in.” It’s disputable whether any truth is in that statement, but that’s beside the point. At a time when people are out for the blood of college admissions officers, I shouldn’t have said something like that. There’s an undeniable amount of human sentiment that calls for restraint and empathy. Many things in life call for restraint, and it seems to be one of the many marks of greatness. It’s hard to push back feelings of vengeance and animosity when they boil within, but some people do it everyday. We shy away from telling the truth of the matter, simply because of our intentions to spare the feelings of other people. Prudence dominates our very speech. However, like many things in life, there exists a paradox in the fact that great men must also be willing to stand up for what is right, for things rarely get done in restraint. Passive resistance can only get you so far. A lot has been happening since the last time that I wrote, and I’ve been deliberating whether or not to write about them. There’s someone roaming around trying to scare seven people in band, and I happen to be one of the seven (just my luck). The story of this band stalker, while tempting to tell, seems like a waste of my time, and would probably give whoever it is more satisfaction than I am willing to permit. In any case, I think that anyone would rather hear a story painting me out to be an idiot. I had taken an afternoon nap of about two hours, and had to deal with Mrs. MacIntosh’s infamous poetry cards. It called for three poems of five poets to be analyzed. One of the stupidest elements of this assignment, was that it asked to state the setting of the poem. Practically all the poems that I had chosen did not deal with images being created, nor did they tell a story. So I had to come up with about eleven or so ways to say that there was no setting, like so: "There is no discernable setting found in this poem." "There seems to be no hint of a temporal or locational set in this piece." "Neither a locational, nor a temporal setting can be inferred upon even a careful reading of this work." "No discernable time and place setting is found within the lines of this literary work." Upon first glance, this project was rather simple (and looking back at it, it probably was), but time consuming. It would take me about five hours to finish. I chose to do my Pre-Neoclassical poetry card on William Shakespeare. Everything was going well until I finished about half of the card. That was when I made a mistake. “No problem,” I thought, “I’ll just use my trusty wite-out correction pen.” To my dismay, the tip had dried out, not allowing any of the precious liquid to correct my mistake. I spent a good amount of time just sitting there, trying to figure out what to do about my little doozy. I realized that if I was going to get this done, I had to do something, and quick. This was only my first poetry card, and I was pissed off that so much time had passed without its completion. Just then, an ingenious idea popped into my head (it was smarter in my head, at the time). I carefully laid scratch paper upon part of my desk, then reached for a paper knife. In my desperation, I slashed one end of the wite-out pen with the paper knife, and wite-out flowed from the cut (Eureka!). I was overjoyed, until I noticed that it was flowing out at a rate that I had not anticipated. My hands were covered, and some of the liquid would find its way onto my desk. It was pretty bad, but what was worse was that I didn’t really have a way of transferring the wite-out onto my notecard. I ended up using an old pen, and the correction ended up making my notecard worse than it had looked before. When working on the other four notecards, I exercised prudence and decided to just cross out my mistakes with my pen. With the completion of my fifth (and final) card, I was greeted with my father (who had just awakened) and was ready for school, which would start in a few minutes. It’s good to know that I’m still able to have a productive sleepless night.

	2003.03.20  00.38 practical, theological applications to buddhism I’ll be the first to admit that I am not an avid Buddhist. In retrospect, my claim to Buddhism lies solely on the fact that my parents are Buddhist (and at times I even harbor suspicions of their faith). People are always shocked when they finally figure out that I’d like to consider myself a Buddhist, just like when they finally figure out I have a little brother. Some Guy: “Oh. So you’re Buddhist! How often do you go to the temple?” Me, Caught off Guard: “Umm… I have a shrine in my house” *this is true Some Guy: “Interesting…” Me, Feeling Stupid: “Shut up.” But I think if I were to have my pick from the many religions out there, Buddhism would probably be my best bet. Though I don’t understand its teachings in its entirety, the bits and pieces that I’ve picked up on seem reasonable enough. Middle Way. Nirvana. Enlightenment. It just seems appealing. The yin-yang principle seems to apply to my life quite a bit. Positive and negative forces always seem to be pitted with a constant struggle against each other, neither seeming to have a clear advantage in their rat race. Perhaps this attributes to my neutrality. It seems that the latest hubbub is going to war with Iraq. Two opposing forces also arise when dealing with the justification of going to war, with no side apparently winning the argument, in my opinion. Evidence is coming from both sides with the motivation of proving the other side wrong, and both sides offer credible information to make assumptions over. However, this heated debate does not seem to be essential to the issue at hand. We are at war with Iraq. While humans at their worst are slaves to their belligerent primal animal instincts to defend (whether it be the intangible principles or the tangible gains and possible losses), there can no longer be a war like World War II. With the power of nuclear bombs at their disposal, leaders are doing more than sending troops to foreign lands and pitting them head on against the enemy, they are playing with life itself as we know it. All it takes is a synchronized turn of the key, or maybe even pressing a big red button. I thought I was going to stay away from any politics. I realize that all these war posts already seem trite. Think of the poor suckers who are going to be sitting in 30th Century History IB ten years from now. They might be reading about this very incident, or maybe we won’t even make it that far into the future. One thing’s for sure, there already seem to be clear cut sides to the argument over the justification of going to war, which would probably be easier for the kids in the future to assess. Remember, in the immortal words of either Kodos or Kang in the shell of Bill Clinton’s body on The Simpsons, and yours truly when I ran for Speaker of the House in the summer session of civics: “We must move forward, not backward; Upwards, not downwards; And no matter what; We have to keep twirling, Twirling towards freedom!” *i just felt like fitting that in here somehow At the risk of sounding inconsiderate and cold-hearted (as if in some twisted balance of yin and yang), even though the U.S. bombed Baghdad, and the lives of many innocents might have been lost, I actually had one of my better days.

	2003.03.09  21.04 teddy toilet toilettes My daily rounds (online) consists of checking my e-mail (Mr. Kelly is a regular) and then proceeding to read up on everyone else’s life. Most only write tidbits, but I hold my own in putting the little pieces together. It’s almost like a challenge. I enjoy the pursuit of secrets that may very well be non-existent. I feel like a tiger, stalking its prey and awaiting the right moment to pounce. Yea, it isn’t normal. It’s a bit obsessive even. I haven’t written in here in about a month. I’m laying low. It’s what I do. (I once dreamed of being a secret agent, ya know) LiveJournal has become a little too mainstream for my liking, and half the posts I come across aren’t even worth reading (if you’re not guilty, you shouldn’t be on the defensive), which isn’t to say my words are worth a second glance. I’d like to say that I could just come out from under my rock and write something spectacular that would rock the whole LiveJournal community, but alas I am slowly and surely withering away (upon receiving my last English paper, I found a sentence underlined by the teacher, with “Huh?” written to the right of it. This sentence read: “The style of each stanza is characterized with such a style.”). There’s a method to this madness. After some self discovery, I’ve realized that another element is core to why I can’t bring myself to write is because I am selfish and bitter. Years and years of muttering the answer to a question in a classroom, only to have the person next to you say it loud enough for everyone else to hear, can do that to a person. While it is true that my ideas are not unique, I would like some credit every now and then. As we have all come to learn with the advent of turnitin.com, plagiarism is the root of all evil. Girls a close second (I kid. I kid. Care to settle for third?). Since we’re on the topic of revelations here, why don’t I throw in my take on all this it’s-my-last-year-here-tear-tear senior nonsense? I think I can fit this into the equation too. A part of my unwillingness to commit to a steady flow of journal entries is because this is just how I’m dealing with oncoming rift with my peers. I estrange myself in hopes of weakening the inevitable blow that is to ensue in the coming months. I have to accept the fact that I might not ever see some of these people ever again in my entire life (unless they get rich and famous, then I’d have people to point to on the brainwashing box we call television). Yea. I am selfish. I am bitter. But I am pretty sure I am not alone in that matter, so do not go and judge me. I don’t want to toot my horn or anything, but since walkedawaybynow was getting all riled up about people from CSU Fullerton and UCI reading his journal, I’ll mention that I too have a counter. I seem to have some regulars, and people from UCLA, UCD, and UCI have perused my journal, without any intervention or shameless advertising on my part. To anyone who has identified my journal as a guilty pleasure (aren’t I modest?) keep reading, friend. I’ll try to further document my comical failures, countless flaws, and those rare moments of true ecstasy (I’m high on life, which sounds so cliché and corny), and make sure to sprinkle entries with extra wit, just for you (that was pretty corny also). To any critics who chose to veil their discontent with my opinions through anonymous responses (and I know you’re out there…), feel free to comment, and I’ll make sure that I take your response into consideration. However, be warned, if your opinion is misguided, and equivalent to one-ply toilet paper (which I think is the most useless thing in the entire world. This is the kind of toilet paper that you have to fold one thousand times to get a good wipe.), I will exercise the right to tell you how remarkably stupid you are. I shall let teddy keep vigil.

	2003.02.09  13.44 i can't believe the smallest bean bag is twenty dollars Tuesday: Feeding the Homeless After school, the acadec gang headed out to a church/school on Azusa Ave., bringing food for the homeless. There was an entire menu set up: turkey and mashed potatoes with gravy, vegetables, a bun with butter, salad with dressing. We also made sack lunches for them to eat the day after. The people who came with the promise of food looked very much like ordinary people. You can’t help but wonder what put them on the streets. They seem to be more than able to be employed, having all their appendages intact and talking fluent English. I overheard one of them say “Sorry man, I can’t read” to another, but besides that, it was a mystery why they couldn’t find work. There are even forms of work that don’t require the ability to read. Helping these people, while rewarding, also seemed like a waste of time. I felt cheated. Maybe it was a warning. “This is how you can end up.” I’m sure it would be enough incentive to work hard, kids would be scared straight, like that television show from so long ago, where they put kids in jail to see how it would be like. I sure as hell don’t want to end up on the streets. A lesson (of sorts) was taught at the expense of people who hadn’t made it big. As children, they probably had as much aspiration as the next kid who wanted to be an astronaut, a doctor, or Superman, but now they spent their days trying to find scraps to eat. I don’t know whether or not I’d be able to accept my meals from children, even if their intentions are good. I despise charity, but I am not too much opposed to contributing. Charity just seems like a reflection that you haven’t done the right thing, you haven’t worked hard enough, you don’t really deserve whatever it is you’re receiving. Afterwards, Jon and Dennis took me to Ho Ho China to grab a bite to eat. A plate full of chow mien and orange chicken, was what I ordered, and almost finished. Right outside the store there was another person who I presume is homeless. He had dirty, long hair and skin that had darkened because it didn’t seem like he had the chance to bathe recently. I had more pity for this person than those dozens in the church. He had slapped himself (hard) for no apparent reason, and was making conversation with imaginary friends (or himself). We could see the leftover food from Ho Ho China being dumped into the trash. Jon mentioned the fact that the food that was just thrown away could have fed more of the people at the church. I wondered why the man outside didn’t get anything. Jon sent me home, and told me that he got lost trying to get back home, making some wrong turns and finding a hill that I didn’t even know existed. Friday: Academic Decathlon Banquet This was the actual consummation of our Academic Decathlon experience. We managed to nab more medals than last year, but ended up with lower ranking than last year’s team. We got to miss the most of school. Gary said, “You look like Harry Potter or something” to me before Stats started, to which I replied, “That’s the idea.” Allan Axibal showed up, and seemed to be more than pleased by the speech scores, which had superceded those of last year’s decathletes. Axibal asked me if I was able to perform my speech. I think he sensed a sort of bitterness in me for not competing. He told me that he just had to say that I did very good, having had minimal speech training from him. I suppose I can settle with this, perpetually operating behind the scenes (maybe some day I’ll have my name in someone’s credits). There’s nothing really wrong with staying out of the public eye, it gives you more personal space and gets the paparazzi off your back. You just have to live with the fact that no one outside of a specific clique knows how much time you’ve put into something and how much you should have gotten an opportunity to showcase your skills. It just hurts every time someone asks how well you did, and all you have to say is, “I didn’t get to compete.” After the competition, Jon, Ryan, Stanley, and I went to Hard Times Pizza and Billiards to shoot some pool. I’ve only played once or twice before, but I think I did okay. Jon shoots pool with aggressive energy, he just seems to decide where he wants the ball and goes for it. It seems to reflect focus. Ryan didn’t get a lot of good looks, but he seems ready and able to play well. Stanley, due to his clammy hands, ended up playing with his hand in his sweater. I think I spent too much time contemplating where I should shoot it. We went to Coldstones afterwards. Ryan contributed to the suggestion box, motioning for the implementation of the “Acadec Monster.” I still have half a bowl of “Coffee Lovers’ Only” in my freezer. Saturday: Football at Huntington Beach Not enough ToK and AcaDec people showed up, so the rivalry is still to be settled, and we picked up Josh, Dennis, and Enming. The weather was cool and, judging from the sand, there had been some rain prior to when we got there, but we had enough sunshine to play some good football. After the first section of football, we already had the self proclaimed king (chandleristic) out for the count on account of a hit in the head. I myself did not witness the actual hit, but I think I could have walked it off (besides, I did get hit in the head and walk it off). Football was highlighted with some good tackles and some touchdowns. I also managed to slap Josh and Billy, in attempts to get a good hold on them. We must also recall the play when I picked up the kick off and managed to make it to the endzone, leaving a trail of destruction in my wake. We had some good Chicago style pizza from BJ’s in between the football. The day would end with Billy chasing after a Viper and a Harley, making a giant detour, and Josh running over the cement dividers of the Wilson parking lot. I would come home to a little-brother-less-house on account of his going to a girl’s birthday party. It’s somewhat disheartening to know that the boy probably has a better love life than me. this is the invite i found on the desk this is his list of things to buy for the girl's birthday When am I going to buy Victoria Secret’s Love Spell for some lucky lady?

	2003.02.02  20.23 acadec, to you i bid adieu As I sat on the steps of the stairs, in the gym of Cal State Los Angeles, with a camera in my hands, I realized how bad of a photographer I was, when I couldn’t capture the apparent excitement exhibited by thousands of color-coated nerds (and their relatives in the stands) cheering as if they’d just won a million dollars (or seen their first hot, naked chick). I guess I’ll stick to writing. Prior to that experience, the competitors tested how well they can guess on their multiple choice exams that were on the academic subjects of the decathlon. Upon Glen A. Wilson AcaDec’s arrival to some school in San Gabriel (the first testing site), we were welcomed with blank stares, muffled giggles, pointed index fingers, and whispers. We were dressed up in our preppy outfits that were supposed to remind people of Harry Potter. Someone even asked if they could take a picture with Mr. Adams and me. During the test taking, the other coaches and I just wandered around. I brought along C. S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity for some reading, and had my mp3/cd player in my backpack, so I had enough to pass the time (Lewis possesses a good means of explaining matters in simple terms, and I was relieved to find that it was not as heavily dependent on Christianity itself as I thought it would be). Jeff and Stanley took a long nap in the beginning, and Charlene eventually ended up looking for a good place to sleep, usually settling for some concrete surface or practically any part of Jeff’s body. For the most part, this section of the day was uneventful and I felt drained, having not really done anything. After, what felt like an eternity, the team made it’s way to Cal State Los Angeles, the venue of their Superquiz relay. This was the event that was supposed to be the most exciting and eventful fraction of the academic decathlon. Whenever Mr. Adams even mentioned this part of the competition, he would flail has arms and when greeted with blank stares, he would simply say, “You just have to be there! The atmosphere is just so intense!. There was definitely an intense atmosphere. There was complete silence, save the announcer stating the question, during the relay, which was followed by cheers from the audience when the results were reported by the judges. Waves upon waves of bodies just shouting and waving their arms. Jon, taking his scarf and waving it over his head like a lasso; the team cheering each other on; the competitors excitedly trying to indicate that they’d gotten a certain answer to a question right. They all seemed to be having tons of fun. Afterwards, they’d talk about how they were cheated on certain questions, sigh at how well they could have done, and finally come to accept how well they did. In the perfect world, I would have shared in all the optimism. I would have had a pencil in one hand and a paper in another, trying to play along in their relay, or keep track of our scores. But I wasn’t optimistic. When Jeff turned to me on the steps and asked, “So aren’t you excitied?” I responded with an unexcited “not really”. Maybe I was bitter for not being down there, but I don’t think I would have done much better than they had. We were sixth overall. Varsity did the best. We traveled home as battered soldiers who were drained from completing their tasks. To celebrate, we made our way to Allen’s house to rejoice in a drunken-free revel. Our gang, save Charlene, ended up being presented with a wonderfully home-cooked meal (we have Allen’s mom to thank for that) and subjected to hours of throwing remote mines on each other in Timesplitters 2, testing out maneuvers in Dragonball Z: Budokai, hunting each other down in Goldeneye: 007, smashing each other on Super Smash Brothers, playing a touch of Grand Theft Auto: Vice City and no party would be complete without AcaDec making asses of themselves playing Dance Dance Revolution with the game pads. Lisa, Steven, Allen, and Yuming were the only ones that were averagely coordinated, our individual performances then decreased, eventually dramatically falling to Jon’s attempt to play on both game pads at once. Steven Gu is an animal. He announced that because he couldn’t legally kill people in real life, he’d kill people in video games. When playing Timesplitters 2, he picked the monkey (which was my choice character, under the name GOD), turned to me and said, “Okay! Let’s see who’s the real KING KONG!” Steven also resorted to what he qualified as cussing (saying things like “damn”) and would occasionally say, “Excuse my language!” to which Jeff replied, “What? The language we learned in the THIRD GRADE?!” Other notable reactions from Gu consisted of his battle cries, which were made up of yelps, screams, and yi-yahs. He even screamed out, “Chinese Kung FU!” while playing Dragonball Z: Budokai. During the party, I also managed to muscle Katherine out of her chair. Now she’s calling me a thief, warning me whenever I instant message her, and ordering her friends to warn me and deal me a slap via instant messaging (*slap). She says that I’m immature, and leaves me with this message: Chiriko8k: SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP! :-D adios mike! and signs off immediately, not giving me an opportunity to warn her. Unless we make it into state competition, AcaDec as we know it is essentially over. To tell the truth, I am not so much sad, as I am relieved. No more needless meetings. No more of Yuming’s bubbly and overzealous leadership/cheerleading. No more continual reminders that I didn’t try hard enough to make the team. No more! i do hope that the members of acadec will keep in touch though. they’re all nice people. acadec to you i bid adieu (it’s funny how i’m still going to be seeing the gang tomorrow)

	2003.01.31  01.13 J Fre Y >>>>>>>>>>> . >X> ..> ;>. >>>>> C H U A N G ________________ M I C H A E L ?..... " he's ....... evil "....? ?... " arrogant....pretentious...always looking up into space?"...? ?... " he doesn't walk, he bounces?/sways? " It's gone now. It's out. Fuck you I wasn’t even going to comment on this, but I have some extra time to kill, and I’d hate to think that C H A N G ________________ J E F F R E Y would have the last word, giving me a “fuck you” without even so much as a heads up on the matter. Judging by his “It’s gone now. It’s out.” he’s convinced himself that some sort of new leaf has been turned, and now all the people who directly opposed of his being are gone with the wind. First of all, I never really thought of the guy that way until my first actual one-on-one encounter with the fellow during a party. Initially I had thought that he would be a nice guy, judging by his silence, which was just accepted as his “being nice,” which is probably what a lot of people are still doing. My disillusionment to his supposedly nice exterior occurred around the tenth time, during the first encounter, that I tried to get him to contribute anything to a conversation. I asked him what music he liked, what he liked to do, I even asked the guy what his favorite color was. All of my attempts to get the guy to talk were futile. The only indication that he had even heard a single word I uttered would be a big fat smile, silence, and the occasional giggle (you can ask Jackson, he was there). Afterwards, I tried to make conversation online, having been encouraged to by the host of the aforementioned party, in hopes that the security blanket of the internet would give him enough reason to communicate, but then, I was just greeted by a paranoid loner who was questioning everything I said and asking me “Who sent you?” as if I was some government spy, as if he was worthy of being spied upon. Right then and there, I told him that I thought he was an evil man drawn to silence and made a vow of silence, saying that this would be the last I would try to make any sort of conversation with him. That was a few years ago. I’ve stayed true to my vow. “So what?” is what you might be asking yourself. “The guy just doesn’t want to talk. Why can’t you just leave him alone?” He throws a teddy bear at me. He runs out the door and then runs back in the house through another door, in an attempt to scare shit out of me. Then he tells Jackson to communicate the message that I sounded like Philip Wang (which isn’t someone I think I sound like). So I just walk off, but you can tell that the loner’s still there. His presence is there, hovering, like some sort of self proclaimed overseer. You can tell that he wants to fit in somehow, but he seems unable to, like he’s socially constipated. Imagine the dismay of trying to get him involved and being greeted by a big fat smile, silence, and the occasional giggle. He wasn’t a foreigner. He spoke perfect English. Why the hell would you not respond in that type of situation? “So he’s antisocial, what’s the big deal?” I think I have, or at least used to have, a touch of antisocial tendencies, but I wouldn’t outright refuse to talk to anyone who tried to make any kind of contact with me. That’s plain rude. Why does it make him evil? It doesn’t. There’s other factors. His sinister grin. His twisted laughter. The way he looked at me like I was some sort of retard. The story about him brandishing the kitchen knife over something as trivial as a broken toy lightsaber (I did some digging. He wasn’t worth it, but I couldn’t help it). That’s why he’s evil. “ arrogant....pretentious...always looking up into space?”...? ?... " he doesn't walk, he bounces?/sways? " Is anyone even going to challenge this statement? I genuinely feel that that’s the image that gets reflected off his non-verbal behavior. He looks like the type of person that would think that he’s better than me, he does look up into space when he walks around, and he does have a sort of bounce in his step. Now to just totally disregard something just because it doesn’t fit into his scheme of things, because it doesn’t fit with his image of himself, doesn’t mean it’s not true and it doesn’t really call for any defensive measures. If he looked at it in another perspective, my comments might be able to point out some way of improving himself. I suppose that Jeff might not even come across this entry, but just by judging his character, I think that this will surely be brought to his attention in one way or another. This gesture might even be considered as dastardly as his was, being posted where he probably wouldn’t even see, but I sure as hell don’t think it is. I’m using the same method of dealing with the situation that he has employed, and if he were to come up to me to my face and say “fuck you” or ask what I thought of him, I’d just walk away (staying true to my vow of silence). If someone asked me what I thought of him, and he was standing right next to me, I’d say that he was an evil and arrogant loner (or something to that extent). This rebuttal probably seems trivial or childish at best, but its how I feel. Upon closer inspection, he and I have quite a few similarities. Maybe in another circumstance we would have been good friends, but now that the cards have been played in the way they have, we will probably never be. I admit that there is evil in me, and arrogance, but these two elements are found to a greater extent in Jeffrey Chang than I would ever want to be associated with. My final analysis still stands: Jeffrey Chang is an evil man drawn to silence.

	2003.01.29  00.57 escape Sometimes I find comfort in isolation, but most of the time I just want someone to find me.

	2003.01.26  22.07 killin like a villain I arrive on the cracked, painted piece of asphalt that Glen A. Wilson High School likes to call their basketball courts at 9:00am. I shoot a few shots, with the sun on my back, and a stranger doing the same to my right. I was the first one there. Then there was Steven Gu, who had to serve “quality time” with Mr. Kelly (he still owed two hours of service to the jolly history teacher because of his accumulation of tardies over the course of first semester). Then there was Scott and Mendoza; Billy; Enming; Ryan; Stanley; Allen… and later on we would add Patrick onto the list. We had gathered onto the courts of Wilson to see whether the guys of AcaDec or ToK were athletically superior. We started off with basketball, with Billy, Scott, Mendoza, and Enming (we just put him on ToK’s side) representing ToK, and Ryan, Steven, Allen, and I representing AcaDec. ToK just wouldn’t be able to best AcaDec, with only Scott seeming to be any type of offensive threat. AcaDec wins best two out of three Eventually, we made our way onto the football field, where we would see which of the two were better at football. ToK seemed to have the obvious advantage, having more of the strength, but AcaDec had speed. We had to stop, with the score tied four to four in touchdowns, on account of Ryan’s sprained ankle. Maybe we’ll settle this dispute another day… Draw I would go home looking like Rambo, my entire body seemed to have a coat of dirt over it (which made me someone who could pass as a black guy) and my entire body itched like a thousand mosquitos were just over for a barbeque. While showering, brown water would just stream down into the drain. We all went to Ryan’s house to play video games and watch the big game. I have a strong urge to buy Playstation 2 and get my hands on Timesplitters 2 and Grand Theft Auto: Vice City. There’s just something inherently fun about blowing stuff up, killing tons of people, and wreaking havoc, even if it is just within the confides of a video game… All in all, this was a kick ass weekend. I can only hope that this is the beginning of many to come.

	2003.01.26  21.45 the man with a purple turban “It sounded familiar, but I hadn’t heard it for a while. It was good. You did great.” said Allan Axibal, with his thumb protruding upward and a big, fat smile on his face, referring to my prepared speech, which I managed to perfect my prepared speech on my own, with minimal practice. Adams looked impressed too, but I could tell that he was still needlessly worrying over my impromptu speeches (needless not because I was particularly good, but because I wouldn’t be able to nab a medal anyways, being a coach and all). I could tell that Axibal, who I associate with “RahH!” and “WRONG, MOTHERFUCKER!” (in Bruce Lee stance), looked utterly blown away. Every time I looked back in his direction, he would give me a thumb up and mouth “good job.” The very next day was a Saturday, and I would go to school, suit and all, to serve as an example for the speech judges. The administrators seemed to be very appreciative of the fact that I’d volunteered, and would later go on to say that it was essential for the judges to have examples, or their scores would be all over the board. I wasn’t very happy that I wouldn’t be able to get anything for my efforts (which actually weren’t very much), but it was nice to know that someone thought that I mattered. Giving my prepared speech in front of a cafeteria full of strangers wasn’t very nerve-wreaking. I had been prepared. I was ready. However, having overheard some talk that disapproved of walking during speeches by the speech grading instructor, and having seen a few people mark something down when I made the first transitional walk to my speech, might have been why I ended up skipping my last few transitional walks. All things considered, I still delivered a great speech, which would have earned me a medal (beyond a shadow of a doubt). My impromptu was on which aspect of the Academic Decathlon was the best, which was easy to talk about. While giving my impromptu speech, one of the ladies held up the one minute remaining sign up when I was only about ten seconds into my speech, which threw me off a little bit, but I still managed to do a decent impromptu. When Adams got a hold of the speech instructor afterwards, he said that my prepared speech was good and my impromptu was good, so had I been scored in the competition I would have gotten a high 800 or low 900. On my way out of the cafeteria, I was stopped by a man with a purple turban, who said that I had done well, and asked if I was applying to Harvard (that made my day). After everyone finished writing their essays, delivering their speeches, and going into interviews, we headed back to school, and ended up going to Round Table for lunch. Ryan, Allen, Stanley, and I would end up seeing Confessions of a Dangerous Mind and getting boba afterwards. The movie was pretty good, but there were some discrepancies that you could easily pick up. In one occasion, the main character lights the filter side of his cigarette and in another there’s a strangely worked out switch off. “I came up with a new game-show idea recently. It’s called The Old Game. You got three old guys with loaded guns onstage. They look back at their lives, see who they were, what they accomplished, how close they came to realizing their dreams. The winner is the one who doesn’t blow his brains out. He gets a refrigerator.” -Chuck Barris

	2003.01.19  14.55 winter formal Jia Jia’s Florist. I came across Vince Amaya, picking up the corsage/boutonniere, and he seemed to recognize me. I waved back, and tried to remember where I would fit into his chapters of life. Auditions for his senior project: The Three Musketeers (or something to that extent). Yes. Not one of Michael’s shining moments. I would see him during pictures at school too, standing as a witness to my past self. One who fumbled his lines, was too stiff, was too nervous. My parents are pretty supportive of whatever I do, but an overly inquisitive nature usually comes hand in hand with that support; so I come off as the bad guy when they ask me what’s going to happen at the “dancing party” (which is what they call anything involving dancing) and I snappily reply, “I don’t know.” My parents seemed more nervous than I could ever be. My dad constantly asking me when my ride would get there. My mom trying to figure out if I should bring a vase with the dozen light yellow flowers labeled “Virginia.” I tell them to calm down. “Terry will get here, dad.” “No vase, mom.” Terry found his way, picked me up, picked up film, and we swung over to Jen’s house. Jen’s mom was nice enough to pin on boutonnieres for Terry and me, and her dog was nice enough to sit still without uttering a single bark. Terry suspected dog beating… On the Wilson parking lot Terry was greeted with a glittery wand to the face, which I aptly avoided. We made our way to the den. They had to give Jen a box to stand on for the picture. “Stand here. Feet kind of spread apart. Hand on her waist. Tilt your head a little. loosen up." I’ll admit that Joe’s Garage did not sound too appealing the first time I heard it, and coming close to it’s location, I was afraid that it was going to be in a car dealership. But someone told me a long time ago not to judge a book by its cover, and my expectation of something more out of the ordinary, than having a dance between rows of built Ford tough Fords or sparkling new Toyotas, was not in vain. I was able to spot a star labeled, “Michael Chuang Jennifer Lee” littered amongst others, lined up next to the red carpet entrance. The dance floor seemed kind of small. The room was filled halfway with tables that had red tablecloth and nice centerpieces. The other half housed rare classic cars. I think Garrick put it best when he said, “It’s times like these that I wish I knew more about cars.” Everyone really caught the Hollywood Premier atmosphere, with flashes from cameras coming from all directions. Best Entrance: Kris Su, who came with corn rolls that had Kris Su written on them in red dye, an entirely white get-up, complete with pimp hat and cane. The people who sat in my table were all pretty good people, but I really should’ve call Billy over, which would have saved the entire table from having to hear random political statistics and debates spew from the mouths of Terry vs. James (Lisa Tseng’s date, who was twenty-one, from what I gathered). I don’t really care for political nonsense. Jen and I both put our bets on the twenty-one year old Asian Texan who had been majoring in (you guessed it!) something to do with politics. Eventually we got our food, which was yummy. Lisa said she was irked because Patrick didn’t save her a seat, and she asked him to a long time ago or something, but having to sit through all of her date’s rants on politics was proof enough for me that Patrick had done the right thing, and that I should have found someone to fill those two seats sooner. It's surprising to note that James Tai actually made a cameo when everyone was eating. Eventually the masses were restless, and made their way onto the black and white checkered dance floor, where the kaleidoscope of lights bombarded sweating bodies with shades of green, red, and yellow. You know part of that old saying? “Dance like there’s no one watching” Well, I think some people have taken this philosophy a little too far, and what they’re doing isn’t so much dancing as so much having sex with their clothes on. They’ve just completely skipped the “do a little dance” part, and have gone directly to the “make a little love” part, which seems like an essential part to the “get down tonight” part (haven’t we learned anything from music?). That two way “freaking” between Gabriel and Yumi was so extreme that I wouldn’t be surprised if Yumi found out she was baring his child. I… danced… I’m not exactly sure how bad I was. Feel free to go to Jen for details. But the fact that I actually was part of the swaying of the masses felt pretty liberating, and I saw a little of my old self in Martin, who didn’t seem to be really getting in his groove. Mr. Garcia was totally uninhibited in his dancing. You could see that he was in his element, and his Guatemalan bloodline was enacting its control over his entire body. He should just have a class teaching dancing, or just teach us how to dance instead of teaching biology. Jen actually asked me if I regretted posting that lj entry a while ago, and where I stood with the girl at the time being. In no way do I regret writing what I wrote, and I think in some ways it was for the best. I got it off my chest, and I think it’s safe to say that we’re still pretty good friends. I think the final resolution that we came to was the problem actually was in my own mind. It’s just something I have to come to accept as justified, true belief. I actually got to meet “Mister A&F material.” He’s a nice guy. He has the kind of appeal that makes him seem approachable, and seems to have the wit to be someone able of having really meaningful conversations with. I must admit that my paranoia had partially kicked in for a few seconds. Something that was emanating from him gave me the idea that he knew a little bit more about me than he was letting on, but I have to admit that’s pretty off the wall. I quickly subsided the paranoia and accepted the truth. He looked happy. She looked happy. They were happy together. I feel happy for them. Best wishes. I went home in Garrick’s car, since Terry left early to go drink with his buddies, with whom I am not particularly familiar with. It’s surprising to note that I was the one trying to bring up conversation in the car, which is a sure-fire sign that there was way too much awkward silence. When I start trying to initiate conversation, you just know that something is wrong. It was particularly hard trying to get Aubrey’s date to say anything. When Garrick got to Diana’s house, he left his keys in the ignition, and walked Diana to her door. Me, being the mischievous guy that I’m turning into, squiggled my way to the driver’s seat, and drove around for a few minutes. This stunt was even enough to incite laughter from Aubrey’s otherwise silent date, Ryan. Eventually I would drive back to a dumbfounded Garrick, who would lecture me about the dangers of driving away like that. He even had a story about how his cousin did it to a friend, thinking that it would be funny and something happened to him (I wasn’t really paying too much attention to his argument, caught up in the moment and whatnot). I assured him that I was smart enough not to run into something and would able to sweet talk a cop out of doing anything by employing my Chuang charm on whoever the cop might be. Needless to say, Garrick still seemed pretty pissed off. I told him that he would have done the same thing if he was in my position, but his countenance still reflected the stern demeanor of a mother who had just caught her son stealing a cookie from the cookie jar. Afterwards, I would ask if we were still cool. He assured me that we were, and that he was just worried. Yep. That Chuang charm. It never fails. : ) I’ve found that in a lot of situations, looking at things in another perspective can bring a comical light on practically anything. If you look at other sides to the argument, and put yourself in someone else’s shoes, you’ll surely come up with something hilarious about it. I laugh at myself daily. You should too. (surely not laugh at me daily, but rather laugh at yourself daily) Mood: mischievous

	2003.01.18  14.19 this and that I can’t say that I’ve started the New Year off with a bang (if anything, it’d probably be a whimper), but all in all, a lot of things have been happening. Needing to see a play for Mrs. MacIntosh’s play review assignment, Ryan, Garrick, Michelle, and me all went to see The Star Wars Trilogy in Thirty Minutes at the Coronet Theater. The theater was pretty small and hard to locate, but we finally figured out that it was the building with a banner across the top that advertised “Puppetry of the Penis: The Ancient Australian Art of Genital Origami” that was across the street from the building with tinted windows, nude statues of girls, and a neon sign reading “Live Nude Girls” and “Open Until Noon” and right next to the building with clear windows with mannequins displaying a selection of trashy lingerie in a shop that was fittingly known as “Trashy Lingerie.” The play was pretty funny. It’s amazing what some people can put together in thirty minutes. Recently the band made it’s annual trip to Disneyland, where my preconceived notion that I was getting too old for Disneyland was confirmed. Some highlights to the trip were Lily and Elizabeth trying to convince me that they were psychic, picking the fruit from trees in the park, stopping the boat in Small World, spinning so fast on the teacups that Patrick was sick, and unintentionally ditching Janet, Elizabeth, and Roger to go on Splash Mountain again. It probably would have been more fun if Garrick had gone because there was so much potential for good mischief to be caused. When I came home from Disneyland, I found out that my fish had died. In his tank he was suspended by the water in an inverted manner. My dad told me to pull out the plug for his filter, but afterwards I saw that there was still some life left in him, seeing as how he was still breathing, so we plugged it back in. The next morning, all signs of life were gone. We dug a hole in the backyard and buried the poor fish in there. It’s hard to tell if he was in any pain at all. There was no sign of it in his countenance, but knowing that he’s a fish greatly diminishes the chance that he’d have any painful expressions. He was a fighting fish, so I couldn’t find him any playmates to swim around with, unless I was an evil hellspawn wanting to see some fish fighting action (which I’m pretty sure I am not). So it would seem that he would be pretty lonely, swimming around in a set space for the rest of his days, but he never showed it on his face. He reminded me of myself in a lot of ways. I should have had more one-sided conversations with him or something. Poor Barnaby… we hardly knew thee… Mr. Adams has been making me do quite a few impromptus. I had to do one after a long hiatus of AcaDec in itself, with the cheering encouragement of the whole team and a photographer for journalism on the side. Needless to say, I really sucked. I think I was really burned out that day, after taking forever to fix up a presentation on “Events in Poland” that contributed to the Cold War that turned out to be crap (you try researching on that topic, it’s practically impossible to find good sources) and spending a good amount of time on an author study on Tim O’Brien, which didn’t really do him justice. My impromptus that were done when the rest of the AcaDec kids were doing their interviews were pretty good, mainly because it occurred at the end of the week, when I was nice and fresh. I seem to have misplaced my ability to write anything good as of late. It’s very frustrating. It took me several hours to figure out how I was going to start off my author study on Tim O’Brien, and even after I finished, I knew it wasn’t very good. Hopefully Winter Formal will give me something to write about …and maybe pull me out of this constipated writing rut.

	2002.12.26  16.18 don't let your guard down it’s just a lj micahel i live outside of it (after everything that’s happened, she still can’t spell my name right) At about 11pm, yesterday, I get an instant message from Porky5678. “football tomorrow. 11 am. Thomas Burton.” Who am I to pass up an invitation? Woke up at about 10:30 in the am. Took a shower. Mom had gone to buy some milk at Walmart. I didn’t want to wait for her, so I walked to Thomas Burton. I have to admit that I was excited. (Who wouldn’t be?) I’d been call up to play with the guys that used to pick me last. Ex-seniors. The bigger big dogs. There’s a certain joy in being the last man picked. You’re at the bottom, and they don’t expect much out of you, which gives you the element of surprise. Their expectations are low, so you know that if you give it all your go, you might turn a few heads. There’s nothing wrong with being the last one picked. If anything, it gives you an advantage. Teams were picked by pairing up with someone about your size, and playing rock/paper/scissors. Losers would go to one side. Winners would go to another side. I paired up with Jon. For some reason, I didn’t expect him to play. advantage: Jonathan Lee I was guarding Patrick Kim for the most part. West Point man. He’s fast. Caught it two or three times, with me on him, but I think I did my job for the most part. I had a bad start. Didn’t catch the first one thrown to me. But I knew where to run. Read the defense. I run at a good speed. Two touchdowns (one was the game winning one). Two to three interceptions. good game It’s pretty easy to underestimate me. I could easily fit the loner type. A skinny Jeffrey Chang. I try to stray from that role. The people that usually see my playing football for the first time usually come out surprised. I remember people asking me if I was okay, after being tackled by someone considerably bigger than me. I remember someone commenting on my reckless disregard for the well being of my body. I remember someone saying that they have a newfound respect for me. Contrary to popular belief, I have a life too. Should you choose not to believe that, then I might just surprise you. advantage: Michael Chuang

	2002.12.24  16.53 cooperation is the name of the game She was confronting her conflicts by confronting Michael. She's doing what she can. She's tried to work at their friendship, she's tried to cut off Michael's fascination with her, and she's left at a dead end when Michael refuses to cooperate. INTRANSITIVE VERB Inflected forms: -at•ed, -at•ing, -ates 1. To work or act together toward a common end or purpose. 2. To acquiesce willingly; be compliant: "asked the child to cooperate and go to bed." 3. To form an association for common, usually economic, benefit: "When buyers cooperate, they can make large wholesale purchases at a discount." ETYMOLOGY Late Latin cooperaricooperat-, Latin co-, co-, + operari, to work, from opusoper-, work. See op-. OTHER FORMS co•op'er•a''tor - NOUN Cooperate. Cooperation is funny on the terms that it’s usually an option sought out to solve a problem. The humor lies in the fact that cooperation in itself has it’s problems. Two or more people find that they should work together to form a common end, so that the story of their lives can be re-written. A common end. In my case, it would probably be to remain friends. But then you need to go into the definition of “friends.” During cooperation, two people might go into something with different sets of values, definitions, wants, needs. It is simple. Everyone’s different, so everyone would have their own sets of definitions, see things differently. It’s a core problem to using perception as a Way of Knowing. So there can never be absolute cooperation. There is, simply, compromise. Therein lies a problem with knowledge itself. I can never know what she wants. I can only think it. I think she wants to forget that this whole thing even happened. She wants to go back to the way things were (i don’t even know what her definition of ‘the way things were’ is…). She wants me to stop my fascination with her. She wants to lace up her Nikes and run. She wants everything to be… peachy. ok. I’ll bite. I’ll “cooperate.” Are you sure you want to remove the folder ‘talk to me baby’ and move all its contents to the Recycle Bin? talk to me baby Properties Size: 5.56 MB (5,833,762 bytes) Size on disk: 7.53 MB (7,897,088 bytes) Contains: 119 Files, 2 Folders Are you sure you want to delete all of the items in the Recycle Bin? yes