the ambiguous element .

You know those days when nothing goes right? Perhaps you overslept and had to rush out the door looking like a complete baboon, or maybe you spilled coffee on your favorite shirt. Then you forget there's a test and breeze through not because the content is manageable, but because the words all look like crumpled jargon in the disoriented galaxy of your brain. The bad news just keeps layering on; it is the perfectionist's nightmare.

Sometimes, when days like this approach me, it is difficult not to instill a sense of hatred in my heart. A hate for all times complex, a hate for a certain class, a certain teacher, or maybe even a hate for the fellow classmate who stole your idea or asked too many questions.

Maybe the word "hate" is much too heavy to be used in the regular context of life, but its head uproots, if only briefly, when all the annoyances of the day meld together. It is only in that instant that we recognize its power.

History tells us that hate is an obscene concept created by man. But history doesn't happen until it happens to you.  Only recently did I realize that hate for someone or something is the most despicable, and most uncomfortable feeling that has ever existed. It rises from its shriveled form and expands, inhaling all matters of emotion until one feels empty, the mere shell of the person present just moments before. My conscience is not clear, thus, I feel this acute pain afterward, and I question how much of a decent human I am.

We like to think of ourselves as good and kind and as normal as possible, but that brief moment when hate erupts makes us think otherwise. Will we ever have a time when that hate consumes our every positive trait? I feel as if there's an evil element embedded in everyone of us, only intruding on our dominant mental capacity for short spans of time. But it lies dormant, yet still present. And I think that foreign element of myself scares me the most.

February Inspirations

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Review: High School Attitude

Not to sound pretentious, but surely I am not the only one who thinks high school is just a little bit overrated, a little bit immature, and a little bit annoying? Well actually, increase the magnitude about 1000X and that's my interpretation.
Of course, the learning atmosphere is satisfactory...but am I the only one who thinks sex jokes, incessant gossip, beyond animated, to the point to annoyance, characters are sickening? It's senior year, which means time to grow up.
The beauty of high school is that it offers us time to grow, to discover insecurities, reawaken flaws and combat negativity. But there's a certain limit to which the school can take before it's clouded with teenage angst and stinging remarks.
High school does end (thankfully very soon for me). Mind you, a majority of classmates are decent and courteous, but I have no intentions of embracing, or being dragged by the coattail, any attachment or emotion to any person. I guess I won't be attending the high school reunion.
Now,  I'm not expecting college to be my savior, but I feel it's a more liberal setting, with more interaction and less side-talk. It's a place with definitely more air-flow.
Here's to tomorrow, yet another day to survive.

When I have a bad day...

I always make sure to go here. She is so undeniably french, and undeniably feminine. And I love it.

SKINS

Just finished watching the first episode of the 5th season of the British version. I totally miss the accents, even if I had to turn the speakers up just a little more. Every new plot line is exciting, but i'm hoping this isn't just a bad rendition of Mean Girls. Let me just say that Frankie's style is outrageous...I wish I could pull it off.

I Wish I Were Here

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A Rather Unorthodox Idea

A week and a food poisoning epidemic later, Ruoxi, the Mighty, is ready to dish again.

A very startling concept stormed upon me today. It actually happened during English class. My teacher passed back our essays and that's when it hit me...should a letter grade determine my happiness?

You know those people who seem like they're never happy? And never will be happy, at least in front of your face (does the word "Diva" come to mind)? Well, my worst dream is not about rats chewing off the skin of my fragile facade, or losing precious articles to an angry Mother Nature. My worst fear is quite possibly the very notion that I will never be happy, and I mean over-the-top jubilant, nor be tantalized by the pure element that is excitement. And I am afraid my nightmare may be coming true.

You see, my essay wasn't bad, far from it, actually. So, I should be happy, right? That she said "You should be very proud of this effort [exclamation point]". But as I'm sifting through the paper, all I see are spacial white walls, rows of black ink, and only the occasional check mark, as if to say the page has been noted. It just makes me wonder whether my teacher actually read my essay or whether she skimmed through it, saw the length, a few good diction and give it a "hippy hi oh".

Never have I ever...saw so few corrections...and saw points being taken off for not italicizing. It's just as if the grading is based on a technical scale, not on a fluid, lucid essay.

If the idea of grading is so orthodox and medieval, then do grade-point averages matter? Do SATs matter? And lastly, and most frightening of all, do college admission letters matter? What do our grades say about us? Does the rigor show through? Or are some of us victims to a corrupt system of minute homework and free weekends?

There is no perfect world, but I wouldn't be the first one to admit it. I have to, though, understand that the time and place we navigate through is a sea of realism.

Sometimes, I'd wish we'd sail far away and efface the worries of this man-made, artificial concept called The Grading System. Do grades determine success? Or is it the simple hand of will that lifts aspirations and projects them into reality?

I am large, I contain multitudes. And sometimes, amidst the changing of the tides of my various emotions and beliefs, a part of me attempts to crawl to the dunes of my exterior, wishing and wondering if this is the limit at which happiness stands still.