finding home

I’m not very bold. I’m shy, I’m nervous, I’m scared.  I don’t like confrontation, and I am always qualifying things, never truly making a bold, vivid, clear statement.  It’s as if I am scared of making my own opinion, in fear of being wrong. (Wrong against who anyways?).  Nothing that striking about me. I avoid making statements, but that makes me forgettable. Just… nice. Nice and normal, ‘easy to get along with.’ I remember thinking that I am weird, but perhaps that I am just normal. I am just trying to get along with people, to the point where I am become unnoticeable that people cannot even recognize when I am moving.

I’m 21. I am young, and I am single.  I like to cook and bake, even if I may not be so good at it— food is comforting to me, both in the eating and making of it. I like animals, I hate frogs.  I’m a nerd.  I’m very impatient, and I can be a big fat jerk sometimes.  I’m also spoiled.  I’m wasteful.  But there are things I am passionate about, and there are thing I want to be good at.  I want to become fluent in Chinese. I believe in balance, which is also why I like Economics so much.  I want to get better at math, and I want to also get better at not only taking care of the ones around me, but also to get better at taking care of myself.  I would like to try and spread something good, even though I always keep failing. I don’t have much figured out, but I do want to fall in love.  I… do want to fall in love.

oh. i realized, just like how I have to see how a word is spelled in my head in english, it’s the same for chinese. if i can’t see the character in my head not only does it really annoy/frustrate&&irritate me… it’s really hard for me to get the meaning without having this visual/character in my head. i like chinese. heh.

I want to bake but I already have so many other things I’ve already attempted to bake— wasteful. It’s not that I want to eat it… I will just eat a few and then be done with it already. Cause I peck at my food. But it’s more… the act of baking that is comforting now. Follow step by step. Using my hands. Doing something. Not thinking about…. this. Not thinking, just doing. That I can focus my attention on the situation at hand, which is baking (which is relaxing to me)….. instead of focusing my attention at situations that have long passed…. situations which I have no control over… it’s like instead of running my hands over the addicting textured scars left behind I can actually do something with these hands. I know it’s not helping… but I’m not really sure what else to do. I could do work… but I’m tired. It’s not a very good excuse. Food is comfort to me— now more ways than one.

My body bruises easily and heals slowly. Scars still pierce my body long after the cuts and bruises have healed.  My left knee still bothers me. Is this normal? I suppose it is. Long after the harm been done… we are still carrying the memory of being hurt. And the impressions of that pain.. still seep into all the choices we make or fail to make today.

Reality is that I am such a selfish person— that I am not nice… and am.. not a good person. And… the weight of that, the reality of that sometimes its so hard to accept… that I feel like it’s drowning me. That it can tilts over my entire balance and leaves me paralyzed… left to rot. Like I should. I’m not a nice person… I wish I was…. I wish I was kind. So why… why why why am I always shown such kindness when I myself have been so fucking mean? I’ve hurt so many people by being so selfish… and yet… and yet… why HAVE I STILL NOT LEARNED. And you think after all this time I would be nicer… but yet still I am not. And it’s disgusting. It’s overwhelming just how filthy I am. I feel like I am drowning in my own shit. How can I even begin to forgive myself. How am I supposed to move on, especially when there are no fucking excuses. I am such a waste.

what a stupid age.

i thought perhaps i was pretty mature for my age, but more and more am i realizing truly how immature i am and have been. immature in my thoughts, immature in my actions, and most of all immature in my love.  truly… my immaturity has hurt me the most. but that’s what they mean by growing up, isn’t it? i always am telling myself i will never be good enough, but perhaps the question is good enough for whom? myself? i definably don’t feel good enough…. there is always something i will never be good enough for. so then why. truly, all i am is a one little immature girl, trying to figure out how and what it exactly means to become independent. i’m a nervous wreck. most of all, i’m terrified.  i don’t trust myself, not these emotions when it’s these same exact emotions that caused me to lose control and just completely and utter … immature. because that’s what i am. immature. but i don’t want to be… i want to be able to grow up. i want to be able to love. truly, i am pathetic little soul. one just little human who cannot even save myself. who is utterly and always so nervous. nothing more, nothing less.

cross-stitching while listening to ‘bed rock.’ // i forgot a lot that people, just like me, can’t necessary always be defined so easily. i forgot a lot of things a lot. heh. nothing more, nothing less.