A/N: As you may or may not know, I ramble. A lot. So I'm collecting some of the thoughts that are always bouncing around in my head here. I dunno why....I just felt like I should.

The PastEdit

Isn't it funny how we think that one small act can turn back time? Well, not really. We know better than that. But there's this hope in us, I guess. Hope that things will go back to the way that they were before. I wish that things would, but at the same time I don't. When I think about it, there's just this big tangled ball of confusion and a ball of yarn that a cat's playing with, winding on and on, tangling and untangling... Maybe I shouldn't think so much. It only seems to make things worse. I envy those who don't ponder and wonder as much as I do. I bet they live a simpler, carefree life. As someone once said, "too much thinking is bad for you." I can't really do much besides thinking, though. I just think....and think.....and think....a n d t h i n k . . .


Once you think about, we're all just a little speck in the universe. Just a tiny, little insignificant speck. Earth could just disappear one day, and I doubt that it'd make much of a difference in the grand run of things. We could just disappear

l i k e

t h i s


And the universe wouldn't give a damn.

Humans always think that their problems are the most important. Your owns problems are always of the utmost importance, the greatest magnitude to you. There's no use denying it -- you'd only be lying to yourself. It's human nature, after all. Humans are selfish creatures at the core. Yet they're also capable of some amazing things... Where do you draw the line between good and bad? Life isn't in black and white. It's in shades of gray. There's no such thing as the good guy and the bad guy. Each side thinks that they're the good one, each side thinks that their actions are justified. It's just two different groups with different perspectives. Sometimes I think that it would be easier to just not exist. Life really does get rather dull, after all.


I regret a lot of things. I don't feel like continuing on with this ramble right now....maybe later...


Ugh. I feel awful. You know that feeling when there's a pit in your stomach, and you feel all tired, and there's this lump in your throat that won't go away and you just want to lie down and sleep but can't because of your insomnia and you're dreading something but you don't know what? Yeah. That's how I feel right now. I don't know if it's just depression or if I'm actually sick, or a mixture of both....

Is It Okay?Edit

Is it okay that I like you?

Even though I know that you'll never like me back?

It's really futile and pointless -- liking you, I mean. I'm nothing more than a friend to you. So I'll keep quiet about my feelings for you, because I know that it's a hopeless cause. There's no use hoping and wishing -- false hope only makes things worse in the end. But then again, that's just how I am. I expect the worst, I build an impenetrable shell around me in order to keep myself from being hurt. After all, it's better to expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised than to expect the best and to be sorely disappointed.


Another day, another year. Time only goes forward, never back. Will I make a New Year's Resolution? I don't know. Even if I do, I doubt that I'd fulfill it. My head really hurts right now. I think that I'm going to take a nap (aka stare up at the ceiling trying to fall asleep)

Reality and FantasyEdit

Reality and fantasy. Reality and fantasy. Those words circle around my mind, echoing in an endless loop. For what is reality and fantasy but mere perception? Is this life that I'm leading reality? It could all be a dream, an illusion. What's real and what's not?


We're all the same here, aren't we? We're all sorrowful, miserable creatures searching for a little solace, a little hope, a little light in the darkness. Searching for a way out -- an escape from sorrow, misery, the ever-increasing pain crushing down on you until you begin to choke, to drown in sorrow. Or maybe not. In any case, words are a way to let out the sorrow, the misery. Words are a way to let a little out at a time. Because sometimes, the truly painful is the truly beautiful. Light's great and all, but there's some kind of twisted beauty in darkness. Maybe because the darkness's so true. Light is hopeful, yet deceiving. In the end, darkness is all there truly is. Or maybe I'm just being depressing. I don't know.


I keep writing the same stuff over and over. Masks, secrets, and lies. Masks, secrets, and lies. The words have a certain ring to them. Perhaps it's what a prisoner would say to himself while pacing in his cell. Walking back and forth, back and forth. Always pacing. Always the same. Who am I, to complain? Who am I, to be depressed? I remember those words you said to me, all those months ago. And you know what? You were right. In the end, I'm really just a spoiled brat. I should be happy, but I'm not. Happiness is but fleeting, a far-off memory of a distant dream. Always at the edge of my fingertips, but never quite there.


What is beauty but a matter of perception?

What is beauty that cultures should be so obsessed with it?

What is beauty that people will die for it?

What is beauty that people will resort to extreme measures to obtain it?

What is beauty that you should be judged by it?


Don't depend on me, for I may disappoint. Don't rely on me, for I may fall. Don't lean on me, for I may break. Don't run to me, for I may let you down.

If anyone's imperfect, it would definitely be me. So many people rely on me, and I'm so scared of letting everyone down. However, I know that I can't keep this up forever. I'm stretched to my limit, and I'm afraid that one day I'll snap. I don't want to have another breakdown. I don't want to fall. But I just can't do this anymore. I'm so scared to walk down the same path that I have so many times. Maybe if I just push my worries and my fears into the very edge of my mind, they'll go away. But I know that that won't happen. More likely than not, they'll just resurface again when I'm most vulnerable and I'll explode like a tightly corked bottle that's been building up too much pressure for far too long.


I've always had a bad habit of running away when things get complicated. I've always had a bad habit of disappointing people who trust me. I'm just a scared little girl, running away from the world. When the going gets tough, I break all my ties and I run away. I find a new place that I can call home. And then I eventually run away from that place too.

Everyone around me's playing house, creating ties. They're all a great big family -- there for each other, supporting each other. And yet I never feel like I belong there. I'm just a bystander, standing at the edge of the circle and thinking about running away. And I latch on to the only person there who I truly care about. The only one who truly matters to me -- you. Because even now, as I'm writing this, I'm tempted to run away. But yet I linger. I stay there, because of you.


How meaningless, this pointless jumble of words. Insignificant conversation, trivial details. I drop in for a chat and I leave wondering what I was doing there in the first place. I don't know how long I can continue on like this; I don't know how much longer I can bear to stay. For with each passing second, my presence there grows more and more pointless. One day I'll stop caring altogether. I stay because of you, yet you're rarely ever on. I wonder how much longer it'll be until I leave...

Step by StepEdit

Take it slow. Do it step by step so they won't suspect. Quietly erase all evidence that you ever existed when they're not looking. When they realize that you've gone, it'll be too late.

I don't want to make a big fuss. I don't want a dramatic blog post. I just want to quietly disappear and never look back. I don't want to leave because of a fight; I don't want to leave with hurt feelings and resent brewing in the air. I just want a clean break. I'm tired, so tired of all this. This endless cycle, day by day. I'm tired of wondering what in the world I'm doing there. I'm tired of staring at a chatroom and feeling indifferent. The only thing that's kept me rooted there is you, but we talk less and less nowadays. Gods, I miss you, but I rarely ever log on at the same time as you.

A few more days. Just a few more days and I'll be gone. It'll be painful, and I'm sure I'll miss the place dreadfully, but that too shall pass. My time there is quickly drawing to a close. This time, I won't go back. Ever. I just want to get this done and over with, and never look back.


Someone once told me that beneath simplicity is a whole lot of complexity. Even the most simple-seeming person is, in actuality, extremely complex.

In retrospect, my life seems so damn simple. In some ways it is. In some ways it isn't. Choices. Decisions. Secrets. Lies. Masks. Lying awake at night, running words and phrases through my head. Reflecting and wondering. Times when I feel like I'm fine. Times when I feel like I'm not breaking, when I don't feel as though I'm depressed. But that's all a lie.

I don't why I told her. On impulse, I suppose. I've always been too damn impulsive for my own good. But I don't even know if she bothered to log on. A part of me is glad about that. Because I'm scared -- terrified -- about people who I know, people who I've seen face-to-face, finding out about who I really am. People finding about my vulnerable side. People finding out that I'm not as happy as I pretend to be.

I'm living a lie. But then again, I've always been a liar.


There's something beautiful about silence. Silence isn't an empty void; it's full of unspoken secrets and confessions. There's something about silence that draws me in. I like the silence far better than noise. Human voices mixed into one indistinguishable hubbub drive me absolutely crazy. Sometimes I wish that everyone would just shut up for a minute.

I don't know half of what I'm saying right now. My eyes hurt like hell and my nose is extremely stuffy, but there's still six more posters to make. I have really great timing, having a fever when I have so much work to do...


I've never understood the nuances of love, nor have I ever understood the reason for its existence. Love is merely a chemical reaction in your brain, nothing more. I've never understood those ridiculous love stories -- Romeo and Juliet, the Disney princess movies. How foolish, to callously toss your life away because of "love" for someone you met three days ago. I don't believe in love at first sight, nor do I believe in happy endings or true love. There is no such thing as a happy ending in life. There's always going to be sadness and pain. To think otherwise would be foolish.


I'm drowning under the pressure.

Perfect grades. All honors classes. ASB. Debate. Piano. 9th grade math in 8th grade. Mandarin. Other extracurricular.

I have to be perfect. I have to excel in everything. I have to have a 4.0 GPA.

And sometimes, I wonder -- why? What's the point? But I know what the answer's always going to be. "So you can get into a good college."

Sometimes I feel like I work so hard -- I strive to be the best of the best, I do everything that I do, I put tons of effort into everything -- just to get in a good college. And I wonder, what will happen after college? After this relentless pressure, this drive to be the best, is gone, what will I do? I know I want to be a writer, but things will be so different. For once, I won't have to worry about being perfect. Life will be so different; I don't know how I'll adjust.

But before college looms high school. AP classes. Even more extracurriculars. SATs. Trying to get into college. I doubt that I'll even manage to get four hours of sleep once I enter high school.

Some people assume that I could just give up and walk away from it all. But I can't. Because for me, I have to be the best. I have to excel. Or else I don't know who I am.


Since when did I start to care about what people think? Since when did I start to lose confidence in myself and my abilities? What happened to the girl who was so strong -- the girl who didn't give a damn?

These days, I find myself unraveling more and more. And I hate it.

So I sit here, feeling tired and feverish and exhausted, while I slowly begin to fall apart.

Ad blocker interference detected!

Wikia is a free-to-use site that makes money from advertising. We have a modified experience for viewers using ad blockers

Wikia is not accessible if you’ve made further modifications. Remove the custom ad blocker rule(s) and the page will load as expected.