To make myself a creative, interesting, and an intellectual character requires reading, writing, and drawing. As I read from somewhere else: I wanted to be those things since I knew what they were.

I used to read a plethora of times when I was younger; write more when I was younger, and drew more when I was younger. Now those things, which are very important to me, are lacking or weak.

To be more than the energetic girl, the one who smiles to brighten other's days although mine can be broken, and to be thought of more than what they call 'the little girl with a pretty face and smile'.

The ones who are brilliant and creative are ones I admire and respect more.

In candor, it does not help that I do not have people like that around me more often. Either they are in another state or he still wants his space and time.

Why do people find it odd to put fun in something intellectual?

I admit I am bitter towards her, and she does not deserve it. It is not her fault for being borne in to a family like hers.

I know it is silly of me and inane, that I become upset over her accomplishments. She is able to graduate, take her senior class picture, go to prom, etc., and I was unable to do any of that.
I was unable too because of my family situation and my lack of progress during high school.

What I dislike most is her mother boasting about her, and speaking of how great, she is and how others are not.

I know I ought not to be upset over that, but in a family that expects so much from you and think of small failures as a big issue puts so much pressure on me to make them happy.

Maybe this is my problem: focusing on making others' happy, instead of my own.

I only wish I had done better...

In the past, I have taken ballet, tap, gymnastics, and hip-hop. My mother put me in to these classes at a young age, or as she said, since I began walking.

Whether it is noticeable or not, dancing is a big part of my life.

I deeply regret not continuing these more than anything else...
One day in ballet class, when I was six years old, for some unknown reason, I told my mother I do not want to do it anymore. Again, thinking back to what I was doing and when that thought occurred seems unreal to me. Honestly, I do not remember what brought that thought up, in fact- I did not even think about it! Those awful words just came out.

Three years later, I entered hip-hop; however, I did not stay long since my family and I keep moving.

Perhaps that is the reason those words came out. Perhaps some kind of spirit opened my mouth and spoke from my chords.

I was always moving.

Therefore, after asking if I really wanted to quit, (ballet, tap, and gymnastics) my mother had taken me out of the school. This was the time when my mother and my step dad moved in together; this was the beginning of our life and the end of a short story.

From ten years old to fourteen, I danced along to music, imitated dancers on TV and from people I have met at school.

Then high school came and I was not dancing as much as I did before. Sophomore year came I did not dance at all.

Now, I am 19 years old, and I regret not trying hard enough to do what I love.
I watch these dancers now on TV and the internet and two months ago, I began dancing. However, my body does not feel fluid, graceful, and powerful. This is my mistake...

I have a list of regrets and this is the one I regret the most.

I cannot be like that dancer I was, and better.

I will never forget that day when I quit.

I want to hide and not be bothered.
I want to sleep and have my dreams accompany me.

I miss them.

well, in actuality, I have never had them, in the first place.

I do not want this loneliness to keep showering me with its love.

why do I want to hide, and not be bothered- when I honestly do not want to hide, and be in company?

Yes, my mind has been cluttered with regrets that I am unable to put down.

After two years, I am still wearing the blackened veil of guilt I have placed over my shoulders and eyes. I have done nothing tremendously wrong or any sort of impact on any one else in a negative way, but the things I regret are on myself, alone.

Mainly, they come from high school:

1. I did not applying myself, fully.
2. Not committing myself to other clubs I was interested in.
3. I could have done better in forensics.
4. Disappointing Mr. G.
5. For not writing a 'sorry' and a 'thank you' note to Mr. G. and Ms. F.
6. I did not spend enough time with peers.
7. I did not apply myself in anything (although I thought I have tried).
8. Alcohol abuse.
9. I did not achieve anything.

Others:

1. For not committing to home school every week, once a week.
2. Not receiving help during depression.
3. Being callous towards my little brother, he did not deserve it.
4. I was brash to my stepfather.
5. For the trouble, I was putting on Sean.
6. Discontinuing ballet, tap, and gymnastics.

Now, I regret sending the test to Longridge Writer's Group. I have been accepted, and I am well pleased that I have, however there comes a cost which I am unable to commit; also, the lack of motivation, dedication, and heart. My heart is not there, or perhaps I am not confident enough to pull through it. Although I would love to join, and I have not been accepted in this way to the point that it is overly flattering, I am unable too because I need to save my money for important things.

I would love to be published nationwide or in distinguished magazines or other publishers; but, that is a dream, and not the only dream, I have to put on hold.

My loneliness is slowly dying; or, perhaps I am learning to accept it.

I have been rather shallow, lately. One of my reasons for that is so I do not have to confront any of my inane feelings or thoughts. The other, is so that I do not have to talk about them.

I have been forcing myself to write, which is not always good; however, it is helpful because I shy away from myself.

I believe one of my biggest flaws is the lack of confrontation, within.

Derrick Brown

He is brilliant.

My boyfriend and I (surprisingly, he came) saw him at the Found Theatre in Long Beach. Originally, I was slightly interested on seeing Amber; however, Derrick took that spell from me. Sean enjoyed him, as well (but, he did not melt in his seat like I did.), and we enjoyed Brendan Constantine for his intensity and laugh.

He may be the one poet I really admire.
His words are alive, but his performance brings them to a different level.

The clutch is off.

++++++

I am considering when I become angry or upset with someone, I will meditate on it. I will not necessarily move on, but I will simply forgive and breathe.

I have the propensity to stay angry or upset for a few days. Nevertheless, I will consider my disposition silently, instead of making it in to some evil. Hence, my equilibrium will be steady.

I was caught dozing off at work; however, I was on my lunch-break.

"What are you thinking, ______?"
I smile, surprised. I didn't realize what I was thinking of until I snapped back to where I was.

It was his look that he kept giving me, that kept my mind busy. I was confused about what he meant with those stares and words; words that were so deep, and words that I could not understand. I was trying so hard to remember the things he said that were of a very high, intelligence-rank thought that is inspiring and fresh; however, they were too long.

He spoke of how there is only one time in your life that is a "light," and worth trying for. I was very attentive, but the background was too unforgiving. His way of expressing it was in a way of poetry and philosophy. I cannot forgive myself for being unable to remember it all!

He was speaking of life, to control yourself, don't live for the past, don't live for the future, but live for the present, because each day has significance to the rest of your life.

I have never felt so horrible.
I have not done anything wrong, so why do I feel so guilty?

St. Patrick's Day

I have not been so moved, confused, and sympathetic in one night.


Saturday, I went to Brandon's house and co-workers of mine were there, along with some of their friends. I brought the poster and book for Mark, and I was only looking forward to see him.

I found out more about his folly, I have known he would have done that sincerely because of his loyalty and kindness. It is that loyalty and kindness though that got him in trouble, but it was not his actions that had him fired- it was the word of the mouth.

The one who knows the debacle told me, everything; I could not believe that she would start it. She is a kind and magnanimous girl, but no one is perfect. If she did not tell her friend, my co-worker, the chain would not have started, and Mark will still have his job.

I have never been infuriated with so many people at once. Their character would not have done what the misunderstood one has done, and it upsets me that they did this to someone they loved and enjoyed being with.

Nevertheless, I was the only one sober at the party.
I played with Brandon's nephew during the half of the party, but my back started to hurt and I wanted to stop. This four year old and his puppy eyes would not allow me to say no, but thank goodness Mark came and started to distract him with magic tricks with his cards.

We went back inside, and I was accompanied with Gary through most of the game on the couch. We conversed about the same things and once a group started to smoke, we went outside and continued talking. Brandon came out maybe ten or fifteen minutes later, and apologized. He can always make me laugh, and I appreciate that he is a gentleman. I was glad he came out, because I did not want to be alone with Gary for too long. There are times when I treasure my space, and I needed that; he was becoming too personal and close to me that night.

Others started to come out one-by-one. Moments later, all of us returned inside.
The first person I saw was Mark, and I have never felt as sorry for anyone as I did that night. He looked wasted and tired.

I took a seat on an armchair, and watched the last fight.
Mark started moving around spewing things, offending others and being very obnoxious.

Henceforth, most of the people left, and there was Ariana and Adriana, Gary, Mark, Brandon, Javier, and Elvis. I began to feel comfortable, until Gary started to become too close to me. I did not like that he was hanging onto me, and leaving his arm around my waist; so, I quickly got up, rushed to the kitchen looking for something to drink, and grabbed the only thing that does not contain alcohol: Coke.

Mark was there, along with Javier and Elvis.
Mark, speaking, kept falling backwards.

"I'm gonna ask you a serious question," he slurred as he came close to me. I was expecting to smell alcohol from him, or weed, but I did not. Perhaps I was too overwhelmed as I was.
I leaned in closer, exposing our developing friendship and playfulness as he did the same. "What?" I asked, smiling.
"Now, don't be offended, but do you really- I mean, really listen to 'Patience,'? Because, I can play the song, perfectly. Do you really listen to Guns N Roses?"
"I knew you didn't believe me. Why? You think I don't?" I smirked as I took a sip of my Coke.
"Wow..."
I shouldn't be surprised; I knew he was going to be acting somewhat like this; however, I played along, "What?"
"Just- wow... it's weird. You're weird."
"You're weird,"
"You're weirder,"
I laughed.
"Do you? Do you really listen to them?"

I sighed and looked at him; I did not expect him to remember how the song Patience felt like a big part of who I am. I remained calm and serene, remembering the times when I was a little girl of how I was innocent but aware of things, untroubled and personally, in myself, felt secure. However, I knew there were troubles, but I did not question anything. I knew there were times when my mom was going to send me to an orphanage, but I fell to her knees and begged her to keep me and that I promise to be a good girl if she just kept me.

"When I was younger," I began, "when my parents were going through trouble, my step dad and I would go into the car, and he'd blast Guns N Roses, roll the windows down, and speed through the desert. It was our way of getting out."
"Wow, you're amazing," he began laughing as he toppled backwards.
"You can go ahead and ask my step dad, if he was here, and he would tell you," I laughed. I looked at his eyes, "I think you need to sit down, Mark. Please. Either on the couch or on the floor," I said, sympathetically, "well, perhaps on the floor, since I don't think you can make it there," I said laughing at him as I reached my hand to keep him from falling.

He looked at me as he put his hand on the counter to keep himself balanced.
"What?" I asked, puzzled.
"What?"
I laughed, but asked very empathetically, "Are you ok? I really think you should sit down." I kept persisting, although I knew it was not going anywhere.
He started to speak in Spanish, I looked at him with eyes widen, confused and curious.
"You are so beautiful. You are amazing. You are a wonderful and great person," he said. He leaned closer, "keep staying in control." He kept on going, saying those same things over, and over again.
"No," I said, "you don't mean that. You're probably talking about someone else." He looked at me; his eyes and expression started to look serious, "you don't believe me?"
I hesitated; I wanted to believe him but I could not, "No, I don't," I said slowly and quietly.
His eyes were still on mine; he smirked, "Well, at least you're honest."

He toppled over in front of me, and leaned against the refrigerator. Every time he spoke to me, he leaned closer, almost whispering. When he seemed serious, I stood straight, put my drink down and my hands behind my back and looked directly at him. I persisted for him to sit down.

"You cannot do anything wrong," he said. I looked at him.
"You can't see me falling back wards, can you?" I asked. He looked at me, and said no.
"Or, you can't see me indulging as you are now, do you?"
No.
"You can't see me breaking down, could you?" He was silent, and stared at me, intently.
"Remember, you said that you and I are alike?" How, he asked.
"You even said that you can see right through me, as I do you. You're not okay. You are not happy, and I understand, so I am not going to preach you about it."
"Wow," was all he can say.
I started to become anxious, "What?"
"You're amazing,"
I don't know how many times I have to hear this. Come to think of it- I don't know if he meant that as sarcasm, to make fun of me, or what else. At that time, I thought he was sincere about it, but then again, I knew he was wasted.
"You have beautiful lips,"
I smiled and laughed.

Suddenly, he starts speaking very beautifully. Poetically. Philosophically. This is what I admire most of him. His mind, and now- his heart. Some of the things he was saying were, "you are perfect; you are unique, and no one can replace a light in a lifetime... stay in control... there are moments that are worth coming for you (at this time, I did not know who he was speaking of)," then, "you are amazing and perfect the way you are. You are beautiful," he raised his hand and gently brushed a part of my bangs away from my eyes. He began speaking in Spanish, as Javier came along to grab some food. Javier's back was turned as Mark continued speaking in Spanish to him, and I looked at Javier's face. He looked grave and sympathetic. Then he walked away.

I wanted to tell Mark that what he said was beautiful. He said he isn't a poet, but he is.

He looked back at me and spoke in Spanish again. "I don't know what you're saying," I said, yearning to know.
"And I hope you never will,"
He continued, then, "Stay in control..." at this point the background was unforgiving. I was not able to hear what he was saying as he was about to turn away. I became desperate, "Wait- stop!" He kept on speaking; I wanted to tell him I could not hear and that I want to understand, but this was happening too quickly. "Mark!" He finally walked away, and spoke with someone else. I just stood there, and grabbed my soda. I felt my nerves rushing through my body.

He came back, I did not say anything, and neither did he. He grabbed a bottle, and two shot glasses.
"No," I said, as I tried taking it away from him, "no more, Mark,"
"______, what are you doing?"
"You have to stop," I tried to give my warmest smile, as he wanted to make this funny.
"Don't," and said something I was unable to hear.
I felt fingers on my lower back.
"Let him, ______," the fingers turned into a palm and grasp. It was Gary. I became quiet and looked the other way. I wanted his hands off me.

Brandon finally came, and I turned away and sat on the couch. Gary sat next to me.


Moving forward, Mark started pissing off Elvis; Javier and Iris (she came while Mark and I were talking, and Ariana and Adriana left) took their conversation outside as things started to heat up. I tried staying away from Gary as much as I can.

Brandon, for some reason, started telling me that Mark just lost his job, and that he has never been like this before. He said that everything he is expressing is honest, and began speaking of how amazing, loyal, and a genius Mark is. The thing is- I know that already. He assured me, which I knew, that he is out of it.
Brandon started boasting of how polite I am, and how great I am at work. Mark cuts in, and Carl translates what he just said. Basically, they were, "you're perfect," "you always smile, even if you are having a bad day," "you have a great personality," "you are beautiful," blah blah blah. All those things that I want to hear if someone is sober.

Gary finally went outside, and I felt at ease.
Brandon started talking some more about Mark. Of how loyal and a great friend he is, and how he wishes to be like him.
Then, Gary comes back, sits behind me, and I managed to listen to both of them speak at the same time. They were in their own worlds, unaware of each other.

At first, he was going to give me a ride home, but, with how uncomfortable I was, I told him he can take Elvis home, and I will go home with Iris.

He went outside, upset. I'm not sure if it was about me, or the text message he received. Brandon followed behind as he asked me why they went outside, and told me to watch Mark, as he fell asleep.




I could not help but feel nervous about how much I care for him. I don't want anyone knowing. I feel guilty for caring too much. It feels like I have betrayed Sean, in some way.

I want to spend my life with Sean. I will admit that I want Mark to be in my life also. I learn so much from him, and I admire his creativity, mind, and heart.

He says I'm a good person. He does not think he is.
He is.