as queer as a clockwork orange

Potential dire consequences have forced me to oblige myself to run tomorrow. Even if it means demanding my bro to drag me around the track. Wait, that wouldn’t work. It wouldn’t quite burn off the pearl milk tea, mocha java chip frapuccino, Coldstone mint chocolate ice cream I shamefully (but it was sooo good) ingested over the course of the two days my brother has returned home.

My brother, however, eats guiltlessly. He’s hungry every three hours. He eats a big breakfast, big lunch, big dinner + all that good stuff I ate. And still, he remains skinny as ever and hungry as ever.
I just feel that I’m not really getting fair treatment here. It’s metabolism inequality.
Gimme some of that.

My dad is driving us home as I sit in the backseat in the dark, staring out the window. Trees, lights, people, shadows flash past. A constant flow of music is streaming into my ears. With each song, a different story, a distinct yet fuzzy memory starts playing on the screen inside my mind. Sometimes it’s a slowly disintegrating sepia tone image, a hopeless nostalgia as I watch a person who once was so important to me distort and change into a person I so desperately wished he wasn’t. As the song transitions to the next, the image fades, bringing me back to that moment of regret and despair that not so long ago singed the skin of my life forever, leaving a burning black page.  But as my dad makes a turn, colors start seeping into the dark letters as Carrie Underwood’s amazing voice soars, staining my hopes and dreams with an optimism I haven’t quite gotten used to yet. And…stop. Sunshine happiness is cut short. Turn off. Get out.
We’re home.

Sometimes I really wish I could take on the persona of one of the Korean cram school kids. Their goals and our goals are basically the same. We’re all racing towards the same light at the end of the tunnel trying to grab that same moment of success. So why not, right?

But what I find most intriguing and fascinating about their school culture is the extremely conservative view on relationships. Though the cram schools reinforce the importance of academics by stifling any sign of developing love relationships, the students there have already accounted for this  in their formula to success long before anyone lay down the rules. One student stated that they knew each other too well to get involved in relationships. If only it were so simple in our fad-infested, love-crazy culture here.

We have all these different likes and dislikes and hobbies and ideals and ideas and political viewpoints and thus getting to know someone is already such a seductive activity that as you get pulled into their whirlwind of personality and credentials, you start to float on some superficial cloud of hope and idealism. And then suddenly one day you know a bit too much. But by that time, the milk’s already been spilled and you’re still crying like an idiot. Sure, the Korean students have their likes and dislikes but at least they all share the same secret; the same glorious secret.

Just a few more days to go. Just three more days and you won’t have to give a dang about anything.
Concentrate, please.

Exams are finally over. The guilty conscience plaguing everyone who struggled between studying and slacking has disappeared. Seniors are unofficially finished with their high school career.
Who wouldn’t want to have a bit of fun?

So right on cue prom serenades into the scene. Girls start to dig deep into their desires and their daddy’s wallets. Materialistic obsessions explode as they scavenge for the perfect dress, accessories, shoes, bags, hair, skin, finger nails, toe nails, and everything else: the perfect image fit to impress like no other. The ticket is free, no doubt. But where did all the money go?

Guys have it the easiest, the girls complain. A simple search through the closet: tux, nice shirt, nice tie, nice pants, nice shoes. Done. Oh, but it’s not so easy. There’s that whole thing about finding a date. Be it perfect or not. They’ve got to ask at the right time, the right moment. Should it be subtle? Should it be online or face-to-face in the real world? (Never ask online) Should it be dramatic? Maybe I should buy some chocolates that cost a fortune. She would totally swoon over me. But then a swift reply shoots them right in the heart and they’re left with a damaged ego that can only be mended by moving on…to the second girl of choice. Victory, she accepted. Wait, did you say corsage? dinner? limo?!

But that’s only the tip of the iceberg. You haven’t seen the dark side, the side that the Titanic crashed into and tragically ended the relationship between Jack and Rose. All this school-planned fun, it’s just not enough. So Act II comes along: The Afterparty. The prom was just the appetizer, this is the real deal. Ambitious party-goers spearhead the booking and arranging of clubs, making sure dance and booze are all readily available after the prom. There’s nothing like a good ol’ puke from all those yummy drinks. Enter the overzealous, highly eager juniors who want to be initiated prematurely into this enticing world. And the conflict begins and cat fights ensue. Snippets of gossip permeate the hallways, phone calls, facebook. “There’s no way we’re going to merge with the juniors.” “This is our year, our celebration, they can’t take that away from us.” And hence, an intense rivalry is formed between the diehard veteran and amateur party-goers. A competition has begun, the victorious being the party with the most people attending. Who would have known that all this fun would become a warzone?

But I’m not one to say anything. If ever a battle emerged to determine who could stay sober for the rest of their undergraduate years, I say bring it on, man.

Awesome concert. Double grammy-award winning pianist. Godly drummer. Funny guitarist.
Amazing Chris Botti. Best seating ever (though it was $$$$) It couldn’t get any better than that.

I guess pure hard work and a tinge of genuine desire really does pay off in the end. Be it directly or indirectly. The feeling of resurrection is unbelievable. But this is only the beginning.
I’ll just have to keep running like I never have before.

Taking pictures of the last class with everyone present just shoots me with a pang of mixed emotions. Especially when my chem teacher doesn’t want to be in my picture. It makes me feel so utterly sad. But here they are.

Chem labs: where all the fun is at.

My formidable AP chem classmates.

Calculus!

Karen and Jess :)
 

Anyone who has ever walked past my locker always halts their step, backtracks, and takes a look at the awesome insides of my locker. My locker never fails to amaze. No, it’s not exactly the most organized locker. And it’s not the messiest either. It’s just stuffed from top to bottom with books. Chem textbooks, a variety of Spanish textbooks that we never use, novels that I brought to school and never brought back, and loose papers of some forgotten content stuffed in between the gaps. There’s no locker divider to neatly organize them and yet in some natural order, the books rearrange themselves into two neat rows, one on top of the other.

Then, when exam time rolls around the corner at 7:45 am, I have to further suffocate my locker by curling up my backpack and cramming it into the little space that is left above the two rows of valuable knowledge. My locker knows me too well. My brain has been sharing mutual feelings lately. Everyday, I cram new things into it to prepare for the next day’s exam. The feeling’s not very good. And on top of that there’s all this emotional turmoil swimming around the crevices and corners of my already very occupied brain.
I think I should start clearing out my locker.

Streams of Spanish swirl out of my head. Colorful vibrant ribbons of lyrical Spanish flow through the air as I read about a schizophrenic in an old folks’ home…y tal y cual. Brilliant sparks fly through bursting the airy ribbons into fireworks. It’s a fiesta in my head.

Switch gears.

Down crashes a block of limits. A block of integrals. A block of dy/dx. A black cloud of calculus forms in my head raining blocks optimizing to occupy the maximum volume in my head. Calculator clicking. Time ticking. Run, run, examinee, race. 1-28, 29-45, Free Response!

Turn back.

Hair flying. Someone’s chasing you. Don’t look back! A glow of light floats in the distance, trembling, it’s a dew drop perched precariously on the end of a leaf. Down it drops a fragile bubble into the void of atmosphere and bang! Planets and stars burst out. Fast forward a million million years and there’s the sun shining, glaring into your eyes as you take his hand.
What could all this mean?