Child of divorced parents

Just to clarify, I'm not ACTUALLY a child of divorced parents. My parents are still married, albeit not "happily married."

Anyway, the point is: I was taking a walk yesterday with my mom and contemplating my friends. A lot of my friends have broken their friendships with each other and I'm pretty much the last person they all have in common. In a way, it makes me feel like "the child of divorced parents." This comes from the fact that my friends are not happy with each other or don't want to see each other. It's happened between groups of friends and within groups of friends. I sit and listen to my friends gripe and complain about each other and I do my best to be understanding. Of course it pains me that my friends don't get along with each other as much as I get along with them but it only struck me yesterday how different I was from them.

Being the self-absorbed and existential person I am, I took this thought a little further. Taking a step back and analyzing myself, I realize that I am not like most other people. I'm usually more patient than most of my friends, for one thing, and I do my best to accomodate each one of them. This latter task is more demanding than one might think, given the fact that personalities clash between my buddies and I have to find a way to please everyone and keep the peace.

It wasn't until recently that a friend called me out on this and suggested that I tried too hard to keep peace. This is true. People are going to come into conflict no matter what and it's time I just sit back and let them sort it among themselves.

For now, it seems as if relations are getting better between and among people, but you can never really tell. It might just be the lulling sense of the calm before the storm. We'll see.

Lastly, a note I want to add is the astonishing fact that my friends still care about how I feel in the midst of all this conflict. It still surprises me when someone asks, "Wait, are YOU okay with all this? We don't want to make you feel caught in the middle." My response to this usually goes along the lines of: "I'll be okay. This is YOU guys we're talking about. Not me. I'll be all right."

I am caught in the middle, no doubt, but I can handle it. All the same, thanks for caring anyway.

Letting go

I need to let go. I just noticed that all of the songs I'm practicing this summer have been sad songs--"The Scientist", "To Zanarkand". They have this melancholy, thoughtful, and heartbreaking sound to them. They make me think of ------. They make me think of love. I need to let go.

I asked John if he thought "Elephant Love Medley" was a happy song. He didn't remember which song it was at first and I told him that it was the song from Moulin Rouge. He said that it COULD be a happy song. I suppose it is one. Once I finish "The Scientist" and "To Zanarkand", I should just play "Elephant Love Medley"...and more happy songs.

I've been listening to "Simple and Clean" a lot. I adore this song but it's starting not to ring true with me anymore. At first I took this as a good sign. I've always thought that it was a song about being too young to understand being in love and that was why I thought it related to me--too young to know anything. Then, when I found that I was relating to it less and less, I was excited by thinking that maybe I was understanding it a little better. I guess I'm not understanding anything. Maybe I'm relating to it less because the song seems to be about love and my life is telling me I should give up on it. Seriously, it's NOT going to happen. So why try? It's my time to go. It's BEEN my time to go, but I just...some part of me keeps wanting to hold on, to hope, and to search. That leads back to the question: What if there's nothing to find? What if I search all my life to find that there is nothing on the other side of the rainbow? I could run through the rainstorm all my life only to find that there is nothing waiting at the other end except more rain. The final rain.

I wonder if I'll cry when I die. Or maybe I'll cry happy tears? Happy that it's finally over. Happy that even if there was nothing to find, at least it's over, all over. And I'll be happy.

For now, let's focus on the positive.

Good night,

Lan Chi T. Pham

5 hours of sleep = Productivity?

I've only had five hours hours of sleep and yet today was one of the most productive days I've all all school year. What gives? I also re-experienced the phenomenon I have when, if I lose just the right amount of sleep, I can read like a speed demon.

Unfortunately, I had an exam to study for and a paper to write so I couldn't go see the movie I wanted to see. They were playing a movie called "Food" in the Hendrix Center and hey, if it involves food then I'm so totally, like, THERE. But as my procrastination would have it...

Gah, I have GOT to stop leaving homework until the last minute. It just saps away so much of my fun time. And it's always for the same class too. Weird, I usually finish homework early for all of my classes but when it comes to Public Speaking, it's always a mad-dash, last-minute run. Eh, at least I'm done.

Good night, mes amies. Until we meet again.

Happiness to the nth power

I went to dinner with one of my old friends today and I was reminded all over again of why he's one of my favorites--his sense of humor had me laughing so hard I could hardly drive straight. We went to Wendy's and he bought me a chocolate frosty along with his meal. Mmmm...so good. I love chocolate flavored...anything, really.

Anyway, then I went to the library to check out the Iron Giant. It's a book I read once when I was young (the movie scared me for some reason, though) and I wanted to re-read it. I had forgotten about it and it was only when one of my friends was talking to me online and mentioned giant robots that I remembered. Seeing as how my days are always busy, I'll probably end up reading it between classes. I used to do that in high school and my English teacher told me that she knew I was smart because I always had a book in my hand and was reading before class. What she didn't know was that I had no one to talk to so I would read in order to look like I had something to do. Hey, it was better than sitting there looking all lonely and friendless while waiting for class to begin.

Now I have enough friends so that I'm usually talking to them in between classes. It's insane how your life can change like that.

Oh, by the way, the title of this post is dedicated to my crush. I've had a huge crush on him for almost four months now. I sent him a message today and he replied. Even though it was short, the mere fact that he replied has me so happy that I feel as if I'm about to burst. Ahhh...life is good, my friends. Life is very, very good.

Ripped

It seems like I will be retiring my trusty pair of make-your-butt-look-GOOOD jeans today. I was just returning to my seat in class and waiting for the teacher to pass out the exam when I noticed that there was a rip in my jeans...right underneath the curve of my butt. Great. Just great.

Of course I couldn't leave because the exam was about to begin, but luckily, I was sitting down. Finishing the exam early, I tried to walk out of class as calmly as I could, hoping no one could see (or would point out) the curvaceous tear in my pants. Yeesh.

I think this might be God's way of telling me to lose some weight. Either that or He's telling me to get new jeans. Maybe I should do both. Yeah, that's sounds like a good idea. Maybe I should lose weight and then I could fit into a pair of REALLY nice new jeans. I'll go with that.

Well, I'd better eat healthier and exercise regularly from now on. Wish me luck!

Biography

I was reading the biography of Hans Christian Andersen today--he's the famous writer of stories like "The Little Mermaid" and "The Ugly Duckling." His biography, however, was twice as long as any of his fairy tales. I was appalled by this. While I find him an interesting fellow (and I'm sure his biographers certainly did), I find it hard to believe that anyone reading his stories would feel the same. God forbid anyone do this to my life. I would never allow for any biography written about myself to take up that length (a 36 page introduction!). While I like myself to a certain extent (note the self-absorption above), I highly doubt that the rest of the world has the same sentiments. My biography should take up a page exactly. And by no means should I be described as something I am most audaciously not.

My biography should be as follows (or this should be the general outline):

This author was born somewhere overseas on a (relatively) tiny country. On her move to America, she was stranded at the airport because all the pilots had the nerve to take the day off to celebrate Thanksgiving. Once in America, she settled on the West Coast with her family where they lived a meagre but happy lifestyle. At the impressionable age of seven, she moved with her family to the Southeastern United States where she gradually learned a love of reading and books from digesting the children's novels around her. The rest of her life was uneventful. Surely, she could not be described as being deprived--she got to go to the beach many times. In addition, her upbringing in the middle of two vastly different cultures gave her a diverse view of the world. Growing up with loneliness, however, as well as an early realization that she was different from others, led her to develop a whimsical and mercurial nature. Aside from that, she still keeps a healthy interest in reading, writing, and fantasizing about things like magical factories and faraway lands. To the fulfillment of her parents' wishes, she went on to college (which she is not quite sure she will pass) and dreams of becoming many things, some of which include a gourmet cook, a playwright, a humorist, and a traveler and collector of stories. This harrowing individual has not yet died and so, took it upon herself to write her own (auto)biography.

The day after Christmas

The day after Christmas always feels strange for me. Everything seems to go back to normal so soon, like Christmas never happened. I turned on my car radio and it was playing the music it usually did--oldies and light rock. No more Christmas carols or religious hymns, no more remakes, covers, or instrumental versions of the usual holiday songs. It all feels so surreal.

So what did everyone get for Christmas? I know that it's odd to be saying that on a blog post but I always feel the compulsion anyway. I like to inflate my ego but pretending that this blog is actually addressed to someone, not just me musing out loud. I often like to pretend that I'm writing a letter to the world and that the world is writing back. It's nice to have an audience.