Me.

I like your hugs

Tue, 24 May 2011 19:30:06 -0400

I like your hugs:

1. I like how my friends describe our hugs as hug-sex because of how much I hug you

2. I like how my arm fits perfectly around your waist and around your back

3. I like how we rape everyone in school with our PDA hugs. I try not to do it, but they always end up happening.

4. I like how you perfectly fit into my chest, especially when I put my arms around you.

5. I like how I always choose to forget to bring my sweatshirt so you have to hug me in the parking lot to keep me warm

6. I like surprising you from behind with a hug.

7. I like how I accidentally hurt you sometimes because I’m hugging too hard (usually because one of my friends is poking me in the ribs and making me spaz). But you don’t say anything about it and you actually like it.

8. I like it when I put my hands around your waist and you lean back so I’m the only thing keeping you up.

9. I like putting my forehead against yours in our hugs; it’s really nice.

10. I like how our legs are somewhat the same length even though I’m much taller than you; but then everything works out when we walk together and I don’t have to break my hug with you when we walk together

11. I like all the looks my teachers give me when they see me hugging you like I a little kid clinging onto a teddy bear.

12. I like randomly picking you up when we hug – then I carry you places :D

13. I like hugging you from behind, and then dragging you off in the opposite direction of where you’re supposed to go. AND YOU CAN’T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT.

14. I like how you have to go on your tippy toes when you hug me and I have to hold you up, but I don’t mind doing that in the slightest bit.

15. I like how I used to deny you hugs in the beginning of the year, saying that giving them out too much will increase their supply and dilute their value. But now, I hug you whenever I can and their value hasn’t gone down because the demand for them has increased 

16. I like how our hugs always cheer us up, no matter how stressed and unhappy we are

17. I like it when we swish back and forth in our hugs. It’s lots of fun and I keep doing it unconsciously.

18. I like teasing you by pretending to accidentally drop you. It’s kinda mean, but that look on your face and how much you hug me afterwards is worth it ^_^

19. I like how we whisper things to each other’s ears and sometimes randomly lick each other and try to stop the other from rubbing it all back on.

20. I like how all my friends think we’re still just hugging each other like crazy because that’s what they all think I can do ;]

Hey, I like (Smiles) 1-21

Sun, 15 May 2011 01:05:44 -0400

Smiles

1. I like how genuine your smile is

2. I like how goofy you look when you smile sometimes; it’s absolutely adorable

3. I like how I can imagine how much you’re smiling right now

4. I like how my favorite picture on my phone is of you smiling ^_^

5. I like how we end every text message with a smiley face

6. I like how we agree that we rape each other with smiley faces, but then conclude that it’s not rape because it’s consensual

7. I like how you sometimes look Asian when you smile

8. I like how we tried to make our own smiley face because ^_^ and :P wasn’t enough to express how happy we felt

9. I like how you can always find at least one of :D :) :P xD :P :3 :))))))) ^_^ in our IM conversations

10. I like how my parents can always tell who I’m texting by seeing how much I smile when I type

11. I like how your parents must think you’re crazy because of how hard you smile when you read some of my texts

12. I like how we sometimes ^_^ instead of words because we can’t find the right ones

13. I like how I can’t be angry at you when you smile at you

14. I like how you know how true (12) is and know how to advantage of it

15. I like how I can tell when you’re smiling from far away, even though I can’t see your face

16. I like how it takes only 17 muscles to smile, but you put more than 17 into yours to make every one of them count

17. I like how your smile makes me happy, and my smile makes you happy and from there, it’s just a continuous stream of happiness inducing more happiness

18. I like it when you give me that smile sometimes, the one that says “I want you more”

19. I REALLY like how your face turns red when you smile too hard. It makes it my personal mission to do that to you as much as possible

20. I like how much I’m smiling when I’m writing all of this

21. And most of all, I like how it only took me 15 minutes to type all of this up

Hope II

Mon, 18 Apr 2011 23:19:58 -0400

Remember that time when I posted about how hope was dangerous? Well, it is. But that doesn’t mean that we should try to avoid it. It hurts a lot to try to build that dream, and watch it get torn down, but that doesn’t mean we should all stop dreaming and hoping. You might say that it’s stupid to keep hinging on useless things. You might say that it’s the same as if you’re jumping off a cliff with your eyes closed and hoping that you’ll land somewhere safe.

But who knows? Take that leap of faith and hope as hard as you can. After all, you’ll get nothing done with both your feet planted on the ground. On the slight chance that you’ll land in someone’s arms, you might as well enjoy the giant leap into nothingness and feel the air whooshing through your hair as your soar through the sky.

La Verdad

Mon, 18 Apr 2011 01:32:49 -0400

One of my favorite books I grew up with was called No More Dead Dogs by Gorden Korman. Inspiring me to be a better person, the book is about a high school student who’s incredibly honest, to the point of stupidity. He’s always told the truth, and he even gets himself into a trouble because he refuses to lie. However, what I admired most about this kid’s honesty was that he was always able to find his way out of the stickiest situations because he always had good intentions and never lied to anyone, ever.

From that point on, I told myself that I’d always tell the truth, which always worked some of the time. But in the other instances where the truth would have made everything worse, I found that living a lie is much better than telling the truth. In fact, I feel like I would have been much better off I telling a couple of lies here and there. I could have lied and made up stuff about myself to colleges, I could have not taken all responsibility for the mistakes I’ve made, and I could have easily faked being some impressive macho man to impress the girl who I really liked. I could have done all of these things, be in a better position, and gotten away with half of them.

But in the end, I realize that telling lies do nothing. If I pretended to be a badass and got a girl to like me, that girl would be in love with the badass, and not who I am, Quan. If I lied on my college resume and pretended I found the cure for cancer, the “smart” Quan deserves to go to college, and not the Quan who’s typing this blog.

In the end, the truth always triumphs over whatever lie one fabricates. I can say that I’m a bit random when I make comments about things, but what I say will always be true. Eventually, I know that the friends I make are true, and the people who I love are the ones who I should be with. Deep in my heart, I know that if I stay true to myself, then the world I live in will reflect who I am on the inside and not who I pretended to be.

Loneliness

Thu, 03 Mar 2011 19:57:50 -0500

It hurts. It consumes. It destroys.

I doubt that any other emotion can scar one’s heart as deeply as what loneliness can do at first. It comes out of the blue and when you’re off guard. You suddenly realize that you’re just one of 6.8 billion people who population the earth, that your longing to fill that emptiness is destroying you, and that you’re easily effaced off the face of the earth.

But, perhaps it’s better to embrace that feeling and simply take on the world by yourself. Emerson spent years by himself in a journey of self discovery. Andrew Wiles solved Fermat’s Last theorem by locking himself in his own room for months on end. And Jesus spent 40 days and 40 nights resisting the temptation of Satan in the desert. Perhaps, embracing that “hurtful” feeling isn’t as bad as it seems.

There’s no need to hope and rely on others. You don’t have to worry about letting anybody else down. You can focus on the task at hand. You can be who you want to be. Decisions become much easier to make once you realize that you don’t have to appease 10 people at once. Your thoughts become crystal clear, and are no longer colluded by unnecessary thoughts. You’re filled with a stable feeling of contentment, no longer bounded by unsteady hope and unreliable futures.

Maybe being alone can ironically bring you true happiness - one that isn’t rooted in cars, money, hedonistic pleasures.

It lets you finally become the one thing that few can afford to be: Free.

ILOVENYPHILHARMONIC

Fri, 11 Feb 2011 01:58:00 -0500

Never have I ever had an experience as profound as I had today. Part of our music program went to see the New York Philharmonic group’s open rehearsal, and by the end of the show, parts of my brain were left splattered all over the auditorium floor.

It was such an intense experience that I almost died. Twice.

The first time was during Beethovan’s Piano Concerto No. 3. During the Largo movement. I swear I was being seduced by the flow of the music in the room. My ears were assailed by awe-inspiring waves of pure music. Closing my eyes, I felt the soft melody perfectly complemented by the supportive harmony wrap around my body. In that moment, I felt as though I’ve left my mortal body and transcended into heaven, carried by the momentum of the music and anchored to Earth only by the delicate yet powerful piano solo.

The second time was during the second movement of Shostakovitch’s Fifth Symphony, which is coincidentally his most famous. Completely opposite of Beethovan’s Piano Concerto’s Largo movement, this section of music gave me goosebumps for a straight 10 minutes. The blaring of the brass over the soft yet insidious string background put a drop of fear in my heart. I can feel the terror with which Shostakovitch wrote this piece (he fell out of favor several times with Stalin) and how oppressive that emotion became as it consumed all other positive ones. Although the playbill stated that the Fifth Symphony was constructed to parallel the sufferings of the human mind and was made to draw attention to the optimism and brighter future of communism, I felt as though it was more of a satire - insinuating the oppression and corruption of Russia, its audience, rather than the lauding the “bright future” predicted by communism. Nevertheless, the NYPH played it with such passion that just thinking about the experience still gives me the goosebumps.

It’s a pity that I can’t simply sit in the auditorium everyday to die a couple of more times, but I’m definitely coming back to hear more of this awesome performance group.

I'll Procrastinating Later

Mon, 31 Jan 2011 22:08:00 -0500

Good news: I’m a second semester senior! :P

Bad news: I’ve still got ALOT to do this month :(

What I should be doing: More fun, less work.

What I AM doing: Less fun, more work. Those poster boards for LISEF don’t just do themselves. I can’t simply sleep with a textbook under my bed to let all that stuff I have to do for science olympiads diffuse into my brain. And best of all, I can’t shave off that 0.4 seconds off my 50 free for state qualifiers cut by bumming off at home.

What this post should be: Something interesting to read, celebrating my newfound freedom from an arduous 11.5 compulsory sentence in school.

What it ends up being: a revelation that school still owns me even after it lets everyone else go.

I’ve learned that it’s fun to learn/write/talk about...

Wed, 26 Jan 2011 22:41:04 -0500

I’ve learned that it’s fun to learn/write/talk about intellectual stuff, but they’re not fun to read about. But this….THIS is pretty cool and it’ll blow your brains. THIS will change what you think about whether all those rewards you’ve earned are really “rewards”. IS money a better incentive? Are high grades the proper way to reward students? Do shiny, big prizes really long term motivative killers?

…

Watch the link and try to keep your brain from falling apart :)

Hope

Sun, 23 Jan 2011 17:57:58 -0500

It comes in, flittering in and out of your heart like a scintillating star unbounded by the laws of nature. When you’re full of Hope, your heart bubbles forth and you feel yourself floating towards the sky. Nothing can stop you. No obstacle is too great.

But when harsh reality punctures that bubble of happiness, you can almost hear the *whoosh* as Hope drains from your heart. Every pocket of happiness and every collection of optimism collapses, leaving you wallowing in despair like a deflated tent. You’re left with nothing but an empty bag of hot air.

You never want to feel Hope again, unwilling to watch it abscond from your heart and leave you in darkness. You never want to allow that fickle emotion inside of you again. You never want to face the disappointed of nurturing a dream and watch it implode just before it comes to fruition. You never want to face the frustration of being so close, yet so far from achieving your goal. You never want see yourself be just centimeters and entire worlds away from your fingertips. Filled with bitter anger and sour disappointment, you want to bar it permanently from the innermost chambers of your heart.

But no matter what happens and how hard you resolve it keep it at bay, Hope finds its way into your heart. It’s as if we humans are inherently creatures of hope, made up of nothing but unsubstantiated dreams, ideas, and optimism. It’s as if we’re God’s ineffable joke, filled with something that doesn’t exist. We’re blessed and cursed by Hope, and no matter what, we can’t stay away from looking up at the stars and ponder if the slim chance of happiness outweighs the overbearing probability of failure. Everyday, we’re hoping for the best, hoping for today to be the day, and hoping - desperately hoping - that we don’t hear the sickening *pop* as our most cherished dreams are punctured by reality’s harsh needles.

…

But in the midst of the wild frenzy of the unknown, we ironically hold onto this fickle emotion, which - as strange as it may seem - gives us the most support and comfort. Without it, we’re simply beasts that have fallen prey to the eat-or-be-eaten laws of the jungle. Without it, we’re nothing.

…

To Hope is to be Alive

…

To Hope is to be Human

The Blind Side

Wed, 12 Jan 2011 11:50:47 -0500

Does being human mean to feel hatred?

If it is, it sucks to be human.

Hatred is a strong word, and we’ve all been taught to avoid this six-letter combination. If anything, we’ve learned that Hatred has and always been part of our history. As one of the seven deadly sins, Hatred is possible one of the most powerful and destructive force, causing everything from petty rivalries to mass genocides.

Everyone feels some of this from time to time. Although I’m a pretty amiable guy, there are a couple of times where I just fall into a fit of rage and depression. I just sit silently in my seat, fuming about the little things in life and dithering in my nihilism. With this cynical attitude, I see all the negative side to everyone I meet; this person is a selfish douchebag, that person is a lazy bum, this person’s egotistical charlatan, and that person is an attention-seeking clown. From this dark perspective, I feel even more alienated from the world around me.

Everyone has some sort of flaw flowing through them. Mine is that I care too much about everything, and that I’m naive enough to believe that most of the people in world are filled with good. Worse, the flaws that I could see most clearly was those in my closest friends - something that bothered me to no end. For the first time, I see my friends for who they truly are. Person X wasn’t the same amiable fellow I met in 9^th grade, and person Y didn’t have this inflated ego when I made friends with Y a while ago. I saw that these people hadn’t changed from their original selves. They had become who they truly are. I felt I’ve was lied to in our entire friendship, that I was somehow duped by my own naiveté.

But now that I look back on how I felt at these moments, I realize I’m completely wrong. My friends are my friends are because somehow and on some level, we all have something in common – whether it be simple as a card game that we play together or something as innate as the qualities and characteristics we share. If there’s only one thing I’ve learned, it’s that hatred obscure your view of the whole picture, even if you believe yourself to be completely correct. You may have seen the “truth”, but you’ll miss the entire context of the story and the other qualities that truly make up your friends for who they are.

Everyone is flawed in some way, but friendships involve seeing past those flaws and willing to accept them.

Last week I had no friends. This week, I’m happy to say that I remade a few.

New Year

Sat, 01 Jan 2011 10:11:27 -0500

As I watch the ball drop on TV, I’ve come to realize that nothing has really changed since 2010. I’m still the same person I am before, the living room is still layed out in the same format, and there won’t be some magical happening once that ball in Times Square drops.

As for a New Years Resolution? I really don’t have one either. As my friend says, resolutions should be made year round - not specifically on New Years. And that’s very true. I’ve made countless resolutions during the school year, and I’m happy to say that I’ve kept 95% of them. Keeping a resolution, created out of your own desire to improve yourself and not simply another bandwagon wish, is perhaps one of the greatest feeling ever.

I’m not going to lie. It makes me feel like one of the good guys in a Disney Movie, where everyone else is swayed by the evil powers of corruption, but the hero/heroine manages to escape the plight that befalls to everyone else because he/she was true to his/her own heart. That’s what resolutions really are. They’re simply tests that one puts before himself to test one’s own character. The weak characters break their resolutions in the first week, the stronger keep them for a little more than that, but the true test of character is keeping one’s resolution for an enternity. At that point, it has become more than a resolution - it’s become a part of you.

Now, I honestly think it’s impossible to keep a resolution forever - but I consider one that’s kept for so long that it becomes second nature to be a true resolution. If your resolution is to lose weight, then you should be constantly thinking about exercise and diet until it become something that you do on a constant basis. If your resolution is to be nicer to people, you should have the back of your mind checking on how you’re interacting with people and reflecting on the past moments. But one of the most important thing about a resolution is that you never give up on it. You may break it once or twice, but as long as you keep it close to your heart and you have the resolve to follow it through, then I’d say that you’ve done a great job making a resolution.

As for me, I still don’t have one yet. To be honest, there are a lot of New Year’s resolutions that I can take, but I feel like they’ve already become a part of me. Be more honest, be more nice, study harder, blah blah blah - I’ve made those resolutions already during the year. But there’s one that I know that I should take - but I’m unwilling to do it because changing myself to align with my resolution (to forget someone I truly care about) takes more strength than I can muster. Tell you the truth, I’ve been trying to keep it for a long time, and I’ve failed my resolve every time I talk with that person. However, if there’s only one thing that I know, it’s that I’ll keep driving at the resolution until it’s become a better part of me.

But don’t let this get you down. Everyone should make a resolution and a habit of keeping that resolution. Remember, it’s not the resolution that determines who you are but your willingness to keep it that does.

Happy Holiday Kids :)

Tomorrow. Tomorrow’s just another day. Tomorrow is the...

Tue, 21 Dec 2010 22:23:00 -0500

Tomorrow. Tomorrow’s just another day. Tomorrow is the day that comes after today.

—-

I’ll sit down in my worn seat tomorrow. I’ll look around the classroom and see the same people I’ve been seeing for 3 months with the same expressions that they’ve been wearing for 3 months. X will be chatting with Y. Z will be out of his seat. He’ll be horsing around with W. No matter which class I go to, it’s the same bland routine.

—-

I’ll take out my folder and I’ll place it on the table. With the folder opened, I’ll sit quietly at my desk and wait for class to start. The teacher will start writing notes on the board while his/her students horse around in the back of the classroom. I’ll feel a slight tinge of anger at the students’ disrespect towards the teacher, but I’ll just keep it to myself. Normally, I’d do something about it.

But this time, something keeps me back, stopping me from doing what’s right.

—-

Ignoring the guilt that will strike my heart, I’ll look around the classroom again. To my right, another student will be busying copying homework from a friend. To my left, another student will be texting from underneath the table, feigning an interest in something inside of his/her. And in front of me, another student will be playing games underneath a jacket laid carefully on the desk.

Suddenly, I’ll feel alone, as if I’m the only one in the classroom who wants to learn.

—-

I’ll raise my hand to ask a question, and sheepishly put it back down because I won’t want to look like a snobbish know-it-all. But I’ll put it up again, feeling the general antagonism of the whole class towards my interruption of the teacher’s banter, to which very few students are paying attention to. But I’ll put it back up and ask my question. A few other students will laugh, and I’ll pretend they’re not laughing at me. The teacher will try to explain the question to me, but I’ll find it hard to understand the answer. Seeing confused look on my face, the teacher will try to explain it again, but the he/she will talk to quickly for me to understand. With each sentence I fail to understand, I’ll feel even more and more stupid. Feigning an epiphany, I’ll simply put a look of amazement on my face, and I’ll nod incessantly, pretending that I completely understood the question.

Normally, I’ll stay after the end of the period and ask the teacher myself. But again, this gnawing feeling inside of me will stop me tomorrow. I’ll pretend that I won’t be bothered by any unanswered question. I’ll decide that my question won’t be worth it.

—-

I’ll pretend that I’m not becoming an emotional wreck.

I’ll pretend to be “okay” when someone asks me how I’m feeling.
I’ll pretend to be “strong”, and deny any help my concerned friends give me.

I’ll pretend that nothing’s wrong.

I’ll pretend that everything has been okay these past few weeks.

I’ll pretend that I gave up talking to my friends these past days.

I’ll pretend that I can’t remember what has happened in the past few hours.

I’ll pretend to smile at the joke told in the past few minutes.

I’ll pretend that the one thing I want the most right now is to be alone.

—-

Somewhere inside of me, lies my true jubilant self. But he’s caged underneath a cold cage of reason, locked because he brings a dangerous emotion: hope. I’ve been hoping very hard for these few months. I can’t say what I’ve been hoping for, but I can truthfully tell you that it’s not related to school or colleges. And despite what things were beginning to turn out, I still held on stubbornly to the smallest sliver of hope. And when I begin to see the cold, hard truth, I lost more than just hope. I lost a part of my identity, watching as the one element that has come to define me evaporate into thin air.

And now, I’m left with nothing but lies -a veil of deceit laced by the ashes of false hope, obscuring my view of reality.

I’m living in a different world.

…

I’m living in a mad world.

—————————————————

Lyrics:

All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Goin’ nowhere, goin’ nowhere
Their tears are fillin’ up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dyin’
Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
‘Cause I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It’s a very, very
Mad world, mad world
Mad world, mad world

Children waitin’ for the day they feel good
Happy birthday, happy birthday
Made to feel the way that every child should
Sits and listen, sits and listen
Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher tell me what’s my lesson?
Look right through me, look right through me

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dyin’
Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
‘Cause I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It’s a very, very
Mad world, mad world
Mad world, mad world

And I find it kind of funny
I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dyin’
Are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you
‘Cause I find it hard to take
When people run in circles
It’s a very, very
Mad world, mad world
Mad world, mad world
A raunchy young world
Mad world

Just a Dream 2

Sat, 18 Dec 2010 23:04:20 -0500

She stands alone, far across from you amidst a bustling sea of millions. With her back against the cafeteria wall, she stands awkwardly in her pretty dress, twirling it idly as she waits in line like everyone else. You’re having the greatest time of your life, talking and laughing with your friends.

Yet, something is missing. You feel incomplete, as if a piece of the puzzle was out of place.

Your friend gives you a punch in the arm. You return it with a witty retort and playfully punch him back. The circle around you laughs and you feel caught up in the happiness of the night.

She’s still there, standing silently and waiting patiently for the crowd to be called in. Her eyes wander around the room and you wonder if she sees you.

The conversation moves to the last test you took. Like a Shakespearean actor, you wildly gesture with your hands at how long the questions were or complain about how crazy the teacher must have been to give that last test out. “C’mon, he didn’t even teach us any of stuff!” You put on a melodramatic act, as if you’re trying to impress someone other than your friends. Your voice grows louder, you act cockier, and you feel as though you’re invincible.

When you look at her again, she’s staring idly at the ceiling, still twirling her dress back and forth.

Back and forth.

Catching yourself in the moment, you force yourself to look away. Instead, you shift your attention back into the conversation. But this time, you join in half-heartedly. You feel foolish, as though the energy you put into your previous performance was for naught. You try to pay attention to where the conversation is going, but you can’t. She’s standing alone. By herself. She looks lonely.

This time, her grey eyes meets yours. Your heart skips a beat and your skin tingles. Those enigmatic eyes fix you to your spot, rooting your feet to the ground. The air whooshes out of the room as the floor drops from underneath your feet. Her grey eyes are peering into your soul, and you can’t stop the cascade of emotions rushing from your chest. It’s coursing steadily through your body, crescendoing with every passing moment. She’s beautiful.

Right before you can smile at her, those tantalizing eyes shift away, towards the corner of the cafeteria. You feel all those emotions rush out of you, like a deflated balloon. A friend asks you a question. You tacitly ignore him and continue looking at her. The din of the crowd dimishes as you fix your gaze onto her, dreadfully hoping she won’t catch you awkardly staring at her but still wishing to catch a glimpse of those eyes.

Her hair frames her pretty face in a beautiful cascade. You study her inscrutable face and those dreamy eyes looking far into the distance. She’s content to be by herself, to idly twirl at her flowing dress. Oh, what you would give to peer into that complex mind of hers – to glimpse into her thoughts and to share something with her. Those eyes are passively pulling you in with an inexplicable force. Yet, you can’t help but to be lost within them, choosing to forget how to get out. They’re like twinkling stars, more beautiful than all the constellations combined.

You feel urge the to walk up and start a conversation with her. Or, maybe you should just walk over, chat a bit and walk away smoothly. But as you think about doing so, you feel your resolve dissolve immediately; you don’t want to bother her, to disturb her deep thoughts. After all, there’s just this HUGE distance you’d have to walk to talk to her. Everyone’s going to see you and you’re going to feel like more of an idiot than you’re already feeling. Maybe a little wave and a smile will do- something to catch those dreamy eyes of hers.

But you ask yourself, “Why are I being such an idiot?” Just man up and walk up to her. Talk, have a good laugh, and walk away. No big deal. All I have to do is to do is to ignore about how awkward it’ll be for me -or for her for that matter. Start with putting one foot in front of the other. Take a deep breath and don’t get nervous. It’ll be the easiest thing to do in the worl-

“Okay ladies and gentlemen. We’re going in. Get back in line and be quiet”, says the stern lady with blonde hair.

Again, all the confidence whooshes out of you. You come crashing back down to Earth, failing the mission that was never launched. As all your friends be quiet and shuffle back into line, you feel all the confidence drain out of you. But as her line starts to walk in, she turns around and looks at you.

…

She smiles.

The Little Things in Life

Wed, 08 Dec 2010 23:39:00 -0500

I hate you. I love you. I hate you. I still want you. But more so, I still hate you. You’re something I’ve always wanted but never had. And when I finally have you, I suddenly don’t want you anymore. You’re the epitome of happiness, the pinnacle of every person’s dreams. And yet, your presence makes me uncomfortable, like a black elephant trying to hide among a flock of white sheep.

The less I see you, the more my heart yearns for you. You’re the harbinger of unfathomable happiness. You’re the charming temptress of the innocent. You’re the ephemeral dream of the ages. You’re the reason I can’t sleep at night.

You and I haven’t been spending much time together this senior year- not with the insane amount of stuff I’ve been doing after school. It seems unfair really: you always have time for me, but I never have time for you. But once these hectic college applications are over, I guarantee we’ll get well acquainted with each other in the coming months. We’ll be the best of friends, closer to each other than thunder and lightning. We’ll be the greatest duo of all time, more tightly knit than Romeo and Juliet. We’ll be bonded more tightly than any triple covalent bond, as inseparable as the earth and moon.

In that short time, I’ll never forget you. You’ll always be there in my heart because my memories of us will greatly outlast any indomitable test of time. In the darkest of times, I’ll always be able to look back, and reminisce in those fleeting yet blissful moments. I’ll be rewarded with a small chuckle at all the times we’ll have.

——————————————

To all the free time my HS life has never afforded me,

I’ll see you soon.

Love,

-Quan

Tumblr Back Up

Mon, 06 Dec 2010 18:37:43 -0500

There are some unfortunate people who still can’t go on www.tumblr.com.

Fortunately, I’m not one of them.

"Just a Dream"

Fri, 12 Nov 2010 23:01:00 -0500

This story is loosely based on a vivid dream I had and Nelly’s song “Just a Dream” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N6O2ncUKvlg.

I also inspired by my favorite foreign song, “Wedding Dress” by Taeyang http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qIt6KCwlFPw&feature=&p=BDB02449845235B9&index=0&playnext=1. Even though the last one is entirely in korean, I strongly recommend it for you guys. Watch the clip. It’s pretty darn good. Also, listen to the first song as you read the story :)

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I’m sitting on a second story balcony that overlooks a crowded intersection. The warm evening breeze wafts through the air, carrying the wondrous melody of the prelude to Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 to my ears. As I lose myself in the music, I look down. My hands type furiously at the keyboard, yet no words appear. Instead, my writing becomes shorter and shorter, more and more dilute. As the prelude repeats yet again, I find myself typing the same sentence, but to no avail. My work is useless. no good. It’s a carbon copy of everyone’s around me.

Frustration seizes me. As I re-read my essay, I lose my focus and start over again. The words run through my head but without meaning. When I reach the end of the passage, I forget what I’ve written and start yet again from the top. It’s the same nightmarish cycle, but I can’t stop. I have to press on, to finish what I’ve started. With a sense of dread and fear of failure, I start from the beginning, typing a story that can’t be written.

But a familiar feeling touches me. It’s completely alien to me, composed of a foreign but exciting mix of emotions. It breaks me from my mad cycle of useless work. Confused, I glance towards my right and beyond the balcony at the faceless crowd below, searching for the disturbance.

Amidst the multitudes of motion and the blur of colors, she stands alone in a white dress. Her countenance holds a worried expression, searching through the bustling landscape for hope but finding none. She looks lost, almost afraid. Yet, her piercing grey eyes hold sparks of defiance, a cascade of confidence locked within her. Slender arms and pianist hands clench tightly onto her cup of coffee. She’s tall and strong, but she stands meekly with her back to the wall. For a moment, her eyes lock onto mine. She smiles.

In that moment, my heart jumps, leaps and soars. I feel as though I’ve leaped off a cliff, filled with exhilaration while cemented to the ground. The palms of my hands start to sweat and beads of water start trickling down my temples. I’m fixed by those piercing grey eyes, locked into place and awaiting her judgment. The warm and cacophonous air becomes a chilly silence of time temporarily stopped. But when her lips form a gentle smile and her eyes light up like fireworks, the familiar feelings returns stronger than ever. The bustling of the crowd continues and the chorus of Bach’s prelude returns to my ears. Plucking a light pink flower from a nearby table, I leap from my chair and onto the streets below.

The streets become more crowded than ever. Walls of faceless and tall strangers push and nudge me as I navigate the ever thickening crowd with my prize clenched firmly in my hands. Soon, I become lost in the sea of people, unable to remember where I started or where she is. The same nightmarish feeling edges in, coinciding with the falling darkness. It gnaws at me, filling me with persistent doubt. What if I can’t find her again? Will she still be there when I get there? What will I say to her? Will she say anything back?

The desperation grows. The anxiety aggregates with doubt to form pure terror. I run faster and faster, pushing and shoving my way through the indomitable wall of people before me. At several times, the flower almost becomes crushed as I weave through the thick crowd. But with much care as possible, I continue my endeavor. I can hear the whispers of those around me, invading my own thoughts and sowing seeds of doubt within me. Again, I feel the immense urge to simply give up, to be washed away by the faceless sea of millions. But this time, I can’t start anew. I can’t fix it. She’s gone. It’s done and over with. I want to give up, to never chase that sweet yet fleeting drea-

Coffee. The enticing smell of warm coffee. It wafts faintly through the air, barely perceivable yet tantalizingly close. As I stop, close my eyes and embrace this smell, I hear Bach’s prelude in the distance, more sonorous and grandiose than ever. With a heavy heart filled with anxious excitement, I open my eyes to see a brightly lit coffee shop. She’s sitting next to a cheerfully lit Christmas tree whose colorful lights illuminate the strikingly beautiful features of her white dress. Her face is focused intently on the door, still filled with the same terse expression. Strong, royal, but apprehensive, she sits alone at a round wooden table with an empty chair across from her.

But as I take a step towards the door, a man in a dark suit enters the coffee shop. From underneath his well-kept jacket, he unveils a grand bouquet of roses and sits in chair across from her. At once, her face lights up, leaving no trace of the worry that had crossed it. As he takes off his jacket with his back towards me, he radiates an aura of pure, melodic confidence as he light-heartedly smiles at her. She laughs in pure mirth, delighted by his presence. For a split second, she glances out the window and our eyes lock for a second time. My heart hangs in the balance, straining to hold her gaze. But she quickly looks away, dismissive of my presence. She turns her attention back to her date, choosing to forget my existence.

Darkness falls. The streets become empty. The delicate flower I hold drops onto the sidewalk as I slowly turn around. With each step I take, I’m struck with a new drop of rain. Soon, a torrential downpour permeates the streets, sweeping the pink flower along my path and into the gutter. The rain wets my hair and soaks my clothes, drenching and weighting me down. With one last look over my shoulder, I see the two happily chatting in the cozy coffee house. I stop and close my eyes, straining to hear their conversation but is greeted with the pitter-patter of raindrops and the swoosh of cars in speeding the distance. Head down, I feel lukewarm water drip down my face and onto my hands. Defeated, I sit down before a puddle to gaze into my broken reflection.

…

I know who he was.

…

He was supposed to be me.

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*Sorry if the language sounds a bit too strong. I wanted to create the sense of time speeding up and slowing down as indicated by the rapid and direct sentences in contrast with long, descriptive ones.

Common App

Wed, 03 Nov 2010 21:46:37 -0400

It’s been a busy senior year, and I haven’t written anything for two months >.<. But I’ve decided to kill two birds with one stone by combining my college essays with my blog. These are just for you guys to read and get to know me better. enjoy. :)

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Prompt: Indicate a person who had significant impact on you, and describe that influence.

I cried. My dad was my hero. But as he lay motionless in bed with his legs covered by big, red, angry boils, my seven-year-old self could barely hold back the waves of tears streaming from my eyes. It had only been a year since we left our relatives and friends in China. We were $2,000 in debt and shared a cramped apartment with strangers in an alien land filled with unfamiliar language, different customs, and foreign food. Just as we started to get on our feet, Dad received terrible burns when he put out a grease fire caused by our roommate.

When my uncle, who was babysitting me, dropped me off at home, I expected to be greeted with warm and effusive welcomes from my parents. But as I stepped through the back door into the apartment, my nostrils were attacked by the pungent odor of a grease fire. The dim incandescent light bulb lit the room with a ghostly cloud of grey smoke. My eyes fell upon the charred patch of flowery wallpaper in our small kitchen. I was scared. Just beyond the hallway, the door to our family bedroom was slightly ajar, allowing only a tiny slit of light to escape into the kitchen. Holding my breath tightly, I barged into the room expecting the worse. Dad was lying motionless on the bed. A great percentage of both of his legs was scalded and burned from flaming cooking oil that had spilled onto them. As I buried my head in his chest, his face scrunched into a tight grimace yet he failed to utter a single sound. I looked at his legs. They had taken on a burnt, light-brown shade. Patches of his skin looked sickly pale and as though they were ready to peel off; other parts swelled up with round boils. Ragged patches of red flesh protruded from under from the skin that had been removed. Repulsed, I turned back to doing the only I could do to make him better: I hugged him as tightly as I could, straining to heal him with the intensity of my love.

But love wasn’t what Dad needed. We needed medical help. It looked as though our hopes and dreams had burned to charred bits. We planned to buy a house, move out of the crowded city, and live the American dream. Stranded in a foreign country, we were afraid that the costly stay in the emergency room would leave us in prolonged debt, and that Dad’s absence from work would result in insufficient income. Fortunately, hope did come to us in the form of Dr. Chang, a kind and benevolent physician referred to us by a mutual friend. Although he had late office hours, Dr. Chang was willing to come to our apartment after midnight to change dressings and apply antibiotic ointments. Although I was very young at the time, I watched his every move, awed by the practiced precision and patience of his gentle hands. He spoke calmly, reassuring us that Dad would recover and be able to return to work quickly. Even though Dr. Chang stopped by daily, he never charged money for his services and never accepted anything more than a cup of tea that I brought him. However, he would always buy candy for me -sometimes a large lollipop, a Snickers bar, or roll of Lifesavers. I was always excited to meet him, to greet our godsend miracle worker with hugs and kisses. He saved more than Dad’s life. He saved our hopes and aspirations.

I can never forget how the dedicated contribution of one man was able to save an entire family and its dream. As I grew up, I kept Dr. Chang’s altruistic work close to my heart. I’m not a doctor, but I try my hardest to be like him, to sacrifice my wants for other people’s needs. Late into the night, I find myself helping my friends with their homeworks and tests even before I start mine. When a friend is struggling with a subject, I take the time to “cybertutor” him or her over AIM/AOL/Facebook. On Fridays, I teach children with learning disabilities how to swim at my school’s Adaptive Swim Program. Moreover, I try my best to cheer people up with words of encouragement, despite whatever difficulties and stresses they’re facing. In short, I strive to be like Dr. Chang: loving, caring and entirely selfless. I may not possess the knowledge to save lives, but I still want to be a part in helping others attain their hopes and dreams.

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This essay took SUCH a long time to write -_-. It’s gone under at least 10 edits but I think I like the end result.

"Interpretation of [Quan's] Dreams" pt1

Sun, 29 Aug 2010 00:34:24 -0400

Ever since I’ve watched Inception, I’ve been keeping track of all the dreams I’ve been having (which doesn’t happen to often because I don’t get enough sleep). As it turns out, I found out that most of my dreams have some sort of central theme behind it.

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1) Now this sounds really really really really corny but one of the things that I dream of is fighting against zombie/alien/vampire/samurai/amazon invaders. I frequently get these very vivid dreams where I have to perpetually fight off those fictional invasions (which lasts a long time in my “dream world”) with violent weapons like flamethrowers, sniper rifles, flaming swords, bows and arrows etc. Now, this may be a sign that I play too much video games but the sad thing is, I really don’t. The odd thing is that these dreams aren’t really nightmares; I don’t feel fear, trepidation, or even excitment; all I feel is the urge to push on forward. I don’t know what I’m doing or why I’m doing it; all I know is that it’s got to be done. My theory behind this is that I’ve probably got waaay to much stress from school/research/collegeapplications etc. To me, they’re the indomitable force that can’t be stopped. I can get a 100 on one test or write out one college essay, but in the end, I haven’t really made a dent in anything. There’s so much work to be done and it’s rather overwhelming. All of this ends up being a task. While being lost in the plethora of never ending assignments to be completed, I forget what I’m doing and why I’m doing it. Everything becomes a repetitive task that loses all its meaning. These series of dreams reflect the endless battle that I have to undergo-on-a-too-frequent basis.

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2) The second kind of dream is those where I’m running from something. In those dreams, I’m usually doing all sorts of things (skiing down hills/driving away/rappeling from cliffs etc) to get away from something that I don’t even know of. The funny thing is, I don’t feel fear or like I’m being hunted. I don’t know what I’m running away from, why I want to run away; all I know is that there’s something I want to get away from as far as possible and I won’t stop running. I can feel is the pressure, the feeling that I’m running out of time. I feel like I’m running away from my shadow.

Now that I think about it, I think these dreams represent a deep part of me. They’re urge to free myself from….myself. To be completely honest, I really don’t like myself all that much and I’m always looking to make myself better. Whenever I “look in the mirror”, I see the qualities that I don’t like in myself mixed with the qualities that I do like. Like Dr. Jekyll, I strive to separate the good from the bad, a combination that turns out the be an irreversible mix. If you’ve read my second post, then you know that I’m constantly trying to escape from myself. For much of my life, I’ve been trying to run away from my past, and pretend that it never happened -that it was all a bad dream. But the back of my mind rebuts this attempt to hide who I am. No matter how hard I try, I can never change who I was and who I am on the inside. I can’t suppress the loneliness and bottled anger that I feel during my childhood -all I feel is an insurmountable urge to run away from it.

End of Stony Brook = no more scoring asian chicks at SB with my...

Fri, 27 Aug 2010 20:31:22 -0400

End of Stony Brook = no more scoring asian chicks at SB with my amazing mango cutting abilities. :(

Instead, I’ll have to make do with this picture of a sliced mango.

only 530480 more minutes

Thu, 26 Aug 2010 23:10:03 -0400

only 530480 more minutes