so maybe we've passed through that junior high school depressive phase where we talk about masks we wear in front of people. and then we think we've become all grown up when we finally learned that you can't gain anything without having risked something of yourself that is pure and true. the "having faith in humanity" spiel.
now that's all fine and dandy. but what if you discover that you're wearing masks in front of yourself? frankly, i find the over-used and under-interpreted phrase, "look within yourself" to be very funny. just which one are they talking about? what color, shape, size, or even price range? the spring line or the fall line? or maybe the swimsuit edition?
sometimes i find shopping to be quite addicting.
people lie when they don't want to reveal the truth to the person they're talking to. that is assuming that liars know what the truth is. and what if you don't know the truth? is what you're doing still called "lying" or is it.. hypothesizing? or maybe you're providing examples? drawing one out of the many to talk about.. because you certainly can't leave the conversation just hanging there in midair. at least not with some people.
i see i've reached a dead end. therefore i will start an inventory of the things i see around me.
box of tissues, because free toilet paper deserves an "ooh" here.
japanese tapes, one titled "everyday listening in 50 days" collecting dust, hah.
glasses which don't enough power for my eyes now.
chocolate, the cone-shaped kind with pink tips and brown bottoms. brought by my parents from their trip to hokaido.
aerobics classes schedule taped to the closet.
boombox, for dancing, for jazz, for classical, for jay chow, and of course, for japanese.
chopsticks my roommate gave me because i always forget to take the disposable ones when i buy instant noodles.
an hp printer lying around unused, because i'm too lazy to get it to work.
pocky, "deluxe" version, it's mousse-flavored.
directory of our group in the christian fellowship, also taped to closet.
a pink alarm clock, bought impulsively while shopping with some japanese people.
the white basket i bring with me to the bathroom every morning and night, bought for that stanford camp and still kept well.
index cards for japanese vocabulary words, that i later found to be too time-consuming and inefficient.
cal bear, for warmth, for reminder, for softness.
a receipt from a time i tried to study at mcdonalds but instead, ended up writing a poem all over that small, rectangular, otherwise ignored piece of paper.
copies of the play i'm supposed to be directing in my english class.
dried flowers.
two hairbrushes, one regular and the other round.
lime green plastic blinds.
unoped pack of yellow hard candies shaped like tiny slices of lemon, with a note still attached to the bag, from the wylie-parallel.
tiffany open heart.
mosquito spray.
"you have 4 missed calls."