Contemplate: negative cake.

I don't like cake. Not the normal kind of cake anyway. Some kinds of cake is awesome, but only a limited few.

Does that make me a -person who become -cake?

The big question here is; by not eating cake, do I remove more cake from the world? Or is there some kind of negative cake that I'm spawning, like dark matter?

In that case, I apologize. If it's a bad thing.

Now I want meringue and whipped cream and chocolate ice cream. Meringue. Funny word.

To Meow Or Not To Meow

I want a cat. Wantwantwantwantwant. Damned this, I soon can't stand it anymore. How can people live their entire lives without cats? I can't relax without a cat. My head won't shut up. It's better with something small and furry warming my stomach and poking holes in me with very sharp claws, very very carefully as if testing how many holes can be made before stomach-warming privileges are revoked. Something that blinks lazily at me as if saying, "you're being very silly who aren't a cat", and meows demandingly at the fridge as if saying "although you're silly I still need you for operating this unhelpful food-machine".

Someone who's mine, whose trust I'll have to win and whose companionship I need to earn. Someone I have to observe very carefully to adjust perfectly into sync with. Someone who will learn all my little invisible signs, so I can lie to my heart's content; it won't matter. Someone who will smile to itself lazily while I ramble on about the fortunes and misfortunes of life, and wait for me to sit down on the sofa so it can take possession of my lap, because it knows that the words isn't the important thing. The important thing is waking up breathing together, is my heartbeats echoing into its chest and its echoing into my hand, is being alive. Together. Someone to be the solid center of my life; my pivot point.

Cats are so much more than just cats. Not all of them, I suppose. I suppose I met the love of my life way too early, and had to let him go way too early. But maybe there's another one out there. Another perfect host for my cat-symbiotism.

Siren's Dream

This memory that makes my heart tremble,
it was real until I plucked the seams apart,
and the stuffing spilled out and turned out to be mist.
But my heart won't stop trembling.
I don't want it to.
I look back at myself and realize
that I'm standing at the edge of the abyss.
Did I make the leap?
Is it the song of insanity the sirens are singing?
Take the leap, what does it matter.
Insanity might be the only way to stay sane.

"Be careful what you wish for,
because what has been seen cannot be unseen.
And if you hope too hard for it to be real,
reality will become the dream."

OMIGOD cutest thing evar!

Look at that kid xD Biggest moment of his life! And omg wouldn't it be O.O I'm not even half the Green Lantern nerd I am other comic dudes, but that made me H.O.T xD


Also, if this is true... omg. Give it me (tm Nallenon).

CAPS IS THE SHIT DUDE (also Deadpool)

I watched some tv when DEADPOOL happened. See, there was this commercial, and I was like, I know that dude, and then "DEADPOOL! ZOMGZ!" and see, this is really funny. Because when and in what universe would Deadpool be in a manly man commercial about looking hawt and scoring chicks in tight black dresses? At the most, he'd be in a warning ad for STD:s, like "under this sexy mask hides the face of AIDS" or something. And at the same time, it's very fitting, because Deadpool is the manliest man of all, who knows when to taunt his enemies by being totally retarded, and when to run for his life flailing like a chicken.

Woo. That's how I felt when I, alone in my apartment, perked up, pointed at the tv in a widely over-dramatic fashion and yelled "DEADPOOL!". Then I laughed like a pre-adolescent boy laughs at boobs for a few minutes. Really. Not that he doesn't pull it off. It's sexy awesome. It's just that, picturing Deadpool knowing all of this and seeing the commercial for the first time... ahaha xD

Face it. It's because he scored the role that Ryan Reynolds got that commercial. Even the pansies at Hugo Boss know a true man when they see him.

Wow this is a manly post.

Duality

If I'd never seen how beautiful you are.
Every step a longing for something I will never have.
The safe, solid, true spot of my world this soothing fact.

It frightens me to think that I could live without you.
Without ever seeing you, without ever hearing your voice or seeing your smile.
You make me incomparably happy,
but it frightens me so much my heart stops! to think that I might have been happier
had I never known you were.

Every smile hurts, every breath.
And yet it seems to me I have found the secret of immortality, for
in my heart, unendingly I will be here; forever doubting, forever fearing
forever loving.

Always keep the faith.

I am the rain

"Life is hard and unfair and then you die." It has been said a hundred times over in different ways.

My uncle is dead. Like the cat in the box he wasn't dead until the words are spoken to me, in my world. But out there in the real world, his heart stopped beating.

I try to live out there in the real world and I feel like I'm visualizing ghosts - no, not even ghosts; like I'm trying to sculpt rain. I don't belong here. I wasn't equipped for this.

Is he really dead until I've put my hand on his chest and felt that his heart isn't beating? Is he really dead until his body has rotted away in the ground? My cat is very much alive in me, as much as when he was actually breathing, so why would the death of a human be any different? In my world, since I hardly ever saw my uncle, if I never see his body, if I never go to the funeral, is he really dead?

It's not my uncle's death that upsets me, but the death of my uncle inside my father's world. And it's not the real world that scares me; it's my world. Me. And the wonderous ways I could destroy me, so easily, so fabulously, so beautifully.

Life really is hard and unfair, but what if the inevitable death is not the final injustice but the reward? "Congratulations, you made it. You survived." What do you think? More dramatically viable?

I Think Thinking about Thinking might be Thinking too much.

I don't like heart attacks. When people grab their left arms. He said it's pain unlike any other, but I don't remember the exact words. [I try to imagine it but it's hard to imagine something you don't know what it's like.] That's why I talked to my cat, you know, that's dead. Maybe it would have been different talking to a person. [I try to imagine who that would be, but I don't know.] I don't even remember who it was I talked to. If I breathe into this stuffed tiger, will it get lots of germs that will mold and give me diseases next time I breathe in it? I wonder if therapy works. If it's like talking to any other stranger or if there's actually some science in there somewhere.

[I see myself in the mirror I pass by.] I haven't looked in a mirror all day but I look pretty decent for an unplanned stay-at-home outfit. My haircut sort of failed. It looks good when I fix it but I'm usually too lazy. Wearing headphones make the sides look silly. I should try to write down the thing with the dude. If I write it in pieces it might work, but I might be too lazy to fill in the blanks later. There could be different sorts of powered humans, by science and by... I need to figure out how demon powers work. Like tesla? [I fold up the hood of my sweater and look in the mirror again.] Hair looks totally cool like this. I should brush my teeth after dinner too. Hm, although this was dinner.

[My roomie is going to do laundry, I peek out of the bathroom. She looks me funny and leaves.] Maybe she wondered why I had my hood on in the bathroom? Maybe I imagined she looked at my funny. If she got kidnapped I wouldn't notice if I go to sleep now. I should stay awake until she's done. "Don't get kidnapped by aliens," is what I should say to her. I wonder if that's code for me being worried but unable to say something more sensible. This is silly.

I could write a poem. I haven't done that in a while. I woke up ahead of the alarm this morning, so I'm not setting it now. Poems are annoying and inspiration-dependent. [I hear my roomie come back, I've closed the door to my room.] Now I didn't tell her to not get kidnapped by aliens. If she is kidnapped and murdered, when I find out, I'll think "why didn't I tell her to not get kidnapped by aliens", and if people could know that, they'd think I was a very odd person.

I wonder why people think people think odd things. Doesn't everyone have these kind of thought-chains? Is it really anything to be excited about? I enjoy being amused by my own brain. Fuck poetry. I should write this on my blog instead before sleep. Where should I start?

Stuck

Well, it's clearly not getting up in the morning that's the problem. I already knew that but decided to conduct a study to make sure. So for the past week I've been getting up at the same time every morning, and done my morning routine that I do before school, regardless if I'm supposed to be in school or not. It has not been a problem, neither has going to bed in time, and although I haven't slept very well I've functioned normally. I have also, without fail, not gone to school a single day. Getting up is fine. Showering, eating. Then the thoughts come a-crawling, specifically that feeling of wanting to run in so many directions at once that I freeze in place. I can fix my hair and dress, but usually the game is already lost at this point, and if it isn't, when the clock ticks over to the exact minute where I have to leave or get late, then I bail out. And I sit down somewhere, I watch the clock tick over another few minutes, and I don't go. Why?

I have a feeling that if I knew the answer to that, I'd be first executive in a small IT business by now, or an acclaimed author, or a fabulously popular girl. Maybe it's that thought, lurking at the back of my head, saying "why would you want to be any of that?". No one ever taught me how to deal with lurking thoughts. Actually, I think listening to every single thought I have is what has made me the writer that I am. So what? The only way to being who I am is to destroy myself? Fascinating, but very impractical.

Someday I'll be looking for a job, and someone will read this blog and go "hey, you're mentally unstable, sorry but we won't hire you". Well, fuck you.

2 minutes

We'd just watched my brother almost get his knee kicked off in his first hockey game of the season (luckily the idiot hit his thigh instead and left him limping for two days but otherwise fine), and in the car on the way home I tried to explain League of Legends to my mother by comparing it to hockey. I realized why they call it e-sports, because it's very much exactly like any sport except digital. My mother didn't realize much at all, aside from that there was some kind of game I liked that ended with small colorful figures killing each other. I swear I made a valiant effort. It makes me a little sad that the things I care about are so far away from my parents. My brother can always talk hockey with my parents, with anyone really. And for the love of... why is is more violent to have small colorful figures killing each other on-screen, than kicking people's knees off with skates in front of an audience in the real world?

Although I suppose, what's the point with it always being violence and death? A game could be just as exciting, and as much of a challenge, with different graphics... right? But LoL doesn't even have blood... people could just as well be fainting as dying, who knows. Except some creepy voice announces someone has been slain when they... uh... faint... >.>

Baptism

I seem to be writing essays here lately...

Being in churches used to be like visiting other people's homes. It's not your stuff, you're not sure what is expected of you, but you want to show some kind of respect even if the decorations are terrible. It still is when I'm in churches alone, they are for example often great works of architecture and symbols of people's beliefs, along with many other things. Just like it can be fun and relaxing to hang out in other people's homes even if the decorations are terrible. Being in a church when some kind of ceremony - wedding, baptism, funeral - is going on used to be like seeing the family that owns the home interact with it, like having a ritual of who sits where at the dinner table or habits in terms of who uses the shower when. Confusing, sometimes frustrating, a little awkward at times, but in general just another part of life.
It seems with me growing into my own faith, however, the feeling has changed. Being in a church now, listening to the confession or to people singing psalms or praying, gives me an uneasy feeling. The only simile I can think of is if there's someone you really like, love even, but you're not in an outspoken relationship. However anytime you're out or talking to a really handsome person, it feels like you're cheating, even if you're not doing anything incriminating, and even if you did you wouldn't actually be cheating. I've subconsciously put down ground rules for the relationship already; such as don't listen to the heretic blabbering of a smiling dude in white clothes.
And it made me uneasy to see this child being baptized into this church, this belief. Probably like any religious people watching other religions do their thing. I felt like yelling "Hey, little one, they're lying to you, it's all bs! Don't let them do this to you!" but that wouldn't really be respectful. I guess I understand the ones who want to "save my immortal soul" a bit better. Although the thought is a little frightening.

Anyway, little one, I wish you great happiness and success in life. And I know you'll probably listen to the lies, and one day baptize your own children in the same church. If you do, I hope you'll remain blissfully unaware. If you don't, I hope you make a better path on your own. That's the best blessing I can put together right now, and I think it's a pretty damned good one.

Drowning on dry land

Going outside is such a challenge. It means putting on clothes that actually match and aren't just picked up from the floor. It means putting on shoes, which is a bother because since I can't lift my toe it keeps getting stuck, and if I'm going to wear any other shoes than the usual ones I have to move the thingy. It usually means being restricted with time, both with actually going and with sleeping and eating and all other necessary things. It means being responsible and reliable and to keep up the social agreements of the world. One of those being, all business is conducted at daytime. And daytime is worse.

Going outside means walking. Disregard the pain, the discomfort, the appearance. It makes me feel like half a human. Then going outside usually means bike. Disregard that I have to step sideways to get next to it among the other bikes and swing my leg over it, both of which require ridiculous effort. I hate it because it means having to lift my foot onto the pedal with my hands because my leg isn't strong enough, and if I didn't feel like half a human before, that definitively does it.

And it means that when all of those things are done, there waits another hundred times more. Places, people, things. What to buy, where to find it, what to do, who to meet. What to say, how to say it. A million tiny details that every human lives with, so why does it sometimes feel like I'm drowning in the details... in life. Whenever I need to go anywhere, my heart cries; "why do I have to move?". It's like this giant momentum thing. Here at home everything is where it's supposed to be, which is exactly where I left it. I don't have to think because I already know, and I don't have to move far, and most importantly, I could crawl around if I felt like it and perhaps my roomie would be perplexed but it would feel okay.

Going outside makes me feel something isn't right with me, and consequently, that something is wrong with the world. It's not just about the leg. It's all of it. When I'm out, half of the time I'm working hard to distract myself from wanting to go home, and the other half I wish everyone else could go home so I could be alone where I am. So yeah. I have a problem. Sucks.

I wonder if you guys know that stuff like in that previous post is sort of like the other side of this. This is me whining - that is me appreciating life. I should write a mirror post to this one. Sort of like "Going outside means smelling the fresh air and seeing the endless sky", except you can do both through a window... maybe "Going outside means getting a new view of things, experiencing new things and meeting new people." That works. Not today though. Today I just wish I could make it not become tomorrow, when I have to go out to go to school.

A Spirit World of Concrete and Glass

Early morning. Evenly gray sky like a single stroke of a brush across the atmosphere. I'm biking along the streets of the outer rim of the city, no cars, no bikes, no people. Only the swirr of the wheels and sense of the earth's powers as I lean to take a corner and experience the soft, powerful feeling of physics in perfect harmony with the metal contraption and my own body. It makes me feel at peace with the world. It makes me feel poetic.
I enter the blocky neighborhood of two-story buildings. The square windows, black in shadows, stare out at me like the gaping void holes where the soul has fled. Their darkness promises solace, sleep and safety. They do not lie, but they are as cold on the inside as the stone is to the touch.
It is the wind that puts me in this mood, perhaps. Like a searching spirit it rushes between the maze of buildings, whirls around the city, voicelessly whispering "where are you?". It blows right through me as if I was a ghost, and I feel its cold touch on my skin and on my heart. "Where are you?"
Perhaps I walk the spirit world. Perhaps there are a dozen people around me, laughing, walking, looking, but I am on the other side of the veil and the cold, sharp air leaves me hearing nothing but my own breath, seeing nothing but my own hands and the canvas, the background, of buildings with gaping dark holes and grave silence.
Nothing moves. The maze is absolutely still as the wind crashes against the walls, writhes and turns and rushes ahead and veers around the corners like a wounded animal fleeing for its life. This is humanity without its bestial side, I think. This is humanity stripped of its nature. Perfect angles that adher to reason and stay utterly, completely still. This is our spirit world of concrete and glass.
Next time I turn a corner there are trees, bowing in the wind, shaking their leaves at me. I stop the bike, feel the forces of physics work with me and against me as I press the breaks, feel rubber against asphalt through the metal frame, and I smile at the trees. They fill my ears with white noise as if to say, don't do this, don't look at the world so hard, just let it be. They are like well-meaning aunts, the trees. Annoying you out of love and concern, while you smile and nod and ignore them.
I think, the spirit world of concrete and glass is a place of perfection. Of absolutely silence, of ethereal beauty, of thoughts and feelings greater than myself. I think, I am the luckiest human alive to get to tap into it like this. It is worth everything.

Last Minute Girl

Masquerade party tomorrow evening and I don't even know what I'm going to dress up as. The theme is "heroes". Apparantly, however, most female heroes have a requirement to meet about how much skin to show, most preferably legs, at least the kind I generally think of. Or they have spray-on latex clothes a la Underworld. I'm ruined by popular culture, perhaps. Florence Nightingale or Mother Theresa? I wanted an Asian person anyway, more importantly than gender actually, but I can't seem to think of anything that's good, recognizable and easy to make a costume of. My superhero name should be Last Minute Girl.

What I have decided is that I will someday dress up as this flashy lady, although in her alternative clothes that can't be found on the internets because they don't meet the required skin shown, where she actually has pants, but that will have to be a later project. She's badass enough to not be the usual fare of Power Girl cheerleaders, and she has purple hair and a cool mark that will require face paint so wheee. And not to underestimate - she's a ninja so she doesn't wear heels!!! She's not actually Asian, in the original version, but... well... Marvel Universe is a marvellous thing, and if you want that further explained, and see how many times this girl has died and been rescurrected, look here.

It's also hard to shake the idea I had to cosplay Buttercup from the PowerPuff Girls. Anyone want to be my Blossom and Bubbles? XD You could do so much fun with their clothes and a bit of imagination.

Hmm..... Kim Possible?

Smygreklam från Disney för Antipiratbyrån?

Det här är ordagrannt undertexten från Pirates of the Caribbean - At World's end precis i början:

"By decree , all persons found guilty of piracy , or aiding a person convicted of piracy , or associating with a person convicted of piracy ... ... shall be sentenced to hang by the neck until dead ."

Om man nu tar detta och kör genom Google Translate så blir det:

"Genom dekret, hittade alla personer skyldiga till piratkopiering, eller hjälpa en person som dömts för piratkopiering, eller umgås med en person som dömts för piratkopiering ... ... döms att hänga om halsen tills döda. "

En oskyldig bieffekt av statistisk maskinöversättning, eller en gemensam effort från Disney/Google/Antipiratbyrån? ^_~

Chisel to the Stone like a Blade to Flesh

I think I'm done.

Life feels like a series of momentous moments linked together by a string of luck and chance that determines how those moments turn out. I remember my moments clearly. The time I really looked at myself in the mirror the first time. The time my mother said my brother looked up to me, without any sort of jealousy, despite... everything. The time my father brought home flowers for no reason and I saw my parents kiss the first time. The time my grandmother kneeled by my mother's bed and said, with the biggest honesty I've seen in my life, that she wished she could have taken this hell, cancer, instead of her. The time my mother said, sitting in a chair somewhere, that she felt like she had a great responsibility to take care of me because she'd chosen me. And now lately, looking in the mirror and seeing my Korean self looking back, and fighting with my father to the point of him saying if I wanted to walk away and never speak to him again, then fine.

If life is a marble statue, I believe genes and blood is the stone, and these moments are the chisel. But how the chisel is put to the stone is determined not by either of these, but by chance, luck - by how we choose to process them. And I think I'm done processing these last two now.

From looking in the mirror I was forced to make a decision if I liked what I saw. And I decided I liked some parts and didn't like others, and that I would choose to change those that I liked the least. I have. From hearing of my brother's feelings, I made an effort to understand him, and learned to see the world more like he does and respect his point of view. Now I'm jealous of him sometimes. From the kiss, that my parents, however unlike a storybook their love is, love each other in their own way. From my grandmother I saw the infinite love of mother and daughter, and like an inmate seeing god I can't deny it. From what my mother said of my adoption, I learned I never want to be a burden to anyone, I never asked to be and to my power I never will - I will never be a duty but a choice. 

The most recent two are linked. My mind was spinning with seeing my Korean side, and I couldn't pick it apart, I couldn't settle it. Something was nagging on my mind but I couldn't figure it out. Then we fought, and I walked away hurt and angry and confused and frustrated. It took a long while to process that one, and it ended up linked to the other. But I think I'm done.

It's difficult to put words to this one. I'm still conflicted. I still believe I'm a Korean and am unsure of what that actually means. I'm still hurt about what dad said, because emotions can't be controlled like that. But I feel more like an adult. I think what I realized is that I also make sacrifices to walk my path, just like I've seen the things my dad sacrifices, and mine are just as much and as little worth as his. I rebelled against the idea that he would sacrifice other people around him, but I think that what he really sacrifices is himself; risking to end up alone. And I realized that I am no better than him; I am ready to sacrifice him to walk my path, even if that's not what I want. Stubbornly, stupidly, he has raised a daughter who is just as stubborn and stupid. And that is the road I will walk. 

Then the words are spoken again, "cancer". Someone else, somewhere else, linked but not too close to me, but to someone else. I hear it and I cry. So I'm wondering... does my father cry? Does he speak to anyone? I don't know. And I'm thinking, my path will not be like that. I am not alone, and I will never sacrifice that. Another momentous moment, another lesson learned for life. While somewhere else someone else has been told their life is about to end.

Run!

I've been hiding. I haven't read any blogs, including my own, since the last post. Was it not for that I can't bring myself to ignore my cell-phone I wouldn't have talked to anyone either. I haven't been on facebook, and I haven't answered any mails, and yes. I've been running away and hiding.

All the running ended in playing with fire and getting burned when it came to the people physically in my presence. And what have I learned from that? Don't ask questions you don't want answers to. Don't play with fire when you can't handle the pain. The sad thing is I thought I could handle the pain, and I will have to learn the hard way now, but what I really really learned is this:

That I am nothing more than the usual human tropes; The Girl With A Father Complex. The Firstborn Son.

And that never, ever must I let myself get angry. Never ever let yourself go. Or I'd be asking questions I don't want answers to, or play with fire I cannot handle. I have always believed in honesty first and I still do, but I guess I learned fear. Which I suppose can be a good thing.

I am weak, is what I learned. I'm thinking, from that base I must grow stronger. Nobody told me how, however. But the lesson I was meant to learn, I suspect, ironically, was this: That I am fine with being exactly what I am.

A Sense Of Belonging

I'm trying to put form to my thoughts and it's very hard. I'm a bit too emotionally involved to keep an objective optinion, and don't really know the nooks and crannies of words like ethnicity, so I'm going to run with my gut.

Since I believe genetics is half of what I am, it means that from my viewpoint at 4 months of age someone locked the door between the two rooms and left me in the swedish part, and I willingly upheld this. People would point out the door but I gave pre-set answers and shied away from thinking about it. "Korean" was just a word. When I looked in the mirror, not many days ago, for the first time of my life, I felt Korean. I felt not just like a fake carbon copy, like a Swede with korean colors painted on, like I have before when people have asked me where I'm from. Instead for the first time I *understood* that I'm Korean, like the difference between mechanically solving a mathematical problem and actually understanding it. I felt one with my physical form. Toes dug deep in the sand. It passes, of course, like feelings do. But it was the first time of my life I felt whole. Maybe that is because I've never felt at peace with my physical form, and it's mostly been trouble for me. Maybe it's because I've always felt largely different from most people and have combined that with looking different. Maybe because I haven't felt that I really belong, really is in the right place, ever, anywhere. But I cannot deny what I saw and felt, nor the lasting impression it made. It is as if I can hold my head higher now.

So having Belgian blood doesn't make you Belgian, and people taking you for an American doesn't make you American. What does make you what you are then? And does that mean you do not consider yourself Belgian at all? I have always known I am Korean. Just like I have always been one to carefully consider before making an attempt at something - as a child I never crawled; I watched, waited and then walked. Culture, ethnicity, race, call it what you want. I care not for the labels. Does my form matter: yes, it does. It is as important to my identity as my opinions, my routines and my preferences. In fact, parts of those are shaped by my physical form. To take that to it's limit; would I have been the same without my crippled leg? Who knows. Maybe I inherited that from my father. It's not hard to extrapolate that sense of belonging to a people. Why do you feel Swedish, and not, say, just connected to your family line?

If there is only "culture" and no "ethnicity", then what is it I feel when I see people similar to me? Had people told me I was chinese or japanese, I might as well have felt chinese or japanese. I do not claim the ethnicity of Korean, or to ever become. I claim to be a Korean adopted to Sweden, and I claim my right to the full extent of that state of being, and that includes a Korean piece of identity. This isn't a huge intellectual venture. It's a gut feeling, and I've learned that those refuse to be ignored. And I don't think there is such a thing as "genetics alone". The two comes inseparably as far as we can tell, for now at least.

How can genetics play a part in an individual's personality but not on a grander scale? Genes are inherited from our parents, and shared by our siblings, and in extension that means more and more people. Different circumstances will force the expression of the same traits in different ways, and it will become diluted, but I have family over there, they are Korean, their ancestors were Korean. I may have a bit of Chinese or Japanese or Mongol, of course. If I say "they are my people", maybe you could argue me out of it eventually, intellectually. But the fact remains that I came from their blood, from their soil, from their culture.

How can appearance can be a cultural phenomenon? I can see that my hair is black and has a different texture and that my skin has a different tone. I can feel that my nose is different, even if I can't see it. A mirror puts it on the edge but is in no way the limit. Without surroundings, would I care about my form? Humans cannot live without surroundings, as little as we would exist without genetics.

Can we know how much is nature and how much is nurture? No. Not yet, maybe never. So it's difficult to say if any race have traits that are more genetically common. So for now that topic is on hold on a "who knows".

Emotional scares

1) Up
I was handed the card of a person today, who when I was ten was the most beautiful, fantastic person in the world. Normally I have to make an effort to have feelings, like staring into a running river for ten minutes to get into that feeling of you moving and the river standing still. But with her name black on white, or brown on blue as it were, on a piece of paper between my fingers, I realized it must really have been my first real crush. Because every ounce of me longed to see her again as I scoured the card for a phone number, because my first instinct was that I must call her. Then I realized that A) I couldn't exactly call her and say I really wanted to meet her right now so I could find out what it would be like to hold her hand, or at least so I could fawn over her for an hour or two, and B) I remember her as somewhere between 25 and 30, a football player, eleven years ago. Now I'm terrified of seeing her again, of getting disappointed, and losing that fantastic feeling I had when I was given the card. Terrified of finding out that she isn't that person I thought she was, or that she's uglier than I remember her, or that her voice didn't sound all that awesome and cool. Of losing that one person in my life that that ugly, plain "real world" feeling never got to.
And yet, all the more terrified of losing the card.
On the upside I guess I know what kind of feeling to look for now, when trying to figure out if I'm really into someone.

2) Down
Last night my right shin cramped up real bad. I couldn't figure out which way to stretch it to make it stop, and whatever direction I tried just hurt like hell. Shit happens, and I was half asleep and only half perceiving the pain. When I woke up this morning, however, I had a huge flashback to how the problems began with my left leg, that in the beginning it cramped often, that that was one of the warning signs that eventually led to that I discovered the issue. What if I lost the right leg too? I sigh and whine about one leg, but if I lost the good one, I would barely be able to walk. Probably unable to run at all, ride a bike... I'd fall over easier than an Italian football player. I wouldn't be able to dance. Maybe even end up in a wheelchair, and I'd look fucking terrible and ridiculously top heavy.
Now I'm looking for some kind of adoption service helper thingy. If I'm going to end up locked to a wheelchair, unable to dance, then I need to have been to Korea first. I want to walk the soil I was born from with my own feet.

Mirror Mirror On The Wall...

I dreamed something tonight that I can't really remember anymore, but I loved it and I woke up with a sense of confidence. I managed to shower and do hair and make-up together with my usual morning routine in the same amount of time, and when I stood there, all gussied up in front of the mirror, I though "I should cut my hair myself, instead of going to a salon and paying money for a hairstyle I don't want. I'll do it right now." And I fetched the scissors, but then remembered how much time it takes just to cut the bangs, and left the scissors there as I went to work.

I came home, saw the scissors, and cut my hair. It took quite some time. Showered, dressed up, fixed my hair, although to my great disappointment there was no wax or gel in the house so it only went so-so, and put on party-style make-up - and more. And looked myself in the mirror and thought:

"I'm Korean."

I cut it according to one of the styles Jaejoong have had his hair, as I remembered it in my head (I've compared it now and it's pretty good to be from memory) and put on my Korean jewelry, and did the make-up as I saw a Chinese girl do on YouTube. I dunno what the difference is, really, but...

I look like all those people I've been watching on YouTube, the strange black-haired, almond-eyed ones. I look like him; like JaeJoong. I feel like I found my roots and was torn out of the ground at the same time. God what have I done? Why did I cut my hair like his, why did I put on make-up like this, what will people think? What will they see? Am I the Swede pretending to be Korean or the Korean pretending to be a Swede? Who am I?

But the mirror answered well enough. Korean.