The sad truth?


I’m trying to fill the gap of my insecurities with the words of others
And I want to believe them but society shows I can’t
Be anything other than my imperfections
Belly fat, ugly, alone
Because I don’t know what I want to do with life
College, graduate, in-crowd
Smoke and drink and party
Till the world goes round’
I will always be my imperfections
And until I die my soul
Will always be tortured with selfishness and gaping holes
I fill the emptiness with the words from others
Because if they at least say I’m beautiful
It gives me the tiniest of hope
Sometimes that’s all anybody needs


My Relationship With Gatsby



 The relationship I have with this story goes way back in the day, like seventh grade then my eighth and finally, now (my junior year). Hopefully it’ll be the last time I ever have to read this cursed book again. The Great Gatsby written by, none other than my most beloved-and-hated author, F. Scott Fitzgerald. Countless times have I cursed his name and then, as I continued to read his wonderful crap, I came to respect him. It’s a frenemy bond that I’ve come to establish with this particular book, and please, let me tell you why.

First time reading it, I found it romantic and absurdly tragic. In my elementary-state-like-mind I thought of Daisy and Gatsby’s relationship on the same level as Romeo & Juliet’s. It was sweet, maybe too dramatic and unnecessary, but I couldn’t say I would not love a man like Jay Gatsby, Ha. HAHAHAHAHA! All lies.

Second time reading this book, my perspective changed completely. Instead of the focus on how much Gatsby loved Daisy, or vice versa, I found myself criticizing the characters surrounding the two; especially Nick. Although the book is told from his sole perspective, I tend to trust the narrative in story telling, simply because the story wouldn’t be anything at all without them. Just how much could Nick be useless, was all my attention focused on. He pretty much claimed that he “disapproved” of Gatsby throughout the entire end of the book. I’m certain he meant his lifestyle, and maybe self-consciously, his effort into winning Daisy back. So many different theories about Nick took a majority of my collective thoughts to just give it a rest. I did pretty well until the movie came out (ugh. Someone give DiCaprio an award, please) and when my English teacher doomed this book upon my class.

Hopefully my last time reading this book, I’d have to say I had a much deeper insight into the story. I still think Gatsby’s a fool with the rest of the characters, but I’ve realized just how much it signifies what, perhaps, Fitzgerald was trying to say about (and here’s where I can’t draw the line):

– Humans: Our tendencies to have certain instincts or prone-behavioral actions. The capacity of what our minds can make us do and the extent to what control we have over it. Last but not least, the selfishness we tend to possess.

– Class Structures: Need I rant on this? West Egg -> not the rich, so not important. East Egg-> the Rich. VERY IMPORTANT AND BETTER THAN EVERYTHING ELSE BENEATH THEM. Valley of Ashes -> extreme poor, the slums/hood, where we bury our secrets. NYC-> like the valley of ashes but filthier and rich with things to do, like cheat on our wives. A second chance at life that we probably shouldn’t have.

– Life: Just so many I could list here, too many, that I don’t even want to go into.

And that’s the very long and complicated history of Gatsby and I. We had a good run, and we might run into each other again, but I sincerely hope not. As much as I hate and love the book, I don’t think I can handle another perspective change. I just want to leave it’s place in my mind now, as it is. Getting too deep into a book is never healthy; it’s like digging straight down as a dwarf. At some point, you have to realize to just let it go. (errm, cough, Gatsby, cough).

So, now that I’ve given the down low on my book dirt, I’d love to rant with fellow love-haters of Gatsby and all it’s grief. Other than that, keep reading, not living in the past, and loving someone unconditionally even if it’s a little bit mentally distubed.

Misu ❤

What Happened to the Magic?


There are so many wonderful things about Christmas; the gifts, the food, the people, and then there’s a crappy after effect. Like the spiked egg nog, everything tasted fine until it was over. I blame maturing in age on this. Once you grow up everything is either the warm, soft, gooey cookies or the hard-as-coal burnt cookies; then there’s the mix of the two (Of course this is in my perspective. Not everyone, I hope, is like this)

Personally, I find myself growing less attracted to Christmas. The only benefits I see myself truly gaining from is the break from school. I’m just kidding (not the break part! I really love it), there’s always the company and the appreciation aspect of the holiday. There’s no real reason for me not liking Christmas at all except that each year it feels less special. The magic the holiday once held for me seems to decline each year, and I hate it. Some are probably thinking, It’s called growing up. You’re going through a phase. It’s not like you can just stop ageing; but I still don’t like it. All the Santa shenanigans, the classic Christmas movies stuck on replay, and the annoying family traditions they’ve all become quite dull. Maybe I can blame the magic loss on family troubles, the nasty fights between parents and siblings or a parent to parent dispute. It wouldn’t change anything. I’ve had happy Christmas memories, but why can’t I just send this ache away? I’m getting older, my life isn’t where it’s supposed to be, and I’ve realized that all these years my parents have lied to me about Santa (haha :P) What happened to the magic? Where’s all the glee I found as a child in this holiday?

Christmas can mean so much and be better, yet every year I’m probably like this. I’m worried all the time, knowing that after Christmas comes a new year. I’m not focusing on the light of things, instead of thinking “A new year!” I’m on a computer ranting out my personal feels. So, to sum this all up, don’t worry. Stuff your faces with holiday foods or if you’re lacking the magic like me, enjoy this website:

I wouldn’t want to leave in a Debby Downer manner, therefore, Merry Christmas!!! Give thanks for whoever or whatever you have in life, even if that person is the town drunk, don’t let the holiday magic go out completely. If you’re not feeling it like me this year, it doesn’t matter; make someone else happy! Chances are if you’re not receiving the magic it means you’re chosen to give it. Maybe that’s the only way you can feel all christmas-y!

Lots of Cheer and hope you have a wonderful Christmas & A Happy New Year!

Misu ❤

Beyond the English Class


I understand all you passionate literate people trapped in a small room, full of promises and education, but are restricted to the point of aggravation. (<— feel the pizzaz?)

If you’re a high school student in english class, then you’re fully aware of the prompts we must answer for…ugh….essays. Some of you may be neutral on this, meaning you’re kind of saying “I don’t mind them, but don’t necessarily like them”. Well, I’m quite the opposite. I’m not a complete hater on the art of essay writing; I understand the educational value of it. I just don’t like it when I’m told what to write, and what I must include, and then there’s the good old’ “If you don’t have a majority of the required inputs, then you’re going to get a bad grade”.

In other words, I’m the one who silently or loudly lets out a “AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW shucks, Mrs.Teacher, not an essay”. I’ll do the essay, depending what it’s on, but more often than enough I’ll have a burning passion of utter boredom coursing through my veins. We just don’t compute.

For those who would argue, “Essays, aren’t they the same as writing for your blog? Or your free writing works?” Well, no. It’s entirely different. When I write all by myself without the restrictions of a prompt assigned to me, I tend to get my writing juice flowing. My thoughts flow freely, I don’t have to worry about if it makes much sense (well, that may just be me solely. I’m sure a majority of bloggers like their writing to make sense), or if I’m going to get an F+ for mentioning crack or too much personal information.

I just want an English class where the teacher can read MY work, a topic I thought of, and then give me feedback. I can accept criticism on works that mean a lot to me. I’m not going to care much for feedback on an essay I wrote, bored out of my wits half the time. bN

Rant all you want bloggers. Let it all out

Misu ❤