Late Nights = Death?

Graveyard shift work linked to cancer.

In which case, I'm screwed?

And yes, I'm perfectly aware of the time of this post.

Sign of Hope

He came to visit, bundled up in a ski cap with his jacket zipped up to his chin. Not willing to scrutinize, I was not sure it was him, though I learned of his presence when I heard someone else call out his name.

It was curious, for the thought of him had crossed my mind earlier in the day. While in the car, I thought I saw him standing on the sidewalk, although it could not have possibly been him. Therefore, I was certain that it was a matter of pure coincidence.

Though I had wondered why he had never come to visit before. I understood that he left for college, though he was still in the general vicinity. Alas, I did not really care as much anymore since I had lost interest even before the semester ended. As depressing as it sounds, deprived of the future he wanted by events occurring within his own family, he became sullen and joyless, void of the emotions that once kindled my heart.

And it was understandable. Had I been his friend, I would have reassured him, sit beside him as a friend would and be a medium to whom he could pour his emotions out without fear of criticism or judgment. But I was not his friend, and I had no right no interfere. He did not want to impose on others either; I could tell. However, the weight of his burden - no, of his family's burden, that he was forced to carry - emitted an aura that was that strong.

And the year ended without anything happening. He was trying to be happy, though I could almost see the chains that prevented him from pursuing his dreams. Held back from one of his top choice schools (if not his top choice) by concerns for his younger brother and financial issues, reasons that were not his own, the dejection that radiated from his eyes was certainly justified.

But when I saw him, he was smiling, and he was happy. And although my heart no longer twinges at the sound of his laughter, at the sight of his smile, I could not help but smile myself.

For to see him happy, despite everything, is something that gives me hope. And it makes me feel that despite what happens to me, despite what happens to others, despite it all, maybe, just maybe we can all end up happy in the end.

Runaway

That was the second time I almost did it. The other time occurred just two days ago, this past Thanksgiving. It's not that I haven't thought about doing it before. It's often a topic of wonderment, of mere curiosity for me. I never would have really done it. But these past two times... these past two times were serious contemplations.

I locked myself in my room when I came home. Instead of eating what my father had bought for dinner, I made do with the other half of the Vietnamese sandwich I had bought for lunch. As I ate, I pondered while looking outside, gazing at the full moon whose white rays shone through the cloak of clouds and through the windows.

I thought about climbing up on my desk, which stood beneath the windows, and quietly removing the screen. I thought about taking a pair of shoes out of my closet and using them to walk outside. I thought about which friend to call in order to have him or her pick me up, now that we're of age to drive. It was all planned out, and it would have been so easy.

But I fell asleep instead, and when I woke it was already late. Like the other times, the idea became impractical. Besides, the tears had already subsided. They were already soaked into my jacket, my sleeve, my pillow, my skin. The only evidence of what had occurred was the precipitate of a single tear that had tainted one of the lenses of my glasses.

I wasn't crying. No, not at all. I was bawling. Why? It really isn't anything new.

I'd like to post the whole conversation but that would be too long. Instead, I'll sum it up in four words:

They still don't understand.

Happy Thanksgiving... or Not

Well, I hope everyone enjoyed their Thanksgiving. I sure as hell didn't.

This morning, I woke up and in no less than twenty minutes, everyone was already in my face about something, yelling, shouting. They still don't know that nothing pisses me off more in the morning than obnoxiously loud sounds. Sure, I woke up around twelve, but surprise, surprise, my asshole brother decided to bang obnoxiously on my door as I was sleeping once again, waking me up sometime earlier than that.

And they wonder why I get so pissed off. Here's a tip: just fucking leave me alone.

After lunch I pretended to be asleep so I wouldn't have to deal with anything, though in the process of doing so I actually did fall asleep for a couple of hours. When I woke I saw that the sun had gone away, which didn't seem inappropriate at all. I looked at the clock and kept thinking to myself that my cousins would have arrived around that time. That is, if they were actually coming this year. But no, my cousins' grandmother is immobile so they had to go to her apartment in Chinatown, and my other cousins' father was too lazy to drive. Then my brother is on call so my family can't leave for anywhere either.

I therefore spent Thanksgiving alone this year. Whereas everyone else is celebrating with their families from around the area or around the country, I did nothing but eat.

And I wanted to be grateful. I wanted to be grateful for all the food, for the potatoes, the soup, the stuffing, the golden turkey. I wanted to be grateful for the home I live in, the safe environment that has allowed me to thrive. I wanted to be grateful for all my good fortune, for all the bad things that didn't happen. I wanted to be grateful for having a family.

But the truth is, I can't be grateful. The turkey could have been bland, my home could have been a shack, I could have lost my legs, and I wouldn't care. But when your own family can't sit down and appreciate life and each other, everything becomes meaningless.

And instead of being grateful today, I was angry and jealous. Angry at my cousins' mother for ruining our Thanksgiving plans, angry at my other cousins' father for being too goddamn lazy to drive, angry at my own family for not giving a damn about my feelings, about my life that they can never hope to understand. And I was jealous. Jealous of anyone else who had a family, or at least people to spend the holiday with. Jealous of those with not much food to serve, forced to share their measly meal but nonetheless happy to do so. Jealous of those shivering, but huddled about each other and sharing a fire in the cold. Jealous of everyone else.

And I wanted to hurl myself among the ranks of those wandering bums, those estranged children, those exiled members of society, those with no place to call home, with no people to call friends or family. But as I examined myself I became so disgusted that I decided that even they were too dignified for my stature.

Pre-Thanksgiving Dinner

Yes, so I think I finally managed to satiate my insatiable, month-long craving for raw fish and sushi tonight by going to Sushi Park. In fact, I don't think I'll be craving sushi for a long time...

Round One!

Round Two!

Though I admit, while I like the variety, the buffet sort of kills the joy of having sushi, of which each piece has to be enjoyed individually and not wolfed down as I definitely did tonight. Regardless, eating with six other people certainly made it a fun, fulfilling get-together. Sadly enough though, despite eating the complete opposite of what people would eat on Thanksgiving, I think having dinner with friends is as close as I'm getting to feeling the feelings associated with that traditional turkey dinner, that of friendship, familial warmth, and camaraderie.

The Pursuit of Happiness

As I was venting about many things today to various companions, I ultimately came to one conclusion:

Everything I've done thus far this year has failed to make me happy.

I'm looking back at the past three months now, and do you know what I recall? Discomfort, misery, sadness. And you know what? It's not college applications. No, college applications actually make me happy, because they give me the chance to write and they give me hope that I can get far away from everything I'm going through right now. Far, far away...

I want to think that everything I'm doing now is simply ensuring my happiness in the future. But I have no proof, and how do you expect me to feel relaxed with no guarantee that I'm going to have a successful life?

Tell me why, with a 100 average (no wait, a 99.99 average that's literally .002 points away from the top tier), I'm still only ninth in the class? Why is that, despite my hard work, colleges are still willing to reject me merely because my average, my average and not my true intelligence or ambition, falls below eight others?

And some teachers are lovely. Most of them are. But others... others are just pure bitches. And I can understand that it's my fault that I'm not doing well if I'm not doing the work. I'm not going to be stupid and blame a teacher just because I'm not doing well. But when some teachers just give you a hard time, or find the need to make you feel like an absolute idiot, you can't really expect me to say something like, "Oh, I'll just work harder next quarter."

I work so hard, and no one but my peers will ever understand that. And that's because they work hard too. We all work hard, and we don't need teachers to make things more difficult for us.

For example, I actually can't decide who is more outrageous. My close-minded health teacher, who I had to deal with two years ago, or my math teacher, whose nasty, rotten attitude I have to deal with now.

"I don't understand why you took off points if this is right."

"Oh, well even though it's right, it's not the answer I had."

Sorry for thinking outside the box.

"I don't understand this problem."

"Oh, come on! How can you not understand something as simple as that?"

Oh, forgive me! I sincerely apologize for wasting your time with this utterance of my breath. I won't seek answers to my petty questions again.

And she wonders why, in addition to my classmates, little me "doesn't seek extra help."

That's definitely not all, but this is the senselessness kids have to deal with today. But who understands? No one. We can't do anything about it either. All of us just have to keep working in hope of finally reaching that future we can only assume is before us.

And I wonder, is anyone really happy?

HOPE

Okay, so it's one in the morning, I'm tired, I haven't napped, and I've just got one thing to say:

I UNDERSTAND THE CALCULUS HOMEWORK!

(And I think I might actually get things right!)

Oh em gee.

Return to Normalcy

It's 6:40 PM. She's out the door, fast, box cradled in arms. The torch has been passed. Twenty more minutes...

And it's finally over.

The Intel Science Talent Search is perhaps the worst possible thing a person could do to himself. The work is difficult, the process is stressful, and despite how hard one works, there is no guarantee that he is going to win. And even though we can each say, "Wow, I did get a lot out of this," there's no denying the fact that we're all going to be at least a little disappointed if we did not win at least something.

However, I don't think the program's unique circumstance of being a four-year course has ever been more obvious, and today, we may have actually became a family. Nine of us scrambling, fingers typing, papers flying, all were taking place in the small space that is the research room. Through the mist of pending chaos, we helped each other through and we all made it to the end. The difficulty brought us together, forced us to rely on each other, and as a result, all boundaries were crossed despite time ticking mercilessly on.

But we did it. We finished, and the completion brings about a close and a return to normalcy. No more skipping class. No more abnormal candy ingestion. No more unusual and unnecessary stress.

But as I look around the confines of my own room, thinking about the work I've missed and how much work I have left to do, I wonder if perhaps normalcy was not what I sought after all.

Kill Me, Calculus

So today was a rather interesting day. As I'm looking at the clock, I'm realizing that I've been up for about 20 hours now.

Twenty hours may not sound like a lot (believe me, it isn't), but if you do the math you'll realize that I've been up since 3 AM. But alas! I have not taken a nap yet (though I admit, it was close).

In fact, today was probably the first time I really ever took a nap into the early, early morning and stayed up until I went to school. Since I have the weakest willpower in the world when it comes to being tired and going to sleep, I usually end up falling back to sleep for at least 15 minutes before I need to get ready for school. So naturally, being in school this morning was really quite weird.

And you know what's even weirder?

This morning, while getting ready, I tripped and slammed my toe into my Calculus textbook which was lying on the floor. Okay, so I have a messy room. I'll clean it soon.

But then I go to first period, Calculus of course (because how could I possibly start off my days any better?), and we get back our tests. After the usual "I don't know what to do with you guys" talk, she hands back our tests, and I more or less did as well as I thought I did.

Thirty-seven, baby. Oh yeah.

Oh wait. I got a point back for putting a "good wrong answer." So it's really a thirty-eight.

Lucky me.

To make matters worse, even though my class got bagels today, I stabbed myself with the butter knife while attempting to cut mine in half. (And I don't care what you say; yes, I cut my finger with a [metal] butter knife and you damn well better believe that it still hurts.)

Did I mention that it was her knife that she brought from home too? Nah, didn't think so.

Coincidence? Of course, but it all still sucks.

Oh, Calculus, how I love you so.

Smell of Smoke

So I wake up this morning, open my bedroom door, walk to the bathroom, and suddenly the smell of smoke hits me right in the face. Worried, I follow the scent to the kitchen, where it is slightly stronger but not by much. I check the appliances, but nothing is on, and nothing seems charred. I call my father to ask if he knows anything about it, and he tells me that he turned off the stove at 3 AM after my mother had left it on and fallen asleep.

Hanging up, I then thought, "Wow, I could have died last night."

Thanks, Mom.

Then later I get a piercing headache, maybe from the essays I was writing, but more likely from the smell, which was dissipating through my house despite leaving the kitchen windows open. So then I fell asleep again despite sleeping for 12 straight hours last night. After waking from my nap and returning from my piano lesson though, I then realize that the carbon monoxide detector is gone. My father asks my brother if he took it for himself, and being the selfish bastard he is he says yes.

I then thought, "Wow, I could have died at any time."

Thanks, Brother.

At least my father decided to have some fun with it...

"You should have heard your mom this morning. She ran out of the room into the kitchen panicking to turn off the stove. I turned it off already, but I was just pretending to sleep to see her reaction."

Wow, Dad. Wow.

Breaking News: Sleep is Good

Sleep Loss Lowers Grades.

"It's very hard to get a teenager to get 8.5-9.5 hours of sleep."

You know, all I can say is...

NO SHIT.

Who doesn't realize that teenagers aren't getting enough sleep these days? And whose fault do you think that is?

Kids these days have it so good. They can handle hours of homework. You're lazy; go take up a hobby. You're fat; go take up a sport. Stop complaining and go get a job. They can handle it...

Oh yes, we can handle it all, can't we?

Why don't you all just shut up?

Instead of doing all these studies, why doesn't anyone just do something about it? It isn't a problem that can't be fixed. If you're going to expect so much out of kids these days then be practical. Stop trying to kill us. You really are killing us!

Sigh... and I personally love the fact that I'm getting a third of the recommended hours of sleep each night. In fact, I don't even want to talk about the health and emotional problems I will be/am having because of this. (Can you tell?) Oh, but my favorite part is the fact that fifteen minutes can apparently make a difference between an A student and a B student.

Could you imagine if I'd slept a little more?

I'd be a fucking genius.