college applications

明日やる事山ほどあります。
新しいカラスが明日から始まるんだ。
そして先生達に大学の事を聞かないとな。
全くめんどくせ～なぁ。大学決めるのつかれちゃうよ。
どうでもいいわ、って時々考えます。

Oh, was today Halloween? I forgot with all my stressful college applications. Sometimes I always wonder why the procedures in getting into colleges is so disorganized and stressful. True, if one can handle the procedures as smoothly as possible, it won't be as disorganized or stressful. But in general, it seems like there's a lot of work to go through. In a nutshell, the procedures sound simple: send in undergraduate application to colleges along with the additional supplements, payments and forms, and boom! Applied. Yeah, it's easy to say, but actually doing all that takes so much time and effort... and luck. It just frustrates me. Getting into college is not as easy as it may seem. But once everything is turned in successfully, and on time, it should go smoothly. I still have so much work to do before I send in all my stuff to colleges. Bleh.

I feel that time is running faster and faster. Deadlines are approaching. Every minute I spend has to be productive, I feel. Wasting time is the worst thing to do. Like Buzz Lightyear always said, "there's no time to lose!" He's right. There really isn't. And if I do, then luck'll bring me down. It seems.

asldkj;asdklfjiwe...  <--- letting out anger.

Don't worry. I'll think on the bright side.

"My favor. Don't you remember?" she said.

Her monotonous voice made me realize how much sleepier I was. My eye muscles weakened, barely able to be kept open. I felt like I was listening to a computerized female voice giving me options to press a key. 

"I don't remember, sorry," I said, wiping my eye with the back of my left index finger. "I don't even know who you are."

A slight pause. I imagined her feeling shocked, both hands on the phone. 

"You were lost somewhere in the street near Broadway," she said. "I gave you concise directions. That's how we met." 

After those words left her mouth, my face turned peculiar, my eyebrows shifting down near the top of my squinting eyes; a Clint Eastwood classic. 

"I would never remember something as minor as that," I said. "And how can you conclude that we met? You only gave me simple directions, right?"

"I gave you concise, and very clear directions," she said, sounding as if correcting me. "I was like an ace classmate teaching you how to do an equation in Calculus class."

"Are you calling me dumb?" 

"You aren't dumb if you don't question that you are."

"Hey, well giving me directions is not the same as telling me your name and getting to know each other," I said, switching the phone to my other ear. 

There was a brief pause in our conversation. With the phone up in my left ear, I walked towards the window and stared at the drifting clouds. The sky still looked unreal. Far above in the distance, a jet airplane was smoothly flying its way south, its roaring engines barely heard. Who knew where it was going. 

After seeing it glide away from my vision, I said on the phone, "Who are you?"

"I told you," she said, like a woman trying to calm down her frustrated husband. "It is not important in the matter. All I need from you is to do me one little, effortless favor."

Sooner or later, I was thinking about hanging up the phone. This woman was creeping me out. The more she said the word, 'favor', I felt the urge to just punch her in the face. Unfortunately, she was on the other side of the line. 

"Please," she continued, "it requires very little effort."

At least that'll end this conversation, I thought. After all I needed something to do in my life. "Fine, what do you want me do?"

"You live in an apartment, yes?"

"Yes."

"Just so you know, I'm about to give you a whole lot of information, but all you need to do is follow along and you'll do absolutely fine. It's not like I'm making you save the world from aliens, or anything," she said.

"Alright, shoot."

"Okay, all you need to do is go downstairs and tell the doorman that you have a brown, shoe box-sized package that you want to pick up. There is no doubt that the package will be there. Once you receive it, I want you to take it outside and open it. Don't open it in the lobby, or your apartment room. Open it anywhere outside, but preferably where nobody is around. Open it with your hands; don't use any sharp objects to help you open it. There is nothing to worry about. The package is not some kind of bomb or anything dangerous. It's something, however, that cannot be handled roughly or dropped, so be careful. I am giving you a responsibility and it is up to you to handle it successfully.That's all I want for you to do now. And again, don't worry. I am not tricking you. I am not a criminal, nor anybody who intends to commit murder or rape or anything violent. I am not affiliated with any gang member or anything. Just grab the package and open it. Capish?"

"Wait," I said. "How do you know where I live?"

"That is not important. Do you understand me?" she demanded.

I couldn't think of anything other than to nod my head, but realizing that that's totally meaningless, I responded with an unassertive "yes".

"Good," she said. "And after we hang up, I will never call you back again. There are reasons why I won't, and you will find out, but I thought I would let you know beforehand."

"Wait," I said, again. "what do you mean that I will find out?"

"Aren't mysteries exciting?" she said.

"I need to know, though, since you're never calling me back again."

"Look, I am here to just tell you what I want from you. That is all. I am like an object. No matter what you ask, and how you ask them, I will do nothing but ignore your questions. Just do your task, and you'll know in the very, near future."

"Will the box reveal anything?"

"I can only say this," she said, her soft tone sneaking into my ear canal. "when you find out what's inside the box, give yourself some time to bear with what you are seeing in your very own eyes. You will not need anybody to help you, including me. You will know exactly what to do when you see what's in the box. But take your time, and really examine it. Now try not to waste anymore time. Goodbye."

She hung up. I held the phone up in my ear, listening to the stand-by sound. I slowly put the phone back, and walked towards the window again, gazing at the outside world. Why, in this peaceful morning, must you get ordered from a stranger to retrieve an anonymous box? There goes your day, or even you life. The clouds were drifting away with the wind as the sun healthily shone the entire city. What a beautiful day.

Whatever was inside that box, I did not want to retrieve it immediately. I spent some time watching the view. I stared at the cars driving by the street, the people doing their daily routines, walking their dogs and buying their breakfast. It gave me a sense of relief that I wasn't the only one in the world. After staring at the outside for a while, Norah Jones' beat came back to me again, but not as pleasant. The artificial voice of the strange woman kept haunting me.

I washed my face in the bathroom, sat down on the sofa, and ate some peanuts that were left on the coffee table from yesterday. After chewing down the bland taste of peanuts, I stared into space. Whatever I was thinking, I tried not to think about the box. But it just would not work. The box never escaped out of my mind.

I put on my black peacoat, grabbed my keys, and my phone, and decided to head down to the lobby. I needed to know what was inside of it, or else my mind would explode. Curiosity, if you think about it, is really painful to bear with. If you don't know the answer to something, whether it be a math problem or a question from someone, you start to get so frustrated you can't stop but thinking about the truth.

Because it was the weekend, the elevator came in ten seconds, I counted. I was not alone. There was a middle-aged man, around his fifties, early sixties, holding a leash to his dog. The dog, looked similar to a dachshund, moved around in circles, sniffing the ground, and eventually my foot. The man looked straight ahead with absolutely no expression on his face, unaware of the dog sniffing my foot. He wore a blue windbreaker with navy blue pants. His jacket reminded me of a trader at a stock market. No way he was one.

When we approached the lobby, I let the man go out first, his dog racing outside. I slowly head my way towards the doorman. The middle-aged man, like any other person residing in this apartment, said hello to the doorman. The doorman, whose name was Mike, responded with a hello and a smile back. When he saw me coming, he did the same. Mike was around his 60's, just doing his job, protecting the tenants, notifying them when a visitor or food delivery was here, talking to them about baseball and how the Yankees lost against the Tigers, among others. He had this job for a while now; I always thought he would suddenly quit and retire one day. But it didn't seem so yet. The only thing about him was that he talked slowly. Sometimes, I could already tell what he was trying to say. And sometimes I couldn't.
     Usually he made me relaxed since he protected the building from strangers and criminals. But at this moment, I felt the exact opposite. He was the one who would hand me that package. That unknown package. He was sitting on his stool, while reading the morning newspaper. I walked towards the counter.
     "Hello, my friend," he said. "A good morning to you!"
     "Hey, Mike," I said, almost as a sigh. "Do you happen to know if I have a brown, shoe box-sized package waiting for me?"
     "A brown shoe box-sized package," he repeated, as he looked at the list of apartments that have packages, his index finger guiding him. "Ah, yes you do."
     He went to go get the package from the other room. My heart pounded faster than a horses' footsteps at the Kentucky Derby. Just what the hell could be inside?
     He brought it back and handed it to me like any other package. The box was, just as she said, a brown shoe box-sized package. It was wrapped nicely; too nicely that there seemed to be no opening. On the center read my name and address, and the sender on the top corner. Handwritten. It read, Asami. No address, not even her last name. Just her first name, it seemed. How in the world could the post office recognize this? I thought. Well, my address and name were exact. This was starting to freak me out.
     I asked Mike, "Hey, do you find it peculiar that the sender only wrote her first name on this package?" I said.
     He grabbed the package from me and examined it. His mouth was open in confusion, it seemed.
     "Hmm," he said. "It doesss seeemmm peculiarrr. Do you knowww this, Asami?"
     "Well, I think I just talked to her on the phone. I asked her who she was, but she refused to tell me."
     He continued to inspect the package, flipping and turning it around, like a neophyte Rubik's cube solver examining a cube before attempting to solve it.
     "Hmm. It is neaaatly wraaapped. It doesn't look suspicious to me."
     I nodded.
     "Do you want me to opennnn it for y--"
     "No," I said. "It's okay. I got it."
     He handed it back to me as I headed my way outside.
     "Hey wait a sec, my friendd!" he said. "Where areee you going with that packaaage outsidee?"
     "She told me to open it outside."
     He opened his mouth again, nodded, and looked back at the morning paper. It seemed he didn't care. The guys got more than a hundred people to take care of. He doesn't care about me.
     With the package tucked in my arms, I headed towards Riverside park, and sat down on one of the benches. This allowed me to stay away from joggers, and morning bikers. It was the perfect place for privacy. Get a room? A couple wouldn't need one if they came here.
     Surrounding me were just a bunch of trees and bushes. Birds were crying as the chilly, fall wind swept my skin. The package was resting on my knees. The more I looked at her handwriting, the more it freaked me out. There was definitely something mysterious in here. The package wasn't really heavy, but I knew there was something in here that would surprise me. I tried to look for an opening, but at this situation it was almost impossible. It was sealed with sticky tape. Hence I used my nails to rip off the tape, but it was no use. Maybe she was trying to make me use my brain to try to open it with my hands. She might've only said it was fragile so I wouldn't slam it on the ground to try to open it. Perhaps my hands were the only hope in opening this mysterious box.
     Minutes past and I'm here trying to find out how to open this package. No pedestrians, however, walked past me. Thank goodness. They would laugh when they see a man trying to open a package outside in the park. I looked around and saw nobody, and heard nothing but the faint sound of cars passing by. I tried using my teeth to rip off the tape but it would not work. Puncturing the package would only go against her rules of opening this package. What a joke. I spent some time just staring at it, wondering what was inside. I couldn't shake it, like what a child would do to his/her wrapped Christmas present. This was frustrating. I placed the package next to me, brought my hands on the back of my head, and rested for a while, observing the tree branches wave to and fro with the wind's momentum. Looking up, I heard the sound of rhythmic footsteps. I looked to my right and saw a woman in a fur coat walking towards me. Her presence was yet to be discovered.

Footloose

Recently saw Footloose. Mild Spoiler Alert: A high school student from Boston, Ren, moves to a small town in the southern U.S, and finds out that dancing is prohibited after an accident that happened a few years ago. Ren's rebelliousness eventually triumphs.

Now I don't want to give a spoiler here, so I'm gonna stop here. But overall, it was a very uplifting movie. I enjoyed almost every portion of it. Julianne Hough was extremely good-lookin', and the music was great.

フットルースを見ました！いいです。みんなダンスが上手かったです。八ッフもすてきだったで。おすすめですよ～ん。

late night party

今ナイトクラブパーティから帰ってきました。学校のやで！ へぇ、つかれた。寝るかぁあ。
Oh what a night. Just got back from the halloween party. time to catch some zzzz's

snow

It's snowing... heavily... in October.

Supposedly there's going to be a party this evening. How am I to go in this weather?

school volleyball team

Today our school's girls volleyball team faced another. It was an away game, and the championships. I, and my other school friends spectated the riveting game. Unfortunately, we lost, taking second place. But way to push through.

やっとアメリカの１Ｑ８４ゲットしたぜ！今日発売！

Right then, the phone rang. The transition from humming a slow, mellow rhythm, to listening to a loud, attentive ringer was really unpleasant. I headed for the receiver, but before I picked it up, I stood there, glaring at the number keys. It reminded me of Punnet Squares.

It rang about three or four times.

I quickly sighed and picked it up on its fifth ring, expecting nobody to respond.

"Hello?" I said.

Yeah, nobody. I couldn't hear anything. But it wasn't completely silent. I pressed the mic in my ear to try to hear the background noise. I heard the sound of footsteps. Like those high heel clicks. It was maybe some kind of insurance agent calling me from her office. I didn't know. Was the footsteps coming from her? Well, I knew that she was a woman at least.

"Hello?" I said again.

Not even a clearing of the throat. The whole reason why I was never fond of having a receiver in my home was because of this, exactly. I always hated how mu--

"Oh, hello?" a soft voice spoke from the mic into my ear canal.

"Who is this?" I asked. "And how do you know my number?"

"That is not important right now. What I need from you is to just accept my favor."

My mind switched its mode into confusion. "What favor?"

There was a pause.

... to be continued

last cross country

Tomorrow is my last cross country race in high school. It's the championships. The top five runners who finish from our team gets their times combined. Same applies to the other teams. Whichever team gets the lowest time overall are the champions. 

Our school'll get first!

SM town at the garden!

SM Town performs TONIGHT at the Garden @7!! I would so, love to go, but here I am at home, writing a 4 page essay. Tickets are pretty darn expensive too.

SNSD is, I don't know if it's true, coming to the GMA studios tomorrow. I hope they perform, but that's very unlikely. Still, I'm going to get up in the morning, turn to GMA (I always do) and look out for them. They are supposedly giving away 50 signed CD's to whoever comes to the studios first at 9. I would, but hey, can't skip school! Damn.

少女時代がニューヨークに来たぞ。今夜ＭＳＧにコンサートするべきなんだ。僕行きたいけどこのクソ宿題があって行かれなーんだ。それと、まぁ、チケットも高いしね。

でも明日、ＧＭＡのスタジオに来るってみんなが行ってたけど、本当かしらない。朝の９時に来るって行ってたな。行きてーけど学校あるからいかれない　Ｔ＿Ｔ

no title for this story yet

As I was taking a shower, I hummed that mellow beat and began to wash my hair with shampoo, the water from the shower head, fiercely hitting my body. Lazy, I decided not to clean anywhere else. I stopped the shower, wiped myself dry with a towel, and dressed into my clothes while humming Norah Jones. 

I opened the window and swallowed a gulp of the morning air, and exhaled back outside, giving carbon dioxide to the plants. The crows were at their usual, crying in the sky. The blue color of the sky was so light that it seemed artificial-- as if a huge, god-like artist painted over the real sky and showed it to the world. If he'd ask me, I would say it was brilliant. As I kept looking up, I imagined how clouds weigh so much when all they look like are puffs. I began humming the rhythm again, trying to match each rhythm with the slow movement of the clouds. 

to be continued...

Water and Seltzer

"You know what I hate?" he says, after he takes a sip of seltzer.

"What?" I say.

"When you think what you're about to drink is not what you expected it to be."

I nod a few times.

"I thought this was Sprite," he continues. "but it turned out that it was seltzer."

"What's wrong with that feeling?" I blurt.

"Well, before you drink the glass, you get all excited for that sugary, lemon taste, but when you drink it and realize that it's just bland, tasteless, carbonated water, you feel weird because it's just... water, you know?"

I kind of knew what he was saying. "So like mistaking water for shochu?" I tried to stick with the conversation.

"That's another example!" he says. "Although I've never had any shochu so I can't tell the exact feeling."

"Or what about apple juice and p--"

"I don't think that's the best way to go," he says.

some notes

You can't admit to yourself that you're perfect. If you do, then you have no purpose to live. We are surrounded by countless imperfections, and live to tweak those imperfections to strive for perfection.
-------


After I see some extraordinary performance by someone, my mind blows. I would just sit there, imagining how much time, effort, and commitment they were willing to spend in their lives. The feeling when that person performs in front of a crowd must be one of the greatest feelings ever.
-------

The mellow rhythm of Norah Jones' Chasing Pirates was stuck on my head as I headed for the shower.

... to be continued.

Sophocles, Freud, and Murakami

While studying for a psychology test, I've noticed that Haruki Murakami makes so many connections to Greek myths. In his novella, Hear the Wind Sing, he mentions in the beginning that Greek myths are worth reading. Hence he writes Kafka on the Shore which strictly follows Sophocles' story of Oedipus. In a nutshell, Oedipus the King is a story about a naive king who unconsciously marries his mother and murders his father. Kafka on the Shore is about a teenage boy who runs away from home to possibly search for his family. Although the reader cannot exactly tell if he actually did (typical Murakami), it seems that Kafka Tamura kills his father and has a sexual affair with his mother. In fact, Kafka explains how his father left a prophecy that Kafka will kill him eventually.

Freud was inspired by Sophocles' story and thus he called one of his terms the Oedipus Complex. This term is when the child begins to loathe his/her (but typically his) father, and love his mother. The reason why he loves his mother is because the mother is whom the child first gets his desires fulfilled. First and foremost, the child comes from the mother's womb. This means that the child would have a closer relation with the mother because it came from her! Secondly, what the child initially desires first are oral-related, such as thumb-sucking. So it makes sense that sucking on the breast fulfills the child. As the child slowly realizes that the mother is drawn towards another person (the father), the child would start to hate on him and store in his mind the act of murdering him. It is then that the child starts to learn that he cannot get what he always wants; things in life aren't always free and there for you. 

By looking at these realizations, I concluded that Sophocles was some writer! His story of Oedipus still lives on today and has made famous writers, professors, doctors, scholars, among others, to become inspired.

Now, let's take a little break from Sophocles. It seems that Murakami incorporated other Freudian terms in his works, namely dreams. Freud described that dream-work had two different steps: the manifest content ( initial understanding of dream) and the latent content (hidden meaning behind the dream). In Murakami's Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, the reader observes one of the characters 'dream-reading' skulls in the library, attempting to find the latent content in them. Interesting. 

Garbage

"Everything in our world requires some sort of work. Things don't just magically happen. There comes a time when we absolutely need to do the work ourselves in order to achieve something. Even if they only require the littlest effort, we will later realize that they are crucial in our lives."

"Can you give me an example?" he said.

"Well," he cleared his throat. "If you had a garbage bag sitting in your home, would you take it out as soon as possible?"

"probably not."

"That's my point. Your id tells you that you don't want to take out the trash, but what I'm telling you is that regardless if it's a pain to just grab the bag and throw it out, you need to take it out because that's what life is all about. Getting things done the right way. That's how we live today. We understand our essential tasks and we do those tasks. Don't you go to school everyday? Don't you wash your hair with shampoo? Don't you brush your teeth everyday? Don't you feel the urge to just punch me in the face right now? that's life, bud."

bug bites suck

You know what really grinds my gears? When mosquitoes, gnats, and other annoying bugs bite me everywhere. One might ask why I'd get so many bites if I live in the city. Well, it's because I go to the woods during cross country meets. Each time I finish a meet, I itch. Where? It changes from time to time. Sometimes my skin itches around my leg, my arm, my neck, and even at the bottom of my ankle. I mean, how would a bug bite me at the bottom of my ankle in the first place? My sock was covering it! Furthermore, I usually get multiple bites. And that is not a pleasant feeling. 

I would assume that itching is the first phase of the mosquito/gnat/whatever bite. I try not to itch, but I just can't. After obsessively itching for quite a while, the red, round bump starts to form. That is an obvious sign that tells me that I just got unlucky and got owned by a tiny little stinging bug. It sucks if I just think about it. 

I feel that I get more bites than any other person I know. Also, I feel that my skin reacts the worst whenever I receive a bite from an insect than any other person I know. A few days after the bite, it turns more red, swells up, meaning that the lump gets bigger, and starts to itch a lot worse. Fortunately, Cortizone is there for me when I need it, but still, it sucks to get so many bug bites in so little time. Teammates were yapping about bug bites but they didn't seem to get so many, and even if they did, it didn't swell up, let alone having the need for Cortizone. 

I have another meet tomorrow afternoon and my bites on my arm from a few days ago are still itching! It's embarrassing to show my bites! They'd say something about it. It's really unpleasant in so many ways. Not only is it embarrassing, but it's also distracting. Sometimes I can't concentrate that effectively because my body itches. That being said, I loathe bugs of any kind.

1Q84

Around 2009 and 2010, a sensational novel was published by Haruki Murakami in Japan. This novel was released in three volumes, totaling around 1000 or more pages. He called this novel, 1Q84, supposedly putting a twist to George Orwell's masterful novel, 1984. In fact the story takes place in 1984. Also, the "Q" is obviously pronounced "Kyu", and that, in Japanese, actually means the number 9. Regarding the distorted title, Murakami is perhaps implying that the story goes parallel to the present 1984, and takes the reader beyond reality. Similar to his previous works, such as Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World and Kafka on the Shore, the book basically takes on two seemingly unrelated stories that eventually clash together in the end. Thus there are two main narratives: one character named Aomame, and the other named Tengo. I don't know the complete details of the characters yet.

Now the U.S version of this grand novel is expected to hit shelves October 25th. To tell you the truth, I am excited. I've waited for probably a year. I've attempted to read the Japanese edition but unfortunately I couldn't read all of the characters so I just gave up. But on October 25th, the U.S will be able to read his latest and one of his most ambitious works yet. It is totally worth the wait.

１０月２５日に村上春樹さんの人気の本、「１Ｑ８４」がアメリカに発売する予定です。日本で発売した日に全売れ桐した本がやっとこっちにくるのってすごいですね。待てねーな。

Japan Korea Block Festival

Such nice 81 degree weather. Goin' back to those summer days. I had a decent time at the Japan Korea Block Festival too. I got to eat okonomiyaki, pork, and takoyaki-- although there wasn't any tako in it. Some shrimp.

There was also the mimic contest. One contestant was Bae Yong Jun. Cool.

今日の天候暑いですね～夏がもどってきたか～
今日は日本・韓国ブロックフェスティバルだったやで！
なんかちいこかったけどお好み焼き食べて、とたこやきもたべた！でもぜんぜんたこが入ってなかったけどね。えびが入ってた。
ものまねコンテストもあったな。一人のコンテスタントはペヨンジュンだった笑

Steve Jobs

Steve Jobs memorial are being held at most of the Apple stores around the world. Here is one of them.

A Singer and a Worker: a short story

"I'm a singer," she told me, staring at me deep in the eyes.

We were sitting at a coffee shop. I took a sip of my cappucino and carefully placed it on the table. I wrapped both my hands on the coffee as the steam slowly billowed in the air like a spirit. I imagined a singing co-worker.  "A singer..." I said. "What do you sing?"

She traced the tip of the coffee mug with her fingertips. "All sorts," she said, staring at her mug. "I sing a variety of genres."

"Can you tell me some?" 

She stopped tracing the tip midway, and stared at me. "What kind of music do you like to listen to?"

I paused. Then smiled. Then quickly looked down, and back up in her eyes. I blushed, but I couldn't really tell. "Well... I like to listen to smooth jazz."

"Oh, come on!" she blurted. "Nobody could sing that! We're getting off topic here!"

"Right," I said.

"So? What kind of music do you like to listen to, besides smooth jazz?" 

I thought about this for a while. In fact I didn't really listen to music all that much. The last time I listened to music was when I was at a pharmacy buying essentials. After much thought, I came up with an answer. "I like Tony Bennett."

"Tony Bennett?" 

"Any problem?" I said. I think it was him that I heard at the pharmacy. 

"No..." she said. "Just so random." She took a sip of her coffee, then sighed without opening her mouth, settling in the warmth that just entered her body. "Any others besides smooth jazz and Tony Bennett?"

"Give me a break!" 

"Tell me," she said. It seemed like she was playing with me. "it's important."

"It's not like you're going to sing for me my favorite genre or artist right?" I was curious.

She stared at her mug. "I guess I won't anymore."

I made sure to choose the right words. "No, please sing for me. I love it when people sing. Whenever anyone sings for me, doesn't matter if it's sung by a boy or a girl, it always soothes my heart. I don't have a legitimate reason why, but that's how it just feels to me."

"Then how come you won't tell me your favorite type of music?"

"It's because I only like listening to people I know," I said. "Listening to people I don't know sing is like listening to a stranger sing. If I know that person, I can connect more with that person, or understand him. It's just natural for me. That's why I don't listen to a lot of music that are on the charts. I mostly listen to the songs my friends sing."

She sat there silently. 

"To me, you aren't a stranger anymore," I continued. "Although this is the first time we've met, I feel that you told me enough about you." 

"That I'm a singer?"

"Yep." 

I could tell that she was gripping her mug tightly. We didn't say a word. She took her time, almost to the point where I would've forgotten what I said. Suddenly, she recrossed her legs and finally seemed settled. "You want me to sing to you any song then?"

"Yes."

"Here? In this coffee shop?"

"Uh-huh"

She nodded a few times. "Okay." 

Surrounding us was the sound of coffee blenders and other office workers talking among themselves. She took a sip of her coffee and gently placed it down. She swept her hair back from her eyes with her fingertips and sat there innocent, silent, like a balloon that freely floated in the air. She took a breath and began to sing to her heart's content. 

The purity of her voice came so freely that it muted the background noise. For a minute I couldn't hear anything but her beautiful voice. I couldn't pay attention to which genre she was singing. I couldn't tell which song. Her voice echoed in my mind, and blocked out all the excess noise. I felt like I was in a dream. I sat there, listening to her beauty. 

to be continued...

end of the season for the Yankees

An upsetting loss for the Yankees yesterday. Curse the Detroit Tigers. Yankees blew their chances, A-rod was 0-4 with 3 strikeouts. An absolute disappointment. 

In fact they started the season facing the Tigers, and ended with the Tigers.

Whatever, though. That's that. 

Tonight the world has lost an innovative man, a man who has changed us. Steve Jobs, rest in peace.

Greetings

Recently I've been attacked by so many college application handouts and paperwork! In fact these upcoming months are the most important. Early decisions and all that start to take place in the first week of November. Time flies, really. It strikes me how much time I cannot lose.

Here is a quote I wrote right off the bat:

Although it may seem like a bad idea, I don't plan out what I'm going to write when I'm writing stories. Even if I do, they'd just turn a totally different direction. I find it to be utterly useless in my process. Instead, ideas seep into my mind, like dust being swept by a Eureka vacuum cleaner. The minute I have a vague idea about something, I type it on a document and before I know it, I would write thirty pages about it.

Morning Mist

I checked the time and it was a quarter past 6 in the morning. The outside was dark with no lights on anybody's windows. No bird chirps, no cars zooming by the block. It just seemed cold and dark. I got up from my bed, went to the bathroom, and quietly sipped an OJ while watching the early morning news. The only news that pretty much caught my attention was a ferris wheel accident.

I quickly ate three pancakes and cleared it down with some milk. I needed to get to the test center by 7:30, so I knew that I had to get out of here no later than a quarter before 7. I changed into the most comfortable, yet still fashionable clothes, applied deodorant, grabbed my belongings, and headed out. 

The chilly morning mist splattered on my face. The sky was beginning to turn royal blue. Nobody was walking except me. I felt like I was in the middle of the deep woods, or some kind of abandoned town. I couldn't hear anything but my calm breathe, and the wind occasionally swaying the leaves. I put both hands in my hoodie pocket and headed for the train. 

The subway came in about ten minutes. Uncanny how it was crowded. Where were these people headed on an early Saturday? I thought. 

Most of my school friends were already at the test center talking to each other. As I looked around, several other test takers were randomly standing, staring out into space, while others listened to their ipods. Another girl had her mother with her. They were probably talking about last-minute testing strategies or some ritual. But there was a reason why we were all gathered around on an early Saturday morning: to get the whole thing over with so we could go home as soon as possible. At this moment, we couldn't even go inside yet. We all waited for the security guard to let us in, but there was no sight of her. It was a bit early, but still, early was better than being late. 

About ten minutes past when a chubby school officer unlocked the door to let us in. She wore a typical police-esque attire: sky blue collared shirt, a belt with lots of dangling metal objects, and long dark pants. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail. With a "I-don't-give-a-fu@# about this test" kind of expression, she told us all to take off any metal objects and put them in our bags to get ready for security check. 

After security check was the line. When waiting, a proctor told us all to put away our phones or else we would automatically be disqualified from the test. After all I didn't bring mine. Smart move. 

I took the test. When taking it, I felt like being on a airplane: I sat for about four hours, it was quiet, and there was limited legroom. No windows. That was a problem. And then there was always that one person who would obnoxiously cough throughout the entire test. There wasn't only one though; there were several. Regardless, I minded my own work while I bubbled in answers surrounded by the sounds of buttons being hit from calculators, clearing of throats, turning of pages, and footsteps from the hallway.