Urban Shakespeare.

Every time you like a picture on 

My instagram, it makes my heart skip a

Beat. Which really does suck, because you do 

It ninety percent of the fucking time. 

I checked prior to make sure it was true,

And honestly I'm pretty tired of you.

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Numbers.

I got stood up today.

1 bus ticket wasted,

8 dollars spent,

2 hours early,

3 more hours waiting,

2 half-assed apologies,

leaving me feeling like a fucking fool.

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Bad.

He could have been my perfect match. 

I don't remember how we started talking again, I just know we did, although it may have been that time he jumped at me from his car. 

We met when I started high school and he was two years older. To me, he was a creep, a friend of a friend that I only associated with because he was kind of funny. To him, I was that little asian girl, with the boobs. He was cocky then. If he knew what he wanted, he would do what it took to get his way, either through whining or illegal measures. Usually whining. We weren't close. 

When we started talking on the phone, it was like I just met him for the first time. We would talk for hours and hours, until the next day. Each morning he would apologize over and over because I had school, regardless of the times I said "It's okay, really! I'm not even tired!" 

Every now and then his step-dad would come home late from work. "Hey Tammy, I'm gonna put you in my pocket for a bit," was what he would say before I could hear a mumbled exchange of greetings followed by an outburst of yelling, along with a female voice- his mom probably. Minutes would pass and I would hear him storming up the stairs. "Sorry, about that," he would say as he closes the door to his room, breathing heavily. 

He was also superstitious, telling me all kinds of stories about ghosts and his past experiences that honestly had me thinking at one point that he was part demon. Too scared to fall asleep during 3am, I would stay on the phone with him until the hour was up. 

He cried sometimes. He cried about his dad, his step-dad, his street, his jobs, me. Not often, but when he did it was an accumulation of problems being let out at once. One time I cried with him, when I told him I didn't want us being together. 

He always said, "Sweet dreams, ice cream." Not because I reminded him of ice cream, just because he thought it rhymed. He would re-tell his dreams and make up stories for me to fall asleep and he would tell me about the people he meets, because that guy basically talks to anyone smoking a blunt. 

One day I told him I could read him like a poster. Not just a book, a poster, where you don't need to read much to understand the basics of what's going on. He asked me what he was thinking, if that was the case. "You think I'm adorable." He cussed and i could picture the smile planted on his face. 

We decided- I guess it was me- I decided it was best we don't progress. We came from different families, different parents with different expectations. We had different lifestyles: i was a student and he was a worker with a drug problem who's been involved in.. certain activities. He's been stabbed, threatened and almost arrested? I'm pretty sure he's killed a guy, out of pure defense, though. 

Regardless of how much we liked each other, he couldn't let go of his life. He was born into a family of drug-dealers and gang-members. Danger was in his blood. Even though I was crazy for this guy, I couldn't see myself spending my life with him. 

I wanted a bad guy, minus the bad guy. 

I guess that makes me a bad girl, in a way. 

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Sleeping Properly.

Last night I was tipsy. He was tipsy too, and he confessed he had a "crush" on me. We were taking care of someone else at the time so I brushed it off. He drank more, and more, and he was drunk. I woke up to the sound of him coming in, felt him rest his head on mine. As I lay sideways pretending to still be asleep, he kissed my neck, up to my ear, my cheek. I stretched and managed to get him off. I heard him whisper, "Fuck," probably thinking I was wasted.

In the morning I laid next to another guy, because he had the warmest blanket. In a trailer full of people, you'd think I felt safer. He started touching my legs, and i punched him when he placed his hand below my stomach. I just balled my hand up in a fist. Didn't actually punch, just lightly placed it on his cheek, you know, to be "playful." He looked at me and asked, "No?" I answered, "No." This routine repeated itself three times before i pulled him closer and hugged him in a way that his hand would have to be around my back rather than between my legs. We fell asleep for a bit but I was still extremely uneasy.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this, but both things happened within 5 hours of each other. That shouldn't be right. This is horribly worded but I can't find the right words to explain it right now. I just knew I wanted to write about it. Sorry. 

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Not Being Okay Is Okay.

I've been overthinking lately. I need more time to prepare myself mentally for what is to come. My diplomas, my goodbyes, my hellos, are the main conflicts that I am anxiously praying to stall. All of which surround the fact that next year, I'm moving out to live on dorm.

In three months, I will have completed my diploma exams (hopefully with good marks) and have been accepted to the University of Alberta (, again, hopefully). My first worry is that. I will not get in. I'll fail my exams. I won't study enough. I won't catch up on my assignments. Writing this post will help me get it together (hopefully). I'll start my social studies assignments tomorrow. 

I'm moving out to a new city. No more coming to school early to sit with Johnson, no more bugging Mme Bartal, no more dance family, no more Kumon twice a week, no more making bubble tea at Kaysy's, no more theory classes, no more bugging my brother while he tries to play games, no more getting kicked in the butt by my mom, no more. I guess it can be a good thing. No more grandma to yell at everything I do (and don't do), no more shitty pearson students, no more -insert names or the two people i hate-, no more IB classes, no more having to clean someone else's mess, no more. 

I'm shy. There's no doubt about it. I can make friends easily I suppose, but only when there is a mutual friend. I won't have anyone out there, and that scares me. I know too many people who have dropped out because they were lonely and hated the environment. I kind of regret signing up for a single room. I kind of wish I had a roommate, someone who would wake me up and remind me of important things to do. I know I'll miss being woken up by my dad, sleeping past my alarm because I'm confident that he won't- he can't forget me. 

I'm also afraid of who will miss me. This year I've become so distant from my friends. I barely ever talk to them outside of classes, unless there's something that needed to be said. I get so sick of people so easily. I prefer to be alone, but get mad when people leave me alone. That's something I need to work on too. I get more sad than angry though, which is good I guess. That way I'm not blaming anyone for the way I feel. I'm just sad. 

I wonder who will be the last to see me before I go. Dance family, probably, at GlobalFest. At least I have one day to rest before I leave for Edmonton, Even though everyone says to keep in touch, I wonder who will make that extra effort to do so. I know I won't unless I talk to them often through social media like twitter. I don't feel it is necessary to communicate on a regular basis. I mean, I could probably do a long distance relationship if I really had to. Sure it's hard but if there's love and trust then all should work out. I want to come back and visit as if nothing were different. 

I guess I've been practicing the distance by isolating myself at school already. I probably need more practice though, because I really fucking miss having a best friend. I don't know who to call my best friend. I only have close friends. I can't choose a best. I know it seems I'm pretty open about things but there's so much that I hide deep down without anyone knowing. 

I don't think I'll be fine on my own. I'll probably cry a lot, considering how much I cry already. I'm prepared to live through that, though. Not being okay is okay. Not being okay is okay. Not being okay is okay. 

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The Exception.

They say actions speak louder than words. However, we don't interract much physically. Our occasional communication speaks to me much louder than the majority of the people i actually spend most of my time with. 

"i'm missing you again, oops"

Copied and pasted into this blog post, you wrote that at the end of the short message you sent me. I have never had any actions performed as strong as those words. Thank you. 

Regardless of our arguments, our lack of face-to-face talks, our conflicting schedules, you always being there for me, to talk to. Thank you and I love you. 

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The Thief.

When I asked you why you liked me, you said, "You're hurt." I replied with a quaint, "Thank you," but I didn't realize how much I truly appreciated your statement.

There have been people who expected me to be the perfectly level-headed person that they were accustomed to, saying things like, "Why are you so weird today?" or, "Where's the happy girl I know and love?"

Love is limited when they're only admiring one angle of a sculpture. Walking up closer to read the art description will not give accurate knowledge of me.Only the thieves, the dedicated liars will attempt to break through the glass frame I've kept myself in. 

I want to thank you. Thank you for breaching my security measures and violating my space. Thank you for the fingerprints you left on my palms, the reminder that there are some people who can admire a broken doll. 

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