I feel alive today. I can scream, cry, fall, laugh, fear, dream, believe, hope, dance... take a hold of what's out there.
3 AM. I wake up, check the Hello Kitty alarm clock nestled between headboard and mattress and blink at the digits on the screen. I don't know what's with my circadian rhythm. it's quite off by a couple hours and never ceases in tricking my mind into thinking it's time to get up. and of course, once I'm up, the gears inside my brain start to run at a hundred twenty miles per hour, and sleep flies out the window, so I lie on the bed and listen to the birds chirping outside. they sing from 1-8AM nonstop. it's like somebody played with their internal clocks too and forgot to change it back...
apathy bites like no other. ironically, you don't feel anything when it takes over. the strange thing about it is, it's here today and gone tomorrow with no way of knowing when it'll be back again, but today I feel very much alive and I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.
when you know in the back of your mind what you really should be doing but end up doing another, the mindset springs itself into check again and you realize perhaps the reason for doing what you do is so you don't fall into that monochromatic theme again. and maybe, just maybe, the real reason people are branded as "weird" or "strange" is because they do the things they do to break up routine, to differentiate from the norm, to be seen differently, to break away from the tedious...
but that's a whole 'nother story.
rewind back a few nights ago, as insomnia worked its charm on me, I couldn't help but think about the younger me. while growing up, there were things I hated and told myself I couldn't ever love or enjoy, but the years passed and my take on life shifted and morphed into a whole different can of worms. my interests, tastes in music, food, fashion, "fun", and just general outlook on life has changed. I suppose you could say, "duh Ariel, of course your tastes change over time" but sometimes, you just don't think about these things, because the interest could be there one day and gone the next and all too soon you forget it was even there.
my dear mother, bless her heart, used to make these superbly bland sandwiches and believe me when I say my mother can cook. get her in the spirit (aka invite her to a potluck gathering) and she'll be churning out some mean Chinese cuisine. however, being a native of Taiwan and accustomed to their native food, when she came to the States, she struggled putting "normal" school lunches into the brown bags every week for my brother and I. I mean, let's face it, to the Americans, Chinese people eat strange things and when you're in elementary school, you don't want your friends asking what's in your lunchbox. mum told me we used to get disgusted stares from eating dried seaweed in the waiting room of the doctor's office. even the doctor couldn't help but ask, "what is that?" I bet if we had said "pig brains" as nonchalantly as possible, he would've believed us.
anyway.
moving to a new culture takes some getting use to, so of course, sandwiches were the easiest thing to learn and make for my mum. that being said, we had sandwiches for lunch practically Mon-Fri. they weren't bad sandwiches, but to say they were delicious might've been a sore lie. now a normal sandwich usually constitutes of two pieces of bread and some type of cold cut, cheese, lettuce, tomato etc in between, right? but with our sandwiches, they always ended up being a slice of cheese and four chunky slices of cucumber. no condiments, no meat, no tomato, just the cheese and cukes. and the cheese wasn't even melted, just straight from the fridge. I will admit I was a picky eater as a young'un. those sandwiches only made me wanna go ALKDFJALSKDFJ and for a long long time after that phase of icky sandwiches, I refused to eat cucumbers without some sort of dressing or sauce. I'm still iffy about eating them today. but anyway, not too long ago, right out on a limb, I found myself craving a sandwich. a specific type of sandwich, too. yeup, that cheese one with those four chunky cukes. is that weird or what? I'm sure it has something to do with eating it whilst growing up, but seriously, I can't believe I'd even want to eat that stuff again.
I wouldn't bet my life on it but I'm certain I've gotten braver, riskier, more adventurous, whatever you want to call it, the past few years. somewhere along the way of growing up, I'd taken up the mentality of trying new things whenever the opportunity presented itself, because wishing you'd done this and that or talked to so-and-so but never did is a horrible way to spend the latter days of your life. I'd rather not have somebody ask me why I never did this or that when I could have and reply with an answer of, "because, I was too scared..." fear and I go way back as buddies. as a little kid, I was terrified of people. I don't know why. it's not like I was bullied or anything in kindergarten or anywhere else for that matter. I remember once in preschool, during lunch, I had to sit next to some eighth-grade boys; they looked so big and intimidating, I was sure one of them would pick on me. obviously, nothing happened. as I grew up, I grew out of my fear of people, yet still I never fancied too much about being around large groups of people. when I learned about being an "introvert" a few years back, I knew right on the spot, this was me.
contrary to what most people think, introversion doesn't mean you're a loner with no friends. it just means you wouldn't mind being alone. most introverts can count all their close friends off with one hand, and this remains true for me. however, it's not wise or ideal to limit yourself to a label so I will say this: not everything about introversion applies to me. for example, while the usual introvert prefers to relax at home or indoors and does not like the outdoorsy, rushed, loud settings and is definitely not your adrenaline junkie, I like a bit of both. chilling in busy places like the mall can be as soothing to me as sitting on a beach or sipping tea on the couch home alone.
a couple letters I wrote to myself years earlier rest in my keepsake box waiting to be opened at the right time. the inscription written on the envelope says that it is not to be opened until 2015. I hope little me won't be disappointed when I read that letter.
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