Sleepyhead

I'm neither shocked nor concerned that I find myself blogging away on the eve of my first full week of class. In the past two weeks, time has defied the established laws of the natural world. It almost feels like each day is longer than 24 hours, each hour is longer than 60 minutes, each minute is longer than 60 seconds and so on and so forth. I'm not suggesting that I'm withering away in what seems to be "eternal damnation"...that isn't the case at all. Rather, I find that my days are filled with an excess of action, leaving me with tired feet and an equally as tired mind. Perhaps it's the fact that I got around three hours of sleep last night. Or the fact that I trekked over 50 blocks across Manhattan today. Either or, I desperately need some rest. But the thing is, I'm afraid to rest in the city that never sleeps.

"There's a story in which my eyes shut. Could you bag me up?" 

Set Fire to the Third Bar

This is 9th grade Karen. 9th grade Karen wore ghetto fabulous clown outfits to school and still managed to make friends. She rocked the zebra accessories, forever 21 tutus, anthropology-inspired aprons, and pearl headbands. She was an aspiring Princeton student, whose room was decorated with a literal roadmap to college and a handmade acceptance chart (if her Princeton dreams failed, she knew she could always count on UPenn). She strove to be the ideal student, joining four clubs, class council, and band! She stayed up late, into the wee hours of the night, stressing over Dr. Garg's HONORS physics and Ms. Beardslee's HONORS english? Was the word "honors" emphasized enough for your liking? 9th Grade Karen would have to vote no. In her leisure, she decided to become well versed in great American literature. Her favorite novel, you might ask? None other than Dear John. She carried it everywhere, stained it with her tears. She was unreal... still is unreal. 

Letters to Juliet

I was surprised at how long it took me to write this letter. With so much that could be said, it was constantly being rewritten and revised: 

Here's the letter I was referring to. Its still pretty ratchet, so you'll have to look past that. I just wanted to thank you for a memorable year. You were my first kiss, my first reckless (within reason?) nighttime adventure, my first trip around 3/4 of the baseball field, and my first part-time male modeling friend with benefits. It was all an experience and I remember it so vividly... Everything from my heart racing to my heart breaking. But like I've said before, despite everything that's happened, I still care about you. I know that underneath your "I don't like commitment" exterior, you want to fall in love. And I really do mean it when I say I hope you find that in college. You just need to let yourself let go and open up (not literally, pervert). You're fun, outgoing, smart, and potentially the funniest guy I have ever met. There was a time when I wanted to give you so much, and maybe I was a fool for wanting to do so. I remember you would talk about us, telling me how you "wanted to make me feel". And since then, I've probably felt more than I ever thought I would. Perhaps that's why everything was so memorable. It was all so incredibly exciting, nothing short of the "senior-esque" experience I had wanted. You were a story, and with my based/rare writing abilities, maybe even a best seller. 

Hopefully college isn't an ending, but a sequel. Keep in touch... I mean it. 

Karen

The Art of Being Happy

This is a summer for reflection, self-betterment, and forward thinking. That being said, here are the morning musings of you average college-bound gal: 

"The Art of Being Happy"

• It's easy to become discontent with an empty heart. When searching turns to wandering, that's when we really become lost and confused. The moral of the story? Stop searching and let things naturally happen. 
• When modern modes of communication fail, write a letter. Spend lazy summer mornings scribbling in notebooks and drying out pens. There's something extremely cathartic about it. 
• Think realistically, dream idealistically. The concept of "eliminating expectations to remove disappointment" is complete bullshit. Expectations are important, they keep us from accepting less than we deserve. When we completely remove that, we're letting go of our dreams and settling. 
• Exercise in the morning. Seriously, the endorphins will kick in mid-day and it's nothing but smiles, love, and laughter afterward. (Unless exercise involves cardio kickboxing...in which case, be prepared for intense back pain, muscle soreness, temporary paralysis, uncontrollable whining etc. etc.)  
• Do things for no apparent reason. Wander around New York City without an agenda. Swim in library fountains and jump into canals. Walk around entire towns without shoes. Live every day with a dose of excitement, stupidity, and spontaneity. 

Vermont

 Highlights -

She and Him

He was a boy who craved love in its truest form. And She was a girl who grew completely numb to the subject. In the 9th grade, He fell for her best friend. Hopelessly, He searched for love in a heart that belonged to someone else. He was falling, and not in the way He had wanted. And She watched him fall, so desperately wanting to help him back up. She wanted to offer him a different kind of love, the kind He stopped intently searching for. She wanted to be his friend. So in the 10th grade, She embarked on a conquest. They had biology together, but lacked chemistry. Yes, their relationship had progressed. But it was cordial, it was friendly, and She was left unsatisfied up until the end of 11th grade. It was then that a quick game of jenga and a trip to a bounce house solidified their friendship. They had genuine fun, carelessly laughing and getting high in the most innocent of ways. But this time, a part of him was left unsatisfied. He had jumped and He had fallen. It was a midsummer nightmare which slowly evolved into a made for TV drama. In the 12th grade, He was passive, never saying anything directly to her. She was just as passive, secretly allowing herself to develop feelings for his best friend. Ironically, they grew out of their passivity together. She pushed herself to be up-front with his best friend and He allowed himself to openly pursue her cousin. While She found recurring rejection and heartache, He finally found love in its truest form. And She was genuinely happy for him, genuinely happy for them.

Transition Lenses

This is my internal monologue: 

1. I find myself in a state of constant reflection. Some of life's smallest details bring back fond memories from not so long ago. And looking back, I can't help but acknowledge how much has changed. The memories make me happy, but I'm struggling to figure out how I feel about the past/present comparisons. 
2. It's sad because we grew up and grew apart at the same time. 
3. I've said this before and I'll say it again: There's a big difference between doing things that make you happy and actually being happy. And right now, I don't know where I stand. Sometimes, I feel like I'm just going through the motions. I make plans and I have fun. But at the same time, I have lingering thoughts/emotions that make me question if I am actually "happy". 
4. Ignored and insignificant. Yep, thats me. (Shout out to the "seen"/"read" options for making me feel this way)   
5. I can battle anything with a seemingly indifferent attitude, but the fact of the matter is I still care. I'm willing to put in effort when other people could give less than two flying fucks. And I absolutely hate that about myself.
6. If anyone ever casually says "lool kk" to me in conversation, I might chop their head off. 
7. If I hear "Clarity" on the radio one more time, I might chop my head off. 
8. If #6 and #7 were to happen simultaneously, I honesty do not know what I would do with myself. Perhaps hire someone to do the chopping? 
9. I'm beginning to feel that this blog post is the equivalent of a really obvious subtweet. Thank God for my virtually nonexistent fanbase, because I'm really not about those online fights. 
10. I need sleep. Adieu for the time being. 

Summer Haze / Boy Craze

I love boys. I really do. But as of late, it appears that only mosquitoes love me. It's rather unfortunate that I am going through this phase now because my "conquests" leave me tired and thirsty. They are seemingly perfect, completely sound on a completely superficial level. They are the music festival photographer, the part-time model/full-time film major, and the beautiful cashier at pacsun. In a moment of near dehydration, I texted the latter and inquired about some "rad" sweatshirts he's selling. I might even meet up with him to buy a "soul search" hoodie. And maybe then, the universe will stop as we lock eyes and share a perfect/infinite/(and possibly steamy?) moment. Or maybe I'll hand him the money, he'll hand me the sweatshirt, and we'll go our separate ways. Either way, I'm craving interaction on the most basic level and I don't care ( i love it )

Commencement

Today, I delivered a commencement speech for public speaking. It was due second block, so naturally it was written during first. Here goes nothing:

South Brunswick Class of 2013, it is a very very rare occasion that I see all 685 of you at a school related event. But today, for the first time in four years, I am 95% confident that we have at least 95% attendance. Shout out to those who didn't come to school the day after prom, owe the school monetary funds, or were recently inducted into the class of 2014. To the latter, I'd like to wish you a super super senior year. But alas, I digress. Today, I stand before you as your senior class historian. And as historian, I have successfully captured a true portrayal of our senior year. It's a nice photoset of people sleeping during class, using their phones during class, watching Netflix during class, and the occasional hook up in F stairs...during class. Congratulations for putting the "F" in F stairs (HEHEHE). Other shining and defining moments happen outside of the classroom. Take national free pancake day, for example, when around 300 of us showed up late to school. What an impressive and unifying feat! And those random twitter fights against Arvin Smitherines...Wow! Even more unifying! As for the other experiences we've had this year, review, reflect, and learn. And during this process, do not forget our lovely school, where people are written up for twerking on the gymnasium wall. Where "wow pissd" has become a part of every day speak. Where Asians, specifically of the brown variety, party just as much as the white people. Ultimately, we've come a long way and grown mentally, emotionally, and physically. Just look at how Chris's arms fil out that baseball tee--mmm tasty. But as for now, its time to get out and leave. Congratulations again class of 2013! Remember to eat, pray, love, live long, prosper, and most importantly, valhalla at me. Thank you. 

So clearly, this assignment was one big joke. It's poorly written, extremely sarcastic, somewhat inappropriate, and a bit insulting. But I think it also sheds some light on my senior year and the graduating class--we're all a bunch of trolls and I wouldn't have it any other way.   

Movie of the Month:

Rollercoaster Waves

As of late, my high school experience has been defined by ups, downs, twists, turns, and those unexpected loops that tie knots in your stomach. It's exciting, scary, and thrilling all at the same time. And I think that the desire to stay on this ride is very "senior-esque" for lack of a better word.

Going into my senior year, I fantasized about a time in which I would have fun with friends, fall in love, get a job, and stop giving two fucks about school. And now here I am, a few F's, two jobs, and one heartbreak later...and I'm still struggling to find a conclusion to my SBHS career. 

And the thing is, it's all coming to an end. What else can I do besides wait out the inevitable? In two months, I graduate and all of these trivial matters will be subject to my past. And I'll be shoved onto an even more exciting, more scary, and more thrilling roller coaster.

Walls and Other Things

Hello blogger,
It's been a while. Two months to be exact. And in our short time apart, I've drawn a few conclusions and learned a lot about myself.

• First and foremost, I avoid confrontation. It's in my nature to take things easy and adapt to new situations. This is something I love and hate about myself. For one, I'm able to let go of the trivial and trite drama, and focus on what I think really matters. But at the same time, I feel like I only let go of things on the surface, never reaching a complete internal resolution. And so, the passions and the emotions remain idle, boiling under a facade (or illusion?) of acceptance. This could last days, weeks, months, and even years and I'm not okay with that. 
• I'm afraid of being idle. When my schedule is not filled with plans and tasks, I find myself spending way too much time thinking. And as more time passes, thinking turns into over-thinking which later turns into over-analyzing. 
• My biggest fear occurs when you combine both the former and the latter--when idleness pushes me to confront my deepest and darkest feelings. The product of this combination? Silly little blog posts like this! 
• I strive for an "idgaf" attitude when in reality, I do indeed give a fuck. I'm not numb and I'm not indifferent, but I'd rather present a lie than appear vulnerable.
• In such pursuits, I've started listening to Ribbed Music for the Numb Generation. It's sounds like something you would find in a burlesque club or a forever 21. Regardless, it's upbeat, unattached and exactly what I need right now. 

xoxo, 

Karen 

Searching for someone who can do the following:

attract me. 

distract me. 

inspire me. 

desire me. 

RomCom Blues

I've said this before and I'll say it again. If my life were a romantic comedy, I'd have a supporting role at best. Or maybe a lengthy cameo appearance. But alas, nothing more.

Generally, I find it oh so trivial to complain about my encounters with love (or lack thereof). I know I am young and I know I have an entire life ahead of me. I know that high school is not an indication of my future. I know that my selection of boys is limited not only by personal preference but also by geography/exposure. And even though I "know" all of this, I cannot whole-heartedly accept it. I guess you could say I've longed for that quintessential high school relationship. Or even something simpler... a "thing" for lack of a better word. The entire concept of mutual attraction is something so foreign to me, so out of this galaxy. You can call me overly dramatic, but I refuse to be labeled as a "forever alone" teenage blogger. That is not the intention of this post.

Simply put, I am writing out of frustration. The feelings I harbor toy with my thoughts and play with my emotions. How can so much heartache spur from nothing?

The Fault of The Feeling

Every English essay this year has called upon the philosopher living within the walls of my cranium. It's definitely strays from the conventional curriculum. Unlike previous years, I've been forced to contemplate topics such as truth, perception, reality, and illusion in the context of my reading. While last night's essay was a struggle to push through, I turned out some pretty deep shit (for lack of a better phrase). Here are a few snippets:

• As human beings, we are slaves to our mental states and the subsequent biological reactions. Our emotions not only dictate how we act but also how we perceive. The greatest fallacy in our condition rests in the tendency to substitute our feelings for reason and logic. And too often, we allow ourselves to be consumed by this substitution.
• ...
  sacrifices truth and reason for the essence of intimacy and passion.  
• Blanche is confined by her circumstances only because she feels confined by her circumstances. Instead of actively seeking socioeconomic successes, she puts on a show for herself and for her peers. Blanche’s inability to overcome her trauma and heartache highlights the fatal flaw of emotion—when we cannot cope, we cannot live.

I really wish I wrote more this year. Maybe I'll add that to my growing list of New Years Resolutions.