Frustrated because I don’t know

I hate feeling like this.  My Chemistry test is tomorrow morning, and I can’t get the stupid math problems down.  My frustration level is so high that I have to type it to let my steam out.  It makes me feel so stupid. Why can’t I understand!?!! 

I basically feel like….

If I had a table to flip, I would… But I’m doing my work on my bed.

I… I just don’t get it…


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I Can’t Be One of “Those Artists”

I love “art”… loved it all my life, actually.  My earliest memories involved some sort of connection with it.  My sister and I would frequently draw, make play-doh (we had a cheaper version) figures, and just have a blast creating anything from simple materials.

Although “art” has always been close to my heart, I can’t imagine myself being one of “those artists.” What the heck does that even mean, right? Well, I started taking an Art Appreciation class at my college for this spring semester.  I know that I’ll have fun later when we actually do stuff, but right now, I’m really dreading it.  It’s only been a couple of weeks, but it seems as I’ve been there for an eternity.  I’m not sure if it’s my professor’s soft voice that makes me fall asleep in class (don’t get me wrong… she’s a nice old lady) or just the concepts that we are going over.

For instance, we were talking about the elements of art– and yes, I get it.  Those are the fundamentals that artists must consider to make their work powerful.  But then, we started looking through hundreds of art work: some sculptures, others paintings.  The thing that really got me (and started making me think that I can’t be one of “those artists) is that they get so into it.  You might be thinking, Wow. How can you even say you love art, when you don’t get into it? It’s not that.  I do understand, yes, it’s a beautiful painting.  But I think that some people read way wayyy too deep into the actual meaning of the art.  For instance, we were analyzing one of Van Gogh’s paintings of a bar.  She asks us, “What does this make you feel? Do you feel comfortable? Quirky?”

No one wanted to answer, so the classroom had a full minute of awkward silence.  I took one for the team and said how I felt.  I told her that the colors were warm, so it seemed comfortable enough.  The lights looked like they were radiating a certain glow to the room.  She questioned me, “Really? Doesn’t it make you feel off? Almost awkward?” I wanted to say, well, I mean if you say so… but isn’t that her opinion? And I have mine? I really think that art, like this painting has a million things to say.  Didn’t someone proclaim that “a picture is worth a thousand words?”

I feel like I’m not making myself clear, so I’m going to give another example.  For instance, let’s say that I painted a room with blue curtains.  The “fancy art person” would claim that I painted the curtains blue to express my melancholy.  No! what if I painted the curtains blue because that’s my favorite color (which it is) or because it represents a “cool” feeling? How can someone else judge how I felt at that exact time that I painted it? Unless they interviewed me… They might go on further and say that it could mean that someone close to me died and it was a “blue day.” Boy… that escalated quickly, eh?

I’m truly not trying to bash “those artists,” even though it does seem like it.  For me to classify them as “those artists” make me sound even worse, huh? But shouldn’t art be about expressing yourself and not being technical ALL the time? Shouldn’t it be your style, or even, something others can look and interpret their own way? There are a million ways to interpret it, and most of the time, your interpretation probably isn’t the same as what the artist was interpreting it…

Look at the picture above. In art class, we would have been analyzing each splatter. “Hmm… do you see the unity of the colors and how the symmetrical balance of the colors convey the emotion?” What the heck. No. I think that this is a pretty picture. Maybe the artist just felt like randomly splattering some paint that day? They don’t know if s/he truly planned every single splatter out.  Come on..

It amazes me when I see something like a yellow dot on a piece of white canvas, and it’s on auction for thousands of dollars. Really? A famous artist did that? What do they think of it? Do they think that it expresses so much emotions in that dot? Okay, maybe the artist did mean something of it, but getting so attached to the meaning of a thousand dollar yellow dot is just ridiculous to me.

They are in “awe” of that dot, while graffiti artists are being shunned by their “trash.” Are you kidding me? I think that street art is genius!

Look at that amazing piece of art! I can feel more emotion towards this. But that doesn’t mean that the way I feel is the same feeling that the artist is conveying.  This is better than the simple dot. How can people stare at a yellow dot, analyzing it for days?? “The simple things in life are the most extraordinary.” Yeah, it’s simple, so don’t make it so complicated.

Gosh, my rant is over.  I hope I made my point clear.  I’m not so good with words. haha..

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It’ll Never Be Good Enough

We’re always complaining– about everything.  However rich or beautiful we are, it’s never good enough.  We never look good enough.  We never have enough.  However great life is going, there’s always something to complain about.

I was washing the dishes and got annoyed: it’s not fair. I’m always left with chores around the house when my mom is at work.  Always. The more I thought about it, the madder I got.  When my mom got home, she was her usual tired self, and I thought: why does it have to be this way? Just when she thought her job was getting good, it turns bad.  People’s aura affects me, as in, if you’re mad, I’m mad. If you’re annoyed, I’m annoyed.  So yeah.  There I was thinking how much life isn’t fair.  Why can’t everyone just be happy?

That’s when my song came on: All this Time by OneRepublic.  Dang. One song can truly change your mood.  I thought: what the hell am I complaining about? Why am I such a brat? I should be happy that I have dishes to wash, a mother that comes home and who has a job, running water, and just having the opportunity to live.

If I had an honest resume, it would say: “My quality: great complainer!”  It’s disgusting, really.  Not just me, but everyone else in the world (ok, most… some people don’t complain as much).  We complain too much.  Nothing is good enough.  We always find room for improvement.  However many times I look at the mirror, my reflection is never good enough.  I could have whiter teeth, better structure, be a better person.  . . never good enough.  When will we stop? Never? I don’t know, but I sure do need to work on this.

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It’s weird. As much as I want to be angry, I just can’t. I’m happy for you.


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The Prodigal Son

[Jesus continued: “There was a man who had two sons.  The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them.

“Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything.

“When he came to his senses, he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired servants have food to spare, and here I am starving to death!  I will set out and go back to my father and say to him: Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son; make me like one of your hired servants.’  So he got up and went to his father.

“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.

“The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’

“But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet.  Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate.  For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.

“Meanwhile, the older son was in the field. When he came near the house, he heard music and dancing.  So he called one of the servants and asked him what was going on.  ‘Your brother has come,’ he replied, ‘and your father has killed the fattened calf because he has him back safe and sound.’

“The older brother became angry and refused to go in. So his father went out and pleaded with him.  But he answered his father, ‘Look! All these years I’ve been slaving for you and never disobeyed your orders. Yet you never gave me even a young goat so I could celebrate with my friends.  But when this son of yours who has squandered your property with prostitutes comes home, you kill the fattened calf for him!’

“‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours.  But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’”]

I’ll be honest: I never liked that story.  Every time they would say this gospel at church, I would get annoyed.  Haha, I’m not that good a person, huh? It’s not the gospel really, but the fact that the father forgave his son just like that.  I hated how he gave him the all his wealth even after the fact that his son betrayed him.  I felt bad for the older brother who’s been at his father’s side this whole time.  It was unfair.  How does the bad one get rewards and the one who’s been his right hand not?

But today, I understood.  I understood it all. After watching this film, and watching the making of it… I have no words.  Yes, I cried at the end.  I urge everyone to watch this beautiful film by Jubilee Project.  PLEASE. It’s great.  If you never got the story like I did, maybe watching this would make you think otherwise.  Now I feel like a spoiled brat who sided with the older brother.

THE 8 minute film:

Behind the scenes (this is where I truly got it. So i recommend watching both.)

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“Money doesn’t buy happiness”

Money doesn’t but happiness.  She kept telling herself that.

Yet, her life was in danger and only a hundred grand could save her.  No.  Stop it. She said.  Life isn’t about currency.  I can live happily without money. But she needed it.  Only that hundred grand could pay for her operation.  A payment for life; what a tragedy.

She turned on the television.  Typhoon- the biggest one yet- tore down an entire area.  Thousands of women, children, and men died.  Millions suffered.  Giving them paper money won’t help? What would they do with it, right? If there are no resources.  But, it can save them… just like it could save her.  Nations can help each other, giving food, shelter, and clean water.  Yet, we need money for it.  She sighed.  Why must good health, the critical problem, be only given to those who have money?

If she ruled the world, she wouldn’t make anyone pay for medication.  But how is that possible? That is what the world revolves in now.  It’s an exchange.

The paint on her walls seemed to get whiter the more she stared at them.  Time passed by.  She closed her eyes and prayed, asking, “Why must it be this way?”

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I Wish I Had the Words

I wish I had the words to describe

The thoughts, in my brain, that hide

Can see exactly what I mean

But when it’s time to show what I’ve seen

I get stuck

How do I explain

This thing that’s making me insane?

.  .  .


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Perseverant procrastination?

There is a basket of fresh laundry waiting to be folded at the side of my bed.

A million things need to be done… so much that I might just explode.  Surely you have had moments like these in your life? What do you do?

I usually end up overheating myself by doing as much as I can in one sitting.  This time is different, though.  I’m using perseverant procrastination.  Yes, I just made that term up.  You can tell because it doesn’t even make sense.  It’s almost an oxymoron in itself. 

However, what is perseverant procrastination (in my own made up terms)?  Let me first clear up that it is not the normal “useless procrastination that wastes the hours of your life” type of deal (for instance, doing unproductive “work” that does nothing to your life).  Perseverant procrastination is letting out all your stress by means of “expelling out your soul.”  I’m on WordPress, writing this blog, just for my own sake.  It’s taking my mind out of the nerve-racking  events that are happening and about to happen in my life; but just staring at my blog background… I already feel calmer.  The sunset just reminds me that the day ends to bring in the night, and that it will be okay. Life will always have its surprises. 

Ok, I think that’s enough for me to wake up.  I need to get on the folding of clothes and studying…

Have a wonderful night/morning everyone! 🙂

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She felt so ugly.  So, so, ugly. Uglier than anything that you could ever think of. She wished that she would have just been born a rock, hidden in the deep caverns and away from humanity. 

Why she couldn’t be like the other girls, she didn’t know.

She traced her fingers through the silver lining of the mirror. An ugly reflection stared back at her.  She clenched her fist and broke through the glass, shattering shards into her knuckles.  Tears flowed from her eyes, and her mascara etched the pain that she felt through her skin.

All those memories, which she wasn’t a part of, haunted her.  Maybe if she was prettier, he would have been hers.

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What is your priority?

This question keeps lingering in my head.  For the past year, my priority has been college and getting good grades.  I’ve also realized that happiness shouldn’t be something that we put last on our list. 

Next on my list was getting a job.  After turning 17 a couple of weeks ago, I’ve turned my attention on earning money, mostly for my future years ahead as a college student and also for random expenses.  I wanted to afford my own things, without having to rely on my parents for money.  I wanted to start saving for the future.

But what’s more important that the future? The present of course.  I keep thinking of the possibilities of deaths.  As much as I’d love to save for my future life, it’s good to think of, again, my true priorities.  My true priority is my family.  I haven’t seen my grandmother for 8 long years, and I honestly think that it is more important to be with her than be with some materials that means nothing in the end.

What if I die tomorrow? What if she does? I know that it’s such a bad thing to think about, but that’s the perspective I look at.  I need to save up for a plane ticket to try and see her.  I miss her so much; I can’t even put it into words.  She is just like a mother to me: a lady who raised me for most of my childhood… She is so crucial to my life.

I love you, Nanay.  I hope you live a long and healthy life.

What is your true priority? Make sure that you pay attention to it before it’s too late.  Life is short enough; make the best of it.

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