Bao's weblog

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Meandering thoughts of a Bay Area college student… be prepared for some bipolar vocabulary

My life is like cherry flavored medicine mixed with sugar: bittersweet… disgusting

“Even a secret keeper needs a secret keeper.”
-Bao

One of my Fremont friends told me that blogs like mine shouldn’t just be something like mine… I should have feelings in there too, what I see in my life, how actually Is my life going, .

Nowadays, I always feel like I have a deadweight on my chest. I used to associate that feeling to guilt and fear of being yelled at. I drown myself in music and friends. I stay up and do homework. Nothing helps. Why? What is wrong with me and how am I screwing up my life without knowing? But in the back of my mind, I think I know it. Maybe it’s because my subconscious knows that my chances of getting into a UC is next to nil. Are all my feelings, actions, and perspectives based on guilt? Dear God, I hope not.

I’ve also felt like I’ve been keeping too many secrets lately. That’s me, the secret keeper. Well, not just a secret keeper. A garbage heap in the nicest way possible. Everybody has problems and they all need an outlet, a trash disposal. That would usually be me. Now please don’t get me wrong. I love it when people come to me with problems. And the last thing I’m saying right now is that your secrets are garbage. Being a secret keeper, a friend to talk to… It makes me feel important, happy almost. I’m such a good person that almost everyone I know thinks of me when they want to burst. I sometimes feel like that guy in the kleenex commercial who’d invite random people to talk to him. Some would burst crying. Others would shed tears of laughter. All of them needed the Kleenex. Whether he’s real or not, he’s inspired me. But often times, my dam shatters and I break apart. A few days ago, Shawn came to me out during fifth period to talk about his grandfather, who’ve just recently passed away. His grand dad was a good cook, fought in two wars, and loved Shawn dearly. All I had to do was listen and say the right things all in the name of our friendship. But in the end, both of us cried. No Kleenex to help us there.
I might’ve looked pathetic to others at the time. A guy that cries?
Who gives a fuck?
There’s this popular phrase that says “Real men don’t cry?” Really? Real men, I’ve heard, join the army, fight in wars, fire a gun. Are you absolutely fucking positive that all of them came back without shedding a single tear? For a while though, I’ve believed in that axiom. A part of me still do: the part that keeps my feelings bottled up. There’s no time to worry about yourself now Bao. Yet another friend is in trouble, I think you should go listen to her. Let her pour her sorrow into your already melancholy soul. Gladly.
My own feelings can wait. Time to help out another person and add a small one ounce weight to my chest. I guess this could be a monument to how much I care about my friends, how much I treasure them, from the most quiet to the most sarcastic and cruel. Some of them hurt me, squeeze the life out of me emotionally. I hurt. Some of them do it on purpose, just to watch me squirm, to be in pain. Not the ones that do it for fun (fun, I can handle. OMG EDDIE STOP POKING HAHAHHAHA THAT TICKLES YOU BITCH!), but just for a unhuman, savage satisfaction. I call them self-centered. Why don’t I fight back? Am I a coward? Yeah, I’d wholeheartedly believe myself, along with several other people I can name off. The truth is, I’m scared of hurting back. Not many people understand, or SEEm to understand. Or maybe when I tell them, they just think it’s another excuse to be cowardly. I’m confused myself. I convince myself this over and over again. Why do I even need convincing? Don’t I already see things like that? Or is there some other hidden feeling beneath it all? To cover it all up, I say I’m a disgrace. Even when the other person is the greatest dolt on Earth.

My feelings are becoming weak too. I can bend them at will, like soft clay. Bao let’s go on that ride, looks fun. Meh, looks a bit too wild for me. Bao shut up and go with us it’ll be fun. You should be excited. So I become excited. Yes, that’s the other thing. Throughout the years, my feelings grew increasingly weak, controlled by hard discipline and hard consciousness. So weak in fact, that it seems like anybody can control them. Pst, Bao, that girl over there…she’s hot huh? Yeah, she’s okay, not my type though. Psh, I bet you like her, you’re becoming so unreadable that you’re readable. Snap! I like her now. Retarded. I’m not a puppet. Where are the damn strings!? They’re figurative Bao. You might not see them, but they’re there, wrapped tightly along every square inch of your body and controlled by others for both the good and the evil. Oh, ok… so what’s for lunch?
I’m not too sure anymore what my feelings are, or if I ever really do have real feelings anymore. They all seem so artificial, generated by my mind rather than my heart and soul. Except sorrow. I enjoy sorrow the most, the sweetest feelings I ever have. They all seem to come from my chest, right in the middle, dead center the spot where the government would draw concentric circles around so the secret agents have something to shoot at for target practice. When I break part, whether tearful or tearless, I feel pain, real pain. Do I enjoy this? I’m not sure, but one thing is certain. The feeling is genuine. That’s why I’m happy when someone else comes up to me with problems. The pain I share with them is real. I feel the most qualified… for sharing such anguish and misery. Sad huh? But don’t worry about me. Keep em coming!
But Bao, what about all those times we laughed together? How about the day we spent at the Great Mall or the walk home from Lunardi’s? I honestly don’t know. I don’t have a frigging clue. Laughing now seems more of a reflex to me. When I laugh, my mind becomes blissfully empty. Nothing else to worry about, just a clean white canvas. Like drugs! You feel as if you’re flying. Lightheadedness takes over. I feel happier than I’ve felt in years. But then again, the question comes up. Is the feeling authentic? Feels like the real deal when you’re in the moment and sometime afterwards. Still does now. That was such an exciting night.

Hey Bao, if you’ve just decided to start pouring your feelings into your blog, where have you been keeping them before? Friends. Some of them are here. One of them even heard me cry, threatening suicide, breathing unevenly. Most of them are in Fremont. And of course, God. I almost never pray to him anymore. Probably less than five times a year. I view him as the big gun, the lifesaving object behind the “break in case of emergency” glass. Only pray… when you really need to. He’s not like that you know. He’ll listen to you, more than you or I could ever do it. Hell, he’s been doing that for centuries.

Hmm… Fremont and Evergreen. During our stay at the mall on Wednesday, we had a “circle of secrets.” Alright, even more secrets! Eddie asked me whether I preferred my Fremont friends over my Evergreen friends. I said I didn’t know. I still don’t know, but then I had some thoughts. I’m even ashamed to admit it, but psh, I’m pouring out feelings right? So what the hey?

My conscience has a voice. Not my voice contrary to all guesses. No, it’s usually a friend. I don’t remember the last time my voice was my own conscience. Before, it used to be Melanie’s voice or Vincent’s voice. Now it’s Eddie’s, Teresa’s, and Vikki’s, each corresponding to their own personality. Bao, you should do this, because adfjklad a. Eddie. Haha, Bao you’re such a LOSER. Teresa. Oh my God, I’m such an idiot! Vikki. Yes that’s what I really think of you guys, and if you don’t agree, swell. But still, I’m ashamed. Why do I have “Fremont” friends and “Evergreen” friends? Wait, why am I writing that part? I don’t mind having “fremont” and “Evergreen” friends. It’s good to be able to compare to eras of one parts happiness and two parts agony. But what would I do? Who would I choose? Why the Fremont guys of course! Because I miss them and love them with all my heart. Okay, time to pack some bags.
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THen I look back… or forward rather. I’ve done things with my Evergreen group that I treasure so much, things that wouldn’t be the same if I did the same with my Fremont group. Singing Christmas carols. Splashing water. Chugging soda. Baking cakes! Damn! Things have been good. No. KickASS! Things as simple as sitting on the icy steps during a lazy seventh period and just talking and talking, occasionally throwing a football here and there… can bring so much joy! Maybe, just maybe. I like both my group of friends as much as the next.

Fuck it Bao! Choose one! The Pepsi or the Coke? I dunno…. the Cokesi? I still don’t know who’d I prefer, or even give a rat’s ass about who’d I prefer and that’s just the way I like it. I can’t give you a straight answer if I don’t know it myself. Live with it.

I hope you’ve learned a lot about me. Some of you might’ve had your suspicions about me dead on. That’s nice… Some of you might’ve been thrown off by it. Wtf, when did Bao become so complicated all of a sudden? Some of you might’ve found out that you knew less about me then you’ve thought you’ve known. Wtf, when did fucking Bao become so DAMN COMPLICATED!? Moi, I realized that I know less about me than I would’ve like. I learned about 800 things though, so oh well. Compromise. That’s what life is about.

Well… I’ve had a mild emotional rollercoaster writing this. I was kind of expecting salvation at the end of my post. I’ve felt as if I’ve made a HUGE dent, penetrating the surface. But… hmm. Looks like I’ve still got a long way to go. I think I’ll just save it for some other time.

Ta ta!

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