ow

I asked a friend what I could write about, and she said that maybe I could just write about how my week went or something along that line. I told her she gave me a legitimate idea with that suggestion. So here is what this entry is about: nothing.

More specifically, how boring and uneventful my days are. Nothing happens. Every day is the same. Same routine, same crap. I feel like a robot going through regular motions, not a human with a life. You could say that the difference between a robot and a human is that the latter has a soul. If you don’t believe in such a thing, then thoughts. But if you classify artificial intelligence as a type of robot, or the “brain” of a robot, you could argue that it has thoughts, too, except programmed. Okay, then how does that differ to my own thoughts? I wake up in the morning, think about washing up, what I’m going to eat, how much I don’t want to go to school/work, etc. They’re always the same. Like the daily blandness of my life programmed my thoughts to be repetitive.

And you know what? I would much rather be a type of artificial intelligence or a robot than what I am right now. At least AIs and robots have purpose given to them by their creators. You might say that is an imprisoned life, but an AI/robot wouldn’t know that. “Blissful ignorance.” You know, I used to dislike that phrase, but not so much now. I don’t know what my purpose is, and wonder why I’m still alive.

Okay, so maybe that’s not a good mindset for anyone to have, especially someone religious. I think I’m Christian (I’m not sure these days,) and people have always told me that no one knows what their purpose in life is, but everyone does nonetheless. Yeah, okay, so in other words: everyone’s purpose is to know that they have a purpose, and to just live. Apparently, that’s supposed to be comforting, but is it? I honestly don’t know. I don’t even know what I think anymore. I wish I knew.

I’m just tired of everything. I feel like I’ve lived long enough. I’m exhausted, and I’m dragging myself along in this incredibly boring “adventure” called life.

I used to be incredibly superficial. I used to take an hour just getting ready in the morning after washing. I won’t get into the details of what I did, but it was ridiculous. I don’t do all that anymore. I guess I got lazy, or just stopped caring as much. Maybe both.

Though, not a day goes by when I don’t want to rip my face off and resculpt it like you can in character creators in video games. Maybe change my backstory and voice while I’m at it, too. And a few more inches to my height as well? Wow, am I insecure.

When I think about all of that, I wonder why I do. Is it really just so I can have more confidence? I guess not, so maybe it’s for women? I don’t think that’s it, either. I mean, I like women and I’m not homosexual, but I sort of dread the idea of dating now. I feel much more comfortable by myself than when I am seeing someone. Dating feels like a massive chore. Other than that I’m going to turn into an old cat man, I’m not sure what that means.

When I was younger, I wanted to be a manga artist. Then I wanted to be a character designer for video games. Then just a video game designer. Something that had to do with art - that was all I ever wanted to do. But I lost interest in drawing, which was my only productive hobby, and now I just float on in life with no direction and no skill that I can proudly claim, “I can do this!” I’m studying digital media art at the moment, and it’s quite fun. But I don’t know if I am cut out for that line of work, because everything I do turns out disappointing. It goes like that for everyone who tries anything for the first time, I know, but I would be lying if I said it isn’t damned frustrating.

I can always get better, so long as I work hard enough. But that’s the thing - I never work hard enough. I’m the laziest person I know, and I tend to give up doing things as soon as they get difficult. I hate that about myself. I want to change, and I am trying to. But I fantasize about living life comfortably, doing something really easy and relaxing while making tons of money.

Funny thing, money. When I was a kid, I never understood why people did so many terrible things for some cash. Now that I am older, though, it would be easier to name the things I wouldn’t do to get rich enough to drop out of school. “Love of money is the root of all sin,” so they say, and I reply, “Make me a sinful man.” I don’t even have to be a one-tenth as rich as Bill Gates. All I want is just enough that I never have to take another class again. The money can come from anywhere; some cozy little job that isn’t too stressful that doesn’t require a college degree - that is the dream.

And that’s what I mean by living my life with realistic expectations. I know a life like that would take considerable luck. I know I sound like a lazy-ass, whiny little brat who takes college education for granted. But I’m being honest when I say that college isn’t for me. I can’t concentrate during lectures. I have trouble applying myself to book work. Memorizing facts and formulas just for the next exam - and for what? Just to earn a degree that is going to barely help me land a job, and even then, it’s to slave away in some office cubicle?

I thought about attending a trade school instead. Learning technical skills - that sounds a lot more useful to me. A hands-on job. If it were entirely up to me, I would be in a trade school right now.

But it’s not entirely up to me, even if it should be. My mom despises the idea of me not graduating from a good four-year university. She thinks people who don’t do less in life than those who do. She thinks I wouldn’t amount to anything and contribute nothing if I don’t. Even if she is right, I don’t fucking care now, do I? I don’t give a tiny piece of shit if I end up doing absolutely nothing productive in life. But I can’t do what I want to do, because for some reason, my life is dictated by her. I’m not some kid; I’m an adult in my 20s. I once tried moving away with potential roommates, but she stopped me dead in my tracks. I know she can’t legally stop me from just marching right out of the door and never returning, but that’s not how I want to leave the person who raised me. But I am also tired of all of this. I don’t know what to do. So I’m just keeping my mouth shut and finishing up what is left of my education, even though I see no light at the end of the tunnel that my path is taking me on.

That was when my dad forced me to join IB. I didn’t know what that exactly was at the time, but I knew it was something like an honors program on steroids. Oh, that was just dandy; now I had to survive both getting picked on, and the tremendous workload. I told my dad I was not ready for that - but, of course, my dad being my dad who never listened, wouldn’t hear a word of it. So I took the entrance exam, bullshitted the essay - hoping that I would fail - and ended up getting in. Awesome.

But, you know what? Looking back, I’m glad I attended IB. I met one of my closest friends there, and it sort of prepared me for the real world. Because in middle school, I could do my homework and take the tests with my eyes closed and still manage a 4.0 GPA. That did not fly at all in 9th grade IB, and I learned that I really needed to earn things. Sure, the classes were difficult, a couple of the professors were gigantic pains in the ass, and I even had to attend a disciplinary council for “plagiarism” (which I still think I did not deserve, but that’s irrelevant.) And to top it off, I had to wake up at around 5:00AM to get to school on time, after going to sleep at midnight to do all of my homework. But I wouldn’t trade that school year for anything. Learning life lessons, and meeting that one friend - especially that - meant everything to me.

But, despite the goodness that came out of that school year, my life at home was absolute hell. My dad isn’t the brightest guy, and is very lazy to boot - something that annoyed my mom to no end. And bad things were happening at church that my dad was the pastor of, which put a lot of stress on both of my parents. Not a very good mix. My mom started losing her temper over the smallest things. My dad tried to ignore problems whenever they arose. A divide was growing between the two of them. I honestly - swear on my life - cannot remember when their conversations did not end up exploding into screaming matches. Hell, I even remember this one time when they started yelling at each other in the entrance of Sam’s Club, and everyone was either staring or passing by with awkward looks on their faces. I also used to wake up in the middle of the night, because they were shouting at each other.

But the worst thing I remember is when my mom ran out of the apartment during the night one time, because my dad started beating her. I heard them screaming at each other outside through the window. It lasted ten or fifteen minutes, I think, but it sure felt like an hour. My mom ended up coming back before him, and I thought it was finally over - until she came into my room and hid under the blanket by my side from my dad.

I hated it. I wanted to just run away or something, but I loved my mom. Hated my dad, though, so I blamed all the troubles on him. All of this stuff at home had a negative impact on my school life, and my grades suffered. My dad would wake me up while I was trying to get my five hours of sleep (if I was lucky and he wasn’t fighting with my mom,) and scold me after looking at my report card. I tried explaining myself to him, but all he ever heard was, “I’m not studying hard enough.” I used to fantasize about him getting struck by lightning while driving down the highway and dying, or getting drafted into the army and getting shot in battle. I hated him so much.

That was a long time ago. My dad lives somewhere else from my mom and me, and things have improved a lot for both of us since splitting. I can’t speak the same for my dad, though. I have no idea how he is doing. I think my mom forgave him, but I’m not sure I did. He used to call me from time to time, but I rarely ever answered the phone, because it was boring talking to him. Boring. Weird, I know. But I honestly don’t feel anything about him anymore. He’s still my dad and I guess I should at least talk to him once in a while, but I just never feel like it. Not because I still loathe him, but because I just don’t care about him anymore. I feel terrible that I feel that way about him, but I’m not doing anything about it. Sometimes, I wonder how I would feel when I hear that he passed away or something. I think I still wouldn’t care, I think. Maybe that makes me a horrible son.

My dad stopped calling awhile ago, because I think he finally caught on that I can’t be bothered to talk to him. “Relieved” is too strong of a word to describe how I feel about that, and so is “sad.” Maybe I just don’t care about that, either.

I had just moved Florida from California after the 6th grade, so I was the “new kid.” You know how that goes in an environment like middle school, with kids teasing other kids as a pastime; and, it didn’t help that I was one of the five Asians who attended Mulrennan. I was North Korean, according to everyone. I was going to nuke the school. I mean, why else would a Korean kid suddenly show up at their school right before the second year, other than to “spy” on them? Okay, maybe it’s kind of cool in the mind of a middle schooler to be a secret government agent, but it still sucked. But I didn’t really defend myself; I let them tease me. And everyone had friends from the previous year, while I didn’t, so I resorted to just keeping to myself and not saying a word unless I had to. That really did not help.

There were some kids who were actually nice to me, but I was so used to being made fun of that I always thought that they had ulterior motives whenever someone showed some basic decency. I was paranoid. I regret that. Maybe I could have made good friends in school if I had just let myself ease up a bit.

I guess what I’m getting at is that even though these things happened to me, it’s partly my fault for letting all of it get to me so much. “It was just middle school,” I tell myself now. “Everyone makes fun of everyone at that age. It was nothing.” I wish I could visit my past self and tell me to not taking it all so seriously, and that I’ll grow up and laugh at the memories. But that’s the thing about being a certain age, though, isn’t it? You thought you knew everything then. You thought everything that happened then was how it was going to be forever.

I think I know everything now. I think everything that is happening now is permanent. That’s completely false - I know. But it’s hard to wrap my mind around the fact that several years from now, I’m going to be remembering myself right now and laugh.