hehe

www.xanga.com/lalaland0o01

add me neh? <3

i walked out of factoria and saw her.
she looked vacantly out at the cars as they passed by
and held onto the sign
that i'd learned to perceive as taboo.

"homeless.
please help.
god bless."

i walked past her. she didn't turn.
so i stopped
and was the one to turn around instead.

our eyes met somehow.

"can i ask you a question?"
slowly, she nodded.

"why are you homeless?"

her eyes widened. for a split moment, i saw her pain.
she turned away quickly and looked elsewhere.

when her eyes turned to me again
i saw passion and strength.

"my husband and i broke up. he took the money. so i'm homeless."

"... where have you been living?"

"on the streets."

"in bellevue?"

"... everywhere really. anywhere."

i reached into my wallet and handed her a buncha dollar bills.
she stood still for a moment
and then our eyes met again.
her voice broke
as she whispered
"thank you."

she reached out
and we hugged each other.
i knew that we were both going to cry.

"good luck" i whispered into her ear.
and walked away.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

the reason i've never been able to give before
is because i was too afraid to ask.

i won't be anymore.

i should have given her my benjamin.
maybe i'll split it up and give it to the kids i teach
and tell them that i wanted them to try
and give it to a single stranger.

they wouldn't understand me otherwise.

i dunno bout u guys...
but i honestly don't recognize my own writing...
it's weird and i didn't really realize it til today but...
idk... if i hear someone read what i write, i don't recognize it...
er at least... i'll know i wrote something similar to it but i won't consider it my own til they call out my name...
and if i reread what i wrote a coupla years ago, i can't seem to recognize it as the me that existed back then...
which, needless to say, kinda bothers me... lol...

but yeah...
the only reason i bring it up is cuz i'm a tad confused...
isn't it kind of a bad thing if u can't recognize what you wrote yourself isn't it...? @_@??
mike found my college essays and i reread one of them and... lost myself...
i didn't realize i wrote like that...

----------------

This is my UW personal statement that i wrote as a senior in high school...

Title: Unidentifiable

When an indescribable event is forgotten, I always wonder why I chose to suppress the memory. Perhaps it’s because I never realized the importance of those events until I was ready to accept the person that those events had altered.

Developing an attitude of unapproachable narcissism at the age of 13, I created two personalities that I alternated between depending upon my company. To my friends, I was benign, compassionate and obliging. To my family, I remained distant, unsympathetic and disagreeable. While my personalities contrasted severely, they always consisted of a detached bewilderment that eventually began to cultivate an unhealthy sense of loathing. Unable to distinguish my emotions, all I could comprehend was a sense of revulsion and dutiful love that allowed me to create the facade of a regular teenager.

About four years ago, my brother and I maintained a precariously tense relationship. As the elder sibling, I was permitted certain liberties that my brother did not receive while given more responsibility than I was able to sustain. Although both of us had become more aware of the world surrounding us after our mother and father divorced in 1999, my brother and I were unable to emotionally comprehend each other. As a result, daily heated debates ensued over menial problems such as who would vacuum the house. Usually terminating in harsh words, neither of us would ever confess to our guilt. Instead, our denial encouraged us to grow more distant.

    One day our quarrel did not reach a natural conclusion. When he walked away from our argument, the resentment I had developed since the age of 9 overwhelmed me and I suddenly lost all power of speech. I could not grasp the reasons behind my parents’ divorce. I couldn’t understand why my brother chose to be so frustrating. I hated the privacy that we were allowed because our mother worked two jobs. I hated how alone and incapable I felt.   

Unable to command the silent flood of hatred, my body manipulated my natural verbal response and triggered a physical response; I began to shiver.

I locked myself in my room. When I realized that my mother wouldn’t be home for another few hours, I broke. My anger, my confusion, and my passion revealed itself all in one instance.

Attempting to let go of my hate for the first time in my life, I began to write. What began as a diary entry ended as a letter to my little brother. Cramming as many thoughts as I could onto a single piece of college-ruled paper, I divulged the most truthful confession I had ever given. Acknowledging my culpability, I let myself become vulnerable. In my last sentence, I asked him to forgive me while simultaneously ending my letter with the classic “you wouldn’t listen” line.

Too ashamed to hand my letter to my brother, I left it in the center of my desk and I resolved to take an extra long shower. Hoping that he would read it. Hoping that he would forgive me. I stood underneath the showerhead until the tips of my fingers became prunes to avoid confrontation.

After my shower, I slipped silently into my room. What I discovered there would forever change who I was and who I would become.

Penned in chicken scratch, my brother had responded on the back of my letter. I hadn’t even realized the back of the paper was completely empty. Filled with trepidation, I stood over my desk and hesitatingly read it. His four-sentence response told me three things; I was the best sister in the world, he was sorry and I also never listened to him. Attached with 6 staples was a horrible attempt to draw our family. Yet I loved it.         

This experience meant so much to me that I preserved the letter (with the attached drawing) in my diary. Until today, I never realized I had it. Yet on that single night, I discovered a new world and I began to heal. I've developed empathy and I've become more thoughtful. Although other experiences and people have continually affected my growth, I'll always remember that night as the beginning of my life. When you realize that love exists, it's hard to forget it. When you find that love is almost unconditional, you can't help but be changed by it.