September 7, 2003
I'm gonna die. I can't believe it. God, please let it be a quick and short death. Why is this happening to me? Just when I'm recovered and starting a new life? Argh, why? Did I offend you in anyway?? Why must he EXIST? Okay, that's a little too harsh but then, why must he show up in TWO of my classes?!?! Does his name ALMOST have to match my old old old ex? Does his appearance HAVE to look just like my ex but better? Or is it me? Why do I always see him from the corner of my eye? Do I HAVE to endure this suffering until NEXT term?!?! Oh, no. I'm not gonna make it, thanks to pure serendipity. You are one cruel thing, Serendipity. I highly doubt that my view president will let me transfer because of a BOY. They wouldn't even let my friend transfer to a different math class because her math teacher's English was worst than a foreign citizen. (To think this "best" school has the "best" teachers.) Yeah, I'm sure they'll understand.
"Oh, my God." I whispered to my pals, Kari and Melody. We were walking to the subway station, laughing about some weird joke again. There were the only people I told about the "look-alike". "There he is!" I turned my head to look ahead. He was ahead of us; five or six people separated me from his spiked, brown hair, his lightly tanned back, his silver chain, his deep amber eyes, his green Northface and his blue and white sweatshirt. One thing annoyed me: he was surrounded by girls, his "friends". I hate how I could always tell when people I know were around. It's even more annoying when you want to say hi to them, yet you are not sure if they actually know you or not. That's the problem with me. I know too many people, involuntarily remembering and memorizing their faces, their names. They never know me, of course. "Who?" Melody asked. I stared at her weird and she stifled a giggle. "HIM!" I said it pretty loud. "That Luke guy." I decided to lower my voice. "Wait. Letme see." Kari suddenly picked up speed. I watched her as she passed his "group" and turned around innocently to look at his face. "He does not really look like him." She said once she fell back. He does. Enough of "him". I'm changing the topic. I'm trying to break my quiet manner, my habit. None of my teachers seem to be cooperating with me. Mrs. Sanchez, my art appreciation teacher, ignores me. Totally. Today she asked what are primary colors. She has this heavy, heavy Jamaican accent and I swear, it is so hard to understand her. "Con enyhun tell meh whath the primary colurs are?" Fortunately, we are smart enough to guess what that meant. Easy. I was in major art before. This class will be a cinch. I was amongst one of the first hands. She looked straight at me. She turned away and picked on others. STRAIGHT. As in eye-to-eye. Three colors. I was not chosen. At first, I was okay with it. Three people out of thirty-five. "Con enyhun tell meh whath caheers are assaciaded with art?" She said art so it was long and high. Like those Californians. I rose my hand again. Guess what? She glances at me and picks on someone else. HELLO? I'M RIGHT IN YOUR FACE AND YOU JUST PRETEND I'M NOT THERE? Now I was annoyed. What made it worst? I, apparently, still had a career no one said. She knew my hand was still up. No one else's was. O-b-v-i-o-u-s. She starts a new topic. Joy. I don't think I can stand her either. I wanted to ask something in my bio class. But, no. Mr. Caulfield saw me. I know he did. Like in Mrs. Sanchez's class, I sat in the front (thanks to my last name). Like Mrs. Sanchez, he continued talking. I began to wave my hands like crazy, almost like the fans in a concert. I didn't give up. By the time he was done with his twenty minute speech, you could say my question was no where near relevant.
THAT I LEARNED TODAY: With out the squiggly accent thing on the Spanish word "años", it means anus. ("El tiene veintidos anos." Poor person. He wrote that on his homework and Mr. Scott made him write it on the board.) Also, the Spanish word "esposa" (meaning wife) means "handcuffs", too. What a coincidence. Never wear bright orange on the first day of school. No, they are not staring at you because you are beautiful. They are staring at you because you are bright. And weird. And blinding.
I'm gonna die. I can't believe it. God, please let it be a quick and short death. Why is this happening to me? Just when I'm recovered and starting a new life? Argh, why? Did I offend you in anyway?? Why must he EXIST? Okay, that's a little too harsh but then, why must he show up in TWO of my classes?!?! Does his name ALMOST have to match my old old old ex? Does his appearance HAVE to look just like my ex but better? Or is it me? Why do I always see him from the corner of my eye? Do I HAVE to endure this suffering until NEXT term?!?! Oh, no. I'm not gonna make it, thanks to pure serendipity. You are one cruel thing, Serendipity. I highly doubt that my view president will let me transfer because of a BOY. They wouldn't even let my friend transfer to a different math class because her math teacher's English was worst than a foreign citizen. (To think this "best" school has the "best" teachers.) Yeah, I'm sure they'll understand.
"Oh, my God." I whispered to my pals, Kari and Melody. We were walking to the subway station, laughing about some weird joke again. There were the only people I told about the "look-alike". "There he is!" I turned my head to look ahead. He was ahead of us; five or six people separated me from his spiked, brown hair, his lightly tanned back, his silver chain, his deep amber eyes, his green Northface and his blue and white sweatshirt. One thing annoyed me: he was surrounded by girls, his "friends". I hate how I could always tell when people I know were around. It's even more annoying when you want to say hi to them, yet you are not sure if they actually know you or not. That's the problem with me. I know too many people, involuntarily remembering and memorizing their faces, their names. They never know me, of course. "Who?" Melody asked. I stared at her weird and she stifled a giggle. "HIM!" I said it pretty loud. "That Luke guy." I decided to lower my voice. "Wait. Letme see." Kari suddenly picked up speed. I watched her as she passed his "group" and turned around innocently to look at his face. "He does not really look like him." She said once she fell back. He does. Enough of "him". I'm changing the topic. I'm trying to break my quiet manner, my habit. None of my teachers seem to be cooperating with me. Mrs. Sanchez, my art appreciation teacher, ignores me. Totally. Today she asked what are primary colors. She has this heavy, heavy Jamaican accent and I swear, it is so hard to understand her. "Con enyhun tell meh whath the primary colurs are?" Fortunately, we are smart enough to guess what that meant. Easy. I was in major art before. This class will be a cinch. I was amongst one of the first hands. She looked straight at me. She turned away and picked on others. STRAIGHT. As in eye-to-eye. Three colors. I was not chosen. At first, I was okay with it. Three people out of thirty-five. "Con enyhun tell meh whath caheers are assaciaded with art?" She said art so it was long and high. Like those Californians. I rose my hand again. Guess what? She glances at me and picks on someone else. HELLO? I'M RIGHT IN YOUR FACE AND YOU JUST PRETEND I'M NOT THERE? Now I was annoyed. What made it worst? I, apparently, still had a career no one said. She knew my hand was still up. No one else's was. O-b-v-i-o-u-s. She starts a new topic. Joy. I don't think I can stand her either. I wanted to ask something in my bio class. But, no. Mr. Caulfield saw me. I know he did. Like in Mrs. Sanchez's class, I sat in the front (thanks to my last name). Like Mrs. Sanchez, he continued talking. I began to wave my hands like crazy, almost like the fans in a concert. I didn't give up. By the time he was done with his twenty minute speech, you could say my question was no where near relevant.
THAT I LEARNED TODAY: With out the squiggly accent thing on the Spanish word "años", it means anus. ("El tiene veintidos anos." Poor person. He wrote that on his homework and Mr. Scott made him write it on the board.) Also, the Spanish word "esposa" (meaning wife) means "handcuffs", too. What a coincidence. Never wear bright orange on the first day of school. No, they are not staring at you because you are beautiful. They are staring at you because you are bright. And weird. And blinding.