Alone

Maybe not all the time. Maybe not even some of the time.

Maybe less than one in a million moments.

But right now, I definitely feel alone. My parents left not an hour ago, and my brother is just outside my room, playing his games. At least two different people online who I could talk to; whom I usually talk to, but I don't. A missing-you message lighting up my phone from a girlfriend hundreds of miles away.

Yet still alone. Still not anyone whom I can connect with emotionally.

Every once in a while I let myself think that the people I interact with can provide that; a cure for my inexplicable hunger. I let myself hope too much.

And then it happens.

My illusions are shattered. I fall back into a darkness that I have known for years. A bittersweetness that I am intimate with; even enjoy. Maybe it is this season. Maybe it is my situation. When I go back to San Diego, I will forget about all of this.

But for how long? A few months, or half a year, and then I slowly return. Like clockwork. More and more I believe that I am being treated, and not cured. That I am ignoring my problem; this problem, by throwing myself into the company of others. How many people know that I am not the one they see, or like to hang out with? How many people have dismissed my true self as a condition of who I am, and not realize the truth.

I think there is some fundamental problem. Something I have yearned to cure, but have only learned to alleviate. I am looking for something; someone, to help me. But I don't know who, or what. Or how.

I hope I found out soon.

Taken ahold

Were it so easy,

that I lay down my head and sleep,

Dreaming of that which may never come.

Of things long gone,

or never have been.

I wander day to day

cherishing. Not a drop of regret.

Not a tear of relief.

Faces of people I once knew,

Feelings I could never have,

they manifest themselves, as

Apparitions.

I reach out and touch them,

and begin what has already been forgotten.

A great sorrow was planted,

and its seeds I cultivate.

The best nutrient is time

for a soiled memory, lest it grow

thorns and gnarled.

At night it will blossom

but for a fleeting moment.

A sweet nectar will flow

and privileged are those who drink it.

I have tasted the sweat of my labor.

It is by far sweeter

than all of my waking days.

Yet tinged with a bitterness I cannot describe.

Every now and then I am seized by an urge to compose. I am obviously no poet.

It would be simpler to just write and not compose, but through this medium, I am somehow able to channel my feelings directly. What you read is garbled, erratic, and unsophisticated, but at the same time, the purest form of thought and emotion I can bring to bear. It is an outpouring of my current state of mind, to which even I cannot explain. I only try to capture it in the moment. What you interpret is up to you - it is simply a window that you may peer inside. Perhaps you will walk away seeing something you had not seen before.

More likely, you will walk away with nothing, confused.

I would like to end my post here, but will supplement with a little more - if only to provide some context. Lately I have been dreaming again. I do not associate my dreams with anything physical (e.g. subconscious desires), but I often develop very strong emotional responses. Sometimes they linger for days. They interfere with my day to day life, but I cannot say with any certainty that it is constructive or destructive.

Humility + Integrity (old draft)

I was watching myself play guitar on YouTube and felt very embarassed. Most of the comments were favorable for what I still think is a subpar performance. I am not going to link to those videos here, nor shall I ever actively do so, but it is simple enough to search my name on YouTube, if you are really interested.

You might wonder why I keep them up. It is a reasonable question - if I am so embarassed, why not just remove them? I have removed personal information from the internet before (two Xanga accounts, my Facebook), but very few people frequent those pages, if at all. Letting them mothball on some web server somewhere might one day come back to hurt me, considering how sensitive some of that information was.

A lot of people (or maybe, the same few people) have viewed my videos. Some are more embarassing than others, but at the time, I was going to showcase all the songs I knew on YouTube. I was proud of playing guitar, especially since few others deviated from strumming and linking chords together. But very few of my friends were impressed, I think, with my performance. They have usually never heard of the songs I play, and listen with polite interest. It does not rile them up as much as someone playing their favorite pop song while singing the lyrics.

The internet was a much easier audience to entertain - especially those who could appreciate it. I was surprised to see that a song or two I thought very simple meant a lot to some people. I believe they still listen on a typical basis, so for those I leave my videos up.

I have not played as much as I used to. Perhaps I have lost interest, but I mainly blame college. Growing up. I do not remember the last time I enjoyed a relaxing summer.

(old draft - revised for publication)

A while back, I was late to my class (as usual). The reason I am perpetually late is because I have to walk about 0.7 miles across campus within 8 or 9 minutes. I arrived at the lecture hall behind a girl who was also in my class.

Lecture halls, for those of you not well versed in college life yet, are huge. There may be over a hundred to a hundred and fifty students. I certainly did not know this girl, nor did she me. Nevertheless, she held the door open for me to go in first.

Has it been so long since I have seen kindness from other people? That I was taken aback at her gesture speaks volume. College students, I have come to conclude, are one of the worst people in the world. Loud, obnoxious, arrogant, ignorant, inconsiderate, short-sighted... if I could go on, I would, but it would no doubt fill the entire Internet. It is depressing, sometimes, to have to live in such a toxic atmosphere. It weighs down on you; it makes you think it's okay to be like them.

Perhaps this is the change Jenny referred to years ago. It is hard not to change when you're surrounded by people who challenge your every moral fiber. Who cheat and drink and smoke, who waste money irresponsibly; who are irresponsible themselves and to their families who put them in college. It is certainly NOT okay to be like them. Were I so blinded in youth that I missed the signs? Where were we four years ago? Did we think it okay to ever drink? It is not narrow-mindedness that precludes this accusation, but moral integrity.

I admit I have changed, too, but only to seclude myself from such people. I have become more withdrawn and disinterested with the general populace and their wellbeing.

It would be simple to declare that I have no more interest in the world itself; that humanity is naught but a gigantic cesspool of college students. Daniel and I discussed this as well. But ultimately, there is a world beyond college. No doubt a world equally, if not more, depressing as college was, but still unknown.

I eyed her curiously throughout the first part of lecture, but did not pursue. In retrospect, I wonder if she would have been another being I dare call a friend in this world, but it is moot now. I do not even remember what she looked like.

kevingoes.tumblr

So if you're here, it is probably because you came across my tumblr and then clicked on a link inside said tumblr.

Why did I make a tumblr?

I have been pondering on the idea that I may be suffering from slight cyclothymia, or a mild form of bipolar disorder. At the very least, I am quite susceptible to mood swings, induced or otherwise. I feel that one blog dedicated soley to reflection brings out a quiet - if not, depressive - state of mind.

I AM NOT CONSTANTLY EMO!

I have my ups and downs like a regular person, but probably TOO much and so I believe it is best served by another blog. A different kind - more rapid fire, short, and completely in the opposite spectrum.

Hence, kevingoes.tumblr.

I have been called bipolar from at least 2 or 3 people. I do tend to have abrupt mood swings sometimes, but nothing so severe as the aforementioned. Is it so strange? These swings tend to occur for specific reasons, but I seem more sensitive to them than others. Add to that my mood-resetting sleep patterns and I suppose you have an unstable person.

Oh well. I am in an elated mood today, so I will fret not.

Addendum

So I have been gaining weight, to nobody's surprise. I cannot say I am happy about it, and the realization is that I weight almost as much as my brother now. The noticeable height difference allows me to get away with it, but only for so long.

For reference, I weigh approximately 210lbs. Why am I disclosing my weight? Well, I was never one to really hide it (if you pressed me enough). At the end of winter break my sophomore year of high school, I weighed 218lbs. Granted, I have gained significant height since then, but it is still a disturbing thought.

I was a fat ass when I was young, and for a brief period between junior year and senior year of high school, I was actually pleased with my weight. Now I am a fat ass again.

Some people tell me I hide my weight relatively well. Everyone is surprised to know I weigh so much. My own martial arts master underestimated my weight when performing a takedown; I believe he hurt himself. But now that Jennifer S. herself, who has always disregarded my insistence that I was fat, has pointedly decided that I was "chubby," it is official.

As a sophomore, after returning from Winter Break, I decided that 218lbs. was it. That I would not, absolutely not, gain any more weight. I made good on that promise, but the way I went about it was to basically starve myself. And I did. I starved myself all through sophomore year, coming down to 200lbs. by the end of the school year.

I was pleased. There is a noticeable difference when you lose 20lbs. Over the summer and well into junior year, I remained at 200lbs., but I had wanted to lose more. I joined badminton that year, and I worked my ass off. I was sensitive about my image; I still imagined everyone thought of me as a fat ass so I worked hard to prove that I was not. I stayed late every practice and did all the exercises to their fullest. To that end, at my lowest, I was 178lbs.

Quite an achievement, I thought. To go from 218lbs. to 178lbs. - literally 40lbs. Because I played badminton so much, I was able to keep my weight consistant.

But now I do not do much more than eat, sleep, and study. I have slowly went up from 185lbs. the summer after I graduated, to 210lbs. 25lbs more over roughly two years. I am slowly returning back to my previous weight, and I am concerned.

With Mr. Johns's transformation, he has inspired me to lose some weight of my own again. Although I am not sure how to go about it, I will try to stablize my weight and perhaps even begin losing it starting next quarter. I always make these promises to myself, but I feel like I am, again, reaching that saturation point. I cannot gain any more weight!

Coincidentally, Mr. Johns told me the other day that I had inspired him to lose 80lbs. How utterly ironic.

An odd assortment of things.

That is what this is.

In case some of you have not known yet, my grandmother died two weeks ago on Thursday, I believe. She was buried last week, and I went to visit her the Sunday I came back. I also went to a little shrine but I do not wish to talk about it.

There is an odd feeling of absence. I am not sure what to make of it. I was never really close to her, and I can only say I am glad suffering is over. It had been stressful for my entire family, extended and all. Perhaps I am a cold and heartless bastard. I am not sure I would feel pain at the loss of my own parents.

Yet this feeling of absence... again, what does that mean? I wonder what other people feel in times of death. My parents, obviously, feel pain at her loss. Even my dad, who I have never seen cry, broke down in news of his own mother's death (this recent one was my mother's). Not I, however. I feel an absence, that she is out and about and will return someday.

I wonder when that day will come? Maybe I am just subconsciously denying her death; unwilling to accept it. It would be nice to have someone to relate with, but I digress. In case you did not know, it is now out there.

Before starting this post, I started reading my girlfriend's blog again. For the first time in perhaps months, she has made a post. Actually, it is her first post.

Though I tend not to write about her matters, for she is always so secretive about them that it boggles me, she has been diagnosed at the school clinic as clinically depressed. When I first heard about it, I instinctively expressed disbelief and tried to downplay it.

I am such an asshole.

I have never cared much for those who called themselves depressed. I have always thought it was something people whine about; that it was just another thing ALL of us go through and that making a big deal out of it was just exacerbating the problem. You just had to pull yourself up and keep going.

I imagine I was depressed throughout high school. I practically had no friends, extremely low self confidence; I did not do much more than eat, sleep and school. But I did not let it stop me from living my life. I took refuge online, where my image and personality was however I wanted it to be. Eventually, I did not need to emulate anymore; people did like me for who I was. Among these people were Colleen Dorsey and Michelle Ty, none of who talk to me anymore, but I have added them on Facebook as a token of remembrance. I started to develop some confidence for myself, and re-tackled the world.

So it seems almost silly to me that anyone would call themselves depressed and really mean that they are incapable of pulling themselves out of it. Jennifer S. tells me otherwise, and I accede to her wisdom that depression really is a scary thing. A constant battle to stay happy, or even normal.

Depression is a broad disorder. The worst thing, I think, is that the temptation to merely write yourself off as depressed and not better your situation is very powerful. To even think that you are depressed can send you spiraling into its vicious cycle.

I did not want that. I did not want Bev to start thinking that she truly was depressed - clinically or otherwise - for she would sound her own horn and become the prophecy herself, so to speak. What came out of my mouth was something along the lines of "I think you're being a whiner."

I think I even SAID it. Why am I so terribly, accursedly inapt?! You would think someone of my caliber could have the decency to shut the fuck up and not say something so stupid and hurtful. But there it is: I said it and in my attempts to clarify, I think I even made more of an ass of myself.

It pains me, like nails on chalkboard, to think that I did not, in the moments she told me, sweep her into my arms and reassure her. To tell her that I understood her pain and frustrations, for I was once there, and tell her I would be there for her, always.

No. What the hell do I do? You whine. Great thinking there, soldier. We're promoting you to Major. Major Dick.

My feelings of her depression, as of now, are mixed. On the one hand, I still do feel as though it is something she can get over herself. That we all go through the same thing, sort of. But as her boyfriend, or just friend alone, I worry for her. I know she goes through shit no one else has to. Whatever I have, she's had it ten times worse.

I want her to be happy; I've always wanted it.

We had this huge fight at the beginning of our relationship: she was talking to her friend behind my back about our problems. That she just needed someone to listen to her and agree. And I told her I was that person. That's what I agreed to when I signed up for the job.

But no one tells you if you're doing a bad job. Maybe you get lucky, and your boss comes in and let's you know you've been slipping. But really, you screw up, and you're out on your ass. I do not feel like I will be ass hopping down the street quite yet, but I've done a terrible thing. I can only hope it is repairable. Once you close psychological doors, you can never know if someone is holding back on you.

Anyway, leaving memory lane now.

Today was the most interesting concoction of poor planning and awesome coincidences I have ever seen in my life. I would almost say it is God's work, but it would incur the wrath of Melissa L. (yet sweetly counterbalanced by the praise of Meagan S.).a

Yesterday, Jennifer S. invited me to dinner. Knowing my parents like to have dinner with me, I ask her why not lunch? So we decide on a time of 1:30pm again, which was when we were SUPPOSED to meet up the day before but never did. This morning, I wake up to Melissa L.'s phone call again (she also woke me up Monday), telling me that she is bored with her friend Quincy. Thinking nothing of it, I get on my laptop and talk to Daniel N. who says we should hang out. I invite him to lunch and had the idea to invite bored Melissa and Quincy.

I wasn't quite sure where Daniel lived, but I knew it was probably not near me and, in fact, he lived quite near Melissa which was where they were at! So I told him he should go over and pester them, and then take them to lunch with us. When it was almost time, Daniel told me that Jonathan L. would be getting back from school at 1:30pm. I figured he would like to come too so I called him.

He then informs me that he had planned to go eat with us the whole time this morning.

I was rather confused, so I let Jennifer know that Jonathan knew that we were coming to pick him up. Except that Jennifer already knew which just added more confusion. I told Daniel to meet us there while we picked Jonathan up, who explained the whole matter to us. He had talked to Daniel yesterday and said that we should meet up to eat, while Jennifer and I independently agreed to do the same.

Except DANIEL was supposed to pick Jonathan up, not us. But in the end it worked out anyway.

It is rather late, so I will end here.