had bizarre dream last night where robbie, tracey hartman, and jon were present. robbie was being himself, tracey herself. jon gave me a ride somewhere in a ginormous truck. after he opened the passenger door and helped me down and kissed me. it was strange and the kiss real. i guess i am pretty jealous, but for why? i don't know. i don't want to think about it.

no time to fuck

hey kids, been real busy. the old ladies are rushing me to go here go there, ugh. but it's ok. i enjoy it :D.

no time to post pictures, as i am woken up in the early a.m. to go eat breakfast and then it's this or that. 

i had two whole posts for this blog on the plane, but i can't seem to copyxpaste. quel domage, eh.

so long story short, it was alright, akin to a very long road trip except much louder and in the air. the view was spectacular for the first hour or so as los angeles peeled away beneath us like a sparkling golden snakeskin onto a nightblack sea. the prettiest you'll ever get to see our little shithole.

i slept the first seven hours then watched hk movies and wall-e for the remainder. Catherine gave me a very surprising gift that filled my fitful naps with terrifying and unwanted sexual fantasies. What a friend. What a pal.

Got loads and loads of pictures. Can't wait to edit and post. not.

The first day we got here we arrived at seven in the morning. We dropped off our shit at the Dragon Hostel on 83 Argyle St., which is smack dab in the middle of it all, pretty much. I really like this place and could stand living here for the whole six months. It's only 20 dollars a day for a single room (40 or so for four people), the staff is great, all kinds of folks internationale passing through, and there's free wifi in the lobby. Downside is I can't skypesex Catherine at eight in the morning without feeling slightly embarassed by the other clientele.

Anyhow. We drop off our shit and head downstairs to wander a bit for breakfast. We end up at a little porridge shop where they sell these decent bowls of congee for like 13 dollars HK, which is less than 2 dollars US. For the four of us who had four bowls of congee and two or three plates of fried bread wrapped in rice sheets (omg heaven) it came out to be something like 11 dollars US.

omg. food heaven, je suis ariveé.

what else did we do. went shopping for sim card for my cell phone (which has broken, btw). You can buy a sim card for your cell if it's unlocked for international use. The sim card is usually anywhere from $68HK-$100HK($10USD-$14USD) at around 15 to 25 cents HK per minute. Pretty good deal, if all you need a telephone for is to reach people about the city while you're out and about.

What else did we do? Had dinner with other old ladies, which is HORRIBLE OMG SO BORING. What's worse is we also had BREAKFAST WITH MORE OLD LADIES. All of whom are amazed by the fact that I don't look chinese at all and nod politely at my horrible cantonese. like a curiosity. a linguistic amputee who happens to look filipino. ahhhh my life.

The next day was more exciting, as it was new year's eve. after the aforementioned torture dim sum venture, we roamed to kowloon tong where i found my school and met Lorencio, who has spearheaded the international student experience and makes life easier for all of us. afterwards took train to sha tin where we roamed some more.

BTW, if you love high end malls, you will love HK. I swear we cannot go for five minutes without falling headlong into another designer deathtrap. I saw four or five different Burberrys and Vivienne Westwoods just yesterday. Ridiculous. Almost as bad as 7 eleven. 

Felt sick and tired from eating too much food too fast so went back to hostel to nap and squander time until about 8 o'clock pm, whereupon I dragged my mother with me to Tsim Tsa Shui to sit for four hours in the cold and crowded to watch fireworks along Victoria Harbour.

Getting there was pas dificile, but man, gettin' out was INSANE. I'll post pictures later. Packed and packed with people. It took us an hour and a half to walk from the harbour all the way back to Jordan Station where we stuffed, stuffed, stuffed ourselves onto a crowded train back to Mong Kok.

Lord. But it was worth it. I slept the whole night.

This morning we wandered to a won ton shop where we had wonton soup for about $10HK. I can't get over how cheap this shit is. You could have three square meals for about 5 bucks USD a day.

We're going to go to Lantau Island today to see the huge Buddha statue. possibly monkey hill, too. to feed monkeys :D.

will update later. possibly tonight, possibly tomorrow night. we're going to go to macau tomorrow. 

kids and kids i am finally excited. :D

the start of it.

i'm starting a new travel blog to chronicle my adventures in hong kong. this is for anyone who's ever thought about studying abroad but didn't have the guts. this is for anyone who hasn't yet stepped onto an airplane. cuz god knows i didn't until now. will hope for better visuals in the coming days, and coherency. 

so my plugs came. that will distract me long enough to stop feeling miserable.

i feel so goddam depressed now, for no particular reason. If I was forced to be honest, I'd say it was because of seeing Catherine and John together. Maybe it's because I'm pretty attracted to John, or else it's because it's like me and Catherine's sister Kay are alike in that we're both hideous attention whores.

In my heart there is a dark dark maw that aches wide open for the glimmering spotlight. it's like staring into a black hole. like one day my self-esteem collapsed on itself and created an implosion of cretinous codependence. so now i'm wholly dependent on what other people think of me. 

it's too tiring to explain. or write out. i just want attention. i'm sorry. it's so ignoble. so cretinous. that's such a beautiful word. cretinous. that's what i am. a cretin.

a fucking schleb.

yeah that's probably it. i just want the attention of young attractive men. i want to be held and loved but at the same time i am repulsed by the idea. i don't want anyone to touch me. i can't even touch myself.

the only one i feel comfortable holding is emmanuel. him and only him for now and for eternity. that's the damn truth.

but i can't allow myself even that. 

he's just my heroin, and i have to quit, and this empty loneliness is my withdrawal. that's all. i just have to think like that for now. i'm so terrifyingly sad. 

i drove home today half in tears. i want to cry all the time. 

georgia. geoorgiaa. the whooole day through.

so good.

music is all i need man. i could disappear into the sweet relief of a song, a box of blueberries bouncing softly into a bowl of cool, whipped cream. just like that.

i don't want boys but there they are. too much. i just want to study. i want a clean empty room with a clean empty desk and time, time, time to study.

i sleep but wake up absolutely exhausted. a pile of clothes grows in my room. something unfinished sits at the top of my to-do list and i can't quite put my finger on it. 

i feel pathetic as always. this girl that hangs out with dave a lot, nadine (who is pretty but also pretty silly) calls me very pretty and i look at her because it sounds so absurd.

the exboyfriend leaves a voicemail, telling me not to call him to see if he's alright. he says he keeps thinking about me, etc. where did he go wrong, etc.

oh gosh. whatever. he needs to quit it before he reallllly pisses me off.

tres est mechant. il aime une autre. et moi, j'ai aucune idee quoi faire.

tapp tapp where the pussy at i dunno i dunno i dunno..........


That song is playing in my head all day all the times. it's terrrible.


我的名字是林安娜。我常常去王先生的商店買筆和書。

ahhh. hey kids

i am empty and sad. i need to fill my empty heart with people. a lot of cute boys on campus, none of them worthy. i want to smooooke. a cigarette. sigh sigh sigh. maybe tomorrow. maybe. 

met cute guy today, like, seriously cute. like clive owen javier bardem type. said he was a writer, etc. had pretentious typewriter, moleskin notebook. obviously.

asked to see credentials. gave me a writings, poorly typed:

shit was like, a bro's journal. shit was like, stuff a high school kid did with one hand in his pocket, ya dig?

dis. a. ppointing.

i hate when people describe a beautiful woman in a book. so sophomoric, so juvenile. 'oh she had fair skin and long lean legs that lead up to a place i only dreamed of, etc. perky breasts'

a grocery list, an itinerary. unappealing. 

it is enough to say she was beautiful. to do more than that is to try and prove it.

beautiful things stand for themselves.

anyway. the convo disintegrated after that. 

ahh fuck guys. all the smart ones are ugly and the pretty ones dull. 

and the smart pretty ones are beyond me. i am an ugly thing.

i know cuz i checked my ugly mug in photobooth and it told me so.

haha i got a macbook bitch.

found this note in the annals of my email account:

oh my heart my heart my heart i clove it in two i ate one half and gave the other to you. i don't know if you tossed it or lost it or what but the half that i ate is tearing my gut.

fuck i'm so sad. this book is depressing me, but i am depressed because i will need to take all of emmanuel's things and put them in a box, and put it in my trunk, and take the box to riverside, and give them to him. and say they don't belong to me, they belong to you, your things. not our things. yours.

but i feel that it must be this way, or otherwise i will never be happy.

to shy from pain is to be afraid of it, and i shall not be scared. i shall be strong. i have to be. but why this utter, incomprehensible, oppressive weight of dread fear, a slow smoldering loneliness like two eyes placed steadily on a vantage just beyond my ken?

lo lo lo.

I am shouting for joy in the cavernous halls of newfound independence, but the cries echo back in empty tones of loneliness.

i want to be like mae west. she's so glamorous, so fierce. she is every gay boy's wet dream.

i want to be unattached from everything.

i wonder what he kisses like. aagghhh. i hate my stupid brain. how it's connected to my stupid vagina. why wasn't i born a man, or lesbian. i wouldn't have so many problems.

i'm absolutely useless. i forget everything. i'm so useless it's painful to type this shit out. roaaarrr.

i can't even send anything out correctly. i wasted fucking twenty five fucking dollars for nothing, because i left out documents. fuck. nobody else is this idiotic. why can't i follow instructions.

easy, peasy instructions. just read the list and do what it says. why is that so hard.

and i call myself smart. i deign to sign forms. fuck that shit. i'm an idiot. grade f. idiot. how pathetic.

i don't deserve to be with anyone. least with emmanuel. fuck all the rest.

fuck this shit. fuck me. gah.

i was turning off the lights in the living room, and i thought to myself, innocuously, "is missy asleep?"

of course she is.

and that's when it really fucking hit me. this really fucking sucks. i held her beautiful head in my hands, and she was already gone. it was the first time i had held someone who had passed. she was my old lady, my golden girl. i'm never gonna see that same silly face again. i'll no longer have a reason to buy tennis balls because she never returns them to me.

i miss my dog. fuck the chihuahua. i want my old lady back.

have got a new room et new floors et al. feel like rotten egg inside new pristine shell.

I think i'm getting distracted by all kinds of peripheral shit, and I hate it. I want to throw out all my clothes, chop off all my hair. :[

guilt guilt guilt? probably.

My cat does not like fancy schmancy cat toys. No brightly colored french ticklers for her. Though I'd like to buy her fancy toys. My animals are simple things, they like balls of aluminum foil, soup bones from the actual soup, not this packaged chitterlings and gravy gourmet shit. well, the cat does, but like me she is a professed hypocrite.

My mum brought home supply of large cardboard boxes. I have set up one and placed it on the ground. My cat has come over, staring at the box as if it held the answer. She meows at me, twitches her tail. What's in here, she seems to ask. She jumps in, jumps out. paws at something invisible inside. She will get bored, leave, then return.

If I could only get that excited about the mundane again, or find that the mundane is not mundane but all that we really need in life.

Lo, I stand again on that dreadful precipice.

A million things to do, love. Finish that visa app., I've to move out of this room. Finally getting that wood flooring I dreamed of, but to what purpose? I shall look at that lovely shade of oak for two months and then the dreary modernist interior design of city university dorms for 5 months.

Hotel rooms, airbus cabins, taxi cabs, sticky bus vinyl floors, cement, tile, linoleum, department stores, sweet Hong Kong grass, mysterious Chinese sand. Lo! I stand again on that dreadful precipice, where shall I go.

In an effort to blow steam.

I have deduced that Alex, while a nice guy, has some anger issues, and does not like people.

This is probably why he dresses the way he does, and is an angry little white boy.

Man, when men are angry, they are really vicious. They needs to chill out.

Dilemma. Hardfest is sold out EVERYWHAR. Why.

And mother even let me go. SHE EVEN LET ME GO HOLY HELL.

It is only after I find tickets that I will find someone to cover for me at work. This is so I will not lose any money or sleep.

Haaaaa. Life works itself into funny situations.

I am without prose today.

Prof. Simoni made me feel like an idiot.

All my professors do.

Why am I doing so poorly? Gambatte!

It's like wandering through a desert and coming back upon the same, gnarled skeleton half-buried in the sand. Over and over. I keep crying but it is like pouring tears on a rock, useless, nul.


My coughs taste like blood.

Sigh.

I've a hollow in my heart, and the wind whistles through, and I am cold.

So life is equal parts exciting and happy and also terrifyingly sad.


I am on the verge of breaking up with Emmanuel.

I don't want to stay with him if he is going to be the same man.

I want to stay with him if he is willing to look at me like I am a human being.

If he is willing to treat me like a human being.

But alas there there is a puddle of cool, still water at my feet in which my reflection peers up at me and says, "Lo, he shall not change."

I've been sad and hurt so many times that this last fight has been like hacking at dead wood. I feel none of it. But when he called me just now and spoke to me genially, I started crying.

I feel so at odds with myself. It should just be easy, like buying beef at the market.

I never imagined having to slaughter the damn cow.

Actually spoke with Mike today in language lab. He has rounded eyebrows. *nod*

He's a pretty cool down-to earth guy. I'm very jealous of his ability to travel everywhar. For example, he is going to China in November to visit his girlfriend.

I wish Emmanuel could do that if I was in Hong Kong.

Correction lads and ladies that is now when I am in Hong Kong. I got accepted :D Now it's just paperwork and those kinds of formalities.

I hate this cough. I can't wait for it to go away so I can go back to the gym. :(

Haven't spoken to Emmanuel in two days. He called me back this morning and we spoke for a little. I thought he was mad at me but he says he wasn't. It was awkward; probably because he was sleepy. I let him sleep.

I think I'm starting to find myself.

Well, I don't really agree with the idea that you're finding yourself just because of the fact that you're making more friends.

That's like saying I am nothing without the right group of people around me. Undesirable thoughts.

But I am feeling happier since I've been making friends with the int'l studies people.

The guy who looks like a Persian Heath Ledger is named Trace and on closer inspection doesn't so much look like Heath Ledger as he does a kind of maybe Asian Heath Ledger with some kind of Jewish thrown in. He is German as well as Swiss and has a profound German nationalist brewing in there somewheres. Fond of black v-necks and jeans, like Emmanuel.

I can't even think about Emmanuel right now. I can't even think about him in a warm cuddly way, much less sexually or critically. I just... can't think of him at all without conjuring up these wounded feelings.

And about what, I don't know.

Maybe it's a profound weariness? Maybe I'm just sick of this shit.