Soliloqui

Who am I?

I am the one who has This is Not Chick Lit and This is Chick Lit standing next to each other on my bookshelf. Unassuming. Unaware of animosity.

The shadows beneath my eyes grow deeper as the week plods on. I look like a darker, more brooding version of myself. Or one who is incapable of applying makeup?

I am the one who looks at the crescent moon and wonders if interpretation separates personality. Do you see a silver sliver in the sky or a sphere eclipsed by fuzzy darkness?

I refuse to be an artist for the sake of being an artist; Alma Gluck would be so proud. I want to be the bird who sings because something inside compels such a radiant gesture.

I tried to write a Chinese song until I realized I have no songwriting ability and my Chinese is at the level of a first-grader in Taiwan (when I use a dictionary).

我還是愛著回憶中的你
才不想忘記曾經的甜蜜
我偷偷地欣賞你的優點
一直想著你每夜都失眠

你曾給的所有我不該放在心上
卻只能把過去的愛好好隱藏
我捨不得放開你的手
不肯承認我的愛不夠

So there you have it. Two stanzas filled with grammar issues that kind of rhyme (oh did I try…)

And if you’re wondering why I’m posting this when I think it’s crap, it’s because I need to save it somewhere for future revision (i.e. complete overhaul) and I need to use this weblog more often (killing two birds with one stone – the goriest idiom to date).

I like parentheses.

I hate college applications.

So freaking irrelevant.