¤ solstar..

my birthday approaches.
i’m a ‘bore’ apparently, but i really don’t care for a celebration. for some reason, i don’t really see reason in celebrating it. yes, of course i want to do something, but it’s like… idk. surreal?
i’ve been describing it as surreal.
i’m near complete on this drawing of Sunny and I. My last post was dealing with his picture. Today, we stood in the hall and talked all lunch period. The teachers didn’t seem to notice until the end of lunch, which was cool. We spoke of his future career paths. He’s so unsure but sure in a way. Me, I know what I want to do. The only thing I’m good at. Art.
Sunny, the hairdresser, psychocologist, bartender.

*hours pass*

Idk anymore.
MY feet hurt and I’m tired.
C’est la vie.

Chamayo (11:19:59 PM): one happens to notice so many subtle things
when drawing.
you notice minute details that make a person them. that gives them their soul, their identity. their spark, fire. perfecting an image, shaping features.. sculpting a human replica.
feeling that moment.
getting that emotion down.

Chamayo (11:21:57 PM): then there’s something in the eyes.
i can always nearly capture.
whether it be bliss, joy, bewilderment… it’s all there.
i capture that.

Chamayo (11:22:44 PM): every detail… every little minor detail… but so important to the big picture… w/o them, it’s nothing.

Chamayo (11:23:36 PM): LOL ARTIST’S RANT.

After reading the novel “The Perks of Being A Wallflower”, I’ve found I was able to really think.
To sit and think. And in the end, I realized how dishonest a person I am. I can be there for people and listen and observe, but I never take action. I never voice my wants and needs. It’s as if I live for everyone else.
I never act, out of fear of rejection, fear of a negative reaction. I’m swayed easily from my morals…
Am I really a person? A living, breathing being? What is wrong with me?
Why can’t I be strong like my mother? Is this how my grandma is?
Not living the life that she devised.
Reminds me a song by Jamiroquai called “The Kids”
Kids get down
Pressurised
To live the life
That you devise.
Watch me now.
Kids get down
Celebrate
Life’s too short
To complicate.
Watch me now.
‘Cause the kids got funky soul…

I feel like every motion, passion I feel is a plagerism. That nothing I feel is real, it’s just.. fake.
I want it to be real.
I want to speak what I feel.
I’m tired of the consequences.
I can’t do what I want because I’m so afraid.
I can’t breathe.
Everything I do has one reason. That I don’t want a negative reaction. That I don’t want to be rejected.I want to breathe.
I can’t breathe.I’m tired of going along with things out of fear of rejection.
I’m tired.
I’m sick of it.

i am superfluous. he doesn’t need me. he has billions of other best friends he can tell anything and everything. And me, not wanting to hear of that part of his life… why then should he talk to me at all?

i don’t know. i think i’ve ruined things. Erica says he shouldn’t tell me everything. That I should remember how it hurt before. That it’s not right of him… That I couldn’t go on listening about what he had to say about who he liked and how they’re perfect. That.. I like him.

And, she speaks the truth. I can’t bear the listen to him speak about his perfect new loves. These fantastic, attractive beings who bring him happiness… I can’t bear to hear it. I am just a friend… and I can’t bear it yet.
yet.
yet.
Someday, I could bear it. That day when I move on, give up… but… not yet.
But, what if I’ve ruined things. He’ll turn and snarl and rebuke me. He’ll take my present and rip it in half. Or, perhaps, he’ll greet me without interest. As if I were just… nobody. No more of his smile, no more of his laughter… no more sweetness towards me… What if I just become a shadow to him… What then…

Then again, my mind creates fantasies that are so crazy that they hurt me even more, knowing that they’d never come true in a million years.
I don’t know anymore. All I know is, things just might change between us. And for the worse.

C’est la vie..

a burning sensation gnaws at the emptiness that dwells within the inner reaches of my heart.
i went from a high to a crushing low, without warning. no, i shouldn’t be like this.
i shouldn’t be hurting. i should be over this now. chanel, you were rejected.
you’re inadequate. you’re not enough.
no, no, you’re just a friend, nothing more.
why do you continue to have this tiny hope that things will turn around into some fairy tale?
you’re such an idiot.
i know i’m stupid.
i’m trying so hard to stop this feeling.
trying so hard.

WHY AM I ANGSTING OVER THIS TRIVIAL SHIT.
THERE’S MUCH MORE IMPORTANT THINGS IN MY LIFE THAN THAT SPI… ugh. I don’t want to insult him.
And I keep forgetting, I don’t have a life.
C’est la vie.

my adolescence is fleeting, my innocence receding, and the future beating on the front door.
I feel like the future is closing in on me fast.
It was just yesterday that school started… and now, 2007 is closing out.
Le sigh.
C’est la vie.

I’m feeling fairly great, minus the pimple that’s appeared in a very unfortunate spot on me. Currently, I’m icing it.
It no longer hurt, but then again, I also can’t feel anything there… so hopefully I don’t ice burn it. haha..

Well, I am surely going to finish Sunny’s birthday gift.
He’ll love it, I’m sure.

Listening to Kiss FM right now, and they be jammin’.
They’ve got Ruben Toro (The Latin Bull) on the tables and it’s soundin’ hella sweet.

I’ll post a more detailed post later.
Now, music.

I really wish he weren’t planning on dying his hair.
His hair is so unique and lovely, the way light reflects off of it. Why would he want the dirty blonde look? It’s so… popular. Everyone has it. It’s unoriginal in my opinion.
That sort of answers why I don’t want to dye my hair anymore. Besides my mother’s scutiny, It seems like it’s so unnatural. Well, heck, I’m a bit hypocritical saying that, considering I have a perm. However, I don’t really have it out of choice. This perm is here out of necessity, and when I can afford to purify my hair of this poison, I will gladly do so. I love natural, undyed hair.
I no longer find hair dying to be fascinating. It’s so normal. Haha, Even odd colored hair is normal. What’s irregular and more attractive to me is… natural-ness.

I don’t even know if I’ll finish Sunny’s birthday drawing. I doubt he’d want a painting of me & him. Even if we are friends, who’d want something like that hanging up or sitting behind a desk or whatever… Something with my face on it. I’d be better off painting him alone or something. However, the void created without me in the picture would be too big and it probably wouldn’t be right.
Ha, that sounded like it had a double meaning.
Things would probably be better without me in the picture.
I’m barely in the picture as is. With any luck, I’ll just fade away.
Just like dust, blown away over the edge.

I feel so incredibly unattractive, and it’s true. I truly am. My mother subtly tells me when she looks at me with a look of disdain upon her face.
I’m like Crinkly the Swan. {http://news.sky.com/skynews/article/0,,30200-1297008,00.html?f=rss}   Maybe someday, just like Crinkly, I’ll find something worth it all. OR perhaps, I already have (in the form of: ART)  and I just need to accept it.
C’est la vie.

here i am
twiddling my thumbs
twirling in my seat
as it rains
pitter patter
near my feet

with a pain in my heart
an ache in my soul
devilish memories
take the spotlight role

i want to be happy for you
but all i feel is pain
i should be happy for you
but all i can do
is twidle my thumbs
twirl in my seat
and listen to the solemn rain

-
The pain which hit upon reading the description of his day out was incredible.. but why? Why did I ache? Perhaps his details were a bit vulgar, but why did my heart ache, my stomach twist, and my eyes water?
I am only his friend, now and forever more, never anything more. Why can’t my heart just accept what my mind knows fully?
Was I happy for him? Honestly, I don’t know.
I… honestly don’t know.
I can’t say I wasn’t happy. No no, I’m not bitter, jealous, nor envious at all.
It’s just… I failed again… I think that’s what is in my mind.
I failed.
I’m happy for him, I’m happy someone could succeed and be enough for him.
I think.

Oh, what is it my mind is trying to say.
Was I happy for him or what?
What kind of question is that?

Who asks that kind of question?
Is it wrong for me to feel this way?
I have so many questions and no answers and it makes me sick.
Sick to the core.
C’est la vie.