I realized today—or, rather, have finally, reluctantly, submitted to—the plain truth which has always lurked under my arrogant and stubborn, "I'm too intellectual for you" facade routinely used to shelter my stupidity; a facade I have continued to wield from so long ago, so habitually, that ergo so slowly developed into a sadly delusional belief, the truth to be lost in the haze of my sweet delusion. How dare I let myself fall under the deception that my parents, my experiences, the world, may have endowed in me even a smidgen of intelligence, let alone muse the possibility, at all? I have nothing to say for myself. This only further proves the foolish, hollow simpleton life, for lack of better terms, I lead.

Meditation and some quotes.

Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: the longing for love, the search for knowledge, and the unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind. —Bertrand Russell

There's so much I want to know...to learn... I want intellect, wit, logic. I hate sitting still. I want to resemble Oshima, Miss Saeki, Kafka Tamura; no, the three motivate me to continue seeking knowledge because I don't want to let time and my life to slip away like sand through my fingers. I yearn for depth and substance, not to amble down the road a hollow shell. So many things fascinate me, I just want to know everything. Psychology, mythology, politics, economics, world history, American history, Japanese history, Korean history, Japanese and Korean pop culture, American pop culture, science, biographies, music, art history, I want the time to sit and read and read and read books on these subjects, to absorb all this...knowledge. I feel so, so so hollow it disgusts me. I yearn to articulate, to write at least well, if not brilliantly, concisely. 

"'If talent's a kind of natural energy, doesn't it have to find an outlet?'

'I don't know," he replies. 'Nobody can predict where talent's headed. Sometimes it simply vanishes. Other times it sinks down under the earth like an underground stream and flows off who knows where.'"

"'But even if that happens, you've got to have a place you can retrace your steps to.'

'A place you can retrace your steps to?'

'A place that's worth coming back to.'" 

"In a sense, I guess. I wasn't alone, but I was terribly lonely. Because I knew that I would never be happier than I was then." 

Everything you're thinking is written all over your face. It's like one side of a split-open dried mackerel--everything inside your head's laid out for all to see. 

"'The branch sways in the wind, and each time this happens the bird's field of vision shifts. You know what I mean?'

..'When that happens, how do you think the bird adjusts?'

'It bobs its head up and down, making up for the sway of the branch...Don't you think that kind of life would be tiring? Always shifting your head every time the branch you're on sways?'" 

This is the first time you've ever been jealous in your life. Now you finally understand what it feels like. It's like a brush fire torching your heart.

Like a layer of soundproofing, the clouds absorb every sound the earth sends up.

Murakami

Hear the Wind Sing
Pinball, 1973
A Wild Sheep Chase
Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World
Norwegian Wood
Dance Dance Dance
South of the Border, West of the Sun
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle
Sputnik Sweetheart
Kafka on the shore
After Dark
1Q84
The Elephant Vanishes
After the Quake
What I Talk About When I Talk About Running
Underground

And Vonnegut

kafka

"When I open them, most of the books have the smell of an earlier time leaking out between the pages- a special odor of the knowledge and emotions that for ages have been calmly resting between the covers."

for the first time in a long time, i want to kill myself. wrap myself in my blanket and jump off my balcony. maybe not mine, but a few floors above mine, just to be safe. submerge myself in the bathtub with a knife in hand. step in front of an oncoming train. maybe even hang myself, even though it takes a painful while.
i need more wine. more intoxication. six shots of soju... what the fuck? its disgusting, the lack of lack of control i have.

cut?  scratch?

More goals.

Since I am 55 kg (121 lbs) (last time I checked it was 54kg (119 lbs), but I have been a pig this past week, so let's just say 55), and it is the beginning of July, soooo.

Current: 55kg/ 121 lbs
End Goal: 45 kg/100 lbs 

Goal by August 1st: 51kg/ 112.5 lbs
Goal by September 1st: 48 kg/ 106 lbs
Goal by October 1st: 45 kg/ 100 lbs

A Poor Aunt

"If, ten thousand years from now, a society came into being that was peopled exclusively by poor aunts- with a town hall run by poor aunts who had been elected by poor aunts, streetcars for poor aunts driven by poor aunts, novels for poor aunts written by poor aunts- would they open the gates for me? 
    Then again they might not need any of those things- the town hall or the streetcars or the novels. They might prefer instead to live quietly in giant vinegar bottles of their own making. From the air you'd be able to see tens- hundreds- of thousands of vinegar bottles lined up, covering the earth. It would be a sight so beautiful it would take your breath away.
   Yes, that's it. And if, by any chance, that world had room to admit a single poem, I would gladly be the one to write it: the first poet laureate of the world of poor aunts. I would sing in praise of the glow of the sun on the green bottles, of the board sea of grass below."

You know.
My future husband will resemble Murakami. Mysterious, romantic—not romantic comedy romantic, but To Kill A Mockingbird romantic; Western-influenced, butter-smelling, independence-yearning, misunderstood, brooding-poet-living-in-his-own-head type of romantic. Asian. Witty. Intelligent.

Without the trauma enabling him to raise children.
Someone with a deep, steadfast relationship with God.

Hahaha.

Murakami is so attractive, gosh.

In Debate.

So.
Time to ask my parents for my first legit designer bag.
The dilemma lies between a Chanel 2.55 and the Balenciaga Arena Giant City. Both are gorgeous and would complement my wardrobe beautifully. The 2.55 is so classic...yet the Arena City is so edgy-chic (for lack of better terms, my apologies). Arghh!! But the thing with the 2.55 is Chanel keeps raising the damn price every year. The last time I checked the bag retailed for around $2000 but I check this summer and it's nearly $3,500... Unacceptable! How much will it have raised by the time I'm a junior in college?!
But then again, does a nineteen year old really need a Chanel 2.55 at this stage in her life? The Balenciaga does scream young and rebellious. Ugh and I can't get enough of the metal hardware embellishing the wrinkled lambskin...

The Arena Giant seems more acceptable for a college sophomore, yes?

Anyways, in regards to some new summer goals~!

1. Read every single article, short story, novel Murakami has written. I suppose The Year of Spaghetti's two page length all the more emphasizes the precision with which I should analyze its prose.
2. Read more essays...you know.. become knowledgeable somewhat... ughh my serious lack of eloquence and critical thinking skills repulse me. How can I call myself a college student?! Shake my head.
3. Stay up to date on current events. Read/analyze more New Yorker and NYT articles.