jovenile: (Default)
It's been a while.

Some things that have happened since the last time I wrote here (in no particular order):
  • I have graduated from my 8-month program in Project Management
  • I have turned 26
  • I have found out I am polyamorous, have come out to lots of friends and family, and have become involved with other partners
  • I found a job with a company that manufactures car wash soap, from which I was let go at the very end of my probationary period
  • I have, after 6 months of being let go, found a job with a company that manufactures makeup - which I love (both the job and the makeup)
  • My boyfriend and I have moved into our own place and acquired, among other things, a sofa
That's pretty much the crib sheet of my life for the past two years or so, in case anyone out there is still reading. 

I guess that's it for me for now. 

Adios, world. 

jovenile: (Default)
So I'm back in school.

It kind of feels like I'm delaying the inevitable at this point, but I'll take what I can get.

If only I weren't putting myself in debt to do so, I might feel better about it.
jovenile: (last stand.)
For some reason I thought that summer would mean things get easier. I don't know why I thought this would be the case - I'm a little too old to continue believing in magic, and there's nothing magical, really, about the ecological changes that naturally follow as a consequence of the ancient revolution of the Earth around the Sun and the tilt of the planet's axis.

If I've learned anything this summer, it's that forgiveness and anger are fluid things, the demarcations of which are always shifting and never pinned. I've learned that you can never go back, and you can't go home. Not really.

But I want to.

I think I broke something when I tried to make myself into something I wasn't, never wanted to be, never will be. I kept trying to jam a square peg into a round hole, and have worn all the edges so that there's something that sticks, but doesn't function. This used to be easy. I resent it. I resent myself. I am sad and upset and a hundred other things that I don't have names for, that maybe don't have names in the languages I speak, because what's the name for this gaping, aching, writhing, hurting emptiness? I feel like I've had something taken away from me while I was asleep and woke up with a hole where my heart was supposed to be.

I wish I could put a sign on myself. Be kind to me. I am fighting a hard battle. I need help. Help me. Forgive me.

I hate this level of introspection, hate it, but I need it, and I need it to be public. I need to hold myself accountable, not just to myself. I need to flay this open, keep it open, like a wound, so it doesn't close, because I think if it closes I'm done trying to fix it - I think it means I give up. And I don't want to. God help me. I don't know if I am of the faith, but God, if you're out there, help me.

I miss having people to listen. Friends.

I wish I still believed in heroes.
jovenile: (old heroes die hard.)
Depression, to me, feels like being underwater, deep, deep in the belly of the sea, except my scuba gear won't work and I'm paralyzed because I realize if I stay down here I'll drown and if I claw my way to the surface I'll die of decompression sickness, so I do nothing. And it's like being surrounded by people with perfectly functional gear, who either don't understand why I'm being so melodramatic and get bored, or who tell me that if I just "Think positive!" I'll be able to fix or move past this fundamental flaw in my equipment, or who think that I should just stop whining and get on with things. And the kicker is, even though I know if I do nothing I will be stuck here - flailing, suffering, scared - I don't want to do anything to save myself. And that's something I can't or don't know how to explain. I should want to save myself but I don't; I just want to stop fighting and let the ocean carry me somewhere. Anywhere.

Sometimes I make a few token struggles to get better, to do something, but in the end it doesn't work, and I don't know how to parse what follows: is it resignation or acceptance or what? Am I pleased with failing, because it's safe and I don't know how to live in any other way? I don't know how to fix me and moreover I'm scared I don't want to. But I can't keep living like this; something has to give, or else break.

Even things that make me happy - cooking, reading, sex, gaming, talking to friends, everything everything everything - require a huge amount of effort, and the things that make me unhappy - job hunting, going to the gym - drain me for days at a time.

I can't keep waiting for myself to get better because I don't think I am going to get better, and I can't keep standing still.

I don't know what to do or how to deal.
jovenile: (respect the old but seek out the new.)
It occurs to me that the past five years has had an indelible mark on the kind of personality I've become, and I've been examining this recently by looking at a series of trades I've made over this time.

I've traded some of my svelte girlish figure for something a little softer 'round the edges; but the confidence I've earned in return would make 17-year-old me envious and maybe a little bit ashamed. I can walk into any store in the mall, hand in a resume and get an interview within the next day because I know what I'm worth. Is it work in my field? Not yet. But I'm pretty sure that'll happen too; I just need time (and a steady supply of job openings). I can spend a night in a bar, make a few witty quips and have someone invested at the end of the evening (even though I am happily taken, thank you). I can wear a pair of heels with the same aplomb with which I rock a hard hat and coveralls. I can hold a conversation with a total stranger about their job, their kids, their stories. I can do this because I know what I have to offer is of value, and it makes me realize that what other people have to offer is of value, too. Not that I didn't know that already, but it's a lesson that's occasionally forgotten and always useful to revisit.

I've bartered five years of freedom - indentured myself to long nights of heat and mass, chem eng reactions, 3D vector calc, physchem, orgo, stats, and the ever-dreaded programming (real programmers wouldn't call it programming, actually, so... sorry for any offense?); developed and broke an addiction to caffeine; irreparably wrecked my already strained sleep cycle - for knowledge. People say things get harder to learn as you get older, and oh, they do. I no longer have the facility for facts and trivia that I used to. But year after year I become ever more wise. My head is stuffed with knowledge, and I am certain that most things I don't know, I have the capacity to learn. I have been tested and tried and came out alive. It wasn't as long or as hard of a test as everyone gets but it drew blood all the same. Blood, and sweat, and tears.

I've exchanged passion for pragmatism. This one makes me a little sad, actually. To be quite frank, I'm nowhere near as fiesty a creature as I was before I was properly broken to bridle. I'm not dead, though; I'm just... matured. Some would say that's laughable (thank you, boyfriend), but the thing is, my passion is not diminished: it is focused. If that means I no longer have lightning eating away at my insides, ready to burst out of my thinnest-skinned places as solar flares escape the sun, then so be it. I like to think I have enough sparks in me yet that I could still eat hot coals and spit out fire. Not every war can be fought and won. Not yet. I don't have to like it (I don't like it). But sometimes if you can't fix it, you just gotta stand it.

Recently my boyfriend has taken to reminding me of all the stupid things I used to do when we first met. My temper was scarcely under control; I found offense in so many little things, and expressed it, loudly and often. Not to say I am less loud or frequent in my expressions nowadays, but I do like to think I am a lot more understanding, and maybe a little more forgiving, too.

17-year-old me was an okay kid. I like myself now better.

For a long time I struggled to feel valued, to beel worth...ful? Worthy? Worth something, anyway. Felt like a sell-out and a hack, useless, stagnant, but I'm not. I'm not. Am I perfect? Not a chance. Will I ever be? Nope. But the fact that sometimes - not always, but sometimes - I can step away and look at myself and say, "Yeah, kiddo, you did good"? That's progress. That's amazing to me. That I don't have to live in a cycle of perpetual self-loathing, or self-pity. If this sounds a little self-congratulatory, well... it is. But I'm starting to think maybe I deserve it. A little bit of it. Maybe.

jovenile: (last stand.)
i don't know how to express myself anymore but i also don't know how not to, so i'll just do it.

honestly i hate everything i've become. i bought into the idea that money equals happiness but it's not true. i'm not happy. i hate my degree. i didn't enjoy any of the internships i did. the idea of doing this for the rest of my life creates a feeling of such overwhelming despair that i sometimes can't move from me. now i am 22 and living in my parents' home and cursing my poor life decisions, and them, and myself. for five years i lived like a slave, pulling late nights and hating every minute of it; i stayed in disgusting dumps so i could afford tuition and groceries; i ate like so much shit that i gained a ton of weight and i feel unhealthy and gross but when i think about going to the gym it's like torture and when i think about counting calories i want to shoot myself. i have sleep issues from here to mars; i can't go to bed before 3 a.m. and somehow this is all my fault - because a sleep disorder can just be cured by going to bed early. sleeping early will also apparently cure all the depressive qualities that i have.

i have nothing to show for all my sacrifices except a piece of paper that says i graduated. i don't even feel like i earned that much.

when i decided the shape the rest of my life was going to take, i was 17 - younger than my sister is now. she's going back for a fifth year of high school and i wish i'd had the courage to do what she's doing; i wish i could've stood up for myself and done what i wanted to instead of doing what i thought would be 'best'. i wanted to prove to myself that i could do the difficult thing, because for some fucked-up reason i can't accept that good enough is good enough. i should have been less rash and more wise but hindsight is always 20/20. i wanted my dad to be proud of me and he's never said those words once, because he isn't. i should have done better. and i should stop trying to deflect the blame; i made these decisions and now i have to live with them. it was no one's choice but my own and the final choice was always mine. now my bed's made and i should stop blaming others.

i had dreams of studying english and now those dreams are dust because i can't afford to be in school for an additional four years: i'm poor, i'm exhausted, i'm emotionally dead, and eating as unhealthily as i did for that long again will probably actually kill me. i don't want to be a perpetual student; i want to get the rest of my life underway. my boyfriend is unemployed and being a provider rests on my shoulders. i want to get married and have kids while i'm still young. i have goals i want to accomplish and going another round doesn't figure into those goals. no law school will take me and no business program either; anyway i'm not sure that's what i want to do. i don't know what i want to do.

it's been five months since my exams ended, and three months since i graduated. it's time i found a job and moved on, but it's fucking hard to be okay when i realize that the rest of my life is going to be like this. i focus on the irrelevant because i am crippled by the fear of failure: i picture HR recruiters looking at my resume and laughing. never mind that i have several big name companies on my resume; i feel like i was a failure in school and i'll be a failure at work. i'm scared to take that risk because i feel like i'll screw up the interviews, and even if i don't i feel like i'll screw up the job. i don't think i'm a good engineer. i don't even feel like i'm an okay engineer. i don't enjoy anything, and i don't feel like i am good at anything, anymore.
jovenile: (a detective and his doctor.)
my counsellor says that i have this habit of negative anticipation - apparently i tend to think of the worst possible thing that could happen, and then move forward with that as the operating assumption.

it's not something i can exactly help. i've been wired to think this way since i was a small, small child. everything is a competition - against myself, against everyone else, and no one enters a competition looking to settle for second place. when i am (inevitably) disappointed, it only amplifies the vague feelings of inadequacy that have accompanied me for, oh, my entire life.

and it isn't as if i am a stranger to failure. i failed 'chemical engineering reactions' (pretty much one of the flagship courses of chemical engineering) with a 47. i was shopping with my friend when i found out - because everyone in our class was obsessed with checking their marks - and i called my boyfriend at home to make him check for me. it was the only course i've ever failed. i retook the exam with a different prof, learning material i never had to the first time around without the benefit of sitting in on his classes, and passed, so i know i am capable of dealing. but it doesn't stop that feeling, and i can't fix the way i think.

i should be better.

'should,' my counsellor says, 'is an ugly word that needs to be eliminated from the english language.' but i can't help thinking in temrs of shoulds: i should have studied harder; i should hunt for a job; i should stop deflecting and just shoulder these responsibilities; i should lose weight; i should eat healthier; i should go to the gym; i should clean; i should stop buying clothes and nail polish; i should get my hair cut and my eyebrows done; i should write more; i should try and submit my poetry somewhere. i should just be better. why aren't i better?

i should have left this teenage angst back in my teenage years.

i should be bigger than this.
jovenile: (dutybound.)
i never thought i'd say this, but i miss school. don't misunderstand: i spent so many nights sleepless, senseless, or sobbing on the phone. i've never said, "i can't do this anymore," so many times in my life. i had to give up so many things just to keep afloat - karate, guitar, writing, reading, gaming. looking back on it, could i have worked harder? sure i could. but to be honest it wasn't what i wanted. still isn't.

what i miss is the sense of cameraderie that comes when there are sixty people (half of whom switch out, fail out, or drop out) all in together through the longest haul of their lives so far. i miss the nights of sitting in the silent study, catnapping beneath a cubicle, going on coffee runs, all-nightering it with six of us working on a single black-body heat transfer problem until everything clicks into place. i miss that sense of solidarity, that bond forged in the closest thing to a battlefield we will ever experience. i miss lengthy conversations about everything from philosophy to sex to music to job hunting; late-night bowls of steaming spicy udon and bubble tea; twenty-minute debates about where to grab lunch because everything tastes horrible when you've had it so often. i miss sushi outings, birthday drinking, two a.m. assignment submissions and the sound of the street at midnight walking home. that's what i miss.

time to put on my big girl panties and look for a job, i guess. i don't think i will ever not hate this.
jovenile: (respect the old but seek out the new.)
they called him johnny.

i should clarify: johnny was not his real name - it was his english name - but it's the only name i have for him, so it will have to do. johnny was tall and lanky, with the flyaway look of a man always in a hurry. his hair was salt-and-pepper and he was always clean-shaven. he wore a crisp white shirt and black slacks (which were part of his uniform) and glasses (which were not). he must have been in his 50s. johnny was a man perpetually in motion, dashing to-and-fro with plates in his arms, but dash though he might, he never tripped or stumbled or spilled - the consummate waiter. he spoke english with a thick chinese accent.

twelve years ago, soon after my grandfather passed away, my father accepted a new job in canada. and so, with my mother and father and my young sister who was a wild thing and my newly-widowed grandmother, i returned to my homeland and left mauritius for (what so far has been) forever. and we were put up in a hotel for a month until we could secure more permanent lodgings. three days in my parents' chinese palates craved rice more than anything. and so we found a chinese restaurant, not far from the hotel where we were staying, and met johnny.

he resembled my father's childhood friend very strongly, which i suppose is what immediately forged an unlikely kinship.

the restaurant was decorated in red and gold, the chinese colours for luck and good fortune. three times a week or more we were eating there, because this was the kind of food that was most familiar to us, and the kind of food we still eat at home the most. the proprietess of the shop often came by our table for a chat. within that first month, we had a designated spot, and even when we bought our first house, we still went back often to dine there.

i like to think johnny liked our entire family, but my little sister was his favourite. whenever we went, my sister and i would always stop by the huge fishtank before sitting down, whispering stories to each other about the inhabitants. now, johnny had a serious air about him, always seemed worried or stressed - but whenever he saw my sister, johnny always came over, exclaiming, 'sandra! sandra!'

eventually, over the course of a few years, the restaurant - as things do - changed, and not for the better. the old proprietess left and the new owner was less friendly. red-and-gold decor gave way to sky-blue and far too many mirrors. the fishtank was gone. the old chefs either left or were fired, and with the decline in the quality of the food, there was soon no reason to go back. we found other restaurants for dim sum and peking duck, because there was nothing left of that old place we loved, except for johnny. he was still there, and i knew then that he would be for the rest of his life.

two or so months ago, my parents heard that the restaurant changed hands yet again, and decided to go back.

i did not go with them. at that point, i was living with my boyfriend, keeping late nights at school studying for the last finals of my undergraduate career. it wasn't until i got back from my vacation a week ago that i found out johnny died.

two years ago. of pancreatic cancer.

for two years, johnny the waiter had been resting in a wooden box, underneath the cold, cold earth. when i was suffering a heatwave in a tiny, cramped apartment two summers ago, he was dead. during this year's sad and sodden winter, he was dead. he will never again call my sister by her name or tell us about the specials or bring out the duck soup with his hands that never ever shook.

while i was sitting in the chem eng fourth-year lounge, my family were gathered around in the old spot, weeping silently, the food turning to dust in their mouths.

how am i supposed to feel? this man wasn't family or friend. i don't know his real name. my parents found out he was unmarried and childless - i don't know how it came to be that one of the beloved sons of china ends up here, alone, unwed, waiting tables for a living long enough to have learned even ten years ago never to slop the soup or spill the tea. i don't know if he has anyone to tend his grave or lay flowers for him. his parents might still be alive, or they might not. i don't know.

when my grandfather died, it was an explosive grief, riddled with anger and resignation. i was deeply sad, but it was for a relatively short time, and the day after his passing i was back at the lab where i was interning at the time and working - with tears in my eyes, my hands shaking, crying silently into my cup of tea at break-time, but working nonetheless.

but no one tells you how to feel about people that are less than friends, but more than acquaintances. when i found out about johnny, it felt like being suddenly robbed of breath. i didn't cry or yell or sob - just gasped, wordless. that night, with my head pillowed on my boyfriend's chest, i whispered tremblingly to him to try and bleed out this swirl of emotions i couldn't identify and did not even know i had. he was asleep and it didn't help. this lingering sadness won't leave me alone. it curls, insidious, at moments where i least expect it - before sleep, or reading a book, or playing a videogame - and i remember, quite suddenly, that johnny is dead.
jovenile: (command gold.)
so i (and my boyfriend alex) took off from pearson airport over an hour late on the 7th of july, boarded the cruise ship with scarce minutes to spare, touched the ocean again for the first time in three years, met two lovely florida-dwelling-but-originally-quebecois ladies who insisted on buying my boyfriend and me drinks at supper on formal night, nearly broke my bottom riding a horse in the dominican republic, saw and swam with pretty fish 25 feet below the ocean surface, left my shorts and tank top in aruba, ate every 'exotic' thing off the ship's menu, sang karaoke every night, offered my commiseration to a kitchen employee being harassed by an entirely rude individual, was the asian britney spears in the ship's last-night production, lost my lipstick backstage but caught a cold, stayed overnight in miami, spent 7 hours at miami international airport where i won airport bingo vs alex but almost lost my camera (special thanks to the handsome spanish gentleman and his two children for keeping it safe for me while i ran like a loony from the starbucks back to where i left it), suffered a complete sobbing breakdown in philadelphia airport at around two in the morning looking like an unwashed unfortunate and clutching a styrofoam take-out box full of pizza to my chest like a lifeline, slept atop my luggage, purchased an extremely overpriced egg/cheese/bacon croissant to keep me from entering a killing hunger-rage (thanks to the kind man who spotted me the last dollar i needed for it), hopped over the border back to toronto... and came back home.

the end.
jovenile: (science blue.)
writing for the first time in years feels like a homecoming.

i never realized. i missed this so much.
jovenile: (old heroes die hard.)
my degree says bachelor of applied science but in my heart, i am a writer, god damn it.

i just don't know how to make it real.
jovenile: (dutybound.)
well, now.

i find getting back into this - writing, online blogging, etc - to be... challenging. in a way, it feels pretentious to write without an audience, but upon reflection, that makes it seem as though writing without an audience is not a valid reason for writing, which is untrue. it simply feels pretentious to write about myself without an audience - as in, 'why are you going on and on about yourself? no one gives two shits.' i could find old friends, but not all of them, i'm sure, can or want to become reacquainted; i could find new friends, but i'm not sure how to go about doing that, really (at least, not in an online environment).

i am also finding, unexpectedly, that writing personal things has become very difficult. in engineering, the word 'i' is frowned upon. for the past five years, i have composed technical reports, lab writeups, work term reports, and twice what i'd hoped were papers destined for journals but which unfortunately were not published for various reasons. these things are always written in the third person, and in a clinical, dry fashion. there is no room for creativity; creativity is frowned upon, as in c.r.a.p - creative rhetoric and prose.

all of this being a long-winded way of saying that for five years, i have been almost completely silent, have fallen out of touch with people, so now there are these big chasms to cross.

please consider this post an open invitation to ask me anything you want to know. i no longer know how to do this myself.
jovenile: (Default)

i'm back.


June 19th, 2012 12:39 am
jovenile: (Default)
hi everyone

would anyone be interested in friending me if i moved to dreamwidth?

my school is over and now i can write.

... let me know?

- jo
jovenile: (Default)
breaking radio silence to say:

to anyone who is a star trek fan (especially of the new canon but certainly of TOS also) needs, needs to read 'leave no soul behind' by whochick because it's simply the most beautiful piece of writing i've ever stumbled across (while studying for a midterm... completely derailed me but damn if it wasn't worth it).

just. completely beautiful. i haven't been this moved by a piece of writing in years.

that is all.
jovenile: (Default)
guys. if you read nothing else from my journal anymore, please read this. and please respond, even if it's just good bye or good riddance, because i'll miss you all.

i know this day has been coming, and you know this day has been coming, but i'm afraid i have to call this LJ closed for good.

i'm a little sad - i had a lot of great times here, ran into surprisingly little drama, and posted my first tentative forays in writing here.

when i came here i had little idea of the things i would find, and the person i would become. i didn't know i would end up with a lifelong fascination with love, its various forms, the rampant descrimination against some types of it, and the search for it. i didn't know i would love writing so very much. i had some good laughs and there were a lot of people to love. i used to make fun of my dad for watching star trek - and now i watch star trek with my boyfriend! in some ways, LJ has been priceless towards guiding me to the person i have become today. i lived online and got to know my truest self. i didn't have to pretend to be someone i wasn't; there was acceptance, here.

and then, i was 17. it was a magical year. i got accepted into this program for nerds, where little grade 12 kids could go to a university and decide if that life is for them. i studied linguistics under a brilliant professor, i took a latin course and i took calculus and i met a wonderful boy who was very shy and i asked him out and the rest is history. we are still together.

in truth, my life was just beginning - and it was a real life, a real existence. i spent more time away from the computer, and i find that i liked the world out there. i am not saying that anyone spends too much time online - but i did. and it was cathartic, in a way, to get away from that, and pursue a real existence, which i have.

i will be 20 at the end of october, and it is strange, because i have known some of you for years and years and years. i am not necessarily old, but i feel old. i look at you as big sisters and the occasional big brother, friends and peers and supporters who have let me know that it's okay to be young and that age is not necessarily directly proportional to societal value, intelligence, or depth of feeling. i was a real human being, too, and the online world helped me immensely with that, with growing into myself.

and yet, i think it's time to close that chapter of my life. i no longer feel the need to tell about my day, or to seek validation for my thoughts, although i still do and always will enjoy the communion of thoughts, ideas, experiences. it's just that i don't feel the need to share myself anymore - i have become, i think, a little more private and a little more balanced, and i think i like it.

i'm also sad, because i truly do miss you guys. but the pace of my life has changed so much i can no longer devote myself to this whole online world, to fandom, to fanfic, even to writing. i have not written in a long, long time. i know i will, someday (i hope i will, someday), but for now, there are endless days of classes, work terms, searching and negotiating for sublet terms. hell, some days i can't devote myself to washing my hair and eating regular meals. it's no offence; i am stretched thin and have no more resources to give. i'm sorry.

it's strange to finalize this. i knew i was mostly out of this whole LJ thing, but it makes me sad to actually admit it. i just want you all to know that i had a great time, and you were great people, and even though we don't talk anymore, i truly appreciate what you have imparted to me, and you have made my first online experiences richer, more fun, and more satisfying than any 13 year old girl could have hoped for. you are all in my thoughts, though you may never hear it...

i will still visit from time to time. you will see me lurking in your comments. you can find me on facebook, if you like. nothing and no one is ever truly lost.

live long and prosper, my friends, and yudan sezou ni ikou.

jovenile: (Default)
i am more obsessed with this show than possibly anything, ever:


oh yessssss finally there are legions of women slavering over sexy, sexy physics minds! SEXY physics minds. sheldon, especially - he may be completely off his rocker, neurotic, OCD and germophobic but he is also occasionally sweet, mostly funny and always, ALWAYS superhot.

for the first time in my lifeeeee i find myself fully backing a het ship, the SS sheldon/penny, known as peldon or shenny, but then, i never liked those weird mashed-up names. of course, the sheldon/penny is so not the ship the writers want and thus... it's probably not going to happen. not to mention both characters need to grow a little bit - or a lot - in order to be able to survive in any sort of viable, adult relationship.

BUT BUT BUT BUT it should happen. it SHOULD.

alex, of course, as an undergrad physics student, finds the show particularly hilarious, but it goes beyond physics (i mean, i'm an engineering student and i enjoy it).

jovenile: (of dark and bright.)
not afloat anymore - adrift.

i need a sign. it's time to sink or sing or swim.

i miss words. i miss writing. i don't even know who i am some days.
jovenile: (Default)
still alive. still afloat. still struggling.

living with boyfriend now <3.

still mada mada dane.
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