And no one knows… the things we’ve been through can never measure up to half of what I put you through

Last year at my summer job, there was this boy. I noticed he seldom ever talked to me and wanted to avoid me at all costs. He’d talk to everyone except for me and I hated it. So I began talking to him, testing him, flirting. We went out on ONE date before he went off to school. After that, we’d just talk online every so often or he’d text me sometimes to ask what’s up. Sometimes when he goes home for the weekend, he’d ask me out- but I seldom ever agreed. I don’t think I really “liked” him at first. I think I just liked knowing that he liked me. I didn’t pursue or try too hard because I knew it will fall into place sooner or later.

This summer, it did. We started hanging out a bit more… we’d watch movies, go to museums, walk around downtown, hang out during our breaks (we still worked near each other). And pretty soon, I began developing honest, feelings for him. Admittedly, I’d usually make my bail out at this point in the relationship where the feelings become mutual; the game of pursuit ends and you begin a new one. But for some reason, I didn’t this time. Oh how I wish I could tell my parents about this new guy in my life- but I don’t quite know how to break it to them. I really wish they could meet him and tell me what they think. I’m tired of going through it on my own without any feedback from anyone worth listening to.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s unhealthy because I sense that his feelings for me are much deeper than mine for him. I’m afraid that the day will come when our feelings will even out or that mine would surpass his. Then where would I be? The last thing I want to be is vulnerable- or dependent on somebody else. I’ve always been the type that wants to go through everything on my own. I’m just really afraid… before, I could go on a day without talking to him. I could go through nine days, actually without contacting him at all. But now, he’s like a constant plague in my mind that never leaves. I’m really afraid. I’m afraid I’m going to turn into those idiots that I hate so much.

Lately I’ve been hard to reach, I’ve been too long on my own

My parents don’t trust me. I admit, it is entirely my fault. For a long time, I kept telling myself that I’m a good girl- I don’t do bad things, I don’t get with bad company, I’m the epitome of a perfect daughter. But lately, I’ve had these… surges of rebellion that I can’t seem to control. I don’t do anything bad in particular. I mean, I don’t go having sex with random guys or do drugs or smoke cigarettes- but I do small things like accept condoms from the Safe Sex booth at school and put it in my underwear drawer, leave a pack of cigarettes that I don’t smoke in my bag, hang out with people I don’t really like, flirt with many boys that I don’t even like. Just things like that that sort of give the illusion of rebellion but not quite. And when my parents found out about the aforementioned, of course they responded with much anger. How could I… their seemingly perfect daughter be capable of such things? Granted, they think I actually have sex and smoke.

It’s partly my fault. From high school, I’ve always told little white lies so that things would be easier. I always wanted to avoid being lectured about things. For example, if me and my best friend were planning on driving to the mall, I would lie and say I’m just going to her house so I wouldn’t get lectured about the danger of young drivers. If I’m going to a party with boys- I wouldn’t admit it because my parents might think I’m doing something with them (I can admittedly say that I NEVER had a boyfriend all throughout high school. It actually came to a point where my friends would BEG for me to get a boyfriend or try to hook me up with certain guys. I avoided lesbian jokes at all costs). If I plan on hanging out with so-and-so, I’d just say I’m going to do something somewhere else so that I don’t have to explain who so-and-so is. My parents seemed touchy when it comes to new people in my life. They sort of get used to me saying certain names so I play it safe and recycle those names over and over again. Just small things like that… nothing major. The reason why I did it? It was just so much easier for me to ask for permission that way. I know that it’s wrong and I shouldn’t have done it like that. I regret that now because it has given me the image of being a chronic liar. Which to an extent, I am.

Another reason why my mom currently hates me, the way that I talk to her. She tells me I have no respect. I must admit, this is true. Sometimes the tone of my voice or the words that I use can be somewhat hurtful or demeaning. I suppose the reason why this is so is because I don’t really communicate with my parents a lot. I’m not used to talking to them, so the way that I talk to other people in my life (namely, my friends) just come out. I wish I could… I wish I could tell them things about my life more than just “Dad, drive me to work” or “Mom, can I borrow $2.75 for the bus?”. But I always feel sort of awkward and I don’t know why. Even small things like asking them if I could go to the mall makes me feel awkward. I feel like I’m bothering them. My mom complains about how I always leave things to the last minute. When I go out, I wait until the very last minute before to ask them. The reason why isn’t because I’m irresponsible or anything like that. It’s just that I get so nervous asking them… I’m afraid they would say “No” so I practice over and over again the best way to ask for permission. And in this process, small little tinges of lies get mixed into my words because of my desire for approval.

I hate that my parents now have this bad image of me. I am now seen as their demonic daughter who always need everything to go her way. I am somewhat an overindulged brat. I need to change this… so from now on, I vow to tell the truth about everything I do and the things that happen in my life. And what a better place to start, but with my new (and first) boyfriend.

Push it baby, push it baby, outta control- I got my gun cocked tight and I’m ready to blow

First entry! (Well, not quite… what I really mean to say is: first entry that I will not delete or set on private). Oh dear, my palms are sweating. This is nerve-wrecking, you know… first blog entry. Almost like first day of school or first pay cheque or first… well… you know! Anyway, I just don’t want to add onto the many disappointments in your life… whoops. Sorry. Freudian slip? I mean, you’re probably thinking: “Why do people blog anyway?” Don’t they have diaries with those miniature locks that you can coax open with a hair pin, don’t they have psychiatrists with $2000 love sofas from Ethan Allen, or disturbingly wise ex-Calculus professor mothers they can talk to? Unfortunately for me, I don’t have any of those things… except for the last one. But she’s too busy playing Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook and planning our lavish summer trip to Europe to talk to me. SIGH.

Have you ever had so many things to do. And I don’t mean “so many” as in enough to fill-up a post-it. I mean “so many” to fill up FOUR post-its (with medium-sized writing, of course). That’s basically me right now… I have four post-its calling my name and in spite of it all, I feel so bored. Bored. I’m bored. I hate that word. Almost as much as I hate “flop” or “embarrassing” (I always forget there’s two ‘r’s!). On top of being work-infested and bored, it is already 11:00PM on a Monday night (translation: my body is about to call it quits) and I must wake up at 9:00AM tomorrow if I want to save myself a 30 minute walk, three dollars, and tar (don’t ask). On a usual blogging day, I would bore you out of your guts about the mundane things I’ve got to do… but since this is my first- I must make a good impression and resist the temptation.

Random thought: Stop cowering away from the potential love of your life! (More on this later…)

Anyway, I’m tired. It’s 11:11. I’m not going to be a fool and make a superficial wish that would only benefit myself. I’ve done that before: it came true and did not feel nice at all because I wanted something more but forgot to add it onto my wish because the 60 seconds between 11:11 and 11:12 is not nearly enough to list all my superfluous desires that I’m too lazy to realize myself. Bottom line is, eleven eleven is a sham. I’m going to start wishing on 7:11’s now. Maybe it’ll give me a slushie.