Wednesday, December 24, 2008

All I want for Christmas.

Why does this seem so familiar? Ah technology, how you'll ruin me.

Wednesday, December 17, 2008

Stupid for you.

Some ideas are better left unfinished, others just untouched.
It's funny how much my heart's sank and life's changed because .

Monday, December 15, 2008


Sunday, December 14, 2008

A. Hepburn was a wise woman.

Some rules to live by:

I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it.

It's that wonderful old-fashioned idea that others come first and you come second. This was the whole ethic by which I was brought up: Others matter more than you do, so 'don't fuss, dear; get on with it.'

Pick the day. Enjoy it - to the hilt - the day as it comes, people as they come... The past, I think, has helped me appreciate the present - and I don't want to spoil any of it by fretting about the future.

Success is like reaching an important birthday and finding you're exactly the same.

People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed; never throw out anyone.

Your heart just breaks, that's all. But you can't judge, or point fingers. You just have to be lucky enough to find someone who appreciates you.

For beautiful eyes, look for the good in others; for beautiful lips, speak only words of kindness; and for poise, walk with the knowledge that you are never alone.

Monday, October 27, 2008

Take time to realize.

It's so hard to hold onto someone you know you could never be with. And no matter how you think about it, you just have to let them go. Because while good things never last, some don't even start.

Why does it bother me so? It's not an issue of being without you - rather, you being with her.

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Accomplishments are made possible by your mother - failures are your own fault.

Hi Mams,

Midterms are over, and I'm looking forward to the week or so I have as a break from the next wave. I can't wait to come home next weekend. Despite how I may have come off on the occasional phone calls, I've missed your cooking, your words of wisdom, even your judgmental nitpicks.

It's one thing to be criticized by your friends, another to be analyzed by your mother. But believe me, I'd much rather shamefully be under careful observation through your slightly skewed rose-colored glasses than be at fault by the scrutiny of my self-righteous peers.

I've taken to my social cocoon again, much like last quarter. I don't know why I tend to become more reserved, borderline secretive even, when it comes to friends' remarks about my actions or whereabouts. Hopefully I'll be able to overcome this tendency, since they're all undeserving of that kind of treatment. I promise, I'll come home with hours worth of harmonious accords rather than negative feedback.

I won't let you down.

Love, YS

Sunday, October 19, 2008

The dénouement.

Two months can change everything. Take, for instance, my entire world.
Please, not literally.

Post's secret

Thursday, October 16, 2008

The Bucket List

1. Be the happiest I've never been.
2. Strive for 1 through whatever I may chance to do.

Tuesday, October 14, 2008

Pistol through a shotglass

insp wanted

Sunday, October 12, 2008

We're in the prime of our lives.

My subsequent life has passed - I was going to say, happily - but, at all events, tolerably enough.
- The Blithedale Romance. Nathaniel Hawthorne

Turkey Bowl is coming up and I've begun to worry that we've all grown too distant to keep it going. How ironic is it that just into our second year of college, we've nearly given up the one tradition that had been created to last?

"People say change is great, but what's so great about change?"

Beats me.

Friday, May 9, 2008

The Heart of a Broken Story

I was going to write a lovely tender boy-meets-girl story. What could be finer, I thought. The world needs boy-meets-girl stories. But to write one, unfortunately, the writer must go about the business of having the boy meet the girl. I couldn't do it with this one. Not and have it make sense.
- J.D. Salinger