I don't know what to talk about!

Today was pretty complacent. It was not very exciting, but I know I will miss it on Monday, when I'm sitting in my math class.

I tutored, got paid, ate pizza, went to the Americana, bought a pair of jeans for my brother, had kebab for dinner at home, and am now sitting in bed, wasting my time when there's plenty of homework for me to do.

At least the Superbowl is tomorrow!

Today was a bit better.

I definitely miss Vancouver a little less today. The ache is still there, but at times I find myself unable to feel it anymore.

I've always tried to view my geographic separation from my cousins in an optimistic way. I tell myself that my time in Los Angeles is an opportunity to improve myself and thus enter Vancouver with a bang the next time I go there.

But it doesn't usually work.

It's currently 2:37 in the morning, and I'm tired and don't want to think about college. More and more of my "friends" are getting accepted, and it hurts and tightens my chest.

I hope that I can wake up tomorrow morning and have enough time to work on my math homework, make breakfast for my mom, and go to Coffee Bean as well. Of course, I can't drive (completely my fault at this point), so the latter will depend on whether my dad is willing to take me there.

I still need to go take a shower (mhm), so I guess I'll get off now.

-Aly

Written in the stars, a MILLION miles away...

Currently, life is extremely haphazard.

These past few days have truly been bittersweet; I felt pure happiness and contentment during my eighteenth birthday celebrations, yet had to constantly swallow the acid and bile that came from biting my tongue every time I discovered someone else had been accepted to college.

I'm eighteen years old, and it feels good. Yet at the same time, my chest is strained, and I feel like I can't fully breathe. I'm always holding a breath in, and that's because of my fear for the future.

I've been stupid these past years. I've been the epitome of lazy, and I feel like my brain cells are becoming too comfortable in their easy-going state of mind. Senior year has been all about having the most fun I've ever had in high school- but simultaneously, it's about living up to the consequences of my mistakes.

I want to cry. No, I want to go hide under a big, shiny black rock. I want to stay underneath the rock, reside in the shade, and roll myself in the sand. I want to stay there for a few days, weeks, or months, individualize myself in a cocoon of safety, and only leave once someone has made the decisions for me.

I miss Vancouver. It hurts, and I really truly could cry from my anguish about it. I know my family there loves me, but I also know that they will never love me as much as I love them. They will never appreciate my admiration, or understand my adoration for them. And I've accepted that that's okay; I mean, if I were in there shoes, I would probably be blind like them too. I would be more engrossed in the people living with me than those that live far away.

These past two days have been extremely painful. It's only been forty-eight hours, but it feels like I've endured this torture for much longer than that. I walk around the school in momentary happiness- I dread certain classes because of their uselessness, and I constantly kick myself for my awkward mishaps. In the back of my mind, I'm always thinking about Vancouver, or simply home in general. I think about how my cousins are all doing their own things, how my uncle and aunt are traveling the world, and how I'm stuck here, plastered in acne and gaining weight by the week. I count the hours, minutes, seconds until the bell rings for me to go home.

But home isn't much better. Sure, I would rather be at home than at school, but it's still a painful experience. Sometimes the pain is actually worse, since I'm more distracted at school. At home, I have the blessing and curse of being one with my thoughts. So when I'm home, I usually miss Vancouver even more.

I hope that this torment will end soon. I hope that I can manage to disconnect myself from Vancouver, because it's killing me too much. It hurts too much. It means too much.

More than anything however, I hope so badly that I can get my act together. So many of my friends are getting accepted to universities, and I haven't even finished my applications yet. And even if I do per chance get into a university, I probably won't even go because it's way too expensive for my parents. And so I'll probably go to community college, which will absolutely kill me.

Life seems like a Catch-22 right now. I need my family, because they keep me going. I would literally be a completely different person without them. Yet their presence is hurting me so much. I'm so insanely jealous of my family in Vancouver. And I love my parents and little brother to death.

I'm just so confused. And I wish I could find the answer. I would I could get some that will actually really help.

Adieu,

-Aly

Love Actually

Vancouver,

I had never experienced such awful heartache until today.

I miss you so much.

I miss the clean air, the deep blue sky, and the gorgeous green grass.

I miss your simplistic highways, your unbearable traffic, and the safety your streets possess.

I miss your inhabitants, for they have given me more than I will ever be able to repay. They have made me feel lucky, well-taken care of, and loved. They inspire me every day to be a better person, and to pursue the dream of success I sometimes am too lazy to achieve.

Thank you for all you have given me. Thank you for what I know you will give me the next time and every other time I visit. You are so beautiful, both inside and out, and you have nurtured the most wonderful of human beings to my hearts content. I am eternally grateful.

Love,

-Aly

[Untitled 2]

Sometimes,

When you have A Plan,

Everything seems a little less stressful.

And Then You Can Breathe.

There's No Love Like a Mother's

Wow. Karma is a bitch.

The last time I wrote a blog on here, I was a bitchy teenager who was writing hurtful shit about a person who means so much in her life. I'm sorry for the things I said, mom, because I love you so so much. I used to think that I could live my life without you, since you have constantly told me how you thought you were going to one day suddenly die of a heart attack from all of the stress you're under, but now that I think about it, I really don't want that to happen. As I write this and think about what I said and what I'm currently feeling, tears well up in my eyes, and I have difficulty swallowing. Mommy, you mean the world to me, and if you were permanently exempt from my life- great, the tears are coming again- I don't know who I would turn to for advice on what outfit I should wear, or help zipping up my homecoming dress, or advice in general on how to overcome the teenage-esque obstacles I venture through every day in my life. Right now, I can hear sounds from the television coming from your room that's right next to mine, and I feel so comforted. True, you're probably asleep, since you are usually passed out in five minutes flat once you've climbed into bed, but you're a solace to my heavy heart nonetheless.

I love you.

The Crappiest Summer of My Life

Why do I have to be the way I am? Why is my mom so dysfunctional? I mean, I'm aware that she loves me, I have no doubt in my mind about that, but then she absolutely kills me at other times in my life. SHE IS DRIVING ME CRAZY. Tears are welling up in my eyes as I think about it, no joke.

And you know what- a huge part of that is purely my fault. I mean, when my mom held her baby girl in her hands for the first time, she looked into my huge brown eyes and imagined a future where I would enjoy shopping, where I like to wear clothes that are "in," where I always maintain the perfect figure, where acne does not take over my face, where I am a straight-A student who is so responsible and such a blessing to have in the house, where I am the perfect daughter, the perfect sister, the perfect grand-daughter, etc. But she didn't get that, because that's not me, and therefore I can understand why she goes so crazy sometimes.

But I'm sorry- for as long as I can remember, I have always remembered my mom as the one who is screaming her head off around the house. The only reason that doesn't happen as frequently as it did before is because she's almost fifty now- she's tired of doing that, she doesn't have the energy anymore. I remember being six years old and staying at my nine year-old cousin's house in Los Angeles, watching her mom dance around the house, with a smile and laughter always gracing her features, and always looking at her husband adoringly. Eleven years later, and she hasn't changed one bit. I always remember looking at them and feeling such a huge amount of envy. I mean, I wouldn't trade my dad, who is her brother, for the world, but my mom... I couldn't understand why she couldn't be as happy as my aunt was. Why she couldn't live life with less restrictions, with more selfishness for her well being. My house was always spotless, all of our clothes were always washed, dried, ironed, and put in our drawers neatly, and there was always a hot meal on the table. These things are so wonderful to have in life, especially for a child, but I would trade it all for a more happy mother. I mean, I can't even begin to tell how high-pitched, red-faced, glass-breaking terrifying and scarring her screaming has been in my life. How many times my mom has threatened my dad with divorce, and how many times I have just wished for that to happen. I mean, whatever will make my mom happier, right? I remember when I was eleven, I read this interview Britney Spears did, and how when her parents got divorced, she didn't feel sad- she felt relieved. I think that would happen to me if my parents divorced. My heart would break for my dad, since he loves my mother and would live such a difficult life without her- but if it would make my mother happy, then I guess I'm all for it. I'm almost eighteen anyways, so I would be able to help my dad if that ever happened. I would be there for him, it wouldn't be a problem.

Great, now I'm crying.