Voy a escribir en español hoy. Es útil cuando no quiero que todo el mundo me entienda.

El viernes pasado, mi papá y yo tuvimos dos citas con los dueños de unos "duplexes." El primer duplex tiene dos pisos; un profesor de una universidad local vive en el primer piso, pero pronto va a mudarse. Vimos su habitación, y fue viejo y el baño fue muy pequeño, pero pienso que no es muy malo. El segundo dueño no estaba en su duplex; él nos llamó anteayer y movimos la cita al viernes esta semana (mañana, en realidad).

Sí, sí, sé que un "duplex" no es un verdadero apartamento.

Pero, ¿por qué quiero mudarme? Sencillo. Quiero vivir lejos de mi madre. No puedo continuar mi vida en esta manera.

Próxima vez, trataré de escribir en chino tradicional. Será un poco difícil, pero es divertido cuando unos chinos (un tos: "¡S-chan!") no me entienden.

Y S-chan… si escribes algo malo sobre mis héroes otra vez, no te permitiré a hacer más comentarios.

As an addendum to my previous post, we also had Tuesday off because of subzero temperatures. Yes, two snow days in a row. Quite an unprecedented turn of events.

I was just thinking, whilst I contemplated the meaning of existence this morning, as is my daily tradition… that all of the things I love invariably disappoint me at some point or another, either by disappearing entirely or… by becoming something painful instead. And every day, I live in continual fear that one of these two things will happen.

I cannot provide the details, but there are people out there who know how to exploit this flaw of mine and therefore they torture me endlessly. And I've realized over the years that I've learned to prepare myself for such an eventuality by forcing myself to despise, or forget, if possible, those things that I love. However, forgetting is usually impossible. So in that case I begin, unconsciously, to destroy my former feelings of fondness, nostalgia, or whatever it is, and instead cast towards its way feelings of contempt and bitterness, until I truly lose whatever I attempted to bury in the first place, and have only faint, comfortless memories of what they used to be.

*sigh* *re-reads above paragraphs*

Well, that did not feel very satisfying. Nor did that feel remotely adequate. I suppose I should go drown my anxieties in a greasy bowl of beef noodles now, as lunchtime has just arrived.

There was an interesting documentary on TV tonight. Apparently, Diane Sawyer (a U.S. journalist, if I'm not mistaken) and a crew of cameramen received special permission from the North Korean government to film daily life in their country. People from the government — called "minders," if I recall correctly — accompanied them all the way, mainly to ensure the cameras didn't stray from the government-approved areas. And while I watched the common people lead painfully solemn and spartan lives, dedicate their entire existence to serving their Dear Father, demonstrate no conception of recreational activities whatsoever, and accept without question the anti-American and anti-Western ideas and propaganda they have known since infancy, I, an Asian American and a citizen of a capitalist nation, felt an unfamiliar emotion seize me…

I realized that I envy them. Very much.

When S-chan declared that I was "deranged" during her psychoanalysis, would this be further proof?

Am I in dire need of psychiatric attention?