I have a secret boyfriend.

Yes, I have a secret boyfriend. It’s nothing tricky and no, it’s not an affair. I just happen to have a boyfriend behind my family’s and some of my friends’ backs. These relationships are probably one of the hardest to maintain in my opinion, worse than long-distance relationships. My longest-distance boyfriend was approximately an hour away from me. Some people might think, “Oh that’s harsh on you, isn’t it? Not being able to see him everyday and all.” It was somewhat hard to adapt to but eventually I got the mindset that it simply can’t be helped. In my current situation, my boyfriend is practically twenty minutes away from me if I walked. And maybe five minutes away if I was driven. I definitely get to see him more often but it’s worse because I know if I walked those twenty minutes, I would see him. But if I saw him too often, people would become suspicious. However, if I had a long-distance boyfriend, I could see the guy once in a while and my father wouldn’t notice. Hiding it from my family sometimes makes me wonder why I should do it. I mean, the reasonable person would understand that teenagers dating at my age is common. I just don’t think my father would understand and then force me to break all ties with him. Of course, that would never work because as the rebellious individual I am, I will always find a way. No matter how…treacherous it will be.

Putting family aside, hiding a boyfriend from your friends is even more difficult.

I have found the cure to cancer.

Cancer has been a disease in many people, causing suffering nationwide. Millions and millions of dollars have been put into cancer research, that we can’t even estimate the approximate total anymore. Only recently a man had been cured of skin cancer but the cure itself is unknown because he had been diagnosed with several treatments at once. And I have not found the cure to cancer.

I apologize for startling people out there who really thought I had found a cure to cancer, but I really didn’t. Once again, I am sorry. This post was created out of my curiosity and I did not mean any harm by writing this. I found out that as a nameless writer, I had way more readers for my first post on the definition of love than for any of my equally-meaningless posts. And that made me wonder, why? What made that post way more convincing to read? Obviously, it was the title. The first line wasn’t that convincing either…but really, the title must have been the bait. “Why do we care what love means?” I would have been lured in by that title too, I think. And just my luck, it’s not too long that I would be yawning halfway through it.

We are always told not to judge a book by its cover and we can take that phrase literally and not literally. Either way, I have a single question: How would we know whether we should [pick it up/associate with them] or not? It might be a waste of time but it might also be worth it. Without judging, how would we know? In this case, I believe our cover for our posts are the titles. Well, I don’t know yet. I’ll see once I take a look at the number of people who click the link.

I’m trying to make my summer more meaningful, seriously.

Every summer, I wake up late because I sleep late so the rest of the day is shifted to a later schedule. This isn’t done unintentionally, I do it because there’s nothing else to do in the day. I’d rather lie in bed while I play my Nintendo DS Lite late at night than play it elsewhere. No, I can’t play my game in bed during the day because if I’m found out, I get in trouble for potentially worsening my eyesight. I don’t know how it connects but my brother makes a big deal about it. Let’s say, I’m like a guy jacking off late in the night so he won’t get caught. The next morning, he wakes up late but that doesn’t matter since he won’t be jacking off in the day. Geez, that was a bad example.

So, once again I’m trying to make my summer days more meaningful. I don’t want to be sleeping late playing games because I want my days to be shorter. Whenever I get to the point where summer vacation is almost over, I always feel so disappointed in myself. I could have done so much in that time, instead of waking up late and gaming. I would say summer is a time for recovery, after The Battle at school but right now, I’m more than recovered. I’m brimming with HP (health points) that it’s surpassing the limit. I’m at like 999/100 HP.

From wasting my time, I have decided to form a list for myself. Not just any list though, but a real list. One that isn’t so detailed I totally give up on it and not one that is too simple to take seriously. What should I put on this realistic list of mine? As long as I can see myself doing it, then I think that’s good enough to call it realistic. What must I do in the weeks or months to come? For example, if I have work due later in the summer, I shouldn’t wait until I have to return to school. Have I made any promises to other people? Like, did I promise I would visit a friend or go somewhere with somebody? I don’t recall making any promises, but if I did I should jot it down somewhere so I can be reminded. Does my room need to be cleaned? The Battle did some extra damage to my room so, well, I don’t think I really need to add this since I’ve already kind of cleaned my room. All that’s left is the leftover work for when I return to school in two to three days. Last of all, what do I want to do? Staying at home really sucks because there’s nothing to eat and nothing to do. I think I would like to go to a particular friend’s house more often.

But all that doesn’t really matter until the month after the next. Until then, summer school is going to make my summer a little worthwhile and make me finally realize how important time is. I should be spending it more wisely. These last two to three days, I must make it more meaningful.

I miss mindless story-writing.

When I was a child, I could write a hundred double-sided pages easily if it was a story of my choice. My mind would be sputtering with ideas as each second went by. So many ideas would come up, that I wished I had jotted it down. None of my stories were planned so none of them had an ending. But that was why it was so fun to write. Nowadays, I worry about my punctuation, grammar, tone of voice, vocabulary, sentence fragments, and everything that I can’t seem to focus on what matters the most– the message. In fact, I can’t say any of my writings are good. For school, it feels like I’m just overdoing it and I end up being not concise. Stories, which used to be my easiest (and favourite) thing to write, has become one of the hardest things to write. It started in Gr. 9, when my teacher made everyone in the class use a story map. I looked at it and thought to myself that it was stupid. In the end, I was forced to use it year after year. Writing became a pain. Reading was no longer fun.

However, not everyone is affected the way I was. Few of my friends write stories and poetry in their spare time. I dare not say that they’re good, because they’re just not. But the fact is, you can tell that their mind is open to many possibilities. Their minds are not limited to what you would see on half of the soap operas out there. I really envy them. And they kind of inspire me. It kind of makes me feel that I have transcended into a different age, like the age where I would have no time to spend on meaningless thoughts or write stories for fun. It makes it feel like I shouldn’t do anything unless it benefits me. Perhaps that’s how I was raised?

Really, it should be my fault too. I always hid my writing somewhere and never showed it to anyone other than my closest friends. Same for my drawings. I was afraid of people laughing at my imagination, as if it was too childish or too unrealistic. Something a fool would write about. Obviously, I received compliments from my friends but I thought to myself that they could be lying. If my stories were truly enjoyable, other people would want to read them too. I never had the courage to show everyone and I still don’t. Unlike me, I have this friend who constantly contacts me when he has an update to his collection of writings. Whether it’s nonsense such as a girl eyeing him on the bus or an actual story, he wants everyone to read it. Unlike me, he asks for comments and criticism on his writing. That way, he could try to improve but in a different perspective, he’s also putting himself at risk. If someone is blunt enough to seriously criticize him on a professional level, his determination and passion for writing could be crushed. And that, I think, is worse than gradually losing grip of the pen. Of course, not everyone is paranoid like me.

Ah, I really don’t know what to do at times like this. I get complimented for my “blog-writing” from my teachers. Friends used to like my stories, when I used to write them. I want to write them again, but I don’t know how to. I really miss mindless story-writing.

When are you ’successful’?

I used to think that being successful means you have achieved a considerable amount of your goals. When you’re proud of yourself, you have achieved success. This morning at around 3 am, I created this blog and wrote my first entry in a long time on the topic of love. When I refreshed my dashboard a few times, I was surprised to see some red font above my Comments tab. Immediately, I thought it was a bot trying to spam my Comments box so I was prepared to delete whatever the message was. I was about to click delete and I read that beautiful message. I’ve never published anything for the world to see but I was surprised to get a comment, nonetheless. I approved the comment and went to bed, unable to sleep. I thought about writing another post but I was so proud of myself, my post would end in one line: I’m so happy I can’t sleep. I suddenly remembered that I thought, in order to be proud/successful, you would have achieved a goal. But never in my wildest dreams would I get a comment. The only time I received comments was in Gr. 10, when I had a blog for school. You would receive comments back then regardless of how well you write and how brief the post was. My classmates would comment as long as they like you and if your post was less than 400 words. That’s why, that one comment is a dream that I have never dreamt, come true.

Just the other day, my father and I discussed a little about being successful. He believes that if you finish what you start, you are successful. But I know that inside, if all his children listened to him and achieved the goals set by him, he would feel ’successful’. For some people, having a high income is being successful. All of these are goals that we either set for ourselves or are set by others can make us feel ’successful’ by achieving them. However, to be successful is impossible. Success is insatiable because when you have everything, you have nothing.

There are many people who don’t have goals but can still feel successful. As always, I am in no position to tell anyone what success or any other word means. If you want my unprofessional opinion, I believe success is achieved when you have done/earned/experienced something you have never done/earned/experienced before. The less people who have done/earned/experienced it, the better because it shows that you’re outstanding. You don’t achieve success when someone congratulates you. You don’t fail because people are disappointed in your decisions or results. If you’re really aiming for the top, that’s fine but remember that there’s no method of measurement for success. Everyone has success in them, it’s if they can realize it.

Why do we care what ‘love’ means?

I was inspired to write this after reading a note on my acquaintance’s facebook. Unfortunately, this is my excuse for creating another blog but at least I think it’s reasonable. In her note, she defined what love was and how grateful she was to have received what she believed was love. In anything that seemed difficult to do, such as letting go of someone you admire the most, is…love.  If you are willing to sacrifice everything for a person, that is what she thinks is love. I can’t help it but to ask, why does she think that is love? In a different context, I’ve seen many definitions of love in the Japanese drama, Last Friends, I had just finished. Someone might think letting go or giving up means you no longer love them. Or if you are unable to become their lover, you can no longer love them. However, there are people who continue to love even after they had been rejected or separated. There are even people who see love in the form of abuse, for all we know. In the drama, the normal reaction from others to abuse was “That’s not love. If s/he loved you, s/he wouldn’t hurt you no matter what you did.” How are we so sure that it isn’t love? In addition, suicide can also become a form of love, as shown in the drama. Some people find that a total act of devotion and love, but some people find it cowardly and foolish. Note: I wouldn’t want to spoil it for anyone who plans to watch it but even if you don’t plan to, I strongly recommend it.

As I tread along, I remember that the definition of love has been written within the Bible. I quickly quote this from a site I’ve found on Google (You gotta love Google),

“Love is patient; love is kind
and envies no one.
Love is never boastful, nor conceited, nor rude;
never selfish, not quick to take offense.
There is nothing love cannot face;
there is no limit to its faith,
its hope, and endurance.
In a word, there are three things
that last forever: faith, hope, and love;
but the greatest of them all is love.”

It doesn’t tell me the exact verses or anything, unfortunately. Anyway, I found it here.

Although it sounds quite vague, the definition of love here is applied generally. As a Roman Catholic, I was taught that we are to love everyone. Therefore, I have come to the conclusion that the above is applied to everyone. These definitions of love are somewhat ideal and achievable to only a few people who are able to resist from temptation. I admit, that I am currently unable to achieve love as defined above. Moreover, I haven’t accepted it as the definition of intimate love between two people. In fact, I have just realized that if this is truly love-then there is currently only love between my parents and me. Actually, I’m very confused so I’m not sure. Then again, I don’t really care what love is. I love, so I love. I live, so I live.

Then again, it does bother me a lot when people go defining words however they like and have millions of replies, acknowledging her for her new perceptions. Those people already have their own definition of love and are being influenced by others’ definitions. Per se, Dictionary.com has twenty-seven results for the word love. Alright, so only fourteen are classified as love as the noun. And most sound repetitive, still vague, and possibly has nothing to do with intimate love (such as in context of tennis). To put it briefly, it sounds like a love is something you enjoy. For some people, they might enjoy the company of their friends, so they love their friends. For some others, they might enjoy the body of some, so they love them. As for me, I could enjoy the company and companionship of somebody, so I love them. Interesting, I have come to my own definition of love. It’s extremely simple and since other people have lengthy definitions of love, I’m feeling unsure too.

The fact is, we all have different ideas of what love is, based on experiences-mine or your’s. The definition of love is something that could be debated on a large-scale. Love is everywhere and in everything yet it’s nowhere but in nothing. We may not say we love everyone around you but once you lose something, your world falls apart and you realize that you really did love them. In that sense, I believe you may not have enjoyed everything about them but there is always something you can enjoy of anything. In my case, there are a few people I dislike and would have a hard time saying that I truly love them. Even if we’re two worlds apart and our paths have rarely crossed if ever, I love at least one thing about them.

Most important part of the whole post: Basically, I have just contributed nothing to your brain or mind or anything that tried to consume my words. Like everyone else, I’m unconfidently saying what I think love is. Why does it matter?