Lately, I feel like my life is a series of scattered thoughts and images and experiences.  I have always been good at compartmentalizing my life for damage control.  It’s basically just a coping mechanism that I’ve learned growing up where damage in one aspect of my life is kept within that part so as not to seep into what is good in other parts of my life.

Love. School. Family. Friends. Work. Writing. Hobbies.

Sometimes, I feel like I’m so many different people all at once.

This Break Up has been the first one since the death of my father that has really scattered the sense of order and control of my life.  I’m a forward-looking person. I often leave the past behind in the dust. I very rarely ever look back, especially at the acutely painful parts of my past.  Having compartments in my emotions and goals and dealings make everything easier: shed one, and the others stay in place.

But this Break Up has really made everything merge…and I realize it was because He had permeated every compartment in my life.  He had touched me as a whole person, not just some small piece of me that I allowed him to.  I think it’s why I was so devastated when He left.

So now, I have a series of scattered thoughts that flit through my mind and in some ways comes back to this realization.


Yellow is one of my favorite colors.  I don’t usually wear it often because my sense of style runs towards neutral colors like blacks, browns, grays and creams.  But Yellow has a special spot in my heart.  It’s a cheerful color and I love the way the color makes me feel.  I noticed I started gravitating towards that color in the last few days.  Yellow dress. Yellow sleepwear. Yellow bedspread. And now that I’m back home at my mom’s house, I’m also back in my Yellow room.

Yellow…cheer me up.


I’m back in Norcal for the weekend.  I remember talking to my mom on the phone one night.  She had the most inopportune timing so as to call when I was in the middle of one of the melancholic moods and was crying.  Moms have the special ability to hear tears in someone’s voice even when you’re trying very hard to filter it out.  By the end of the conversation, I was crying and saying I wanted to go home.  She bought me my tickets and now I’m here.

It’s funny that I’m home now.

When I was moving out to Los Angeles, I could not wait to get out of here.  Now, the person who had made Los Angeles feel like home is gone, and for now…I feel like a stranger where I live.  So I ran away…home.


I come from a very…unemotional family.  We don’t talk about our feelings and our problems.  When we have problems, we don’t say we have problems, we say something along the lines of “I’m thinking about doing this so that this does not happen…”  Discussion ensues.  We also look at everything in a very analytical and almost unfeeling way.  I’ve only ever seen my mom cry maybe five times in my life.  One was at my father’s death. The other when we were fighting about my spiral downward into destructiveness shortly after my father’s death.  Another time, she cried when I broke down about how much I hated living in the United States in the first year since we moved to the country.  There aren’t very many other occassions for her tears.

I’ve never seen my grandmother cry.

I always secretly thought it was because she grew up in a war-torn country — in the generation of World War II where tears were a luxury and survival was key.

Sometimes, I think that when I compare my life to theirs, I’m such a wuss.

This Break Up was the first time I ever tried talking to my mom about something emotional.  My last break-up before This one ended a five year relationship…and all my mom had asked was, “Are you okay?”  Naturally, I replied, “I’m fine.”

This time, she tried to tell me that life has ups and downs.  I have to be strong.  She knows I will be sad for a while…etc…  I remember thinking…What is going on?!?! I don’t even know how to reply to that.  This is my mom, I don’t talk to my mom! But I’m glad she was there.

And my grandma, she gave me a hug when she saw me and made me all my favorite meals.

Sometimes, when I see what my mom and grandma have survived, I feel like such a wuss.


I’ve lost about 5 pounds in the last week.  It fluctuates between 7 to 4 pounds, so I figure, I say I’d lost 5 pounds. It’s like the hot new diet.  I haven’t really eaten anything substantial since the Break Up.  I let hunger pass because the thought of food just makes me gag. It’s almost like I can’t be bothered with the effort to eat.

That’s pretty freaking weird coming from me.  I’m the Queen of Eat All You Can Buffets, and the I must eat every two hours diet.

But the moment food touches my mouth, it tastes like ash.  I eat a couple bites, and I reject the rest.  When I get home, I usually just want to lock myself up in my room and let emotions wash over me because I’ve spent the whole day holding them in.  After that, I just don’t have the energy to make food for myself.  My brother once said it best, “Sometimes, it’s just easier to starve.”

But I gotta say, being back home and with my grandma making my fave meals, I gotta try eating.  I ate a whole lot more today…but spent the whole day battling stomachaches.  Brother thinks it’s cuz I’ve stretched my stomach lining.  Or maybe it’s just dairy.  *Grins*


Went on a Girls Night with my friends.  Tried to be hot.  Went dancing.  FINALLY danced to Lady Gaga’s “Just Dance” with my girls.  Got shitfaced with a few shots.  More dancing.  Boys, boys, boys everywhere and not one of them was the one I wanted.  Boys tried to dance with me.  I felt creepy crawly.  Not the hands I want.  I cried at club.  Must go home.  JJC thanks for being there in the bathroom. LoL. EV, thanks for the ride. AT for coming in at 3 in the morning and telling me you love me.  I love all of you.

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