Oh Silly Me...

I stumbled across this while going though my past entries on my Xanga days. It gave me a good laugh. As some of you know, I graduated with an Business Economics major. So I guess Junior year I decided to pursue my short lived dream of being a poet.

The Econ Poem

Point A Point B Point C
What is the point of all this eventually?

Can your supply meet my demand?
Cause they go hand in hand. 
Will you meet me at the intersection? 
Or do you need further direction?

Oh the many curves there are
How suggestive they look from afar 
But there doesn't seem to be enough labor 
As the output just isn't enough to savor

With my income
Is it possible to get some
That price is looking kind of high 
Maybe i'll settle for some substitutes and get by

But that wouldn't be satisfying though 
That's something you and I would know
So let's be efficient here I say
And reach a feasible point today

I'm trying to read the graph 
It's a bit hard as the lines seem to overlap 
What are you trying to tell me,
With all that productivity?

Are you satisified with your indifference curve there?
It isn't that far from the origin if you care
And I think we can push it out some more 
Because where we're at is a sight that's sore

So at half past noon
Meet me at the equilibrium and call
Not a moment too soon
Will you be my econonimist once and for all?

Wow I was such a dork. hahaha But actually if you've taken upper div Econ, some of the concepts actually make sense. Reading my old entries makes me realize that I was a lot more dorky and I miss it! :( Time to bring out my inner dork once again. 

Simply Forgotten

There it was. Just like any other day I was getting ready in the morning while listening to my upbeat, girly, guilty pleasure music itunes playlist. Except unlike any other day, I noticed it. I had completely forgotten about it. Looking at myself in the mirror, my eyes widened in half surprise and half unfamiliarity. It was as though I were rummaging through a box of keepsakes and stumbled upon a forgotten item, a strange mix of familiarity and foreignness. I ran my finger over it and felt the uneven scar. The touch felt so foreign to me. For as long as I can remember i've had this fairly small but visible scar. In fact it's been so long that I actually have absolutely no recollection of when or how it happened. The earliest memory I have of it is me asking my mom how I got the scar. Even the memory of that is a bit hazy. I think my mom told me I was a little girl when it happened; I was running and tripped on the cement. Simple enough right? I always wished a crazier story had happened, like I was a little girl rushing to save a baby bird falling from a tree and in the process tripped on the tree roots. Or a man tried to kidnap me with a knife but I fought my way out of his hold but in the midst of the epic fight, the knife had left a scar. But nope, I was running on the cement and tripped. I wonder how fast was I running. I wonder how big the scar was when I was a little girl because it's been years and it seems to never have shrunk. I wonder why it never healed like the other scars I got as a child, scars that I actually remember getting. I wonder if it hurt. I wonder if I cried when it happened. I like to think that I didn't cause you know, I probably was a very tough little girl. I like to think of a lot of things. I wonder why I don't remember.

Very rarely does anyone notice my scar. Hell, it's been years since i've even noticed it. It's strange to live with a scar without any memory of the incident or the pain that may have had come with it. Sometimes it feels as though forgotten memories are secrets our subconscious keep from us. But hey, that's just sounds like crazy talk.

Ghost Of An Existence

When you start moving out, you start to pack. A vital component of packing is determining what's to be kept and thrown away. Things such as old midterms and notes are tossed right away, especially those midterms that share the same number as an anorexic girl's weight. But then you get to the sentimental stuff and it's a different story. Small things like old notes, old pictures, small gifts, letters, birthday cards, movie and concert stubs, even business cards of people you know or restaurants you go to and random crap are put into in a box to be kept aside. No matter what, they have a place in your heart and you can't bear to throw them away. After living in this apartment for the last couple of years, things have accumulated. And coincidently things have changed.

It's crazy coming across an old birthday card from a person you barely talk to anymore. Or encouragement notes from people who you had barely knew at the time but now you've gotten to know them better. A silly gift from the guy you dated before. A picture of a group hangout from freshman year that you look back and it just looks so foreign now. A ticket stub of a bad movie you saw with friends. Memories flood in and it's as if you're dealing with the ghost of an existence. A slight taste of bittersweetness kicks in. Sometimes people come in your life and stay. But sometimes people come in and out of your life for only brief moments of time and at some points, you may have even been attached at the hip. And reading through these old notes or going through these old pictures reminds you of times you've spent with the person. These last 4 years at UCI have gone by so quickly, it's crazy.

I think the craziest thing is that on the other side of the spectrum, i've written plenty of cards, encouragement notes, graduation cards to the years above me, picture and given random things to other people. But at this very exact moment in time, what place do I hold in that person's life? A good friend? An acquaintance? Someone foreign now? Or am I just a ghost of a past existence?

What ever it is, I hope the memories we have are ones you can look back on and smile. And if we're lucky, we'll create even better memories in the days ahead.

It seems as through the whole process of moving out leaves a taste that's a little more bitter than bittersweet.