unlimited

I've just got back from a bbq thing at a friend's place in Glenmarie... A shockingly huge house, it was, complete with carpark and all. Some people do get so obscenely rich. I suppose you've got to do something with the money, and spending it on yourself is the expected thing to do.

Anyway, I feel kinda odd coming back so early. It was the only time I could get a ride. It was that, or try to beg for a ride, or failing that, sleep over there... While I don't think the person would've minded, and I would have liked to see the inside of the place, it still seems odd, because I hardly know her.

Is it just me? It probably is to a large extent, since I'm quite a failure at spending more time with friends, but I wonder, what's it like having such rich parents? Do those kids always grow up wondering whether people like them for themselves or their money? Do they wonder whether they'd have so many friends if they had less cash to throw around, wonder how much people actually like about them apart from their parents' money? Or do they just happily spend the money, like water, not really caring about anything except the next pleasure, the next thrill?

And me... I think part of the reason why I don't spend more time with friends is because I'm afraid to presume on the strength of the friendship. Instead of letting it grow faster by testing it, I just let it plod at a slow pace. I barely call people, talk to people, and so on. I think when I die, this will be my greatest regret, that I did not spend enough time on friendships, and enough time talking to friends. Not talking, laughing, coming with witty repartees and all that, but real conversation. Sharing of souls, learning more about the other person because you care about their perspective, about their lives.

Still, maybe I'm just waiting for the right sort of people. I don't know whether there are, but here's to hope. I can't relate to people very well. A lot of what I do, I do little reluctantly already, going up paths I never intended to tread. Maybe I'm a little snobby, aloof. But it's who I am. I thirst for people who understand, thoughtful people who think with their minds and their heart. Gentle people who care about the world outside the confines of the space around them. People who are kind, humble, who are not afraid to put their other foot forward. Impatience, senseless anger, rudeness, brashness, and hatred are among the qualities I dislike, more so when I see them in me, glimmers of darkness.

Meanwhile, I immerse myself in activity, because in pursuit of a goal I find a part of myself I like. I stayed up late a couple nights ago, working on inkyhands, the litmag I mentioned a while back. It's finally up! 1.17am on the 20th. In addition, I sent off some more apps today, at last. I still have to do the common app part of it for some of them, but largely it's all good. Dartmouth, Brown, MIT, and Cornell. Whoo, still got some way to go, but small successes are good. I was looking at a list of college I'll apply too, and the thought that it might be excessive did cross my mine. I mean, 16 places?? I suppose it's kind of, if I roll the dice enough times, just maybe my lucky number will come up once. I just don't want to have any regrets about not trying hard enough later, though it seems the quality of the apps may be diluted in the process. Oh well. I concentrate on the more important ones... A lot of them I send because they use the common app and it's convenient.

Lastly... no Christmas tree this year. Putting it up, and taking it down is such a hassle, and it's for the best I suppose, but I do so like Christmas trees. I like the fairy lights twinkling on them in the glom of nit, poking the darkness with pinpricks that to me gleam with coloured hope. For the tree (and Christmas songs, I absotively love them for the same reason!) is all about hope in its most glorious, most potent form. None of that "I hope tomorrow is sunny," business, but "I hope I will live up to my expectations, so help me God," kind of hope. Hope that comes with the quiet determination to realise itself somehow.

The lack of a tree this year is, I suppose, an appropriate metaphor.