That awkward moment when you meet someone and you’re talking to your friend about the guy you like but he tries to kiss you hours later.

Fuck. This. Shit.

I CLEARLY LIKE SOMEONE ELSE. WTF.

Everyone enjoys alone time. I love to run errands alone. I hate when I’m listening to music and then I bump into someone on campus, and my song is interrupted and I am forced to make small talk. I like to sit in bookshops alone. I like to drink tea by myself. I like to eat at McDonald’s alone. It just saves the nuance of dragging someone along with me throughout my mundane day. It saves me the socializing and attending to others. I just wanted to attend to myself, only. I loved helping others. I loved giving favors. But I didn’t need any help. I just liked to do anything and everything according to my time. People tend to slow me down. I hated when I didn’t shop by myself because girls take so long to shop. I like when it’s just me. Just me, myself, and I.

My mom once said, “You’ve always been my independent little girl, never asking for help.”

I will always remember the look in your eyes when you told me this. And I used to think I had grown independent out of circumstances, out of insecurity of being close to someone, but I had realized that those two factors only added to it. I was always that little independent girl. I remember one time when I was six and I had accidentally stapled my hand with two staples and I ended up pulling them out myself as I cried in my room. I remember one time I was sick, terribly sick, and I didn’t tell anyone. And you found out because I had ended up puking in the middle of the mall. Things had never changed as I grew older. I remember one time my mom and I had gotten into a fight, and she said she wouldn’t drive me to school. And so I just walked. Dad always said I could go to him for help with science and math, but I never did. My third year was the first year I moved in to a new place without the help of my uncle. I remember the people who were subletting, and they offered to help me carry my stuff to my room upstairs. I said it was fine, and I ended up carrying suitcases’ worth up the flight of stairs. And he would say, “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” And I said it was fine.

Because I used to be a perfectionist when it came to how independent I was. I thrived off of my independence.

I didn’t want to be alone, but I didn’t want to trade in my independence for anything that wasn’t guaranteed. Because..well…what was there besides independence? Dependence? And oh god, I definitely didn’t want to be that. I didn’t want to depend on anyone. I was doing just fine depending on myself. I didn’t want to lose the one thing that had me standing. But I loved seeing people who were two parts of a whole. A friend laughing with her best friend until her stomach hurt, a girl endlessly falling in love with the boy she’s holding hands with. I remember seeing pairs like these. I would imagine how nice it would be to have that sense of…forever. That sense that someone loves you so much that they could never picture the world without you. And every time I saw these people, I would think to myself. I would think how lovely it would be to let my guard down and let someone be a part of me. And every time I did see these people, it reassured the fact that I did, that I did just want to be loved. But who could love me? I couldn’t actually imagine love being in my life, because I didn’t, and still don’t, know what forever was entitled to. It sounded great in my head until it came knocking on my door. I found ways to love people but still separate myself from them. Because it was just me. My life was just, me. There was no room for anyone else to be my side.

Because the problem was not that someone would find it hard to stay with someone as kooky as me. The problem was that it was hard for me to stay, to even stay put for a millisecond. And all I wanted was to meet someone who would help me question my independence.

And I did.

I met somebody. I met someone extraordinary. Someone more independent than me, if that is even possible.

Because my independence started to break piece by piece, so beautifully. The neurotic, prideful independence had shed off its layers and revealed an inner layer of peaceful independence.

I remember I was packing my car after etd.love. Kelsey came down with her items and I was going to go back upstairs to Jenny’s house to get the rest. And there he is. He was holding my stuff, helping me pack my car. And I remember being so irritated but there was nothing I could do at that point.

And even though I still have trouble, I ask for favors now. Even if it’s just a few. Even if I can probably count all of them on one hand. Because the point is that I ask for help. I ask people to do things with me so that I’m not alone. And it’s all funky but I’m adjusting to it.

And I’ve learned that I can still also remain very independent. It’s not so bad to ask for a lending hand, after all :)

“You’ll be the first to know about my six-pack!”

I didn’t even have enough time to react. I was so caught off-guard, because, well, why would you let me know? You have no reason to, let alone me being the first person to know. I remember feeling so… honored, but I was sure that you were just saying that as a nice gesture because I had paid for your tofu. But, I’d like to hope, that you would let me know…because you would be making the choice to tell me. You’d be the one letting me into your life just by a simple act, instead of me constantly trying to plan my life with yours, because I’m just in your life for convenience-sake. And it’s fine. You’re a gypsy :) And even if you don’t end up telling me, then, well, that doesn’t matter either. :) All that matters is that your six-pack stays, right? All I can ever hope is that after your six months of hard dieting, you might let me know when you will have your cheat days, and I will be right there eating unhealthy food with you.

Heh :)

Stay wonderful. You wonderful human being, you. And don’t be so mean to your stomach! Either give it a layer of fat protection or don’t! You’re playing games with its heart! And reward your stomach too! :)

My blog is full of all these MBTI questions instead of organized pictures now :( My Judging side is tingling a little bit.

Hahahaha

Attraction type: ENFP
(who you are attracted to)

Extroverted (E) 80% Introverted (I) 20%
Intuitive (N) 84.38% Sensing (S) 15.63%
Feeling (F) 72.22% Thinking (T) 27.78%
Perceiving (P) 83.87% Judging (J) 16.13%

“she’s a mystery, ENFPS are like that. they give you this lasting impression and you’re like “WAIT DONT LEAVE. WHAT.”“

this is the truth. you ENFPs. fuckin’ stop it.

Don’t be paralyzed by your hurt. Recognize the pain, give it some time, and find a way to flourish from it. Don’t be the one to stunt your own growth. Don’t be the one who lets yourself rot in the past.

I never understand the need to seek revenge, to flirt with others because you’re mad, to purposefully try and hurt the person who hurt you.

I’ve been a hurt teenager before, but.

But, my golden rule is: You never, never, have an excuse to hurt anyone.

I don’t care if you’re trying to teach someone a lesson. I don’t care if you’re trying to give someone a taste of their own medicine. I don’t care if what you are doing is trying to break the person down. You don’t have an excuse to be an asshole. And this has been my golden rule ever since I can remember.

Don’t fuck around with people’s hearts just because they did with yours. It doesn’t fucking matter. You can’t justify the means to an end. Live with integrity and dignity. Be a good-hearted person despite whatever happens to you. That resentment you have, the grudge you’re holding, it only fuels your own fire, not theirs. Don’t turn your hurt into a consequence for someone else. Don’t convert your hurt into a torture mechanism for somebody else. Why does it feel good to poison the one person who poisoned you? What kind of achievement is that? Just leave it alone. Or let time do its job. Or communicate. Don’t waste time conjuring up ways to even the score. There is no game. You just create it as a result of your pain.

Be genuine. It’s much easier that way.