swim. love. travel.

my life daily

fantasizing about my ex

Just because we’re over doesn’t mean that I can’t think about him, or fantasize about him, or imagine having sex with him, and by imagine having sex with him, I mean it. It’s surprising how often I fantasize about having sex with him. I’d say I do it at least once every day, no matter the setting, be it on the train, trying to fall asleep, or in the middle of a meeting. The latter is probably the most taboo. I was pretty surprised myself when I found myself doing it. Not that I cared. Imaginary surprise morning bathroom sex beats learning about databases on Microsoft Access.

At this point, I don’t know if this is healthy for me, considering the fact that, from an outsider looking in, it seems like I’m not over him. It’s just such a guilty pleasure. I’m not proud of the fact that, in my head, I’ve gone skinny dipping with him and have had pool sex with him, but I secretly relish it. I do. It’s my dirty little secret. I know what it feels like to kiss him, hold him, and be with him so I see no reason why I can’t fantasize about him. It’s healthy. I promise it is. In some sick, twisted, masochistic way, it’s like being with him. In fact, sometimes I can’t wait to do it, to close my eyes, let my mind wander, and fantasize the fuck out of him. I’m not proud of this, because I hate how he still occupies my thoughts, but I’m not going to apologize. Let me get a few things straight.

Just because I daydream about him like this does not mean that I’m going to give in, text him, see him, try to make him fall in love with me, and run back to him. No, not unless he sincerely apologizes, recognizes how big of a dick he was, confesses his undying love for me, and, of course, asks me to be his girlfriend. And we all know how great he is at that. In all seriousness though, chances are I’m probably never going to see him again in my life, given the fact that this inertia of us not talking to each other will continue on into the depths of infinity since we’re both stubborn bitches who want the upper-hand in any relationship. The timing is completely off and, by the time the timing is right, we’ll both have moved on to, hopefully, better partners.

What troubles me the most is the fact that, in addition to the sexual fantasies I have about him, I also legitimately daydream about him, meaning I imagine scenarios in which we’ll bump into each other, whether I call him up or it’s accidental, and we’ll both realize that our feelings are still there and get together. This, I’m not proud of. I am not proud of this. After all the shit he put me through, the humiliation of being dumped through an extended period of absence, the slap in the face that I’m not good enough to be his girlfriend, and the automatic deal-breakers I forced myself to put up with, the smoking, the weed, the tattoos, I still want to be with him deep down inside. This, I have a problem with. I’m not proud of the fact that I stalk the shit out of him on Twitter, the only means by which I can stalk him, and you’d be surprised to know that I typed his username into Twitter’s search bar a good four times today…nothing. I stalk everyone he’s connected to as well, like, fuck it. This is my freedom. I don’t even know what I’m looking for. I just want to see something! I haven’t the faintest idea of what’s going on in his life right now. Am I really so sadistic and masochistic that I intentionally want to hurt myself by wanting to see what he’s doing, where he is, and who he’s with? Call me a psycho bitch but I will freak the fuck out if I find out, from whatever source, that he was dealing with a girl over the summer. If it’s more than one girl, fine, but if it’s one girl, I will flip shit. One girl means that he genuinely has feelings for her, he cares about her, and if this one girl lasts the entire summer, that’s longer than the time period in which him and I were dealing. I’m not bitter. It’s a respect thing. You cannot possibly move on that fast. Pretend to suffer a bit at least, wallow in pity, withdraw from the outside world for a few days, and, for the love of God, listen to sad music!


confession of an introvert

This is not something I confess easily. I have long been scolded for my introversion or for being “painfully shy,” as my third-grade teacher once said in an attempt to describe my personality. This statement isn’t of anything new. For as long as I’ve known, I’ve been the quiet girl who hides behind her glasses and stares at the floor. During parent-teacher interviews or in report cards, the one feedback I continuously received from teachers was, “Participate more in class!” It happens every year…and I get it. I really do. It’s not like I haven’t tried to change. In fact, on multiple occasions, I pushed against my natural tendencies to become the extrovert my teachers and my fellow students embodied. It was excruciatingly hard. There’s no other way to describe it except it was like trying to become the actor you see performing on stage when you’re meant to sit in the audience and watch. It was like trying to become someone I wasn’t meant to be. As John Morley once said, “No man can climb out beyond the limitations of his own character.” And as for me, there was a raging war inside. I was trying to live up to the expectations of every single teacher I’ve ever had in my entire life just so I’d fit in and seem normal – just so everyone would stop chiding me and thinking there was something wrong with me. Extroversion has long been deemed healthier than introversion and I felt pressured to embrace the former or be considered abnormal.

sacrifice now, luxury later

Does anyone ever notice how juice boxes come in a pack wrapped in plastic? The kind of plastic that’s very difficult to remove without the help of scissors? Does anyone ever notice how soda pop cans are packaged on a floor of cardboard and canopied with plastic? Well, I noticed.

In fact, the reason why I noticed this is because my job after grocery shopping is placing all the newly-purchased items where they belong – be it in pantries, cupboards, the fridge, or the freezer. It’s my job to organize all of that. Some items are easy. Frozen food? I throw ’em into the freezer. Chips? I throw ’em into the cupboards. Fruit? I throw ’em into the fridge. Other items are slightly more difficult. Yoghurt? I have to take off the packaging before I put ’em into the fridge. It’s not that much of a hassle. But a select few of the items are downright annoying. And that includes the juice boxes and soda pop cans.

You see, I could throw ’em right into the pantry packaged and all. But the first time I did that, it didn’t work out so well because later on in the week, I was in desperate need of an ice-cold drink. Too bad I had to struggle with removing the packaging for two entire minutes. When I finally removed the packaging, the drink was lukewarm and at room temperature. Wow. Time-consuming and unsatisfying.

But the benefit of throwing the juice boxes and soda pop cans straight into the pantry without removing the packaging is simple. You see, when I put away the groceries, I put away the juice boxes and soda pop cans last. By that time, I’m already tired of putting away all the other grocery items. I’m lazy and impatient so I want to finish up fast and watch T.V. or read. So I leave everything packaged and put them in the pantry. That’s how the incident with the lukewarm drinks occurs.

So I’ve learned to force myself to unwrap everything on the spot and line the juice boxes and soda pop cans up in the pantry. I put exactly 5 juice boxes and 5 soda pop cans into the fridge at once. Once those are consumed, another 5 of each follow. It kind of works like an army. One line of soldiers after the other. But the result is – I get my ice-cold drinks when I want them. It’s true that I have to spend literally 10 minutes unwrapping everything (we buy a lot of drinks) but that small sacrifice turns into a luxury later on.

And that’s one of my philosophies in life. You must sacrifice now in order to have any type of luxury later on in life. And that’s exactly what I tell myself every single time I have to turn down an offer to go out with my friends so that I can study. Or when I have to spend my summer self-learning calculus rather than going to the beach or partying. Or when I have to miss family dinners, birthday parties, concerts, or any type of get-together so that I can focus on school.

And I’ve learned to deal with it. In fact, I don’t care as much as I used to. I’ve learned to unwrap the plastic around the juice boxes and soda pop cans in order to get that ice-cold drink when I need it the most. Sacrifice now. Luxury later.

prom would be amazing with that boy (2/2)

Dear Prom Date,

I can’t believe it but you did it. You asked me out to prom. I never thought you would after that embarrassing episode at work a couple of days back. But you did it anyway.

Hey,” you said. “How would you feel about…me taking you to prom?

And that was it.

No balloons, no roses, no graffiti-like writing on walls or banners, no special paintings, no surprises. But I didn’t need all those things. I didn’t even need a prom date in the first place. I was perfectly content with going alone. But when I thought about it, prom would be absolutely amazing with you. I just ruled you out because I never thought it could happen.

What? Really?” I was totally taken aback. “But why would you want to go to a high school prom? You’re in university!

I know you think prom is overrated but I want you to look back and say that it was the ‘best time of my life.’

And so we went to prom.

First, I need to apologize for a couple of things that happened at prom though.

I’m sorry that the pre-prom party wasn’t really a party but rather, a gathering of my two best friends and one of their dates.

I’m sorry that I don’t have a lot of friends but these are my closest friends and to me, two best friends are all I need.

I’m sorry that the backdrop for all of our pictures wasn’t the greatest. I saw your prom pictures and you had about 20 people surrounding that beautiful, blue pool of your friend’s.

I’m sorry that my friend’s house didn’t have a pool nor a huge, green garden.

I’m sorry that we got mostly pavement, yellow lawns, the sidewalk, and old houses in our prom pictures.

I’m sorry that my old digital camera didn’t help make the pictures seem ‘larger than life‘. Most people’s cameras do that. They have those complicated, high-tech colour and lighting settings. I’m sorry that my camera made the pictures seem worse than it actually did in real life. If that’s even possible.

I’m sorry that the limo was pretty empty. I could tell even the limo driver was taken aback. Why did we order a limo for five people, again?

I’m sorry that I’m not the most popular of people. The meet-and-greet with the entire graduating class – most of whom don’t even pay attention to me – was the part I was scared of the most.

I’m sorry about what happened before we went into the actual banquet hall. I noticed you tried to hold my hand. I’m sorry that I pulled away but I suffer from excessive sweating – particularly my hands, feet, and underarms. I’m sorry I just said that. Did I gross you out? I probably did. I know I sound like an idiot. No other girl has this sweating problem. I want to let you know that I really did want to hold your hand. You were charming, as always. After a few seconds of taking in what I said, you put your hand on my waist instead and walked me in. I’m sorry that you had to do that.

But enough with the apologies. I know you hate it when I say “I’m sorry” all the time. You always tell me that I have nothing to worry about. In fact, you kept on saying how you were having a great time that night. That’s nice to know.

As we walked into the banquet hall, people’s heads turned – including all of my teachers – which is surprising. I never thought they’d notice me. I knew they were wondering how I could possibly get myself a date to prom – especially with someone like you. I was asking myself the same question.

I was always the quiet one at my school. I’ve never had a boyfriend. I’ve never had a first kiss. I didn’t mind.

But people came up to me, alright. I could tell they didn’t really want to talk to me. They were asking these short, generic questions. “Oh, how are you?” I could tell by the way they were looking at you that they’d rather be talking to you.

I could hear whispers all around me. The same question over again, “Who is she with? He’s cute!

But more importantly, “How did she get someone like that to be her date?

Other people came up to take pictures. No small talk. Just, “Take a picture with me!” They wanted a picture of you.

You handled yourself like a prince. This sounds cheesy but I have never felt so proud. Simply put, you’re every girl’s dream. You were courteous, handsome, well-mannered, and hilarious – just like I knew you’d be. You were polite to everyone that night – trying to get to know the people in my life. I think you thought that they were my friends or something and that you had to make a good first impression. All night, you made everyone laugh like little crazy and when they made you laugh, you laughed the laugh I love the most – the adorable chuckle I fell in love with. And I didn’t fall for you because you were “hot” or “sexy.” I actually don’t think you’re either of those things. No offense to you or anything. I really can’t find another word to describe you but handsome – or dashing.

And that was one of my biggest fears. That someone else would see how amazing you were and that you’d be gone. But I also realized how strong our friendship was that night. I saw a glimmer of hope about how you felt about me. You’ve been hinting at it ever since we first met.

Some of the most popular girls came up to us and they were absolutely gorgeous. You smiled politely but I could tell you weren’t interested.

So how do you two know each other?” they’d ask.

Oh, we work together,” I’d explain quickly.

And then you’d share some stories about our adventures at work – about my adventures at work. And you’d always end off with saying something like, “Isn’t she amazing?” You really made me feel special that night. You also made the rest of the girls feel completely jealous. In some weird, sadistic way, I kind of enjoy that.

I felt so lucky to be with you. That night, I learned to let things go. I started not to care about what other people thought of me. I knew what you thought of me and that was all that mattered. I stopped apologizing because I realized you were having a great time. And your opinion was the only thing worrying me that night.

And when we slow-danced that night, I was too embarrassed to say that you were my first dance ever. Well – if you can count that boy in grade eight who asked me to dance. Except I was too taken aback so I jokingly suggested that I dance on his feet like how they did in movies. Either I was too heavy or he was too weak because it didn’t work out and he actually left me on the dance floor. So that hardly counts as my first slow dance. That counts as my first embarrassing moment with the opposite sex though.

I just wanted to tell you that I had a great night and it was all because of you. Thank you for teaching me the lessons you did that night.

Thank you for driving me home. I’m sorry that there was no after-party. I wasn’t exactly invited. You gave me a kiss on the forehead and told me, “Hey, no more apologies, okay?

Okay, that was the last one. I promise.

Good,” you said with a small, handsome smile. “I had a blast tonight.

You were closer to me than ever before. Our foreheads were pressed together and I couldn’t stop smiling while looking into your bright, chocolate brown eyes.

Thank you for coming to prom with me.

Anything for you.

I felt my heart soar. I was flying into the sky. Cloud 9. Straight up, cloud 9! Although my tomato-red face could use some help.

7:00 Friday night? I’ll pick you up.

It’s a date. Oh boy, it’s a date.

Except this will probably never happen in real life. Because that “thing” you had with another girl? Well, apparently it’s back on. I found out today…after I had imagined this entire story in my head. Thanks for putting up all those pictures on Facebook. Both of you. I can’t even describe how much they hurt. My heart sank. It fell into a pile of knots and shreds. I would love to hate her but I can’t. I don’t even know her. But I sure hate the fact that she’s the girl who managed to steal your heart away from me. Because I know I’m right for you. I just know it. You belong with me. I want you to be happy though…and if she makes you happy then you should be with her. But I can’t help but think that she isn’t right for you. I wish you would just give me a chance. And then I look at the big picture – the fact that I’ve never had a boyfriend, the fact that I’ve never had a first kiss, the fact that I don’t really belong anywhere – I can’t help but think that there’s something wrong with me.

prom would be amazing with that boy (1/2)

Oh, I almost forgot. Your prom is coming up. Excited?” he asked. He was leaning over my chair, making it rock back and forth gently, and I had to turn around to face him.

I don’t know. I think prom is a little bit overrated,” I answered. Oh God, he was close. I could feel his warm breath on my cheek. I had to back up a little. Not that I wanted to but because I was afraid my supervisor would walk in on us and think that there was something going on. Not that my supervisor would care. I was one of his favourite staff members.

A little bit. I mean, my prom was pretty amazing but it wasn’t, you know, ‘the best time of my life.'”

I chuckled and turned away. Oh boy, he really had a hold on me. Our story isn’t anything special, really. We work together and when we started talking, we just…clicked. Or at least I thought we clicked pretty well. He was absolutely hysterical. And the best part? He thought I was pretty hilarious as well. I always thought something could happen between us, before I found out he had a “thing” going on with another girl – the girl he went to his prom with. Story of my life.

Are you going with anyone?” he asked, his chocolate brown eyes curious and playful. They were so welcoming and bright.

No…” I laughed nervously, my face turning red. As usual.

Really?” he smiled, amused. He was either genuinely surprised or acting shocked. I hoped it was the former. He had this sly, mischievous smile on his face and his eyes appeared even more playful than before.

Great. I was so embarrassed. First, because he knew I was going alone. And second, I always turn tomato-red whenever he smiles at me like that.

I tried defending myself, “I mean…there’s nobody at my school I want to go with. I don’t really click with any of the guys and besides, there are only 5 couples in the entire school. Honestly! Almost everyone is going alone. I know it sounds bad but there’s nobody at my school worth going with. There aren’t a lot of options. Okay, that sounds really bad. I mean, there just isn’t anyone at my school I want to go with.

Shoot. I can’t believe I said those horrible things about the people at my school. That’s not who I am. I wanted to disappear. But he laughed softly, got off my chair, and sat on the desk in front of me. He leaned back on his hands.

Would you go with me if I went to your school?

I always thought he could never like me because of his situation. Then he says things like this and I can’t help but fill up with hope. His perfect, white teeth, his soft laughter, and his kind eyes just make me melt. Was it possible to turn even more red than I already was? Humiliating.

And at the time, I couldn’t help but blush, taking in his words. I tried to think of something witty to say. And the creative person I am, said this, “If you asked me, yes. But too bad you don’t go to my school.” That’s the best you could come up with? Nice going, you imp.

He grinned his perfect smile, as he always does, before he said, “Oh, my rotation just ended. Gotta go guard the pool!

I hate how short 15-minute intervals are.

critical reading

I was studying for the SAT today. I was working on the Critical Reading section and passed by an interesting passage, quoted below:

Readers who believe that literature provides a memorable experience, who take the printed page seriously as an opportunity to enjoy a significant experience, are sometimes regarded with suspicion, as if they had lost their touch with reality and become escapists victimized by the unrealities of the imagined world of fiction. Such suspicions are groundless, for the very world of reality in which we live our daily lives is filled with imagined experience.

the introverted traveller

I’m quite scared to start travelling, which is ironic considering it’s the only thing I’m thinking about these days. Escaping, I mean. I want to travel for the sights but I also want to travel to meet new people. This is a rather daunting task as I’m not the type of person to strike up conversation with random strangers – especially in a large, foreign city. I don’t feel comfortable. Part of me wants nothing more than to be one of the extroverted people I see roaming the streets of Toronto – fearless, bold, and fun. Everyone wants to be around an extroverted person. Most of them are naturally hilarious. You sort of feed off of their energy.

I would describe myself to be an introvert and an extrovert – although I would land a little closer to the introvert side.

People have long noticed this about me. I remember I had a conference with my English teacher once. She said, “You’re so quiet. You need to speak up more because I know you have opinions and I think it would be nice for the rest of the class to hear them.” She then proceeded to tell me that she used to be “just like me” before she broke out of her shell. I, at that point, was too tired of people coming up to me and telling me that they thought I was quiet. So I went along with what she was saying.

Yeah, I guess I’m just too shy. I’m afraid of what people will think.

Yeah, right. As if. I’m not shy at all. I’m quite the public speaker if asked to give a speech. And I’m not afraid of what other people will think. If you’ve read my previous entries, I’m tired of caring about what other people think. I’m living my life for myself, aren’t I?

My English teacher then said, “But I see you with your friends and you’re very talkative.”

Entirely different story.

The truth is…I like being alone. Being around a group of outgoing, extroverted people just sucks all the energy out of me. They’re too much to handle – especially all at once. I need time to be with my thoughts and revitalize. It’s an important cleansing experience and process. It’s healthy to reflect on life daily. As I always say – in life, the only person you spend the longest amount of time with is yourself. You need to learn to become your own best friend. Learn to love yourself for who you are.

So I spend time with a large group of people. I socialize. I laugh. I am completely outgoing. After a while, I need to back off and be by myself.

It’s not like I haven’t tried to become an extrovert. As mentioned before, I wanted nothing more than to become one. It’s long been ingrained in my head that leaders are all extroverts. In order to be successful in life, you need to become an extrovert. So that’s exactly what I did my freshman and sophomore years. I joined everything I could – clubs, councils, and activities. It sucked all the energy out of me. It was tiring – just being around all your other fellow extroverts. I barely had time for myself. It was frustrating to say the least.

Now that I’ve quit all of those things, I feel much more comfortable. I feel healthier. I realized that joining all those clubs, councils, and activities? Not me. Not who I am.

And I’m tired of people saying there’s something wrong with me just because I’m an introvert – like my English teacher.

I read this article on the Matador Network. It was titled, “In Defense Of The Introverted Traveller” and I loved it.

I think one quote that directly sums up my feelings is said by a woman named Sophia Dembling:

This is not something I confess easily. I have long been shamed out of owning my introversion by the extroverts who dominate American culture. Extroversion has long been considered healthier than introversion, and introverts often try to push against our natural tendencies in order to fit in, to seem “normal” so people will stop scolding us. Extroverts are unintentional bullies, demanding that everyone join their party or be considered queer, sad or stunted.