swim. love. travel.

my life daily

Archive for life by the realist

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.

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.

oh where, oh where?

One thing I miss about my friends is the fact that they made me feel as if I belonged. I belonged in their group. I think that one of my biggest problems with losing my friends (or feeling as if I’m losing all my friends) is the fact that I don’t belong anywhere. I really don’t. In fact, I really don’t belong with the group of friends I have now but that doesn’t stop me from wanting to stay in their group because I’d have nowhere else to go.

I don’t have a talent. I’m not good at any sports so I can’t look into joining any sports teams to try to find a group of people I belong with. I’m not musically inclined. I’m not good at drama or any form of improvisation. I don’t belong anywhere. I’m not exceptionally funny. I’m rather introverted actually.

I’ve said before that I’m a lifeguard. Well, I made it seem better than it really is. When I was working, I felt as if I belonged with my fellow lifeguards. I had passed staff training and was on par with everyone else on staff. Now that I took two sessions off and am in danger of failing staff training (and by the way – if you fail staff training, you are not allowed to work) I don’t feel as if I belong anymore. I’m not an exceptional swimmer. I mean, I could be but I’m lazy. I don’t swim every week like I used to. Everyone I work with swims quite often and they’re pretty amazing swimmers. The thing is…I would go swimming every week. The only thing holding me back is the fact that I know everyone who works at the pool. There are only four pools in my town and I know people from every single pool. With the state of my swimming abilities right now, I cannot let them see me swim. It would be too embarrassing.

If there’s one thing I learned about being a lifeguard, it’s that you’re supposed to watch every single patron hard and carefully. One of your duties is to judge where their swimming abilities are at to see if you need to scan that zone or area more often. So the main point is that you’re supposed to judge people. I cannot let my fellow lifeguards judge me while I’m swimming and while they have the upper-hand in authority sitting high up in that lifeguard chair.

But ignoring the whole swimming situation (I have grown so tired of thinking about staff training) I have come to yet, another realization. My whole entry titled Queen St. West? I am so ashamed of it. It’s another indication of the extent I would go to in order to fit in and belong with my current group of friends. Seriously? Trying to become more fashionable just because my friends are fashion-conscious and care about their looks more than I do? Humiliating. I have never felt so angry at myself. Shopping is not the kind of person I am. I’m not the kind of person who likes to show off all the expensive things I buy. I’ve grown tired of trying to fit in with people I don’t fit in with but I know sometime in life, I will find somewhere I belong.

realization and escape

I was feeling rather helpless last night. It was 1:00 a.m. and I decided to turn off the T.V. to do some…thinking. That’s right. Thinking.

I’ve never done this before but I felt like I needed it. I sat on my bed, stared at the wall, and just reflected on what my life has become. I’m not going to lie. Despite being surrounded by people every single day, I can’t help but feel lonely – especially when I realized my best friends aren’t who I thought they were anymore. I realized that I simply don’t connect with them anymore. We’re not into the same things. They’re into drugs, alcohol, and partying. I’m not really that type of girl. Is that such a bad thing?

One thing I don’t like about Facebook is how isolated it makes you feel. Everyday, you are bombarded with photo albums of parties, events, and social outings you weren’t invited to. When you are invited to them, you make a point of commenting everywhere just to prove to the Facebook world and to all your Facebook friends that you were there and that you belonged there. You were invited…unlike all your other Facebook friends. Losers.

I am constantly attacked by notifications or pictures that pop up on my newsfeed every single time I log on to Facebook. It’s annoying. It really is. Facebook makes me feel even worse about myself because everyday, I find out that I wasn’t invited to some party…just because I don’t drink. Because, of course, everyone that goes drinks and shows up high. Is not drinking and doing drugs that bad?

I just feel frustrated with the fact that I can’t hang out with my friends unless I go to some party drunk. It’s not like I haven’t tried reaching out to them. I’ve hung out with them several times but there has been some obvious tension to indicate that things have changed. We’ve both moved on. I have a nauseating feeling that they look down upon me because I don’t drink. They think that I’m some child.

Then I start to question myself. Is there something wrong with me? Not drinking has always seemed, in my mind at least, to be the right thing to do. It makes me feel clean and pure. But everyone else does it. It seems as if the whole world does it – even on T.V. Then I ask myself, “Should I do it just because everyone else does it?” Then I begin to scold myself for letting high school get to me and letting go of my beliefs. I can’t let high school get into my head or get the best of me. It’s only 4 years of your life, right? Well…one more year for me. Thank heavens.

Senior year is going to be one heck of a nightmare but I can’t wait until it’s over and I can move on with life. Oh, and clearly, as you can tell, I don’t swear. Or I try not to. Even if I do, it’s probably written or typed out. I would never say anything bad out loud. If I do, it’s when I’m by myself and under my breath.

So what’s my method of escape?

I find solace in dreaming. I start thinking about what my future will be like. The answer to all my problems? It lies in Europe. Oh, Europe! I want to backpack across Europe and meet new people! I want to find people just like me – trying to find their escape through travelling. Because travelling is my drug – not marijuana, cocaine, or crack. Whenever I’m dealing with pressures in life, I stop and think of Europe. It makes me feel better. You know when you’re mad and people tell you to stop and think of  your happy place? Mine is Europe. It’s cliché, I know, but I can’t help myself. I want adventure. I want to learn about different cultures and try new food! I want to learn a new language and bask in what has become of history.

Europe is the answer to all my problems. I made Europe the answer to all my problems. I’ve developed such high expectations of Europe that it scares me. What if Europe is not what it’s cracked up to be? What if it falls below my expectations and turns out to be one of the worst experiences of my life? Even more lonelier than high school? After all, I don’t drink so I wouldn’t go to some random pub in London, U.K. and drink with the locals. I don’t do random hook-ups so all those stories you hear that go on in youth hostels? Not going to happen to me. What if all the people I meet in Europe are exactly like my friends back at home? It can’t be…right?


Sometimes, I really despise my imagination. I despise my imagination for giving me such a false sense of what reality is really like. It gives me false hope. I come up with things that will probably never happen in real life…but that doesn’t stop me from continuing to dream of such things. I can’t help it. It’s what I want my life to really be like. Too bad it’s not.

I have friends who’ve said to me as they go on about their life stories, “I’m finally at a place where reality is better than fantasy.” I’m still at a place where fantasy is better than reality. Is there something wrong with me?

Then I start to make up excuses. Perhaps my imagination is just more inventive and more wild than those of my friends. I’d then proceed to scold that thought because I’d be giving myself too much credit.

It seems to be true though. If anyone else could enter my imagination, I’d turn my head in shame because what they’d see would be pretty embarrassing. It’s so far from what my life is really like. Some days, I’d be a reality star in the hit show The Fly Life on MTV about a group of lifeguards at the pool. Naturally, I came up with this idea because I’m a swimmer. I’d make up my swimming abilities though. In that world, I’d be a part of the lifesaving team representing my town in lifesaving competitions (I actually don’t participate in lifesaving competitions at all). My strokes would be freestyle and butterfly (I don’t even know how to swim the butterfly), and although I wouldn’t be the strongest swimmer, I’d be the fastest swimmer…even out of all the male lifeguards. Too bad I’m actually not the fastest swimmer out of all the lifeguards at the pool I work at. I’d be dating my fellow co-workers (based on real crushes actually) but I wouldn’t cause any drama.

Some other days I’d be an Olympic champion in skiing and snowboarding – sometimes in swimming when the Summer Olympics come around. Other days, I’d be a star on the Broadway show “Les Miserables” or “Rent.” My alter ego would go by the name of Beth Richard (I took the last name from my past crush who I don’t have a crush on anymore but his last name was just so nice). Beth is half French and half English. In fact, Beth is distantly related to the English royal family so she is of royal blood…but not too distantly related because, of course, she was betrothed to Prince William at birth. Other times, Beth is a star on the show Prison Break and has been linked to Jake Gyllenhaal and James Franco.

I know. I have an imagination of a 12-year-old…but not just any 12-year-old…a lame, pathetic 12-year-old. These stories are only my imagination at its extreme. I do relate to my life remotely in some of my imaginings.

I do have a life, I promise.