Monday, February 28, 2011

I went from being the depressed, emo, anti-social child to being an insane, partying, social butterfly.
It's funny how college changes you. It's funny how a little taste of independence can make you feel invincible.

"And I'm crazy but you like it. Loca loca loca."

Sunday, February 27, 2011

I'm gonna change my writing format a little. I'm going to start adding one picture of my life per blog entry.
After all, it is about sharing parts of your life and thoughts, yes?


"When I get older,
I will be stronger.
They'll call me freedom,
Just like a waving flag.
And then it goes back."

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Lets Talk.

So I'm pumped full of nicotine, concerta, and coffee. I need to talk. I need to write. Even though when I'm concerta, I want to just talk for hours on ends. Cause of my ability to interrupt everyone during a conversation and start my own topic (blame the ADD/ADHD meds -_- ),I've been bequeathed the nickname "MotorMouth" by our very own Zack:

My friends were drunk on one (of the numerous) night, and trying to get an even drunker Matt to bed (imagine a tiny corridor, a big drunk guy, and bouncing off walls. You'll understand why). In his drunken stupor, Matt says out loud "I can fight any one of you," points at me and continues to say "Except you, cause you're a girl", points at Sarah and says "And you, cause you're a girl". And then (we still don't know why the hell anyone would do that) points at Zack and blurts "And you, cause you're gay which is like being a girl." At this point it's clear that we are not getting this guy to bed. Zack throws his hands up in the air and walks away mumbling "I can't deal with this right now".
Four months later, this topic is still a point of laughter.
Let me tell you how UMass Amherst works. UMass (alias Zoomass The Fucking Jungle) is the flag campus of the 4 Massachusetts state college campuses (we don't know what goes on in UMass Lowell, UMass Dartmouth, or UMass Boston. Except that they suck our balls). We begin our weekends on Thursday, with the traditional Thirsty Thursday celebrations. If you go to UMass, you must celebrate Fucked Up Fridays. If you're even more adventuresome, then you have to celebrate Sloshed Saturdays. If you're even more crazy (i.e if you want to be a true UMass student), then once a month you celebrate Sippin' Sundays.

Oh, and once a semester you have to drink throughout the week. No sober days, you'll be an outcast.
Candy = drugs. Fuck KitKat. Who the fuck is Willy Wonka? What is a jelly bean? The crazier of us usually mix two drugs, even coming up with sweetening names like Candy Flipping. We know how to sound enticing. I'd say 80% of us lose our drug-cherry out here. Code words, invented by the Creative, help us. Occasionally you'll see FB statuses saying "Molly's my best friend", "Your love is my drug", "I love Mitsubishi", "Molly is coming over tonight", etc. This is to advertise that we are cool, and at the same time keeping our audiences guessing at what we're talking about.
Oh and also to stop getting arrested by the cops.
Cops? More like a joke. Members of our impeccable college law force make it their duty to stand around and watch underage teens drink till they blackout, make fools out of themselves, and sometimes (if they're lucky) end up getting alcohol poisoning. That's when they decide to stop laughing because, y'know, someone might be dying. I mean, it's obviously no big deal if a 5 foot tall, anorexic girl downs a handle of vodka. Until someone is puking everywhere and unable to move a single muscle, it is perfectly harmless to let freshman kids drink to their death.
Oh, and don't get me started on alcohol-induced blackouts. You'll lose count here. Here, we don't believe in excess. We don't believe in stopping. We don't believe in lightweights. We believe in the spirit of getting hammered. (Hallelujah!) Dancing on picnic tables, made orgasmic noises in public, peed in a parking lot, gotten into a FB relationship with (above mentioned) Matt, lost entire bags and walked way back to the dorms without a sweater in freezing temperature.
Pablo has broken his ankle falling down the stairs in blackout stupor, and consequently laughed at a cops face when he was asked "Sir, are you okay?"
Zack has lost his keys, college ID, and phone.
Jackie has gotten her breast suckled on the dancefloor.
Numerous friends have cheated on their significant others.
Numerous friends have burst out crying at the end of the night.
And yet how we fail to remember this in the morning is beyond me. We are filled in with the details the next day over (a very hungover) breakfast.
"Omg do you know what you did last night?!"
"I think this happened to me last night!"
"Were you there when (insert name) ended up (insert scenario)?"
"Do you remember anything from last night? You were so funny/crazy/gone!"

And all these questions are followed by either "Oh shit no I don't! Did that really happen?", or "I blacked out around (insert time). I don't remember anything after that!"
I feel like this post is getting too long. Yet it's fun to share my weekend experience in a party school.
In conclusion, let me add a few pictures of our nights. Nights we barely remember.

Weekend. Alcohol. U-fucking-Mass

Jackie and I humping walls.

Getting a lap dance from Pablo. Halloweekend.

Our form of sports. Kings.

Mt.Holyoke nights.

Foursome dances

Every day.

Failed homework parties. That's how we roll.
It starts off with very able and focused students who have to finish their two page assignments due in the morning. Classes over, chilling, dinner, and come 8pm we all lounge about in Pabs' room. Laptops. Music.
In and out of the room, filling water bottles turn by turn, grabbing snacks like fatasses. We are the definition of hardworking college kids, completely engrossed in our work, concentrating on the task ahead of us.
And then the clock strikes 9.
"Anyone wanna throw down?"
And within a second the atmosphere changes from career-oriented, work-fixated, attentive to-be adults, to chilled, lazy and relaxed teens.
We are now the reason parents don't wanna send their kids to college.
Wallets opening, quick texting, and five minutes later you have two of us rushing upstairs to find our Eden. Quick exchange of hands, and we run back down to drown in our own worlds.
Once you enter the room, you're surrounded by a group of very excited individuals who all want to smell this thing of beauty. They all want to touch it, they all want the first hit. No one wants to be left behind.
"What kind of weed is it?"
And the taboo word has been said out aloud. Pack a bowl, pack a bong, pass them around in opposite directions. One hit, two hits, three. Laughter, stupidity, and zoning out. And we're good. We are great. We sit back and just....
"Does anyone wanna go eat?"
Layer up, run out, smoke a cigarette, stuff your face.
Go back to room.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Dum dee dum.

Don't worry about a thing.
Cause every little thing
Is gonna be alright.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Ugh, writer's block. Go away.
I need to write.

Saturday, February 19, 2011


Not father if lip ring.

Not mother if Brian.

What else is there?

Friday, February 18, 2011

Oh non.

De toutes les choses que je ne peux pas faire, avoir une conversation sérieuse est l'un d'entre eux. C'est l'une des principales raisons de mes relations ont toujours échoué. Demandez Baka. Il a dû me forcer à parler mes sentiments à propos de. Je déteste me joint. J'ai embrassé mon meilleur ami, Steph, il ya deux nuits dans ivresse. Et j'ai dit Brian. Qui est colère. Et veut "parler". Et je n'ai pas.
Je voudrais juste en face de sauter une voiture pour éviter la conversation.

"Je ne sais pas comment te dire j'aurais peur de tout foutre en l'air, de tout détruire
Un tas d'idées à mettre au clair depuis longtemps
Mais j'ai toujours laissé derrière mes sentiments."

Wednesday, February 16, 2011


He watches her soft curves move ever so slightly as she breathes. Her skin warm against his (first thought when she first fell asleep with him), so soft (first thought when he fell in love with her), so smooth (first thought when he kissed every inch of her body).
"I ask for what I have the right to. Why must you make that so difficult?"
He observes her, the enigma she is. (Journal entry: She comes across as a mystery to me. I want to know her, I want to explore her. I want to know her story. I want to figure her inside out. Her life, her culture, her past.) Watches her skin crinkle in joy when she laughs, her barely-crooked teeth smile; watches her brow furrow when she's deep in thought that she wants to share with no one; watches her when her eyes twinkle with delight at the thought of rebelling.
"I came all the way here, half cause of you. Why did I, if this is how it is?"
He sits by and lets her run around in circles in the garden, ever so happy with the warm sun on her face and the wet grass under her feet. He laughs at her clueless attitude towards his work, as she brushes off the (boring) topic by firmly kissing him and declaring that she doesn't want to waste time on stupid things.
"Last I checked, this was a two-sided relationship. Why am I the only one who makes an effort anymore?"
All this beauty, this mystery, this careless little girl of his who he wants to hide from the world and its horrors forever. He watches her crumble under the burden he keeps adding on her day by day. He notices her crying alone and not tell him because she doesn't have the heart to. He hears the pain in her silence every time he tells her he'll be home late. He hears the ache in her voice every time she tells him she wishes they spent more time together, but that she understands.
That she's understood for two years.
And for another few months.
And will continue to do so.
"You have an obligation to your work. You have an obligation to your brothers. But you also have an obligation to me."
And so he lets her slip from his fingers. Lets her destroy herself inside out because frankly, in his mind, it's not in his hands. It never has been. It has always been her life, and he has let her live it the way she wanted to. He wondered every now and then, if she needed him to stop her. Yet he never did. He cared, but it was her life (right?). He watched her drink from one day a week, to four days a week. He watched her pop pills one after the other. He watched her experiment with drugs all the time. And not once did he stop her. She always wanted to know that he cared. But she had accepted that the love she had missed out in her childhood was making its entrance back into her life this time around. And so this enigma he had fallen in love with continued to dwell in her pain with her own self-destructive methods. And he just stood there and watched it happen.
"It died a long time ago."

"Love, devotion, feeling, emotion.
Don't be afraid to be weak,
Don't be too proud to be strong.
Just look into your heart my friend
It will be the return to yourself,
The return to innocence."

Thursday, February 10, 2011

The Imaginarium of Doctor Drugs

And so they danced in circles all night, absorbed in their own little world of swirling door frames, polka dotted walls, 3-D posters, and forever-lasting cigarettes. Glitter, lights, music, alcohol, weed; everything was in place. Every now and then you'd hear one of them freak out over something. This would be followed by a 10 minute round of coaxing, baking, and youtube-surfing. In this little room, this little nest that they had so lovingly decorated for the perfect time, you would find 5 college kids tripping balls.
I first started experimenting with drugs in September 2010. Back home, they were hardly available at a decent price. Back home, me smoking weed left me with the title Charsi (pothead). You can imagine my surprise when I came to Amherst only to find there were bigger potheads, more drugs, and everyone I knew had already experimented.

Take One:
So I guess when I was asked the question "Do you wanna do molly over the weekend?", I could not resist. Molly (MDMA, purified ecstasy), a drug with the least mind and body effects, is no small deal. It was like losing my virginity all over again. This time I lost it to drugs.
And it was beautiful.
Every single pore of my body seemed to open up to anything I touched. I was in full control of myself, everything was normal. But the second my skin came in contact with something, I wouldn't be able to stop touching it. The five of us, all rolling (effects go up and down like waves, like rolling), ended up sitting in a circle, shirtless, and massaging each other. I can honestly say it was a massaging-making-out orgy. When I walked, I felt like I could walk for hours and never stop. When I talked, I felt smart. My rolling lasted about 3 hours.

Take Two:
The next drug I took was about a month later. Rolls, though another form of MDMA, was nothing like molly. I was expecting the same intensified-touch feeling that I had experienced before. What I ended up getting was my friend's lights dancing out in front of me. The feeling was phenomenal. At one point we were being music-fucked by this one song (Housi - Les Petit Pilous). This was definitely more intense than molly, though nothing I could not handle. Me and my friends walked around, full of energy (and drugs), talked, stroked each other, and smoked pot. This rolling lasted about 4 hours.

Take Three:
Nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for what was next. I had seen my friends do it, they had described it to me, it looked amazing. What they failed to emphasize, like reaaalllyyy emphasize, was the dark side of this drug. I had read about all the bad effects, but theory is different from practice. I had an opportunity to do it, me and 2 of my friends jumped right in. On a Monday night, half a month after my experience with rolls, I popped a tab of acid (LSD).
Craziest. Ride. Ever.
Now I'm pretty sure that heroin, cocaine, crack and meth are crazier. And believe me I'm not going anywhere near those. But acid was intense. I can't even begin to describe the effects. I took it at 7:30, in an hour me and my friends were tripping balls. All the still-life posters were suddenly 3-D and moving, I saw faces in paintings, I saw the wood pattern on the door frames moving, I saw colorful lines on people's faces, any spiral pattern would suddenly start spinning, cigarettes never seemed to end. I was ecstatic. I was beyond happy. I was in a world of my own.
And then I started to have a bad trip. Sometime during my trip, I developed a headache that wouldn't go away. The smallest negative thought can trigger a whole downward spiral of nightmares. My thoughts went from the headache, to going to the hospital, to being expelled and deported, to my parents killing me, to going to hell, to never redeeming myself. It was awful. I was freaking out. I didn't know what to do with myself. It was the worse case of helpless despair, hopelessness, and fear that I had ever faced. My sober friends decided I had been out long enough, and stuck me and my other 2 friends in a room. Lights closed, water bottles, cigarettes, TV, music, and people around me that were tripping too. I felt like I was in a cocoon. I never wanted to leave. I started having a good trip again. We watched trippy videos after videos on YouTube, watched 2 movies, and by 7am fell fast asleep. I tripped motherfucking balls for 10 hours straight.

Take Four:
Shrooms. The baby of LSD. January 2011, when people are still (attempting to) stick to their New Years Resolutions, I was busy planning out my next adventure. Icing on the cake was my drug-clean boyfriend Brian, who was spending the weekend with me. I decided what better way to help him break his drug-cherry than make him trip with me? Most. Expensive. Investment. Ever. I had a party in my room and we both took half an eighth, and within half an hour I was tripping. I knew what to expect, I was prepared. I was tripping, I was happy, I was high, I was social. At one point me, Brian and Caleb (who was baked as fuck) decided to watch Of Montreal's music video Wraith Pinned to the Mist. This resulted in all three of us clapping, and screaming in happiness. I actually thought my head would explode, I was that happy. In fact, I liked the trip better than the trip I experienced on acid. I could control it, whereas acid made it extremely difficult to get a grip on negative thoughts. As much as I liked it, I stopped tripping in 2 hours.
That's when Brian started tripping. And he was drunk. Let me just add: drinking when you're on shrooms is fine. Just don't get drunk. I've seen almost all of my friends tripping, but Brian's reaction to the hallucinogen and alcohol combined scared me to no extent. I had to kick everyone out of my room by midnight. Getting Brian in bed was a challenge. Not only was he tripping and caressing my arms telling me how soft I was, he was also drunk and stumbling around trying to avoid me sending him to bed. My efforts were finally achieved by 1am.

My suggestion: don't do LSD/acid until you are absolutely prepared to handle its effects, until you're in a good mood, until you're in comfortable surroundings, until you've experimented with other (less intense) drugs. For my friends and I, weed is hardly a drug. If you do decide to experiment with drugs, keep a supply of weed near you. It really helps.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Ever mine. Ever thine. Ever ours.

A stranger you were once.
Then, with a gentle look you took my hand.
As our lives engaged,
you lit my life and I held both your hands.
Now that decades have passed,
ours souls have indeed become one.
How fortunate we are
that we have found the love so true
that everyone dreams about.

Thank you for existing, Brian.

Friday, February 4, 2011


Thank you for being a dentist and agreeing to cleanmyteeth4me while I cleanyourbrain4u.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Amherst, MA

And I found that 'round here
In this city
That I won't disappear
In this city.
I got nothing to fear
In this city.

Hello, home.

Ode Boston

I'd love to hack in your brain and know what's going on in there. Your silent episodes, your drunken physics brilliance, your tripping blabber. What makes you tick, what makes you click, what makes you be? I wish I was more than what I am now, that I was what you deserved, that I had a plan in life. Like you: to not be like your parents. I wish I could not be like me, and more like what will keep you forever happy. I will always give you more credit than you think you deserve. Cause you're perfect in every way. And likewise I know you love me for who I am, you accept me and always will for being me. So thank you, for helping me muscle through every day. Thank you for inspiring me. Thank you for being you.
Thank you for existing.
I'm not hallucinating anymore. You're here. I'm here. We're perfect.

How long do you wanna be loved?
Is forever enough, is forever enough?