Half French, half Chinese, born in the US. That would be perfect.

Why French? Because France is the best country of the world. It has the best culture, the best food, and it has Paris. Paris is me. I love that city beyond comprehension: the big things, like the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, the Louvre. But the little things, too. The old apartment buildings, the little shops along the Seine, the boulangeries on every street corner, the occasional cheese or wine store. The way the sun looks, shining on this city of history, and even the way it looks in the rain, all the colors amplified by the drops of water. That is where I grew up, that is where I think of when I imagine my childhood. Even though I returned to the US at age 10, when they tore me away from everything I had always known, they tore me away from my childhood. You grow up rather quickly when you get to a country, and nobody will speak to you because you are not "cool" enough, because you are an outsider.

Why Chinese? Because Asia is amazing. Because I really am an asian stuck in an anglican body. (I mean think about it: IB kid, has played piano since she was 5, plays violin moderately well, gets good grades, takes chinese in school, has crazy parents... you get the idea.) Because Asian guys are the cutest. xD (that last bit really is true-- their black hair and cute eyes and all over just AWW-- although that is not to say others cannot be attractive as well.)

Why the US? Because although my heart belongs to France, my friends are mostly here, and my family is ALL here. And even though it hurts me to say it, I have a better chance of realizing my dreams in the US than I do in France.

I wish I were off having an adventure somewhere, a wonderful adventure that makes me think life really is worth it, that love is real, that fairy tales can exist.

My life is so boring. I never have anything to write about. Never. My days are filled with mundane tasks, repetitive nothingness: Get up at an insanely early hour, go to school and drama, come home, do homework, repeat. Of course this basic list can be expanded to include the individual details that define each day; but these are nothing more than the simple and unavoidable distinctions that prevent our time from turning into an indistinguishable comglomerate of sameness. But in this continuous ocean of redundancy where we drown, there is an invisible life-line to save us from the pounding of the waves. The form this line of hope takes is different for everyone; mine is music.

When life gets to be too much, when I cannot cope with anything a second longer, that thread in my mind hums to life and I can summon the strength to go on. When life is wonderful, when everything is perfect, it sings in vibrant colors the happiness my heart is feeling. Normally the string is internal, however occasionaly it comes from an external force. I can hear the strain of pure, sweet melody floating on the air, or of rich harmony pulling at the very core of my being. I stop, wherever I am, and close my eyes. My spirit follows the music, it runs after the fleeting melody and chases the sounds over meaningless wordly posessions to a place that is filled with light in the form of sound. People around me do not, cannot, feel the undescribable beauty. They are swept past in the current of life. Their mindless chatter somehow infiltrates my mind, distracting it from the all important chase of the notes. I cry out in silent frustration and agony: the song has escaped me. It is over. It is no more. But soon the music in my body begins anew, and I can continue.

So then, what happens when the very thing keeping you alive becomes your worst fear? What happens when you doubt it and worry if it is good enough, strong enough? What happens when the most vital aspect of your life, more necessary than breath itself, slowly poisons you from the inside out? Is there another life-line that can save me? Do I even want another line?

Music is so much a part of me and who I am that I will gladly drown in this sea of nothingness with it if that will allow me to cling to it for even a few more instants.

I had this dream two days ago. It scared and hurt me to the point that I was litterally crying in my sleep, trying to wake myself up. For some strange reason, I cannot wake up when my mind is spinning out a story, be it pleasant or not. I understand in my mind that I must be dreaming, but when you cannot escape from the horrors of the nightmare this gives little comfort. Apparently, when I was very young, I would have nightmares all the time. They would be so terrible (what could be so terrible to a little baby?) that I would start screaming. My parents would try to wake me up, but to no avail. I was trapped in my mind. Strange, yes? Maybe this bizzarre mental state preceedes the onslaught of further, more serious. brain malfunctions... o.o i hope not. Anyway, this is the dream.

Initially it started out very nicely. In fact, I was convinced I was going to have one of the best dreams of my life; at first it was a love story. And not just any love story, but my love story. It was amazing. No events really took place, but the overwhelming emotion present left me breathless. The depth of the love surprised me, I couldnt know something that powerful existed without experiencing it first-hand. During that first part of my dream, I knew no sorrow. My entire soul was filled up with this liquid light, my mind was bathed in its soothing joy. But gradually I felt something changing. The pure gold of the love was slowly being poisoned, brown swirls started appearing and contaminating the emotion, rotting it from the inside out. Something had gone horribly wrong in this most magnificent of fairy tales. Although my heart and soul were still bound inexplicably to this person, these feelings were not reciprocated. I could feel his love slipping away, ebbing ever so slightly with each passing day. This was painful enough, but things get worse. Much, much worse. Eventually we lost touch entirely.

*flash forward in time, two or three years later*

I could never forget about him or the love my heart still held, although I did my best to forget about it. Then one afternoon, I returned home ( i dont remember exactly from where). I walked up to the front door. It was eerily silent; no dog barking, no laughter ringing in the kitchen, no sound of footsteps pounding up and down the stairs. I reached for the doorknob, my hand hovered above the metal handle for a few seconds before I finally firmly took hold of it and gently oppened the door. I stepped inside and gasped in horror, falling to my hands and knees when my feet lost their will to stand.The sight inside sickened me. My entire family was lined up against the wall. At least, what was left of them. Their bodies had been so horribly mangled that they were almsot unrecognizable. Blood was spattered everywhere, and random body parts were strewn about. The carnage was impossible to describe. It broke my heart. My entire family was.. gone. Just like that. I would never have the chance to talk to them again, to tell them one more time how much they all meant to me. I couldnt believe what I was seeing. I looked up at the ceiling, my pain engulfing me, when I noticed the message written there. The blood-red letters read: "J-King". Somehow, I knew the person who had committed this monstrocity was His brother. The brother of the person I had shared so much love with. I dont remember what I did after that, up until I was shivering in a cave. I knew I was hiding, hiding because I had turned his brother in to the police. Now, he wanted revenge. He wanted to kill me, too. For some reason I had a cell phone with me. It rang. It was him.

"I'm looking for you... Come to me. I'm right here, youll find me," his voice drawled.  "You know I want to end your life, dont you? Yes, but you will come anyway." And he was right. I couldnt help it, I still loved him beyond all bounds. I loved him enough to let him kill me. I slowly stood up, dazedly brushing off dead leaves from my clothes. Just like he had said, I knew where he was. I was drawn to him like a butterfly to a fire: knowing I was approaching death but unable and unwilling to change my course of action. Finally, I saw him. He smiled at me as I approached him, as a hunter might when prey is within grasp. He took out a gun, and pointed it at me almost lovingly. I heard the explosion as the bullet was shot from the gun, and felt it tearing my skin. But worse than the pain of the bullet was the emotional pain I felt at this most terrible of betrayals.

Thats all I remember.

Anyway, on a more positive note, Today we got a two hour delay for school! yay!