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Like Father, Like Daughter

My dad was a Political Science major, with minors in Economics and History. That was at the San Francisco State University, which was one of the best in Political Science at the time, in league with Yale and the like. I’m pretty impressed with my dad–he took all the subjects I like! But what’s more, he graduated in just two and a half years. One major and two minors, mind you.

And he didn’t know that until he met mom years later. Mom was sifting through his transcript when she noticed that it was a very short transcript. She counted the semesters on it and exclaimed, “You graduated in only two and a half years?” Dad replied, “No, I was in the states for four years. Wait, I was a delivery boy for a year. That’s right, I spent only two and a half years at SFSU! I never knew!” So luckily the fact was revealed and passed on to me.

Dad later got his MBA in Finance from NIDA, where he met Mom, and where Mom got her MBA in Marketing or Management, I’m not so sure. Anyway, I’m just so proud of my dad, and wondering if I would become like him?

Except mine would be from LSE, muahahah. Just kidding.

By the way, he’s the guy in ชายผู้วิเศษ, in case any of you was wondering.

To Oreo, or Not To Oreo

To be or not to be, that is the question.

Hamlet, Shakespeare

I could once recite the whole verse! But that is irrelevant; talk about now. I need an Oreo. Or so I thought.

A foodaholic is something like a shopaholic:

When you eat, the whole world gets better. The world is better. And then it’s not anymore. So you have to do it again.

Rebecca Bloomwood, The Confession of a Foodaholic

Pathetic. I’m off to 7-Eleven. Stockholders, you should be proud.

LSE – The London School of Economics

The Lethargic School of Eggnogs? I’m just joking, seriously.

Well, I’m interested in this school, because I’ve lately been playing with the idea of going for a Master’s in Economics.

And it looked just like Harry Potter:

Or so a modernized Harry Potter.

Plus, I’ve taken a fancy to British accent. Luke Brandon is just so romantic:

However, mainly it’s my love for Economics that makes my heart flutter. How could you not be, when it takes human emotions and maps them to a graph? You know, those million different feelings reduced to just two axes and a wiggly line? It’s plain awesome.

Who knows I could become the next George Soros.

The Flowers Bloom in the Spring

When Spring comes, the flowers bloom. Yellow dandelions, white cadillacs, the dazzling dahlias… well, none of those are in Thailand, so let’s change them to ดอกจำปา, ดอกกุหลาบ, and ดอกเข็ม. Imagine running as fast as you can through a field of sunflowers, their golden faces brushing against yours, or driving along a boulevard of trees, their pliant branches bowing down to you, showing off their bright colors flowing from curtains of vines.

That is Spring.

Spring comes once a year, though I don’t think that is true. The Greeks invented a story of Persephone and Demeter; the abduction and the coming back of the queen of the Underworld; and the goddess of Spring to explain the change in the temperature, the climate that makes up the different seasons, makes up what we call Winter, what we call Spring, what we call Summer, and what we call Fall. But guess what? I think it always is Spring.

Think of butterflies fluttering among the juiciest shrubs of ดอกจำปา. That is Spring.

Think of white, marshmallow clouds flowing in the mildest of breezes. That is Spring.

Think of smiling children giggling in the simplest of playgrounds, made of wood. The paint has peeled, yet the wood is well-worn, as shiny as ever as one child after the other skids down its slider, or jumps at its seesaw. That is Spring.

Think of you working behind your computer, staring at the screen for one-third of your entire life. That’s eight hours a day. That is also Spring. You know why?

It’s because your heart is dancing.

Your heart danced when you saw those curtains of vines opening before you as you drove your way through the boulevard. Your heart danced when you saw those children giggled. Why couldn’t your heart also dance when you’re working at the most dull, routinous job before a computer with 17-inches widescreen?

It’s because you don’t like it, and you’re trying to get away from it.

But what if… what if you don’t try to get away from it? What if you were an Eagle soaring high above it all, looking down at you working on the dull job, would the dull job matter anymore? No! Because it’d have become unimportant and minuscule. And your heart could be dancing. In the Spring.

The revered Master Uguay (in the Kungfu Panda) once said:

You think too much about what was and what will be. Noodles, don’t noodles. Quit, don’t quit. Why not stay with what is now? That’s why they call it the present.

Presently, it is Spring.

Confession of a Flirtaholic

Have you ever been in a relationship? A lasting one? I’ve never. And the reason is, I get bored. Really. Easily.

I’ve had a total of 2 boyfriends. The first was short of 2 months; the second was 6 months, a gruelling 6 months. And the rest? Not boyfriends, but not friends either. You know what I mean. And each of them hardly lasted a month.

Today I hurt a guy I really love. He’s like my best friend. But I flirted with him, until he liked me in return. Once he liked me, it’s like my mission’s accomplished. I no longer feel a thing.

Evil? Call me that. It hurt me deeply, too. I’ve been stabbed with a knife. The stabber is me.

Every time it started out so sweetly. I had this feeling I was so into him. The world blossomed. Even the ugliest duckling by the lake looked perfectly lovely. I would talk, flirt, chat, and made his world blossomed as mine was. It almost always worked. Then when it worked, I lost interest. Suddenly, the world didn’t blossom anymore. I don’t know why. The world became instantly normal, with a tint of boredom, without a hint of the blossoms it was a second ago.

The biggest showdown came when he knew that I had changed. I could never pretend or hide my feelings for long. I’m not the type. And he was hurt. Must have come as a big surprise. I was surprise, too, at myself.

Then a knife came through to my heart. The instant he’s hurt, I’m hurt, too. Afterall, I’m the cause of it all. All my fault. My unpredictable me and only me.

I don’t know how I can change myself to become a better person.

Feel Like Showing-Off

I like blogging in English, because I can write English well. Whenever I blog in Thai, a sluggish sensation comes over me. I can’t stand rocky, ugly prose! Moreover, in English I get to show off. I know, I’m a good English writer.

I feel like putting up my resume to show everyone. Look at me, I’m so good! The fact is it’s a pretty incredible resume for a 4th year student like me. Quite extraordinary. But again, that’s just me wanting to show off.

I’m trying to oppress my showing-off feeling, because if I expressed it, people would sure hate me. You know, หมั่นไส้. Thais do have very apt words for expressing feelings. They say, I wanna twitch your colons.

What’s the deal here?

Birds are chirping on a lonely evening. The bright sky, a sort of opaque white, feels pretty humid, due to a rain that didn’t rain to its fullest. That’s the sort of thing that would happen when you don’t do things all the way. A half-baked bread, they say, or a lopsided tricycle. A bicycle it is not, nor is it a tuktuk.

Well, I’m stuck here in this kind of weather, though my mind is clear and straightforward. Oh, yes it is. Like a light bulb in a  fog-filled cubicle. You get what I mean.

Today’s a special day. I finally met a friend whom I’d been longing to meet. I like him. We’ve must been friends for as long as we remember, or even longer than we remember. But he’s grown up quite a bit.

That surprised me quite a bit.

On the way back I walked in the rain. Tap. Tap. It’s one of those days I don’t have my green umbrella with me.

My eyes are green, too, by coincidence.

So is my flip-flops, by coincidence.

AND my pants (กางเกงเล), by coincidence.

No, green is not my favorite color. I know what you’re thinking.

It’s a pretty pointless post. Thanks for bearing with me.