Fourteen pages of project, six down. Eight to go. Sitting at a boba café near UCLA, the Christmas song is on. Mariah belting out telling the world what she wants for Christmas. If only it’s that easy. I forgot when I stopped wishing those Christmas gifts. Gift giving has never been a big tradition in the family anyway, and I like it that way. I look at some families that exchange nicely wrapped gifts under the tree, gleefully opening their gifts and fully understanding that some of the gifts are just another way to express “I mean well, but I just have no bloody clue what exactly to get you, so I got you this candle instead.” Not a cynic, I am. I swear. Rather believing in the sporadic gift giving, I give people random stuff at random time of the year with the prelude “for your last or upcoming birthday.” To some, a ‘just because’ would suffice to explain the sudden transfer of wealth. And those gifts would be what I hoped to have some significance to the person. A color of liking, an object that they would need, something that they’d never buy with their own money since it’s just fun and frivolity with not much purpose of existence. But hey, even that they may still scowl and cringe wondering why the hell I would be sending a jar of peanut butter and honey across the ocean. And that is just how weird I could get sometime.
Fourteen days away from Peru. Apprehensive. Excited. OMGWHATWASITHINKING. I’m going to eat a guinea pig. I hope they could understand me. I hope I could understand them. I hope they’ll let me back to the States with my tourist visa. I hope I will be safe and sound. What am I gonna do after I graduate? Will I find myself in the heights of Macchu Picchu or just that I am so stupid for not sharing that with loved ones. I hope I’ll end up with a fun group. I’m going to Peru! OMG. Like. OMG!
Yes. Much more stressed about that than the finance exam coming up in two days. TWO. DAYS. And this bloody project that won’t write itself. Not complaining. How could I. So what I want this Christmas? As some celebrity said, “peace of mind is overrated”, that is exactly what I want. An overrated peace of mind. A cooling fresh of air that quench my fire. No more anger. No more complacency, mediocrity, laziness. The pursue of one’s passion. The dream. But now. Yes. Eight pages to go. Here we go.