The truth is.

To me, I am obnoxious. But I don't seek for attention, that's the most important thing I guess. I like spending times on my own. At times I had a lot of things running on my mind at the same time. Like how I had a pretty boyfriend who had pretty female family members, and his male family members all had pretty spouses and girlfriends. Except for him. I felt sorry for him for having me, because I am ugly. I am not fair-skinned, I have blemishes and acne scars on my face, and few scars from my childhood on my legs. I don't have the sweet smile everyone in his family had, my eyes are slanted and I have chubby face. Worst is how I can't look pretty in pictures no matter how hard I try. But I knew I had nice lips, because when I was in high school H & N addressed that to me, and my mom said I had absolutely no skin problem when I was a kid, so I was pretty grateful. Maybe that was also the reason why he liked me. 


Sometimes I also thought of how beautifully depressing it is to be an American. I never believed Bill when he said it was depressing, especially to be living in New York (he was not exactly in the NYC, but in Buffalo and Long Island), until I started reading Palo Alto. It reminded me of him, because he always told me how his friends smoke pot all the time and care about nothing but drugs and sex. I hated reading fictions, but Palo Alto is beautifully written. It felt real. I didn't know if that is what you are supposed to feel when you read fictions, but all I know it was scary. It didn't feel like movies, it's too vulgar and obscene to be a movie. Sometimes when I read Palo Alto, I had my favorite band playing. Kids these days will say that they are emo, but to me, they are the music version of Palo Alto- beautifully depressing. I have been looking for the perfect word to describe them, but when I read the book, I finally found the word. Everything made sense right then right there.