collections 5:15

I haven't shaved in a week. It doesn't matter though- lately, I don't feel up to impressing anyone. I could grow this beard out for weeks, forget to do my hair, and even go so far as not brushing my teeth- just because nothing seems to matter apart from my convictions, like school work or writing. School has pushed me back on that boat again- writing everyday to depart from the monotony of life, vociferously denying the social implications imparted upon me by my peers. Since starting at Columbia, my grades have been... sub-par. My first semester's straight excellent average was tarnished with an A- and my second with a B. This semester, and others forecoming, will be ideal though. Afterall, I have no family support- I simply can't afford to be anything but the best. All the writing that this has presented me however has left me unable to work on my own personal projects, like Anima Amaryllis or Samurai Melodrama. These two stories will be sitting by until the break, assuming I'm not fully burnt out by then. I've devoted my weekends to completing my homework before the week begins, so I can devote more time to my student group: The Asian Student Organization (ASO). Although I have strong beliefs about middle easterners and their place in the western world, I will say that I do have some ulterior motives for working so hard here. It has the potential to be what gets me an internship as I slide into my last years of college. Similiar offers have come from the Fiction Writing Department's Tom Popp, who asked that I might volunteer- but unfortunately, where as I am excited to help in the Fiction department, I can only juggle so much. Nonetheless, I'll help wherever I can. Who needs a social life? I just need a cigarette and some coffee. So a full plate, right? Drop bills and tuition ontop of all that and you'd think I'm trying to hang myself. Well, truth be told, I think I am trying to hang myself. Fed up with life, Behnam Riahi takes his life with exhaustian because he can't compete with the laboring youths and their inequivacle artworks so that he could build himself higher in the social hierarchy, while the impending doom of bankruptcy and financial destruction looms over his head. That'll be a great story to tell- Either way, I'm on it. The coming week, assuming I finish all my work this weekend, will be devoted to finding financial stability (assuming you want to call loans stable) and perhaps, sinking my teeth into some delicious scholarships that I now feel confident enough to grasp.

This entry isn't about what I have to deal with though- it's about the sacrifices that I'm making for it. I've given up trying to get laid and the sack of condoms attained from convocation will no doubt go into expiration. Truth be told, I can't find the strength to give a shit about romance at this time in my life. I keep telling myself, "Oh, of course... When I'm successful, I'll meet someone!" Yeah, but how will I never when I'm successful? When will I ever be satisfied? This promotes only my self-destructive attitude and I spend many evenings wondering if I'm going down the right path, or if I should sacrifice all my hard-work for the lewd, exploitive endeavors that my peers tend to associate my lifestyle with. It's college- you should make mistakes! C'mon, really? I've got no room for mistakes anymore. There's no place in my datebook for, "mistakes." Besides, even though I tend to explain my moral ideal of committing to a relationship being a more note-worthy task than just getting laid, I still get the same uninformative lectures by my associates of, "just doing it." Peer pressure never does come to any end.

I remember my youth- the boy who didn't care about work, but just finding a girl who he could devote his life too. I used to play the lottery twice a week, hoping that when I won, I could give said girl the life she always deserved. I don't know what happened to that boy, when the work became more important than the romance, or when romance in-itself became part of the problem, but I do miss those days. They were much simpler and the things that I cried about were so inconsequential the shoulders that I now possess- the shoulders that look so heavy with burdens.

A few more stories to read and we'll call it a night, I hope. Maybe the work won't be so hard tomorrow or maybe, the bed won't be so cold as it will be tonight. Maybe as I get my finances in order this week, there'll be some measure of hope in the blossoming opportunities that come from scholarships to finally get a break. Until then, my ink heart will be folded into the pages of another story- bound to paper until someone frees me from these anxieties.

This coffee just isn't as strong as it used to be.