After my German test yesterday, I granted myself some free time to wander around and shop for clothes.
I used to live around Hongdae area from 5th grade to middle school but ever since I moved it has become a special place to visit once in a while.

I went in a shop to buy something and the employee there looked strangely familiar. However, due to my introverted personality I have gradually grown to avoid talking to strangers because I think it reflects one's stupidity and lack of integrity unless you can feel it's destined.

But it turned out that he was the guy I thought he was. He recognized me too. We were in elementary school together. But I wish I had not met him.He looked way too similar from 10 years ago. It seemed as if he was a hobbit decendent or inherited midget genes. His face and his height and everything else had seemed to have been retained, which was a sad sight for such a nice weather.

He used to be a mysterious boy. I had liked him for a short period. I thought he was good looking back then. But being in 6th grade, I had more to be concerned with than... boys. So we weren't really close.

I was so disillusioned. When I see people with no progress, or worse, who retrogress, make me emotionally detached from them. He started talking about the same boys he hung out with 10 years ago, obviously stuck in the past. I love old friends too but he's in the same neighborhood, still stupid, and has not physically grown.

Past-oriented people. They love talking about the good old days. And for some reason I cannot bear with it.

During Middle School I received quite an amount of awards, some of which were from Essay Contests. The rest consisted of English, Track and Field.

So when there were Poetry classes I had to have my genius mom write one for me and pretend that I wrote it.

Point of this anecdote being, I think one of my brain functions is kaputt. I don't write, appreciate nor voluntarily read poems. I don't know why I have to fool my own senses just because that's what the textbook says. And what's harder than reading the "right" implications and analogies, is how to distinguish well written poems from badly written poems. I assumed that writing a poem is simply = Proper Vocabulary/{Abstractness+(Proper Situation×Randomness)}I still remember this poem I wrote in 5th grade. "Oh the sunset of Uganda
Reminds me of the beautiful rose
Our love never dies"

Then in highschool I attempted to simply raise the level of vocabulary with the Poetry Function, which developed to harbor more randomness than abstractness. Regardless, they turned out to be pretty legit. But they were fancy hollow shells. But stupid people can very intelligently interpret whatever the fuck in their own ways. That confused me. While that could actually be what makes Poetry fun...

I had no passion behind it.. not that it matters.Thus Poetry is not my cup of tea.

I watch Attack on Titans with Alex every week. Titans are sophisticatedly depicted with myriads of small sized teeth and the signature look of euphoria on their face, which make us scream in fear. We don't know much info regarding the Titan's origin, but judging from episodes so far they all developed from human beings, which explains their diverse physiolosical features.

The thought that anyone around us could look like a Titan struck me real hard. How seriously gross and terrifying would that be to see your boyfriend or mom become a Titan.. UghhWith such inspiration and my existing interest in sketching creepy weird stuff I attempted at drawing it myself.Micheal Cera and Jack Black happened to catch my eyes.But ... I am not happy with the outcome.

During my Monday 9~10th period Spanish lecture, the professor showed the class (consisting of 5 people with 1 absent) a bloody enthralling Mexican movie, called Como Agua Para Chocolate.

Theme: Good food and horny people

Plot: Tita is the youngest daughter at a Mexican ranch who cannot get married because of her family tradition that demands her to take care of her mom until she dies. This guy called Pedro is madly in love so he marries her sister, Rosaura whose kid with Pedro dies due to her bad cooking. Tita is a magical cook by the ways. She goes crazy later but is cured by chicken broth and her doctor proposes to her and in the end Pedro and Tita dies after making love.

What I like: The camera work that appropriately accentuated the Tita-made cuisines is very applaudable. I also like how the Mommy appears as a ghost and and is still an ass. And my favorite part is how Rosaura dies of digestive problems and lets out a wanting fart before dying.

Etcetera: Not only is the depiction of the emotions very passionate but also harbors the fluctuating nature of humans, dictated by our basic instincts. In other words, I couldn't get what the effing bullcrap the story is about.

★★★★★

☆☆★★★
In 2005, my then best friend told me to watch Battle Royale. I wasn't interested as she simply told me it was about people fighting.
Well I watched it today.There was this one brief scene where the long haired girl killed two guys and she's nonchalantly getting ready to leave. The dead naked man on the right had something weird on his crotch so I paused and looked at it.. Still couldn't figure out what it was. Looked like his testicles got impregnated by aliens and were about to hatch. Anyways it was my first time seeing a non-ghost, heart attack free, cornylessness Japanese movie.

☆★★★★
Three unrelated weird, scary stories.
I convinced Alex that it is an experimental Japanese movie to watch it with me. Eventually I told him it's scary but he was nice enough to watch it.
*The titles have no bearing with the stories at first sight*1. Rattle Rattle
Definitely my favorite one. I laughed like crazy throughout the movie. But it's scary as hell. It's my defense mechanism to imagine that I'm the camera director.
A woman in red follows someone like crazy.
2. Hagane
Spooky as hell. A woman whose upper body is wrapped in a bag. For men it would be a terrible nightmare. Sick and sad and gross.
3. Inheritance
Alex's favorite. Not many heart attack scenes but I like the story. About mother and son. And the typical inclination of horror movie characters to open every scary looking doors and boxes and shit instead of emigrating to Sweden.

moved a matress down some steep stairs. The size of the matress is comparable to a vending machine and I happen to be a fragile Asian girl.
When I first stood it up, it was almost as tall as the ceiling. I slowly moved it out of the room, looked to my right and saw the mirror. In my cute little overalls sweaty as hell, I felt like a mechanic's daughter. With increased motivation I pushed it out the front door, where the stairs await me to fall and die. I always had severe paranoia for these stairs.. and I was fighting the fear. I realize now that it is impossible to capture the thrill I felt that I write it.
When I let the matress role out the entrance(or the exit) I felt free. The unexpected rendesvous with the cucaracha had my energy sapped out of me, but I lived. I lived!