"...let us step out into the night, and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."

-by Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Caldwell Edward David Louis Michael Dumbledore

So, I thought it was time I swapped for a new profile.
Really, who stays seventeen, in high school, and in preference for the same shit all their lives?
Well, maybe Edward Cullen... poor guy.

As of now, I still hail from SE Texas (no address, lametards. Get your PIN from someone else). I am still asian, as I have not yet seen my body fit for a Michael Jackson transformation. May the King of Dance rest in peace.
My crib is still shared by two roommates I call my parents. I have a non-existent college life, and a similarly non-existent college career. That is, at the moment. I feel spectacular, actually. There's never been a better time to catch up on good writing, personal projects, and getting to know new friends (apart those that you were stuck with through high school and stuff). I've never felt better. I think it still surprises my family and old friends.
My name, is what it was, what it is now, and what it will always be. That is, since I don't find it necessary to get it changed. "What's in a name?". You have nothing to live up to if you are out there to prove your name. Better be the girl/guy whose name (whether too common or too inarticulately fancy) that people fail to remember, even though they still think, "that person was great during school, I wish I knew her more", or "that person was an incredible artist/writer/speaker/etc. Wherever he are now, he must be doing something incredible". A shame you won't know it then. I'm sorry, of course. If we ever become good chums I might change my mind. (Might)
Anyhow, as fluctuating and inconsistent my personal revelations are, I am happy to proclaim the good news that Harry Potter is not just a book. It is an adventure of remarkable personal value--Harry's and mine. The pages contain sermons and lessons on the ever-shifting nature of that which is important to us. It doesn't reveal truth, but lets us feel it. Harry and his friends don't ask us to love them, but we do anyway. Until they're in the Epilogue, and our imagination gets hairy trying to suddenly visualize them old, wrinkled, and gray.
Then again, I might also be saying that the Harry Potter books are simply The Monster Book of Monsters in disguise. In that case, it is always good to keep a belt, a length of rope, or even an exorcist on hand. Whichever works, and is least abusive to animal/book rights.
My other personal revelations of the moment include the fact that I miss coffee very, very much (stupid, effing medical prescription). I love writing with a passion that is only preceded by the contextual verb itself. Art is in itself a constant annoyance--the inspiration to perform it is a spontaneous pleasure. And that life is too full of surprises to find dull. If that is not so, maybe a good surprise is in order. Self-inflicted surprise is also found to be effective, unless it is sky-diving without a license (aka conscience, and the real thing if needed).

There is also another revelation I'd like to share--I am told by many that I know, I am wise beyond my years, that I am brilliant, and I will one day have my glory. I repeat Dumbledore's logic: I am a fool. More so than the people that tell me I can have these things, because while I didn't necessarily believe them, I hoarded all of this. You are never wise without the slightest chance of having everything you ever thought proven wrong to you, you are not brilliant without realizing the adjective means so much less than it really is, you will never be great if all you do is seek it.

I love stories because it is living proof that there are situations worthier than ones of glory, like a kiss on the beach, a first ride ever on a motorbike, a pensive moment (the one with all the character's mental soliloquy), and roughhousing with friends and family in the snow. It is living proof to us that every drastic life situation is not the end, but rather the beginning. It is living proof that fairytale endings don't exist, but aggravatingly brief, concise, and unsatisfying ones do. Unless that is, you write fairytales.

And in real life, this is not how I talk like. Far from it really. Because you've caught me on one of those pensive moments, with all the lengthy mental soliloquy.

Work of the moment:

Prejudice and Prejudice's Bitch

(I swear, the name's going to go as soon as a more suitable one comes up.)

Work Commentary: None at the moment.