i always wondered why i regretted not knowing what my grandma wanted of me before she passed away. Tha language barrier took it's stead between us, and as happy as she was to see me in her last summer, i always wonder if i hadn't been bashful, if ihad just spoke perhaps i could've known. perhaps i could have asked her what she wanted of me before she passed away. at the funeral home, i remember starting to cry uncontrolably and i had to excuse myself from the room. alot of my cousins aksed if i was ok, and i replied yes, but it was this nagging concept that i could've done much better if i had only known what she wanted of me. so for now, i don't know. but i know what i want of myself, and in that, i will try to accomplish it the best way i can. it's a regret that i wasn't able to tell her what i wanted to tell her.
i dispute the "facts" of my moral character with people on a daily basis. through body language and through words, i ask them to reconsider what they consider morality, because if i can't fit in their picture, i oft wonder who really can. who do they percieve in their image of the perfect moral character if they wilingly put on their side-blinds and live life that way. people say i think too much, that i'm in my head too often(fuck you elsa, imma have my unicorn bong and my orgy) but i think that i wouldn't want it any other way. i feel completely and totally human questioning every thing, getting wrong assumptions and then fixing them.. it is human.
in other news, i just thought how badass it'll be once my hair starts turning white, and the ends of my locks will be dark brown. i'll look fuckin badass. i can't wait to get old.