I Traded “True Love” — In Exchange For True Life

Today is August 4th, 2009. My name is Kari, and somehow, I still manage to believe in something I know nothing about.
Love.
That’s right, bitches, I’m back — the biggest decision of my life, a couple breakups, the birth of my balls, and an identity crisis later, I’m bringing my pearls of wisdom (and/or stupidity) back. It’s the 18th birthday of one of three guys I was cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die certain that I loved. Loved, sure, got the closest to that elusive something special that we’re all looking for whether we admit it or not (because you’re never too young to be loved! Never!); but was I in love?

See, that’s the part that I don’t know anymore.

Once upon a time, my life felt like it sucked. It didn’t. But it felt like it did. Except for that one thing I had which no one else did–love, love, love, love, looooooove.
Bullshit.
I don’t know anymore. Don’t know if I was ever actually in love. Don’t know what I believe about love, about now vs. later, fine vs. extraordinary. Short-term, long-term, my pursuit of happiness. The one thing I thought I had is the one thing I now believe that I don’t. I don’t know anything about love, really, and–let’s face it–who does?

But you know what I do know?

I know consequences are better than regrets. I know the sound the city makes when they open the lawn in Bryant Park during summer movie nights. I know what it feels like to kiss someone with the sun in your eyes. I know the way time freezes when you jump without looking, almost completely certain that you will fall on your ass–but you do it anyway because god, what if there’s that one small chance that you’ll be able to fly? I know what it feels like not to pass it up. I know I’m one terror-stricken step closer to victory because I have finally dared to fight fear. I know failure. I know the taste of teenage passion. I know the way he looked at me. I know the mortification mixed with relief that comes the next morning when you remember what you said last night. I know what it means to want more. I know what it means to live for now and not for later. I know tomorrow is a gift. I know what it is to give up a good thing because there just might be a great thing, even if sometimes there isn’t. I know adrenaline, I know crash, I know burn.

I know not knowing is worse than a no. I know the lyrics to my heartbreak. I know what it means to take a chance–because you’re afraid opportunity only knocks once, more afraid than you are of the risk that comes with it. I know the release that only comes with truth. I know the space outside the box, the world outside my comfort zone. I know consequence, I know rejection. I know how vivid everything becomes when I breathe life into the words I used to write. I know despair, I know betrayal, I know what it means not to sing alone. I know the hand of a beautiful stranger. I know the world isn’t fair and we can’t change that, but we can change whether we have to go through it alone. I know what it means to have secrets worth keeping. I know when you don’t love too much, you don’t love enough. I know wrong. I know wild. I know instinct. I know fear, but I know courage… I know pain, but I know life. I don’t have any more of my shit together than I did in March — if anything, my life is twice as chaotic and three times as exhilarating. So, in a strange way, I have it all figured out.

I’m still in love.

I’m not in love with a guy. Not you of my dreams, or you of my nightmares, or you of my past, or you of my future, or you of my late-night secrets or you of my poetry or you of my songs ; I’m not in love with any of you.
I’m in love with my life.

That is the one thing about me that has always been the same — my capacity to love. I do it all wrong, all reckless and all emotion and all music and too much and too stupid but I do it and I do it with every single fiber of my being.
Once, I was afraid to live.
But I was never, have never, will never be afraid to love.

Internet, I hope you’re happy to see me. But even if you aren’t, I’m not going to shut up.
Why? Fuck, it’s easy. Because I no longer care if what I have to say is stupid.
I don’t write to sound perfect.
I write to sound human.

Poetry That Sings

Townsend Harris High School
Chamber Music – 0
Kari Wei
1/20/09

I have always been the bearer of a divided heart.
Music, of course, was my first love. How could it not be? Born to a mother who taught miracles on the piano and coaxed four-part harmony out of tone-deaf senior citizens, I was a part of music before I was even out of the womb. It filled my ears before they’d fully developed and dictated the rhythm of my tiny heart. I was a child of music, a daughter of sound, and- at least in the years of youth- I was never allowed to forget it.
When I was three and music held my undivided attention, my mother informed me I could no longer ruin all her blank notebooks with my inane scribbles. I threw a tantrum. Then I discovered literature, which quickly became on obsession. Soon after, I retrieved one of the old, now-forbidden notebooks. This time, words took the place of squiggly lines, and neither parent had anything to say about it. Just before 4th grade, I was awarded my first computer, an old but faithful Apple clamshell laptop. My pianist’s fingers adjusting quickly to the new keyboard, technology tripled my speed as a writer and, by the time I was ten,  I had typed up a whopping seventy-five half-completed novels.
Time dragged on. Though I did not seem to grow any taller, the evolution of my interests and mannerisms made it obvious that I had definitely grown older. The hours once spent poring over my stories were now occupied by other activities. I traded in my beloved clamshell for a trendier  Macbook. My mother passed away, uprooting life as I knew it- I moved back to Queens to live with my father. More often than not, I ignored the siren call of pen and keyboard.
But the voices in my head simply would not shut up. Desperate for a way to satisfy them with my very limited time, I turned to an outlet I’d discovered when in 2nd grade- poetry. Despite having consistently received large amounts of praise on my poems, prose was always my choice as a writer when left to my own devices. Pressed for time and with a mind too cluttered to form storylines that made sense, I revived the poet within in the years surrounding my mother’s death-  just in time to encounter a new conflict.
Having entered the stage where my future was constantly being discussed, I was presented with an eventual choice. Music? Or literature? A couple years have gone by since I was first asked this question. I still have not found the answer. However, somewhere along the line, someone mentioned songwriting. Of course, the role of a singer-songwriter; a marriage of both of my loves. My favorite musical outlet is song, and circumstance/necessity has turned me into a poet rather than a novelist. It was a flawless suggestion, but when I sat down and gave the idea a try, I came up with a blank slate. Which taught me yet another lesson; creativity cannot be forced.
With two months to go until my 15th birthday, I am still as indecisive as ever. But I do not forget that, amid my confusion, I still have a full collection of my own poetry- to which it will, hopefully, never be too late to find a tune.

Myspace “About Me”, version 10/08

Because I am too lazy to blog about New Year’s, here’s a filler post. I wrote this in late October, 2008.
Presumably.

iBlog. ♥ http://karipyralis.wordpress.com
hi. :] i’m kari.
[that's "car" - "e", mind, not carrie.]

before i even begin telling you about myself, keep this in mind: i can’t be labeled. i can’t be placed into a box of human constructs. and i definitely can’t be defined by a couple paragraphs on myspace.

what i do
i’m a high school freshman and i’m there to do some real growing up and have a damn good time while i’m at it.
i’m also a native new yorker (manhattanite at heart) and my city runs in my blood.
i may be asian (heritage: taiwanese) on the outside, but i am as american as they come no matter what my exterior shows.
everyone says music = life. for me, it’s more than just an expression.
i’m like to think i’m a writer/poet. proud humanities gal; suck at math &science, though i’m a technology junkie [MACS FTW]. i’m also into arts; singing, acting. dancing. photography.
i’m incredibly politically active. national/international news most people my age don’t even know of plays a large role in my daily life and my near future; as well as YOURS. get informed. stay informed.
i try to express myself through what i wear and am very much a “mood dresser”. fashion + makeup are art forms. if you know me in real life, you’ll have noticed my crucifyingly high-heeled shoes. look; i’m 4′10″. i’m funsized and i know it. it gives me the liberty to wear heels at all times and be carried around- what’s not to love? big things come in little packages.

i believe in beauty=brains and am not ashamed of my intelligence, my vocabulary, or my values. i am who i am. those who are important to me can/do accept me and love me for just that.

if you can’t, consider it your loss.

what i feel
emotional. spontaneous. charismatic. devious. ambitious. empathetic. manipulative. affectionate. dramatic. contemplative. wild. human.
i am a walking contradiction and a hypocrite much of the time. i get lost. i get found. i make mistakes, some worse than others. i am far from flawless and i know it. but as an old friend used to say, “your imperfections are what make you perfect.” even though i made decisions in my life that might tarnish my past and my present and my future, what’s done is done and life is truly too short to regret.
i’m searching for my reason for living. sometimes i still don’t know why it is i get up in the morning, but i hope to find out.
i try to live to the fullest. sometimes i forget. but one thing i never forget to do is laugh.

what i love
fire + passion + strawberries : RED!
hot pink + black : COLOR.
bright orange + blue : MY ROOM :]
myspace + facebook : INTERNET CRACK.
frappuccinos + frozen yogurt : YUM.
hugs + hugs + hugs : MORE HUGS!
clothes + makeup + shoes : SELF-EXPRESSION.
photos + poems + diaries: MEMORY~
wishing on stars + chasing cars : DREAMS <3
animals + nature : REAL TREASURE
friends + family : TRUE SURVIVAL KIT.

2009: Uncensored

New Year’s Resolution 2009

1. Live like you’re dying.

I feel like there should be more fanfare.
Now that I look back, I’ve felt that way about a shitload of things this year. Everything seems to have come and gone so quickly and quietly that their passing makes no sense. There’s no time for me to absorb it, nothing that’s hitting me and saying, HEY. IT’S OVER. YOU’RE DONE. MOVE ON.
Hello?!
It has been a strange year, anticlimactic at some points and completely miraculous at others. My life is STILL a gigantic bloody contradiction, and I’ve realized that’s not going to change. That sucks. That means I’m going to be just as confused at 44 as I am at 14. Fuck.
Maybe I’m just overanalyzing this the way I used to, but I honestly believe the number 14 means more than all those other digits or combinations of digits. Whatever. I hate numbers- they make no sense to me, they’re constructs, they place tags on things that can’t be understood through statistics but nevertheless there is this one number I wish to hang on to.
I was fourteen for the majority of 2008. And though I hate to admit how superstitious I really am underneath all the cynicism I actually think that has something to do with why this year has been such a year. I turn around and the things I’ve gone through in the past 365 days could make up a lifetime, and yet in my eyes it’s still not enough, not enough, not enough. Never enough. It’s not enough until I hit my limits and I still have no idea what and where those are.
In 2008, my father and I became a team. I met the love of my short yet still rapidly waning life, ended a two-year stop in cyberspace, and started a chain of events in the real, tangible world that will go on to shape the next decade of my existence if not my life in its entirety. I lost my lip virginity and started sleeping at 11-12. I broke up with someone for the first time, rejected someone for the first time, even smacked a guy across the face for the first time. I went from the invisible girl to the one who could have anything she wanted if she could be fucked to try, the ugly duckling to the girl three guys ask out at camp. Camp Mason. Religion, Christianity, God. My aunt. A family. My sister. Nira Martinez. Irreversibly breaking a bond. Love too much. Too hard. Too little. Not at all. Taking chances and passing up about three times as many.
Which leads me to the only thing I want to bring into 2009.
At any given moment all of this could be over. I could be standing at a funeral thinking, why did I waste all that time? It could be MY funeral, my life, my wasted life, my nothing. We are never powerless to take charge of our lives. They belong to us, and what we do with them depends on motivation, will, and as always the healthy dose of luck. But what happens when my luck runs out? Is that really the only thing my life is built on?
So I guess looking back on this year, having thrown me headfirst and more prepared than I expected into the kind of whirlwind life I’ve been waiting 13 years to live, I walk away from it knowing that all this was given to me through a little willpower and a lot of luck. And if I don’t tip the scales, even them out- it will be over. If I keep waiting to be ready I will never be ready. I am ready now. Go. Move. Run. Jump. Live. Don’t look back. There’s the world full of experiences and your clock is ticking. This is your life. You control it. Make your decisions. Make your choices. You’ve spent long enough daydreaming every night before you go to bed. Bring it to life. Here’s the path, the runway. We’ve given you the four-inch heels. Walk in them. Don’t stop. Take control.
Then lose it.

Socialite-ology: An Introduction

I am currently…

a) procrastinating and
b) had an urge to blog so I thought
c) why not procrastinate productively and
d) indulge a request I received earlier today by
e) writing another post about upcoming attractions?
NOTE: I apologize for ending a “bullet” with the word “and” more than once. Hey, at least it wasn’t consecutive.

In any case, I haven’t mentioned this, but one feature of this completely random blog of teenage (and occasionally angst-ridden *or more than occasionally*) musings will be a (most likely cynical) analysis of the numerous high-end events I attend with my extremely socially-and-politically active father. [Excuse the run-on sentence.]
For those of you that don’t know, my dear old daddy-o is a leading figure in our community and other scattered parts of NYC. We can’t

-walk ten steps in the Main Street area without bumping into/being hailed in Mandarin or Chinglish by some acquaintance or other
-he appears practically every other day in local newspapers
-runs a talk show on Sunday that has been going on for seven years now

and still can’t wash the dishes properly. Men.

Well, this D-list fame has spilled over to me, at least in our area. Random old Asian ladies will interrupt my boutique-hopping on weekends to gush about how much I’ve grown and how talented/gifted/lovely I am when I can barely remember their faces, let alone their names. Recently the gushing over my academic and instrumental prowess has been accompanied by an exclamation over my vocal talent (which I admittedly don’t mind); a direct result of being fortunate enough to make my real vocal debut in the Grand Ballroom of the Sheraton Hotel during one of the greatest international business affairs on the Asian radar. [Specifically the 26th World Chinese Traders Convention, hosted by, of course, my dad. Who, despite being adept in front of the camera at press conferences, tends to behave rather childishly whenever I try to snap a photo. Tsk.]

In any case, I’ve been event-hopping with him ever since I moved back to Queens following my mother’s death a couple years back. Recent highlights have been the Grand Hyatt Hotel in downtown Manhattan, a lovely cross-country club in Long Island, Queens Crossing, etc. And apparently there are some more events lined up for this weekend which I’ll attempt to blog about if I can stop procrastinating long enough to do it.

Hopefully you’ll have gotten the idea by now and won’t mind my returning to my AP world history textbook and the entire chapter of completely unread pages I have to master before 12 AM.

Happy Wednesday in advance!

xo
Kari

What’s the 411?

A new match is lit in the blogosphere!… and hopefully it won’t burn out too quickly.
Here’s the 411 on who I am, why you’re here (or should be!), and what you’re here for.

MY NAME: Kari (mind, that is “car-e” *KAHR-ree*, not Carrie)
WEB IDENTITY: Kari Pyralis (<– “of fire” in Greek; no, that’s not my real surname, but for all intents and purposes it might as well be).
BLOG ADDRESS: karipyralis.wordpress.com (Captain Obvious)

THE HELL IS THIS?: I’m not pretending to be more interesting than your average human being [though I do live in NY; and let me assure you, my city is better than yours]. Nor am I attempting to convince you that yes, reading my daily ramblings is essential to the continuation of a full and healthy existence. It’s not.
But, to be blunt (it’s 2:39 a.m. and I haven’t got energy for much else), my life isn’t boring. And there are people interested in keeping track of it. So for those of you who care, here’s my blog. Here’s my life on a web page. These are my thoughts. This site is my canvas. Blah, blah, etc. etc. Detailed identity blog to come later for those readers who aren’t already overfamiliar with my suffocating persona.
Stick around. Procrastinate. Enjoy.

Don’t like what you see? Before you down another glass of Haterade and contribute two cents of unnecessarily venomous discouragement- stop giving yourself bad karma and just move. on.

xo
Kari ♥