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Subject:Fucking Hypocrites. Ne-Yo has it right.
Time:04:36 pm
Current Mood:blahLove is for the weak.
Gotta change ma answering machine
Now that I'm alone
Cuz right now it says that we
Can't come to the phone
And I know it makes no sense
Cus you walked out the door
But it's the only way I hear your voice
Anymore

(It's ridiculous)
It's been months for some reason I just
(Can't get over us)
And I'm stronger than this
(Enough is enough)
No more walking 'round with ma head down
I'm so over being blue
Crying over you

(Chorus)
And I'm so sick of love songs
So tired of tears
So done with wishing
You were still here
Said I'm so sick of love songs
So sad and slow
So why can't I turn off the radio?

Gotta fix that calender I had
That's marked July 15th
Cuz since there's no more you
There's no more anniversery
I'm so fed up with my thoughts of you
And your memories
And now every song reminds me
Of what used to be

(Chorus)
That's the reason
I'm so sick of love songs
So tired of tears
So done with wishing
You were still here
Said I'm so sick of love songs
So sad and slow
So why can't I turn off the radio?

O-o-h (Leave me alone)
Leave me alone (Stupid love song)
Hey,
Don't make me think about her smile
Or having my first child
Then lettin go
Turning of the radio

(Chorus x3)
Cuz I'm so sick of love songs
So tired of tears
So done with wishing
She were still here
Said I'm so sick of love songs
So sad and slow
So why can't I turn off the radio?
(So why can't I turn off the radio?)
Why can't I turn off the radio?
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Subject:It was chemistry, biology.
Time:11:28 am
Current Mood:soresore
My mother's boyfriend called me an arrogant, 'chinese', sonofabitch. I told him to show me China on a map. Consequently, he sucker punched me in the jaw. The entire house went ape shit thereafter. I finally got to punch that bastard as hard as I dared. Somewhere far in the distance it seemed, my mother was screaming and crying, but I did not really care. She finally had to call the police just to get me to stop. My mother's boyfriend didn't press charges, despite the fact that I'm pretty sure I broke his nose. Washing the blood off my fist felt good. I think it fucking stained my shirt though. I was amazed at how much there was. Still, I took a ride in the police crusier; my mother asked me if they could take me for the night so that I could 'cool off'.

The police said I have a bad temper. And, "wouldn't my girlfriend be hurt if I spent Valentine's Day in jail?" I told them girls are just trouble. "Believe me, my best friends are girls. My very best friend is enough crazy for the entire female population." They explained how it must stink to have two female best friends. How Valentine's Day must get mighty confusing. I did not understand it, but I laughed anyway. They asked me if I knew 'that karate'. They instantly became enemies.

They gave me a private cell. My knuckles have subsequently swelled, my jaw raw and red. Alec, my cousin, came and got me out with his money and smooth talking. "Only back home a few days," he said, shoving me, "And you're already on the fast track to nowhere fast." Just like him I guess.

I spent the rest of the night in Alec's condo on the beach. It is just his vacation place, not his actual home. It reminded me of how little I was raised with. I surprised him when I refused his beer. He asked me about Britt. I asked him what did he care. He explained that he didn't care. I told him to go fuck himself. You see, with my family, it is very difficult to try to become a better person. I feel like, for every five steps I've taken forward, they drag me back three steps. This morning when I woke up I seriously considered driving to Wise. To sit with her and have her tell me it is all OK. To go eat bad Chinese food. To break my ass in the snow. To spoon train. To feel needed. To cry. I miss her like crazy. I sent her a Valentine's Day gift on Friday. Maybe it will get there today.

I think I'll call later.
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Subject:Cheap cigars and wine ~ First Entry
Time:06:22 pm
Current Mood:fullfull
I went to write in my old journal but I decided not to. New beginning.

Tsuguhiko is what my grandfather calls me. Don't ask me why. He's a bit senile and I think he really thinks that's my name. Still, the guy can kick some ass with a sword, even still. He was a nanadan in Kendo before he decided he was too old to continue with it. No, that is a lie. He actually gave it up when he failed the exam to become a hachidan. He felt shamed and dishonored, the same feelings he used to feel towards me, though I think he likes me much more now that he knows I'm serious about learning. He taught my father and all of my uncles since they were very little, he teaches me too when he isn't sleeping. I don't really attend a school, but I do receieve training from a rokudan who's a family friend nearly everyday. I practice a lot on my own too when I'm not working. When did I decide I wanted to write about Kendo?

I should probably explain what I've been up to for the past many months. Everyone knows how I got in a car accident and recieved, on top of all of my injuries which included a broken arm, a broken leg, and 3 cracked ribs, I also recieved trauma induced amnesia. There was never any doubt that I would get my memories back eventually, but there had been several cases like mine where people had to go through many years of hypnotic therapy before they saw any results. I can not begin to explain to you what it feels like to wake up in a hospital surrounded by people speaking a language you vaguely recognize and having strangers introduced to you as family members. After the bones healed, I went through intensive physical therapy. This was probably when I became really hell bent on practicing my art. It gave me a strange sort of kinship with everyone else, like as long as I embraced this strange culture I wouldn't feel so culture shocked. I made many new friends to the point where it didn't matter whether or not I regained my memories to me.

Until my mother came to visit me. It was awkward with her crying and me trying to look on stotically, even though truly I was embarassed. Embarassed by her blatent display of emotion, but mostly embarassed by her being American. Not even so much her being American, but the realization that that made me half-American. When I expressed these feelings to her in private, she told me that she understood, but then she went back home to America and never visited again. I began to feel isolated again. I wasn't American. I wasn't Japanese. I didn't even know who the fuck I was. To make matters worse, I realized that only a week before, I had been OK with that. I tried to get on with things, but my friends who squalbled about American rock bands and the differences between them and American and European rock bands suddenly became so shallow to me, and I began to despise them for it. In a way I think I lost my will to live. I stopped going to therapy, I got a tattoo, I dyed my hair, pierced my ear 5 times, I got in a lot of fights despite my somewhat limited mobility, even getting the living shit kicked out of me a few times. I took up smoking again, I got drunk in the daytime, I partied until dawn every night. I just wanted to die. Just fucking die. I drank too much one night and ended up in the hospital again. The doctor told my grandparents that this sort of reckless behavior is a sign of depression that people like me often experience.

My grandfather punished me really awfully once I got out of the hospital. I won't give details, but it was his idea of proving that there are circumstances much worse than death and Hell. It drew me out of my cycle of self-pity and I started going back to therapy. I stopped drinking and smoking again. I began practicing my art again, which I credit for my focus. Little by little, the therapy helped. I began remembering things, little at first, then bigger and bigger. There are still parts of my memory missing, but I remember all of the major things and people. I haven't given up; there is so much more to know. The rest is history. I came to visit my mother, to make it up to her and myself. I came to see my better half, the person I've been missing more desperately then living. Just talking with her makes me want to live, at least one more day. Unfortunately, I won't be seeing her until her Spring Break, but I can be patient. I have been this far.

I'll probably be keeping this journal daily until I leave.
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