### **Morning Pages** 12:28AM Decided to stalk Paolo again, today, and again, another post that is strangely connected. I feel like I have a tiny superpower of sorts. Like, whenever I hanker to stalk Paolo specifically, he magically shows up. Strange. I just realized Jeffrey’s latest post doesn’t mean anything good for me. Lol. Yeah, he is validating me. He is also learning how to be a better partner for another girl. If he is reading me, which I highly suspect is the case, because what else could have caused him to reflect? If he is reading me, then he will have felt like it’s over. This potential relationship that never was could never recover from whatever prangkahan I am writing about. Sometimes I feel like I’m just speaking the truth, about my life, my perception, my reality, but maybe I wouldn’t know at all how other people are taking it. Good for him I guess, if that was really sincere. But don’t expect me to be happy when you become a good man for another girl. 1:18AM. Got swept up in a vortex of rage a bit. But not really. I just really hate feel-good stories now. My suspension of disbelief really is more skeptical than other people’s. Except sometimes when I’m delusional. Like if I were a character in a YA movie, my “misbelief” is that I am not worthy because I’m unattractive compared to exceptional people. Except the only way out I see this becoming empowering to me is not accepting my reality. It’s surgery, just like gender dysphoric people. I am not going to magically become mature but I have to work with my own lived experience that I know people are shallower than they claim to be no matter how great they are as a person. People underestimate lookism’s effects. People deny that pretty privilege exists. People really, or maybe it’s just my unfortunate history, will treat you better if you are attractive or fulfill that drive. I know it’s just going to lead to me being objectified and sexualized but what else do I have? I would rather cry looking attractive and besieged by people who are biased they treat me better, than looking like myself and experiencing this massive dysphoria. The day I get surgery for my large man hands, which doesn’t exist, and is so supremely the opposite of what my sister got to the point where I think we might not even be related (but I really got it from my dad, who has huge hands)—that is the day I will stop making it my life’s purpose. If my mom wasn’t exposed to too much testosterone at birth I would have gotten no advantage with piano, but I would have gotten neurotypical and conventionally beautiful advantages. What did piano ever give me except pride? Even if no one wants me after I get _enhanced_ at least I won’t feel this worthlessness that doesn’t get better even if I know I’m not as ugly as I was when I was a child. Maybe I’ll even become confident and promiscuous. I don’t want to be superior to her, I just wish I had an even footing where I could have had the chance. Or maybe I’m in denial. I want to overshadow her because instead of being an average sibling she was constantly trying to make me feel worthless regardless of whether she intended to or not. And people blame me for feeling rage that people constantly say I look like my dad, while, and always with the faint comment about beauty, while my sister looks like my mom. You know, the person who escaped poverty because she married my dad relative to my aunt who lives like a bum because no man wanted her and the foreigner she entertained only wanted to sleep with her and she refused. So it’s history repeating itself, not that I would refuse to do that, but that the older sibling in the Guadalope/Yee matrilineal/female line is going to be less attractive. Only I turned evil. My aunt on my dad’s side who kind of looks like me got cheated on and she never married. She’s still rich though, because my Ama who also looks like me had enough looks in their time to attract a wealthy Chinese businessman. Inflation. Or the fashion, and she still got cheated on. Meanwhile, my mom really lucked out with my dad. Devoted to his family. Beauty opens worlds of lives that are objectively better. Money and beauty go hand-in-hand. And people like me will forever be evil and bitter. You don’t get it, movie rules suggest that I have to be happy for people who have it better than me so that I am deserving of reward, like Hazel Grace Lancaster who smiled at a couple even as she was miserable with cancer. I have to really be a good person inside for some reason so I get my reward. None of that bitter justified rage that makes me vindictive and disgusting and entitled. Whatever illusion Jeffrey has given me even as he is probably reading has started to crumble. Although I don’t understand why I was so sure he was the one just because he told me once he would look out if I experienced anxiety and panic in public because that’s what friends do. I really have this problem where basic human stuff I never experienced makes me feel emotional and it’s become a weakness. You’d be like, aww sweet words, and then forget about it because it never happened yet. It’s just a promise. Instead I went and created an entire caring persona who will understand me for real. Person doesn’t exist unless they want something, of course. Of course I also want something from him. If Van Dyke told me that, I’d be weirded out. Guy I’m not attracted to but is the only one to try to talk to me about my Clarkesworld story and be curious about it. It’s all relative what I accept anyway. So whatever candy I attempt to buy Jeffrey, or whatever curiosity I have for his life, it will not be appreciated as much because I simply cannot give him what a better looking girl could. Whatever I do in this body whether I try to be accommodating or give the impression that I am desperate to fuck him will not make him like me in the way I like him. Maybe some other girl will fulfill that unstated need. It has to come from someone he feels like he can’t have, and he will earn and feel happy about, maybe respect or just human decency or a match on an app. If my sister did that he might even feel like it’s a test from me. Because I went outright and told him that she is prioritizing moneyed guys even though she could theoretically get anyone she wants. And it’s because she has a wound of not being financially stable in my childhood where my family went through some hardship that I didn’t notice as much because I was consumed with beauty, not recognizing that surgery would have solved my problem of having lola feet—bunions—in childhood. Yeah, first thing I’m getting after graduation is not a Rolex or a car. Fucking basic average feet. Even if I get this surgery they’ll still be brown and wider than average and size 10.5 unlike my sister’s whose corns look pinkish and soft and a natural variation instead of monstrosities like mine. I was supposed to really start my CW 198 research proposal. Just shoot me now trying to power through my own fixation. Cannot stop writing about my life. I do not have it all bad but I certainly feel like I have it all bad. Best of all, no one can relate to me so they literally can’t see my POV because my circumstances are so specific and unfortunate it’s not a common thing to look normal to the untrained eye, but to look really really bad to someone who might become intimate with me, and they’ll just realize they got fucked because I am probably catfishing them by looking normal from afar. Next book I write will be about an incel and femcel who hate each other and marry up. Lol. The guy doesn’t even get rich, but somehow he will attract a beauty through special powers or something. Because I say so. Maybe my mom got really lucky because she was raped and she lost her virginity that way. Like they got drunk and this guy who was with them took advantage of her body while she was passed out and her friends and sister were also passed out to even intervene. Mom also was the type to swim in canals for some reason as a child. And even though her father was a lawyer, she still had to owe a store for food. Imagine sharing a can of food with 8 other siblings. I’m not saying my mom didn’t have other qualities, and she was even smart enough to earn a med school scholarship in CDO so she could meet my dad, it’s just that my dad gave her a ride whilst he had a girlfriend (who eventually cheated on him) right in the car with him. And that car was bought by my grandfather. There was this particularly pathetic girl I’ve heard about over the years who was head-over-heels for my dad and my parents just said she completely blanked out in an exam and had a breakdown because of her desire. And? That’s your daughter now, and I can’t help but feel it’s karma in some way. Two very attractive people not minding the troubles of other plainer people have a monster daughter who will drain their bank accounts for years as she tries to complete college without ever connecting with a single soul or even touches hands with. Who probably needs to be humbled until she realizes she must suck it up and date below her astronomical standards. Who will always be miserable because the guys she wants are going to be dissatisfied and the guys who want her are repulsive. They do not even have to be objectively unattractive to me, I just unfortunately am going to see them as repulsive because in the first place, why me? Why not some dainty big-boobed impossible creature? Why are your standards so low? Why did you think you could have me, is it also because I’m repulsive? Is it because they’re working down a list? Because other people they actually want refused them? I will never be happy or secure, I realized. Best just to let me become what I’ve always wanted to be deep down, the person who was right. The person you hate because I tell the truth as I can clock it. I will never attain that lived experience of being desired because I am actually the most beautiful they see. Where did I ever inherit this wound except when I was destined to realize my genes as they are just rubbing wrong against this society so fucked by porn? It’s 3:00AM. I am probably above my quota for morning pages and whining. Most of all I just want someone to say I’m right. Where did I ever get the idea that my whole experience is an aberrant and unique alien experience? If I write the incel and femcel book I would be more honest. I am so tired of not being really satisfied by fiction. Maybe I’ll make other ugly and plain undesirables into fans. Maybe if I debut with Anatomy I’ll become a bestseller but then it’s a monkey’s paw because I went against my conviction by lying. Then I’ll get married to perfect guy who will exactly be like John. Who will replace me because I was right. If I pressure people enough I could even earn loyalty by having foundations dedicated to uplift the lives of ugly and plain people by sponsoring their surgeries. Especially if they have a very attractive sibling. Who knows I could be tapping into a market of siblings of beauty queens who are not half something because their mother didn’t fuck a foreigner. My dad is technically a foreigner because he’s half-Chinese but look what that got me? Mexican little boy hirsutism that isn’t attractive. I am not that hairy, but I am hairier than my sister. And she has glowing skin that not even my mom and dad have. She really got it all and almost for no reason. Or maybe she had to go through ugly duckling phase in high school but somehow she’s exceeded that death sentence of only turning out plain after an ugly Smeagol high school experience. Yeah, nobody called me Smeagol, but it was a bunch of moderate heavy constance of being compared to Mona Lisa by Michael Moreno, being made to feel like I am worthless generally with my social skills, being made to witness other ugly guys bullying me for being a fivehead and having a manly nose they say they want for themselves because it’s matangos but still mannish. I don’t understand bullies at all, who bully other people’s looks. Maybe I do. I want all the ugly guys to stop liking me. I want them to hate me like in high school and keep making it worse. Why would I ever want an ugly guy to get obsessed with me? I want the world to fall down today. Defamiliarized my entire life to myself and it’s not that bad as a whiny manifesto. They have never heard of a female serial killer who killed others because of being a femcel. Maybe it takes more testosterone to be violent. If I could only snuff out the reasons why I’m considered plain. I would never wish death in real life, but would I be so evil to kill a baby because she is destined to be my replacement kabit? I am not a good person, and this is perhaps why Christians are also problematic. You realize you need someone else’s goodness to cover for you because you are so flawed and evil that nothing you do is worthy of goodness. If I gaslit myself like other liberals thinking they are better than Christians because they assume human goodness, I’ll be living against my own conviction even if I’m not a Christian. People are as evil as you think they are, perhaps even worse, but they are socialized to adopt scripts that only get broken in fiction in an acceptable way. Like, it’s only hypothetical in fiction to be evil to deal with trauma. The trauma of being expected to be a good person despite what you have in life. I am only going to upset society if there is a clear link of me writing something that will enable other incels to do the job for me. And this is where fictional representations will really get touted as causing violence. Because I presented it in a way that will give satisfaction and catharsis if you go ahead and off people if you are brave enough to be violent. Because I am merely considered “plain” I have no claim to the true experience of never ever getting attention. However, I have such an ugly childhood and teenhood and supposed adulthood where I was misled to think I could have it too. Which is arguably worse because I was given hope despite not actually having the chance. There is an insane amount of tension in me just waiting to be released about people lying or half-lying to me. If they’re not lying to me, they are just showing me the truth that is going to be fuel. I of course can’t be the only truth teller who is objective. Maybe I’m the wrong person to write this, sort of like how I see Sydney writing the 137 story even as she is considered successful. Every paragraph I write seems to be worse and worse. Bye. It’s 3:57AM. I drank so much caffeine and 75mg armodafinil. I didn’t expect to be pre-writing another novel.