Yuki's Not At All Relevant Other Storytellings and Stuff


Yep. Basically. Stories that aren't exactly RP but that I write anyways. And or potentially non-fiction pieces. I don't know.


For a full view of the stuff I've written over the years. Not exactly a blog, but a lot of it serves as allegorical snapshots to my way of thinking over the years.


So as you may or may not have known, I was going through a rough patch recently. I met a girl while I was wondering the local Gamestop, as one of the store associates and I were talking about League. We three kind of just bumped into each other; no other sort of social engineering was required. But I got her number, she got mine, and we ended up meeting up both in-game and afterwards.

We quickly got to know each other, and I soon found myself inviting her to hang out with my best friends, whom I've known since high school. She's an instant hit. So much so, that it was almost like she had been part of our group all along. We went out more, whether for coffee or to go bowling, and we got to know each other more.

I wasn't really thinking about it... but I eventually found myself doing things for her that I don't normally do for anyone else. I found myself wanting to spend time with her, every day, doesn't matter what we were doing. I liked who she was as a person. I liked the things that she was into. We got along really well. And suddenly, the things that I had issues with, like her tattoos, or the fact that yeah, she was a bit on the heavier side, those small little things stopped bothering me. I began to notice things that I actually liked. I liked her eyes. Her smile. Her laughter. The way she would playfully poke at me. The way she cared about me. And in return, those little things that I had problems with became part of a more beautiful, unique picture than I had thought that I was looking at.

And one night, I found myself tallying up the facts, and the conclusion confused me.

I was in love, with my best friend, who was gay, and married. I adored her for who she was, not just on the outside, but on the inside. And I wanted to support her dreams as if they were my own. I wanted to see her be happy. Because when she was having a good day, I was too. And she was having a bad day, I was having an absolute s*** day. She was the first one I wanted to talk to first in the morning, and the last person I wanted to talk to before I shut my eyes at night.

I tried to walk away at first. But she didn't exactly beg for me to stay, but she asked, kind of, and I ultimately did. Here I was, ready to cut her out of my life, but I didn't.

What ensued was the best of heaven and hell. All time lows coupled with highs. For two weeks, I was first jealous, then depressed, then possessive, and obsessed. I needed her in my life everyday to survive. Almost as if I was addicted to her. And I think I knew that would happen. Because at every point during those two weeks, I wanted to so badly leave but something would always pull me back in.

It finally became too much. She got angry at me. I was strung out. She said we need to take a break for day. I'd been trying to avoid taking that day because I knew what I would do. I would leave without a trace. Which would hurt her. And I didn't want that, but the stress and pain I was feeling in my chest was too much. I had broken down at least twice by then, so much so, that I think I got sick because of the stress.

The end isn't really worth mentioning. Her friends didn't trust me; neither did her wife. And I don't blame them. They saw the absolute worst of me in rapid-succession within a two-week period. So why... was I still around? Because she wanted me to stay, to not hurt me, and I said I'd say, so I wouldn't hurt her.

But the reality is that throughout the entire two weeks... I had been hurting her. With my actions. My words. My lack of faithfulness to the rules we had in place and because of the fact that I just could not help myself. I hadn't felt this way in years. And when I finally did feel something, it was for a girl who was both already taken and would never be into me? I just couldn't bring myself to accept that... I couldn't bring myself to accept that my best friend was always going to ever be my best friend.

So I finally left. After sending her a long text before what I knew was going to be a very stressful day for her. I felt guilty, but then I kind of just, didn't care at that point anymore. What was one more thing to fret over? Hell yeah I was being selfish and foolish. Because I had just told her that morning that I'd support her in whatever she did, in a last ditch effort to convince myself that I can stay and make it work. But I realized I couldn't. I realized that I could not bring myself, in the current moment to accept everything that I needed to in order for everything to go back to normal. And that in all likelihood, nothing would ever return back to what it used to be. It was worth salvaging but there was nothing left to salvage. Short of whatever was left between us and only us. Because only she had faith me, which was misplaced...

Because I was never as strong as I told her I was. I am weak. I am petty. Because if I can't get what I want, then there's no point in me doing anything anymore. Not even for her...

I left my best friend, not because there was something wrong between us, but because I knew that there was something so wrong with me, that it would hinder any and all attempts that I made to try and fix the damage I caused. I left because I loved her so much, that like a drug, I needed her more than anything else. And that's wrong. Because she was in love with her wife. She had wonderful and caring friends that would protect and comfort her. She was so beautiful and yet, she would tell me that she doesn't see herself like that.

I thought that I knew her, but in the end, I fell in love with what I could see. Both on the inside and out. And that I was still missing pieces to the mosaic. A lot of them. And I was too ashamed to admit it.

I made a mistake. And that was, I left my best friend when she needed me the most.

Because I was in pain, having fooled myself into thinking I was in love with her. And even now, I swear I do. But I don't think I am. And until this ache in my chest goes away, I don't want to see her. Because I'll only ultimately cause her more pain. More grief. More stress. More suffering than happiness. If I can even do that anymore. I care a lot for her and I hope she's doing okay. Maybe in time she'll be able to forgive me. I know she says she does. But words don't mean anything if the person you're telling them to, doesn't believe them. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish I could take it all back. But if I did, wouldn't commit the same mistakes again? And again? And again?

Maybe. Because maybe, just maybe, this feeling I feel in my heart is actually telling me the truth. And that truth is that I love you. I need you in my life. I want to support you with all that I have. Even if in doing so, I become jealous, angry, obsessed, and possessive. Because love makes you do the stupidest things possible. It makes you feel emotions you don't normally feel. It will turn a calm ocean into a maelstrom. And warm some of the coldest of hearts. Love doesn't flipping make sense. And I hate it. Because I can't make any sort of plans. I can't make contingencies to plans that don't exist. I can only react as best I can and half the time, I can't prepare fast enough. You just do.

I left my best friend. And I want her back. But not until I make something of myself first. Not until I fix myself. Make myself better. So that if she's willing to take me back, we can be the best of friends. I can support her in everything that she does. And I can support her happiness, without the venom currently in my heart.


I imagine that somewhere, scattered among my belongings, I'd find something akin to journal entries. Scattered among my possessions, not at all condensed to just a single medium, I imagine that if one were to be able to find them all, they would see a snapshot of the evolution of my state of mind as I continue to live, learn, and live again.

I'm sitting outside HPU right now; specifically, in the Fort Street Mall under a cabana that they set out for the students. I'm sitting facing away from the mall, and instead facing the street. It's actually not at all crowded today. Slightly out of the ordinary, considering it's Friday. Students roam to and fro from the bus stop and facilities that we have across the street at the plaza, and here. I imagine that at least a few of them are making the trek from ATM to the bus stop to get on the shuttle to get to Moana Loa. I imagine though that the truth isn't that simple. I'm pretty sure that it isn't. We all have motivations for why we go and do what we do short of our own responsibilities.

Responsibility is just the name we give to our desire to want to better ourselves throughout our daily lives, both in the short and long term. We better ourselves through the use of knowledge gleamed from our teachers. We better ourselves by cleaning our room, ensuring a clean environment, and nurturing our soul. We better ourselves by taking a step back for a precious few moments, to look backwards, forwards, and then at ourselves in the now, asking the question,

"What do I want?"

I think that's the truest question there is at least as far as it comes to this particular subject. Per my friend, whom I'm partially indebted to, whom managed to get me off my ass for the 1000th time.

I'm preaching to a choir. Who hasn't fallen down a thousand times? If you haven't, then I imagine you're either too young, too sheltered, or both. Or maybe, unlikely, you're very fortunate.

Falling down isn't inherently a bad thing. I encourage it actually. Because from the ground we came, to the ground we will go. And I'm not just talking about that biblical but true statement that we were once dust and to dust we shall return. I am talking about how eventually, if you've stood tall for too long, life will find a way to knock you flat down upon your ass again. That's just the nature of living. Too much of a good thing will inevitably kill you or at the very least, hurt you. Because life isn't like that. It doesn’t like it when a person has too much good karma. So it checks us, time and time again. Rocking its fist right into our chest just to make sure that we know our place in the world.

Our place in the world though isn't stagnant. I honestly wish it were, it would make life so much easier. It would make trying t understand how we are supposed to live so much easier.

The crosswalk has just flashed white. Now it's flashing red. The clouds sitting upon the mountains make for a serene if rather parabolic picture. The sun is shining down upon the earth, while dark clouds rumble. The earth continues to move onward, the clouds with it, as life continues unabated by the looming threat of destruction.

Where am I going with this? I don’t know. And that's the point. We don't know where we're truly going. I thought I did, and now I don't. I'm sitting here at this table, under this cabana, set out on Fort Street by the university, trying to figure out why I'm sitting here. I actually know why I'm sitting here. But I don't want to admit it. The words on the door say "Shark's Cove." I'm inclined to agree. Sharks are solitary. Are noble roaming beasts of the ocean. From before they're born, sharks devour each other in the womb, with only the strongest surviving to be born. Isn't that what university is? We're all struggling to figure out who we are and how we are and how we become the strongest? And that those whom are able to answer that question first with conviction, are born into the real world, with the power to wield influence already tingling at the ends of their fingertips?

Maybe. Maybe I'm just speaking non-sense. I have the greatest inclination to agree with this statement. But then I'd need to agree that I've been rambling on for however long. And that might also be a truth.

Truth. A strange and mystical thing. Both mundane, blunt, and utterly terrifying in application and implication. I imagine that sometimes that I'm not being truthful with myself, so I write. And in my writings, I secretly autography my own desires.
What do I want then? If it says that I write about a fiery Empress, ruling with dignity, not at all flawless, over a daughter whom might be everything that I want? Is this a dream that I've bought into? Maybe.

Maybe. I'd like to imagine that I'm not greedy. That I'm still humble and selfless and kind and everything that I used to be. But in saying that, I've admitted it. I am not who I was. And I am not who I am.

And the street continues to be stay busy. The mall continues to exist as it does. And people walk onward around me. Melancholic maybe? Or maybe a sort of ambivalence?
I imagine that it's a bit of both. I imagine that it's a bit of both. I am right to imagine that it's a bit of both. Life, doesn't not care. Life does not matter.

The world moves.