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My Sister Taught Me How to Take 0.5s

What hobbies have been passed down from your family? My Sister Taught Me How to Take 0.5s My sister taught me how to sound like a windshield wiper on seven hour car rides. One hour in, we simultaneously barrelled over in silent laughter from the backseats, trying not to wake my mom up. With each swipe of her finger through her camera roll, my sister revealed 0.5s of me reaching levels of scandalously hideous I didn’t know were even possible. My laughs turned into wheezes, which turned into increasingly squeaky windshield wiper noises until my eyes became blurry with tears and I ran out of air. As we verged on delirium, the faulty seatbelt half-choking me and my blisters from hiking seemed to disappear. “You should let me take some of you, too,” I said after regaining my breath. My sister tsked. “You don’t know how to take 0.5s right. You’re just gonna make me look ugly.” And so I bided my time, waiting for the moment she fell asleep. Four hours in, I proudly took my freshly woken siste...
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Pick-me Pink

  Have you ever felt embarrassed by the things that you used to like? Pick-me Pink Pink hair bows, pink backpack, pink shoes—anyone could tell what my favorite color in elementary school was. I swooned over Barbie’s dreamhouse, Fluttershy from My Little Pony, and Flora from Winx Club. I was in love with everything frilly and floral, especially when they came in pink. Ever since I could remember, my favorite color was pink—it had practically become a part of my identity. “What’s your favorite color?” During the annual icebreaker favorite, I never hesitated. As I moved into middle school and reached an age where I thought of myself as a changed man, my elementary hobbies and favorites became demoted to “phases”. I began to shun everything childish and girly (derogatory), claiming myself to be a mature tomboy. Skirts and puff sleeves gathered dust in my closet and I stopped reaching for my hair accessories on school days, even though I still liked dressing up alone every once in a...
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How much self-control do you have?

  How much self-control do you have? When it’s 10:30 p.m. on a Friday night? Not a lot. The hunger kicks in right as I’ve managed to convince myself to go to bed early for once. Instead, like clockwork, I make my way downstairs, take a left to rummage through the pantry, then make a u-turn to the fridge if my search turns out unsatisfactory. Finally, armed with a bowl, chopsticks, and the night’s conquests, I settle myself onto my chair, start playing my latest c-drama, and dig in. I have little to no problem with putting my life on hold for a bit of personal indulgence. One of my favorite excuses? Snack time! Who can resist? We all have our best (or should I say worst) methods of procrastination, and escaping the world for some munch and chill time is mine. It’s a bad habit—my mother makes this very clear every few weeks, something about indigestion and hair loss—but it’s easy. Locking in is a difficult feat to accomplish when the daily Wordle is but a click away and you hav...
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Do you wish you could return to a moment from your past?

  Nightly Reruns “Be bold! Do what you want! Even if you make a mistake or say something you shouldn't have, no one else cares that much. It’ll be forgotten about within days.” This type of advice never worked on me. Even if no one else cares, the amount that I care overrides any common sense the quote is trying to instill. I may have the memory of a goldfish, but one thing I’ll never forget is my embarrassing moments, whether from yesterday or five years ago. Late at night, when I should’ve fallen asleep ages ago, I lay vulnerable to my overthinking. Cursed memories and the (much more pressing) need to sleep wrestle for control in my head. Somehow, the cursed memories usually win. I sink lower into the folds of my comforter thinking, naively, that dreams are within reach but– Remember the days when you used to say XD every two texts? Or when you forgot how to write your own name the first time you saw your Chinese teacher in 3 years? That girl you met at summer camp 2 y...
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What objects tell the story of your life?

Hoarding Memories      I’m a hoarder, and my room suffers the consequences. I’m a future archiologist’s dream and worst nightmare at the same time. I keep everything: bins of knick knacks, jars of uneaten candy, and old toys stuffed into overflowing storage boxes. My mom thinks half of it is trash, but each object, no matter how insignificant it seems, is a piece of my life. Underneath my desk are mismatched boxes filled with souvenirs from my childhood. But rather than the scrapbooks or old pictures I’ve kept, Dum Dums hold the most nostalgia. The ziploc bag of Dum Dum wrappers I’ve stubbornly refused to throw away holds years of painstaking dedication. These wrappers were the first things I ever collected, and the origin of my hoarding tendencies. They’re a reminder of my humble, childish dreams: to collect every single flavor of my favorite candy. I was unafraid to explore new tastes (though confetti turned out to be a mistake), and excited about every little thing. ...
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