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Can Money Buy Happiness?

  I think money can buy happiness. Or at least, it can get you material things and experiences that you then have the opportunity to enjoy. A couple times a month, I grab a friend and leave Uni at lunch to take a glorious stroll down the street to a coffee shop and get a seasonally appropriate drink. Recently, this has been a dirty chai latte for six to seven. I scurry against the biting wind and inhale the sweet smell of rotting leaves in the late autumn. The sky is dark and cold and blustery, and I absorb what little sunlight I can. But the contrast between the harsh outdoors and the warm coziness of the chai is delicious. I sip it slowly on the way back to the building and laugh with my coffee buddy. The money buys the latte, but it doesn’t buy the rest of the experience. Without the wind and the cold, the chai would be much less comforting. If I just downed it one gulp, not feeling the warmth and the spice at the back of my throat, it wouldn’t be nearly as nice. Money can buy n...
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Is "doing nothing" a good use of your time?

  I think “doing nothing” is a good use of time.  Well, taking an intentional, relaxing break is a good use of your time. Accidentally scrolling on Instagram for hours… probably not a good use of your time. Where is the line drawn between “doing nothing” in a way that actually allows you to rest and recharge before jumping back into your daily tasks, and “doing nothing” in a sort of snowball-y way that just pulls you repeatedly away from your responsibilities? I draw the line at intention. Are you intending to stop, with a purpose to relax, maybe think about something unrelated to whatever work you’re breaking from, maybe to not think at all? Or are you just being pulled into consuming things (for example my personal poisons instagram reels and youtube shorts) that will keep you engaged, therefore not really stopping at all? We live in a very hustle-oriented culture, I think. There can be a lot of shame around not being able to do everything all the time.  I mean, for...
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What role does procrastination play in your life?

Monday morning, I woke up and realized I had yet again ignored all of my school responsibilities over the weekend. I came home after work on Sunday evening and tumbled down a rabbit hole lined with flickering screens. KC Undercover episodes on Disney Plus. Instagram Reels. I fell down, down, down, until I eventually slept, at 12. My Japanese homework, incomplete. My college essays still steaming heaps of word vomit if anything. I very much wanted to scream and explode and bawl my eyes out. Procrastination often feels like an unavoidable instinct. I have an intense need to get away from the seemingly insurmountable mountain of tasks which are always ahead of me, and I can, if I do literally anything else. It's hard to tell the exact extent to which it's present. It's sneaky. It’s a massive and vague concept that can mean so many things. Because sometimes I’m obviously avoiding impending deadlines, watching social media instead of working. But sometimes I'm not. Sometim...
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Adorable Whining

What assumptions do people make about you? “You’re so cute.” “You don’t look like the kind of person who’d curse.” “You have a young voice.” I’ve heard those a lot, and I hate them. I’m not saying that people are wrong about these perceptions. I don’t curse. I talk like a distressed dog toy. Sometimes it just feels demeaning. That's what people feel the need to comment on, that’s what they notice about me. I recognize, consciously, that it's meant as a compliment, but every time I hear the words, I want to jump up to defend my skills and my experience. A few weeks ago, I was working in the Flying Monkey Cafe. I was hesitantly pushing some water bottles across the counter towards a customer. I was new in this particular role, so I was timid because I had no clue what the procedures were. They laughed at me, obviously. What I was doing was funny, after all. Objectively, pushing the water slowly across the counter instead of placing it in a hand. That’s unexpected and absurd. But ...
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Personal Credo?

  The world isn’t black and white. Listen. Be kind to yourself. It’s okay to mess up. Just keep going.  These phrases bring me hope. I often whisper them to myself, or speak them in my brain, in order to keep up with the demands of the world. To finish that assignment, that cross country race, keep moving forward in a show after I’ve missed a cue.  They’re intentional thoughts that I desperately want to believe. However, implanting thoughts into my brain is difficult.  I love these sort of vague mantras because I can constantly connect them with situations. There are wonderful moments when I hear that advice with new ears. It sort of clicks, and I see how this general rule can apply to many facets of my life. There’s a physical sensation. The inside of my skull is stretching, gently expanding, as I feel pieces click into a new configuration. It’s difficult to describe-- I’ve never heard anyone describe physical sensations of epiphany.  As important and encompass...
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Writing on the walls

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  I believe every object I’ve ever owned, even touched, contributes in some minute way to the story of my life.  Of course, I can’t name every object I’ve ever interacted with in 650 words, even if I could remember them all. And I certainly can’t delve into how each of them might have shaped an almost imperceptible facet of my self, leading to incomprehensible texture in my life. But I can talk about my bedroom walls. They’re atrocious, plastered with the sentimental things that lived on my floor until I finally had the energy to clean it off. Things that I couldn’t find any better use for, but couldn’t quite bring myself to throw away. And now they sit there, almost like memories in a brain.  I’m so used to the presence of these photographs, posters, scraps of artwork, and even old projects, that they usually mean nothing. They’re just noise. But every so often, I’ll look at one just right and be transported back to the moment when I acquired it, remembering a ho...
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Is there something you used to like that you are now embarrassed about?

  In my second grade class, I like liked a boy. His name was (REDACTED).  Actually, because he’s a real person who likely still lives in the same town, and I don’t want you telling him about this, and just generally want to spare him embarrassment, you don’t get his real name. Let’s just call him… Bryce.  I want to address the phrase “like liked, ” as I believe it can help define how my perception of crushes has evolved over the years. In second grade, I was very open about using the word “crush,” and did, in fact, use that word in my eventual botched confession to… Bryce. However, by middle school, I refused to admit to any romantic feelings of any sort. Even my closest friends did not hear of my first “real crush” (based on a definition I picked up in 6th grade puberty class) until nearly two years after I recognized it as such. As I’m reflecting on this now, my first toe-dip into the pool of very young love might have been a leading contributor to my future crippling s...
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