Awkward Talk

Whenever the voices clear their voices noisily say the famous “honey, we need to talk”, or “I know this is strange, but…”, the fast thinking teenage mind immediately starts winding through its interminable cables and gears of friends, zits, glamor, catch phrases, and the small portion of education. We come to the conclusion of hormones and puberty. The voices continue nervously to the subject of the opposite gender, maybe even the same gender, grades, mood swings, depression, and obsessions (worms in my case).
“Darling,” the voice wavers uncomfortably, “there are more important things than friends and gossip, like your grades. (<-coming from an Asian family, this is heard far more often than is necessary) Girls have it harder, dealing with drastic, ahem, changes, so if you have any problems or concerns, feel free to consult us." Psh. Fat chance of that happening. Every time this lecture comes up, the last half of the words turn into a big jumbled mess of "wuah wuah, wuah wuah, wuah wuah…" like the way adults talk in those cute little Peanuts films.
My main dedication of this hasty little blog is a shout out to a heck of a great locker neighbor, a fun conversationalist, and a new friend. Thanks for keeping me sane day after day of talk that is enough to drive me into hysterics and teachers that talk as if they are feeding a baby. Hope you come across this post, Tim. Love you!

The Wonders of Youth

tigerknot- (noun) see: jasmine (pg 123)
extreme control freak who adores worms and despises those who seek attention. 5’2″. Late bloomer. At the prime of her generation. Weirdo with an eye twitch.

I’m the 7th grader people at the supermarket stop to ask where my mommy is. I’m a lost little girl employees at Target bring to the help desk. I’m the person who people raise their eyebrows at in checkout lines. I’m totally normal.

At a ripe age of almost 13, I long to be an adult. Enjoy the pleasures of grown up life, feel the intense pressure of maintaining responsibilities. When I was in elementary school, I always remembered reading cliche horror stories on the atrocities of middle and high school. I gasped at every gossip, every little zit being described in those little pink paperbacks. Now that my sister is a freshman in high school, and I a student in middle school, all the glitz and glamor disappeared. The “loads of homework and absolutely, like, no time to go shopping” was a myth. Sure, my teachers show no mercy on us, but it’s not like they try to kill us and leave the distressed little damsels “no time to, like, hang out”.

Of course this is no time for a girl in her intensive studies to pop a bag of popcorn and kick off her shoes, but sometimes I do envy the virtues of my parents’ lives. Now don’t get me wrong, I know they go to work everyday to live, but to have the freedom of driving around in a shiny Lexus to wherever the heart desires sounds pretty sweet to me.

It takes strict discipline, but whenever my mind wanders off to this (which is quite often, I must admit), I see all the benefits of being a privileged adolescent. My parents are not rolling around in money or throwing diamonds down a ditch just for the fun of it. They hold steady jobs that allowed us to move to a cute little neighborhood in New Jersey (no, not the Jersey shore. Those accents are completely false, and we do not spend our money on orange spray tans and bump-its…that’s right, Snooks) with a great school system and cool bike trails. I grew up under the “Asian parents” method, taught never to smoke anything, do drugs, drink, cut, or illegally drive. Many people out there would call me a downright goody goody, but I see my promise to remain sober as something to be proud of. I have looked past my days of ogling vogue magazines and discreetly flipping through snooty clique stories. It feels good to be young.

Worm Love

I’m what many people would call an “extreme control freak who needs to take a chill pill and stop thinking about justice and all that crap”. Thus, as my first post of this blog, I shall be reminiscing over the monumental role the earthworm plays in our environment. Many people get (as my cousin would proudly put it as) the “heebie jeebies” if they are even near a worm. Well, today just happen to be a relatively damp day, perfect weather for worms to come out and take a stroll(or a slide, if you will). As I am a teenage girl and experiencing drastic hormones, I tend to get very clingy on many of my firm (and I mean FIRM) beliefs as well as go through phases of drastic obsessions, and at the moment I am showing my love to the one and only, earthworms. So I am walking to my bus stop, so meticulously tip toeing and dodging the lazy slinking of these adorable little creatures, grimacing every time a car swishes by, squishing some of my doomed little friends. I took forever to get to the bus stop, picking up the worms that looked like they were struggling to get back onto the muddy turf. As you can imagine, on a rainy day like today, it took quite a while. Just as I was bending down to rescue my umpteenth worm, a fellow bus mate came dancing along with me. He was writhing, much like the little guy in my hand, and purposely squishing the worms that got in the way with his blinding white converse. I gritted my teeth as he wiggled by, making him probably regret his genocide of worms. The terrible episode concluded with me giving a painstakingly sermon/rant on how worms helped the environment far more during their short two-year life than he will for the rest of his life on the way to school. There are only two kinds of people in the world (indeed, Britney Spears), those who take the time to bend down and pick up living worms and lay them safely back into the soil, and the ones who completely ignore their existence and fun sized souls and maybe even crush a few for the fun of it. Those who call them ugly useless pests are hypocrites. Where many people may disagree with my opinion, I thoroughly accept it. Also, if any one of you are curious, on the way home from my bus stop, I stooped down and picked up all the dead shriveled worms with a stick, digging them each a shallow grave, burying them, blessing them with eternal happiness and praise. It took about two hours to get back home from the bus stop.

So there you have it. Your typical (I’m not sure the word typical and my name should be used in the same sentence, unless describing that I’m not normal) psycho maniac-almost thirteen-year-old-girl-slash-crazy control freak. Hope you enjoyed my first post!!!

Hello world!

More like “watch out, world!”
A writing demon is being born…muah hahahahaaaaa!