talking to myself

a culmination of what goes on in my head

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I love The Buccaneers on Apple TV, and so I wrote a recap of the season 1 finale! If you like period dramas like Little Women, Bridgerton, The Great, Gilded Age, Dickinson, etc., you’ll love The Buccaneers! Cue “All American Bitch” by Olivia Rodrigo!

[girlfictions]

every politician who claims israel has a right to 'defend itself', every celebrity who reposts israel-sympathetic statements, every hand-wringing liberal who refuses to take a stance because 'it's just too complex', every zionist who fearmongers about this turning into a second holocaust, every western journalist who insists on asking their palestinian guests "but do you condemn hamas?" — in fact any person who wants to comment on the situation at all should be forced to read this article in full before they're allowed to voice their opinion.

at the end of the article, there is a 338-page list of the names of the palestinians who have been killed by israeli forces from october 7th-25th. the first six pages are for the age '0'.

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What if I just stayed in the present? What if I embraced it instead of ignoring it? Instead of wondering what the future will look like or ruminating on the past, what if I stayed here? What if I just lived life day by day? I mean that’s the only thing that’s guaranteed right? Today. Tomorrow is up in the air and Yesterday is fleeting, so why not stay in the “Today”? What do I have to lose?

I’ve thought to myself over and over “When will my time come? What if my time passed me by?” But what if my time is here and now? I think I’m ok or at least I’m working on being ok with the now instead of the then and later. I don’t want to live in a world of only past and future. I don’t want to worry about what’s the next thing to come and what I missed. I don’t want to be scared of the future. I don’t want to be sorry for the past. I don’t want to be sick of the present.

I want to be here. I want to be here. I want to be here.

Here.

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I feel like I have to compartmentalize my sadness in order to make other people feel okay. Am I happy with my life? No. But do I have to put on a happy face and pretend everything is all well and good? Yes. It’s hard having to put my sadness in a box and throw away the key. I wish I can just be sad and have people acknowledge and understand my sadness instead of feeling uncomfortable with sadness.

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My Roman Empire is the phrase, "your time will come." I've been told this my entire life. You'll move out of your hometown one day. You'll find the right person one day. You'll find the right job one day. You'll make the money you want one day. You'll be traveling the world one day. You'll look back and laugh one day. Your time will come. But what if I'm tired of waiting for that one day? What if I'm tired of wondering when my time will come?

I would consider myself an impatient person. I want things to happen now the way I want them to. I have a plan. I have always had a plan in place, and deviating from the plan is one of my worst fears. Over the years, I've tried to be patient. While friends are getting proposed to and living with significant others, I'm sitting in my childhood bedroom with walls that seem to come closer and closer together as I age. While people are out and about traveling the world, I'm watching their lives through the screen of my phone. While people are making moves in their career, I'm still trying to figure things out.

And I know that "comparison is thief of joy," but I honestly can't help it. When all you're told is "your time will come" it's incredibly hard to not wonder why can't that time come now? Why do I have to wait for a random day for my life to be the life I want? Why do I have wait patiently?

Every 11:11, every birthday wish, every New Years' resolution list or manifestation collage, or every time I closed my eyes at night and prayed, I would hope that my time would come. But then as the clock struck 11:12, or when the next birthday came around, I realize that my time still never came. It feels like I'm constantly waiting on the sidelines of my life, waiting to be put in on the field so I can start my life. Why does it feel like I'm sitting in purgatory while everyone else is roaming free and living the life of their heart's desire?

I just want my time to start now. I don't want to be in my 20s hoping that my 30s, 40s, and 50s are better. I just want better to happen. I don't want to be told that the grass isn't always greener on the other side, when I'm stuck with dried brown grass and overgrown roots. I just want a patch of green. For once, I want to hear "your time is here."

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I used to feel at home around my mother. Her voice, her presence, her laugh gave me such comfort. But the purpose of my mother’s voice has shifted from encouragement to discontentment. I may not understand my mother’s tongue but I know it’s ruthless. Insults so sharp they cut deeper than a blade. Walk into any room prepared for battle as I may never know whether my mother has collected new ammunition. There’s no place to hide because her words will always taunt and haunt. I am my mother’s daughter; she will always love me. I am my mother’s daughter; I know she doesn’t like me.

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pretty isn’t pretty by Olivia Rodrigo is for the girls who had to hold in tears while their moms told them to lose a couple of pounds. It’s for the girls who get frustrated and embarrassed in fitting rooms. It’s for the girls who tear dresses off their bodies after overanalyzing only to hear their mom say “this is not a dress for girls with your body.”

It’s for the girls who are constantly compared to other girls their moms bring up randomly in conversation. “Rachel’s daughter always looks so put together. You should wear your hair like her.” It’s for the girls who spend hours planning and getting ready just to be overlooked and ignored. It’s for the girls who are hyper aware of their clothes fitting too tightly or their makeup feeling too cakey.

It’s for the girls who cry in the shower to avoid crying in public—where tears and drops of water blend together. It’s for the girls who obsessively pick their skin in the mirror and instantly regret it once they see the damage they’ve caused. It’s for the girls who still wish that their moms would say “you look beautiful” without a “but” or a “maybe” following right after.

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I’m getting so emotional over Coco’s win at the US Open! She really did that! And I’m just so proud of her! Like she’s my little sister forreal!

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I hold grudges against people who don’t care about me because while they stopped caring, I never did. And the anger and resentment I have that stews in the pit of my being may never leave me unlike the people who did.

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After a long day’s work, I don’t think about the stack of papers on my desk, the laundry list of tasks I have to complete, or the stain on my new cream blouse. Instead, I shrink into a microscopic being and find myself in my head. Thoughts are floating and my head is spinning. In moments like this, it seems as though my only purpose is to fixate on life and think about how I seem to be behind in it. I just can’t shake the feeling that the life I dreamed for myself, the life my parents prayed for, the life I expected to achieve by now, is nowhere to be found. It’s out of reach.

People are dancing in different cities and discovering local treasures. People are falling in like and in love. People are climbing the social and corporate ladder, and some are tripping over the ladder rungs. And yet, I’m here. I’m still here. In the same place, I’ve always been.

Sweat beads on my upper lip, my tote bag slides down my arm, and I’m painfully aware of how out of shape I am as I not-so-gracefully run down the stairs to the train. Mystery liquids, candy wrappers sprawled on the steps, and suspicious smells make my sprint exciting. My hands fumble around to fetch the faded MetroCard I keep floating around in the sea of junk I keep in my bag. I stare at the turnstile and think about how I’m too out of breath and too nervous to shimmy my way through the gate. And to be honest, I don’t feel like embarrassing myself in front of an audience of ruthless teens, businessmen in Patagonia vests, and police officers who lurk in the shadows feening to feel important by handing out tickets and fines to fare evaders.

The E train whizzes by, and I’m greeted by that wonderful breeze that brushes my bangs off my sticky forehead. Relief graces my face as the train doors shut behind me, and then I hear that magical phrase over the fuzzy speakers, “This is a World Trade Center-bound E train. The next stop is 50 St.”

I move towards the middle of the train car instead of staying near the crowded doors. I see an open seat that no one has claimed yet and so I plant my butt and sit back. I remove my shoulders from my ears and unclench my jaw. I jam my earphones into my eardrums. The train starts to pick up speed and we’re on our way downtown. I take a moment to breathe and marvel at my luck. And I have to wonder, maybe just making my train with a second to spare and finding an empty seat during rush hour after a long day isn’t luck. Maybe it’s divine timing. Maybe it’s a sign. A sign from the universe reassuring me that I’m not falling behind in life, but maybe I’m living life right on time.

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The Summer I Turned Pretty is a beautiful and complex story of grief, first loves, young love, and insecurity. It's fun to decide what team you're on and talk about how Belly is indecisive, but I think we're missing the bigger picture here. I find that many lovers of the books and television series are often too focus on this "love triangle," myself included at times, but I have to remind myself and everyone else, that this is more than just a love triangle. Honestly, it's not even a story about a love triangle.

The Summer I Turned Pretty is a story about a young girl, Belly, who is insecure. Insecure about the way she looks, insecure about her intelligence, and insecure about her place in the world. And this story is about how one's insecurities can mold one's relationships, for better or for worse. The Summer I Turned Pretty is also a story about a young boy, Conrad, and his brother, Jeremiah, as they navigate the plights of adulthood. This growing pains that they both go through is intensified as they deal with the sickness and death of their beloved mother, Susannah Beck. They are left to navigate a world without their biggest supporter. As the stories of Belly, Conrad and Jeremiah evolve, we see a beautiful love story also take shape.

This story is about Belly and Conrad, and how love can take shape in many ways. It's about how feeling insecure about yourself can seriously impact your place in a relationship. It's about how grief, depression, and anxiety can be its own person in a relationship. It's about the bravery in recognizing how grief and depression can be all encompassing and can consume one’s life, and how taking a step back in a relationship to focus on mental health can be beneficial to all involved even if it's hurts. It's about taking accountability. It's about how love is deep and precious and something to fight for.

This is not to say that Jeremiah and his story and his feelings are not important. They are valid, especially his feelings of having to compete with his brother which derive from his relationship to his father. What I'm saying is that though Jeremiah has a large presence in this book and series, that does not make this story about him. He is not, and was never the main focus of this story. The idea of "teams" does not exist because it was never about who loved whom more or who is the better brother or whatever else. It's a story about how two young people find their way to each other against all odds; against feeling not good enough, against the crippling feelings of fear and depression, against feeling as if you do not deserve love, feeling that you are incapable of being loved and being in love.

That's why I love this story so much. That's why I hold this story so near and dear to my heart and why I constantly defend it. It's not as surface level as people make it out to be.

Edit: Jenny Han liked and commented on my TikTok that reiterated this post!

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watching all of the girlies run to their homes during bama rush is making me so emotional! like it’s just so pure and genuine and it makes me just loves girls and girlhood so much!

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girlhood, hold onto it and never let it go

"I'm a 20-something year old teenage girl." A joke to some, but a sentiment I'm sure we all feel. To me, this is a sentence that I feel deeply. Deep within my core. It's not just the words, "20-something year old teenage girl," it's a feeling. A feeling so precious and sacred, I want to bottle it up and never open it, letting dust settle on it. I want to capture it and hold onto it until my knuckles turn white and my hands turn red. I want to look at it and close my eyes tight so I'll never forget it.

It's girlhood.

There is nothing like being a girl. There is something so innocent and freeing about being a girl, about experiencing girlhood. You feel like the world is so big, and that dreams are just a jump, skip and a hop away. You feel like the sun is bright and warm just for you. You feel like rain only pours when you're at your lowest. You say the words, "Best Friends Forever," and you believe it. You cherish it.

That's girlhood.

Girlhood is matching outfits and asking your friend on the phone if they can wear a skirt with you to school. It's silly little crushes and playing M.A.S.H. It’s bows and ruffles and playing with dirt and mud but imagining brownie batter.

That’s girlhood.

Girlhood is friendship. It's love. It's holding hands and friendship bracelets. It's dancing to Beyoncé and crying to Taylor Swift and dreaming about Harry Styles. It's laughing before you even get to the punchline. A laugh so good that you keel over, hold your stomach in pain, and struggle to catch your breath. It's crying and wondering why crying feels so good. It's the quiet reassurance from friends that everything is going to be okay. It's going into the club bathroom and immediately sparking conversation with the drunk girl in the stalls. You bond over that "super cute skirt" and she tells you to "dump that loser." And you dump him because you trust her with life even though you didn't catch her name.

That's girlhood.

I'm not afraid to grow up, and I don't resent my older self. I'm grateful that I am allowed the privilege to age and grow into a woman who has so much more life to live. I can't wait to see what my life has in store, but I'll miss being a girl. There will always be a piece of my heart, a piece of my being that wishes for the beauty of girlhood to stay with her forever. I will always cherish being a girl. I hope to never lose that feeling, that wonder, that love. Because it's more than just a word, it's a feeling.

It's girlhood.

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The Summer I Turned Pretty, Taylor Swift, and the Beauty of Musical Cues and Heartbreaking Lyrics

“This is me trying” by Taylor Swift needs to be the song that plays during the end of Season 2 when Belly and Conrad talk during the motel scene OR during season 3 when Conrad speaks with Agnes. I would love for memories of Belly and Conrad to flash while he’s talking about how Belly is and always has been his first and only love.

I think this song playing would be great to show how Conrad has let down Belly time and time again because he fails to properly communicate with her. This song as it plays in the background will have the audience thinking about how Conrad’s actions, even though he loves her, are not always justified because at times it hurts the people he loves most, i.e., Belly, Jeremiah, but also how he’s hurt himself. This song can show how though Conrad tries and tries to do the right thing, the moral thing, to do what is expected of him, he’ll always feel that he can’t measure up. That he’ll always do the wrong thing and hurt people. That he’ll always feel like a screw up who doesn’t deserve to be loved or in love with anyone, but specifically with Belly.

I think if another Taylor Swift song were to play during a Belly and Jeremiah scene as one did already in Season 2 (“Delicate” Taylor’s Version), it should be “Ours” from Speak Now (TV). I think this song should play in season 3 when they announce their wedding (this happens in book 3 for those who haven’t read the books). I think this song in this specific context will represent a number of things.

That belly and Jere believe in their love and their decision to marry at ages 18 and 19 even though others may not approve like Laurel.

That Belly and Jere have something to prove.

Belly proving that she can love Jeremiah and that her decision to marry him is the right and safe one, even though her heart and head constantly aches for Conrad.

And Jere proving that his love for Belly is something more than just silly teen love. That his relationship with her is as vast and great as Belly’s relationship with Conrad. He’ll also have to prove to himself that he can love Belly even knowing that Belly will always and forever love Conrad and that Conrad will always love Belly. That their infinite love for each other will not interfere with Jere’s love for Belly.

I specifically think that the TV of “Ours” should play because Taylor’s voice and opinions have changed. She’s matured. And with that her feelings about the song and it’s’ meaning have matured. We see this since other songs like “Dear John” and “All Too Well” are direct contrasts to “Ours.” In “Ours” Taylor sings, “And life makes love look hard, the stakes are higher the water’s tough, but this love is ours.” I think when “Ours” plays during a Belly and Jeremiah scene, it can reflect how Belly’s thinking and rash decision to get married at 18 is not as mature as she thinks it is because she’s trying so hard to erase Jeremiah’s cheating and Conrad from her heart. Maybe we’ll see Belly’s face (played by the lovely Lola Tung) waver from a smile that’s bright to a more soft and weak smile to show how maybe this love between her and Jeremiah isn’t as strong as she thinks.

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1:48am: I wish my parents and teachers didn’t tell me that I was special growing up. It would’ve saved me a lot of tears throughout the years. Being called special or gifted or extraordinary made me feel like I mattered.

I just couldn’t believe that people saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself.

People wanted to hear what I had to say. People cared about me and my well-being. People were interested in me.

I felt important. I felt seen.

I felt worthy.

Worthy of people’s time, attention and love. I didn’t once dare to question why people called me special.

I simply wore “special” like a badge of honor, and I was proud to do so.

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Past Lives: How can a movie be so beautiful yet painful?

I watched Past Lives this past Tuesday, and I have some thoughts. I won’t necessarily speak to the movie itself, but instead to how this movie made me feel. After I left the theater, I felt this wave of sadness rush to me. I couldn’t shake the feeling of sadness as I thought about Nora and how her story is so similar to the stories of other immigrants. I know that a lot of people have been taken with the romance in this movie, but I think we all need to step back and refocus for a bit. This is a movie about immigrants, and how immigration can impact everything and everyone. As I was saying, I couldn’t shake this feeling of sadness after leaving the theater. I could only think about my mother, and how her life would be different if she didn’t immigrate to the U.S.

Would she still be a nurse? Would she have followed her passions of being an English teacher or a lawyer? Would she have more kids? Would my sisters and I know our mother tongue fluently instead of constantly asking, “What does that mean?” Would I be close with my grandmother whom I never see or understand? Would I feel the pressures of having to be extremely successful in order to feel like my life was worth it? That my parents’ pilgrimage to the U.S. was worth it? That their sacrifice was worth it? How would being the eldest daughter be if not for my immigrant parents making me feel like I need to be the saving grace of the family? Would be mother be happy? Would we be happy? 

Every so often, my parents pull out their old photo albums and show me who they once were. Photos of large smiles on faces I don’t recognize. Photos of friends, aunts and uncles at parties that I have never met. Seeing my parents light up at the photos and hearing them go on and on about what life was like when they were in their home country. The community they once had, the lives they lived, the happiness they experienced. I could see the longing for those memories in their eyes, full of glee and sadness at the same time. 

My parents, especially my mother, speaks in the future tense. “Once I go back home...,” “I’m going to walk on the beach...” “I can’t wait to see my sisters again...” “I hope I can see my mom one more time...” It pains me to think that the life that my mother lives is not one that she longed for. It’s not a life she wanted. She longs for something I can not give her. And so I’m left with the thought of what would life look life if my parents never won a green card in the green card lottery? Would my mother be happy? 

Past Lives is a beautiful yet painful reminder that the life of an immigrant can be upended in seconds, whether for better or worse. It is more than just a love story, in fact, the romance between the two main characters acts as a vehicle to show us the real meaning behind the movie. Who were we? Who are we? And who will we become? It is sometimes too painful to think about what could’ve been, but something I learned from Past Lives is that it is also beautiful to reminisce on the past, embrace the present, and look forward to the future. I hope someday my mother can go back to her home country and live out the rest of her days, and I hope once she does that I never have to ask, “Would my mother be happy?”