It’s hard to believe April is done, isn’t it? Another month wrapped in 2021. Soon, May will be over and then June, July…and before anyone can say another word, it would be time once again to put out those pumpkins and sitting by the door anticipating trick or treaters.
I have been called a lot of things – mean, impatient, stubborn – but zealous isn’t one of them and upon reflecting, I have come to feel I can be zealous sometimes but a lot of the times, that zealousness got masked for impatience.
Whenever someone asks, “How do you pronounce your name?”, I would often tell them, “The ‘Y’ is silent and ‘lan’ is pronounced like Lana without the ‘a’ at the end.” Some will still say it wrong and it drives me absolutely off the wall. It really isn’t that hard.
According to this website, when someone says, “Oh, you’re a xenodochial,” it means you’re someone who’s friendly to strangers. I didn’t even know this word existed. I looked it up on dictionary.com, no such word.
For a naively optimistic person, I worry a lot and about lots of things.
“I dreamt you were an ax murderer,” I told my mom once. I think I was around eight or nine. She had immigrated to the U.S and began calling me every weekend. She laughed and I could feel her rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. To this day, she still reminded…
Some people are meant to lead. Some are meant to follow. I am and have always been a follower aka an underdog. I wrote about this in this 2016 post and nothing will ever change that, not my mom, not my aunt, not even Toastmasters.
Having been raised by my mom and her family most of my life, I often call myself the black sheep of her family.
Are hoarders sentimentalists? I think they are and it’s the reason why they often struggle to get rid of stuff. When my grandpa passed away in 2015, his home office was at last unveiled to the family. His home office has been a mystery for as long as I can remember. I think I might…
Believe me when I say this, I did not used to be a rebel. I was a goody-two-shoes who did everything I was asked to do and please my mom was my life until…
I may seem quiet on the outside but really, I am just an awkward conversationalist with a vivid imagination and a loud mind.
When I got my mountain bike about a month ago, when I was assembling it, my aunt came over and said, “Just sell it already, get some cash back.”
Life is but a never-ending chess match. One wrong move and you might lose.
I have Nyctophobia. It’s another word for an irrational fear of night or darkness. My brain and heart are fighting each other on this. My brain says this is an irrational fear but brain, can you please tell that to my heart when it’s thudding like a high-rhythmic beating drum when I’m in the dark?
“I have never met anyone messier than you. I don’t know how you can live like this,” my mom would often say.
I know I wrote about how I was capable of so many things but really, I’m someone who’s called “Jack of all trades and master of none.”
I am pretty klutzy, period. My mom used to singsong “clumsy, clumsy girl” whenever I fell down as a little girl. I think I fell because my mind was somewhere else, at least that’s why I fell and scraped my knees the last time, which was about a year ago.
I consider myself to be a jovial person. It doesn’t take much to make me laugh, even if I feeling angry at the moment. I sometimes dislike this ability – to go from anger to laughter like a flip of a coin.
I have often been told by my mom I am a patient person. “I don’t think I have the patience like yours to complete a 2000-piece jigsaw puzzle.” She’d say. So that’s what I’ve always thought – I am a patient person.
I don’t recall when I developed this ridiculously hopeful attitude toward life – that everything will get better eventually, that something is better than nothing, glass is half-full kind of person.
“Don’t be so selfish,” my mom would chide whenever I refuse to help or whenever I refuse to share food with somebody. I hated being called that because I feel like that’s all I’ve been doing my whole life – sharing and never getting enough for myself.
When I was in middle school or high school, my mom would often point out teasingly that I have a low EQ (emotions quotient), sort of like low IQ except with emotions.
I consider myself to be an easygoing person but of course, because of my doubtfulness, I am not certain I’m viewed as this person in some people’s eyes. In the past, I’ve had people give me conflicted ideas – people tell me I’m mean, people tell me I’m too nice and need to be meaner…