“Sometimes when I’m discouraged about where I’m at and ungrateful for what I have, I wonder what my twelve-year-old self would say. I realize she’d think my life turned out really sweet. She’d be excited that I can eat ice cream whenever I want and have a movie marathon after midnight. She’d love that I can get on an airplane by myself. She’d be thrilled that I have my own car. She’d be proud that I’m not afraid of the dark and surprised that I’m not so shy. She’d be impressed by other things that I view as mediocre now. It may sound completely silly, but when I look at my life through the lens of my twelve-year-old self it looks pretty darn spectacular. How easily we cease to be impressed. I don’t want to lose that childlike wonder and magic. What would your twelve-year-old self say about you and your life now?”—Alla Drokina (via nonelikejesus)
“Love isn’t a state of perfect caring. It is an active noun like struggle. To love someone is to strive to accept that person exactly the way he or she is, right here and now.”—Fred Rogers, The World According to Mister Rogers: Important Things to Remember (via rainysundaysandcoffee)
You’re on an airplane, sleeping with your head against the window, your heart set on being home this time three hours from now. All of a sudden, something goes very wrong. The plane stops moving across the air and instead starts falling through it. The lights are flickering and the movie is skipping. The plane dips hundreds of feet in seconds, and the yellow cups fall from the ceiling. They’re a brighter shade of yellow than you remember, because unlike the demonstration, these cups have never been handled before. “Flight attendants take your seats now”, you hear, the pilot’s voice trembling over a cacophony of alert tones. You get that smell in the bridge of your nose like you’ve just been hit with a football. That’s what the fear smells like. The plane is going down.
Four more drastic drops in under a minute. People are crying. For all the folklore about how your life flashes before your eyes, you’re remarkably fixed on one vision – your parents. They’re sleeping at this very moment, in a bedroom so quiet they can hear the clock in the kitchen. And you can see them, clear as can be. You wish you could see a playground or a first kiss, but all you can see is your parents sleeping. Huh. Well, that’s that.
Several long minutes go by. Then, all at once, the lights come back on and the plane somehow rights itself. Some people cheer, but most people cry harder. The plane lands about an hour later, and as soon as you feel that touch down – hell, even when you were within 50 feet of the ground and could still technically survive a fall – you realize that however you brokered the deal between you and God worked; you’ve just been granted life in overtime.
Here’s the question: what do you change? Whom do you call that you haven’t spoken to in years? Whom do you realize has been toxic to your heart and drop with surprising ease? What trips do you cancel, and what trips do you book? What can’t you be bothered with anymore? What’s the new you like?
Think about that, and then ask one more question. Why not just change it all right now?
“When you’re young, thunderstorms seem scary. Like the sky is angry at you. But now that I’m older, something about its roar soothes me; it’s comforting to know that even nature needs to scream sometimes.”—Unknown (via thesearebones)
“Do not try to be pretty. You weren’t meant to be pretty; you were meant to burn down the earth and graffiti the sky. Don’t let anyone ever simplify you to just “pretty.””—Things I Wish My Mother Had Taught Me | d.a.s (via backshelfpoet)
I am not sure if you were like me, but I bought this lie that my 20s will be a magical decade.
All my childhood, I waited for that magical moment when I hit adulthood. I will be free, independent, successful, sophisticate and awesome.
No more teenage gawkiness. No more liking and doing stupid stuff I thought was cool. No more feeling depressed and aimless.
When I hit the big 2-0, I will have my shit together. I will be the “After” picture.
Well, my early twenties weren’t so bad. It was fun being studying in a different country and only being worried if I will pass my exams each semester. Every hurdle crossed was like completing a new game level with auto-save.
But then, I graduated uni and teenage-hood, and stepped in the adult world.
For the first time in my life, it hit me that if I failed, the whole game will restart. This wasn’t a game where I could pause and save. This game is online and in real time. If I make a wrong move, I could be dead.
I tried telling myself that I am still young and have plenty of time to do over. But every day, I read about success stories, I hear about friends of friends who made it. Each person younger than the other. I am no longer the girl genius.
Man, I am just 25! And I am feeling inadequate because some 17-year-old just sold an app he created for millions, while I am still earning a pittance for working my butts off.
And then there is the pressure of having Asian parents. All their hopes and dreams that their offspring will be rich and successful - or at least marry one.
But here is their chubby, single daughter binge watching The Mindy Project while eating pretzels and chips, because any other physical activity is too tiring for her.
Where is my fabulous life? Where is my fulfilling job with lots of money? Where is my super cute boyfriend who is patient with all my whining?
Is there a refund on this scam?
I bought this dream. And I wasn’t told that I had to work for any of it. Rock up with your proof of age and you get everything on a sliver platter.
It is hard. Where are my gold stars and merit award for doing great at my job? Why am I getting extra work and responsibilites instead? Where is my pay raise?
I actually have to go out to meet guys? What happened to conveniently meeting them at classes and various activities? It is such hard work to even download and swipe through Tinder.
Halfway through this decade and it seems to go downhill every year. I am too afraid to even dream of what my 30s will be like. (Although people say it is a lot better, so maybe I should wait for that…)
But that is what all these “advice” does. Your life doesn’t get better by just waiting around. I have friends in their 30s who are still stuck in the same rut as me.
Forget about all those passive dream achieving stories. There will be no prince cutting through walls of thorns or riding by to chance upon your coffin. Nobody is going to randomly call you and offer you your dream job. You are not that special and you will not get praised for simple tasks.
The adult world is a scary place to navigate. You are competing with people more talented and experienced than you. You are going to get hurt a lot. You are going to learn that life isn’t fair. And you are doing to learn to deal with it.
It seemed school life taught us the importance of grades. And I am finally catching up on a class school should have taught years ago. That life is not about chasing endless goals of meaningless success, but rather aiming to make the best of what you have to make the world a better place. That life may hand you nothing, and you have to go chase down what you want. That nothing ever comes by easy, and if it does, you should learn to appreciate it.
Life is just beginning when you are in your 20s. There is a lot to learn and unlearn. Those who said it will be easy are liars, but honestly, living in a world where I am more privileged than others, I should not complain so much.
But here’s the caveat, never expect from people what you’re not willing to give yourself. So if you expect the best from people, be prepared to give people the best as well. Let excellence be attached to your name when it’s called.
1. We can’t tell the future; we don’t know what lies ahead. All we can ever do is try to figure out a plan.
2. Your friends and your parents don’t know the future either. Your life is YOURS to live – don’t let them plan your life for you.
3. Enjoy what’s happening now; hang out, and do things…
“Only be with someone who you think you can learn from. They should be smarter than you in certain ways so that you can continue to grow and be interested. Above all, you should undoubtedly be proud that you are with them.”—something my 10th grade history teacher told me about how he knew he wanted to marry his wife (via r-snow)
“I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over Iphone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the years first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while we eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selfies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages”—b.e. fitzgerald (via leftgreatperhapsless)
Imagine every time there was a season finale of a TV series, every bar in town was showing it, everyone was talking about it, your boss let you go home earlier to watch it and whilst seeing it people would lie in each other's arms sobbing about the feels. Now explain to me why that's immature and unrealistic, but it's totally normal for football?