Okay. So #studyblrs get real isn’t trying to offend anyone. I’ve gotten some anon messages that are really rude and I’ve just straight up deleted them.
#studyblrs get real is just that, we’re getting real. I’ve rewritten my notes to be aesthetically pleasing one time. Uno. Ein. Yeah that’s the only languages I know one in.
The studyblr aesthetic isn’t most people’s real life studies methods. It’s some people’s, and I want to congratulate those who manage to keep the aesthetic up.
But honestly, it’s not real life. Real life is being up at 2 AM, surrounded by four empty cups, Rice Krispies Treat wrappers, and a pizza box with just pizza crust in it, and grease marks on your paper. Real life is not having time to make these AMAZING and GORGEOUS notes, because you’re studying for the grade, NOT the notes.
People say you just need to “study” to be a studyblr, but why is it only the MUJIs, the Mildliners, and the Staedtlers get reblogged? Why doesn’t the pictures of sloppy, coffee stained notes get reblogged? The rain drenched crinkled notes that don’t get rewritten. The notes with more scribbles than legible writing.
Underneath is why I think that #studyblrs get real needs to become popular, and fast, which has been taken from what I said in a conversation with @universi-tea where the idea for #studyblrs get real came up.
Teens that are growing up may not know what they’re facing, because aesthetic studyblr makes it look like sunshine and lollipops.
“I’ve been through things that will commonly happen. I’ve been rejected by my dream school, and I’ve cried at 4 AM in the morning because my fourth SAT scores weren’t high enough to meet requirements after months of studying. I’ve taken AP classes. I’ve graduated.
Your high school/college/university experience may have been different, but mine was a rude awakening and I’m trying to prevent others from crashing and burning like I did. I was an all A student in high school, even with AP classes. I graduated fifth in my class with 25 credits from AP scores, in which my school only offered seven AP classes.
My first test in uni was a 38 in Business Calculus. A fucking 38 out of 100. I remember it very vividly (Thursday night, and the Blacklist was on.) It was like someone was trying play a joke on me because I had NEVER gotten that low of a test grade before. I remember looking at my scores, and the sense of dread settling into the pit of my stomach. I cried, and then called my old AP Bio teacher (idk why now that I think about it) I had a panic attack, and I was by myself (lived alone.) Those two are very dangerous. My next test score was a 51. Rinse, and repeat.
Do you know how worthless I felt? How long my mom yelled at me after I called her? How my friends reacted when they found out? I went and had a four hour conversation with the professor, who told me that this was the most common thing he saw in a class with freshmen in it. That they come thinking that they’re prepared and they are by no means prepared. I had to go to tutoring. For every single class but one. This was so fucking embarrassing. I had gone from the tutor in HS to the tutored in Uni.
My best friend went to the North Carolina School of Math and Science. Extremely prestigious, and extremely hard. “It’s like taking uni classes when you’re 16, 17, and 18, but you don’t get credit for them as college classes.” I’ve known my best friend since I was 10-ish. She’s the most level headed, and the smartest person I know. She calls me frequently, crying, because the work load. She spent a whole week with me trying to get over one failing grade.
This embarrassment, this shame and lack of self worth I experienced in uni is something I NEVER want ANYONE to experience. I’m trying to prevent these people younger than I am from feeling this way, because I had sunk into a depression because of grades. Grades that could’ve been prevented, had I known the truth.
Sure, the studyblr aesthetic may work in some people’s lives, but in college/uni, you’re being pulled in so many directions. I don’t know of a single person in any of my classes that have gorgeous notes. Hell, I don’t know anyone who can even afford to buy nice planners, or buy fresh fruit. Being “a broke college student” is entirely legit.
But all this aside, if you’ve managed to live out the studyblr aesthetic in university and keep up your grades, you better be DAMN proud of yourself. I’m not trying to make anyone mad. This is the reality most of us experience. It’s the honest truth, and I had to find out the hard way. I just don’t want anyone else to find out the hard way, either.“
How long have you been sleeping with Raven?
That’s disgusting. And wrong. I don’t even get– why would– I’ve never had sex with anyone, anywhere. It’s none of your- you have- the nerve, the audacity, Raven is my friend, technically. And she is terrible, face-wise. And how- how- do I know, frankly, that you’re not sleeping with her? Maybe you are. Maybe you’re trying to throw me off? Check and mate.
Growing up in an age with science on the rise, your grandmothers stories are sweet but you know they’re just that, stories. You humor the idea from time to time only to notice a certain pattern and like any true scientist, begin to experiment with it.
Your grandmother Essie was a strange one. Still telling these fanciful tales to scare your siblings and cousins, or leaving out food for the rats every night. Your father never did anything to sway her into the current times, maybe because she was too aged to try but it still bothered you. Science was clearly the wave of the future, its was useful, efficient, and could be so much more magical than little tales simply because it was real. You could see it, touch it, taste it, science was tangible and as magical as it was explainable.
“he might crawl into your mouth and make his home in your belly, for that great eater will take all the good out of your supper, so no matter how much you eat after, you’ll never be satisfied, never, never, never-” Elizabeth started to sob at the story and you rolled your eyes. Your aunt quickly grabbed your cousin and pulling her away, the other kids dispersed feeling too uneasy to stick around. Grandma Essie looked positively distraught, her lip trembling to see the blanket empty of a captive audience. In your pampered youth you didn’t care to acknowledge that with any comfort.
“Why can’t you just barf him up?”
She flinched up to find you still by her side, sighing in exasperation. “Of course a little shit like you would-”
“Or just eat really gross things until-”
“He’s magical! He cares none for what you eat nor your pryin’ to get him out! He’ll be bound to your stomach as you’re bound to keep him in there!”