notes from my life

In which I talk about how messed up high school is

School is so messed up because it defines who you are, at least in high school

Maybe those two late homework assignments are the difference between a B and a C or an A and B, and a 90 vs a 89 is the difference between perfect in flawed.

And grades? well if you’re not the kid with the 4.0, it’s not that you’re not as smart as the kid with the 4.0

you’re treated as if you’re not as good as the kid with the 4.0

You’re not just “dumber” than that kid with a higher ACT score, you’re not as good as them.

and so I spend half of my time pretending I don’t exist and the other half wishing I didn’t because every school assignment is a reminder that I am not good enough for the system.

and no one cares if this very un-individualistic system causes you pain, because apparently all it boils down to is


you don’t fit our system so colleges probably don’t want you so how about you spend time being sad about that instead of having people BE ENCOURAGING so maybe you CAN BE APPRECIATED FOR SOMETHING YOU ARE

because everyone loves the kids who gets into school and becomes something most people see as great but no one loves you no one remembers you because you were the kid

that couldn’t handle it,

the kid whose teachers (most of them) believed would never amount to anything more than average, if that.

school never teaches you to appreciate yourself, even if you are flawed.

Headcanon Lin is ultra left-handed. Myself and most left-handed people I know, for instance, can use right-handed scissors and do some things well right-handed (like I typically use my right hand to work with knives), but Lin—horribly useless and requires left-handed everything (or frustratingly using her bending on metal right-handed scissors)

(ノ ゜Д゜)ノ ︵ ┻━┻

My figment of imagination still revolved around you. I don’t talk about you as much as I do, but you’re still in my heart. To this day, I wonder what if we could have made it work. What if it was the right time and the right place? Oh darling, what if we were together?

   Look at the mess we have fabricated. There was a mayhem we could not control. Your lips tasted saccharine, and I craved for more. It felt so wrong, but it felt so good. You sent a bolt from the blue through my spine. Something I’ve never felt before, something that I could not shake.

   To this day, I still live in the ‘ifs’ and wonder about you. You might think I’m a fool and a delusional but you used to love me for that. You used to love all those part of me, they all belonged to you and when you left, I felt lost, unbalanced. You couldn’t love me better but I had enough love in me for both of us. Oh darling, maybe what I felt wasn’t love, maybe I was just addicted to you and now I’m suffering from withdrawal. 

  Adrenaline rushing through my veins due to my withdrawal symptoms. I depended on you with my whole life, I know I shouldn’t have but I did. You were a different kind of drug, so addicting and I craved for more. I couldn’t concentrate with my normal day-to-day life, all I thought about was being with you for eternity. Now, that you are gone, I don’t know how to go on without you.

—  my bad habits, die hard

collaboration piece between @cxrvisvbel and @giulswrites, follow her beautiful blog 💕💕

“See how many you can balance on my face”
Performance art piece - from @gem-jpg’s birthday party, 2016
Catch it on instagram: @yikeos

This is for the person who asked to see some of my bio genetics notes! I found it helpful to make mind-map style notes, since I found it tricky to connect some of the abstract genetics theories. (You can probably tell these notes are from the pre-mildliner era of my life hahaha) 

In other news: I got an IB 45!!!!?!?!?!??! It’s strange and crazy and I have a severe case of impostor syndrome rn, but I’m hoping this result serves as a reminder that hard work always pays off

Brown Eyes

I’ve always romanticized
Blue eyes,
Each one different:
Pools of ice streaked
With sky and the sea
Dotted in each
But your eyes,
They were brown.
Muddy with silken
Strands of gold
Fanning out from
Black pupils,
Each a glassy window
Into a soul
So full of something
I saw flowers in your
And roses in your lungs.
Each silence was
Eloquent when you
Were in the room,
A million puzzle piece thoughts
That you never said
But I felt them
You were full of black
Cracks that leaked
A light I couldn’t
Your mystery a sweet
Symphony to my ears;
I grow so tired
Of open books
And yellowed pages.
It was a second,
A smile on your dry lips,
And suddenly,
The color of the earth
Seemed so much
More beautiful.

It’s my fault. I tell myself that I don’t like you as if repeating it enough times will make it true. I don’t know what to do. You’re such a nice person that everything you do can be misinterpreted incorrectly on my part. I read too deeply into little things, and I know, I know that they have no meaning, but I try to give them meaning anyways. It’s almost like I enjoy these self-inflicted mind games. I try not to. It’s not a mystery. It’s a truth that I’ve been evading since the start. And now you’re distant. You’re so distant, and it scares me that we might be growing apart as friends, even though you’re just making new friends, which is what I said I wanted you to do, and what you’ve wanted to do since the start. Everything seems to be a miscommunication, and I don’t know how to ask you what is going on.
—  5:21pm thoughts// an indirect note from me to you that for once I hope you read

It’s so fucking surreal to get notes from mutuals on posts about my kid or my mundane life like normal but only see them peppered between notes calling my a loser bitch oe a cunt or telling me to kill myself. Maybe I’m finally desensitized because it still hasn’t hurt my feelings. It’s just exhausting. Hundreds and hundreds of notes a day. I miss when Tumblr was just the same ten people hearting my selfies. Oh well.

Marching band is so much more than an activity

I was really conflicted about if I should make this post or not, but I think it’s a really important thing.

Today, my band headed to our final band contest of the year, about a 100 minute drive away. I was listening to music on the way there, and ended up falling asleep. When I woke up, the director on our bus told us to get off the bus, and something was smelling strange. In the confused rush, all I managed to bring was my phone.

It never entered my mind that I would never see the stuff on that bus again.

The back of the bus was smoking, but still I assumed it was minor. Then, flames became visible and the smoke thickened, soon the entire bus was flaming


My instrument, my uniform, my APUSH textbook, and a lot of personal items were on that bus, as were the items of many others. Some things from under the bus were thrown out, but everything on the bus was lost.

We waited on the side of the highway far away from the fire, no one was hurt.

A public school bus from a near town was transported to us, and we took that bus to the site of our contest where we would figure out what we were doing and meet up with the other two busses.

When we got to contest, we decided that we would march. We worked so hard for this moment all season, and had come so far. 

We didn’t march in uniform, we marched in our shorts and band shirts. Many of us didn’t have instruments, and we were able to borrow instruments from the students of other schools. They gave us clarinets, a trumpet, mellophone, saxophones, a sousaphone, and like eight flutes.

It was because of these school we marched. We got straight superior ratings from the judges, something I have never experienced.

But honestly, almost no one shows up to watch our regional contest, but so many people came out to support us from other bands and there was nothing like hearing them cheer for us.

I might have shed a few tears.

And I still don’t have a uniform, and my belongings are gone forever. The very first flute I started with eight years ago is gone.

But it doesn’t matter to me.

So much more happened this day.

Last year we didn’t get superior ratings, and this year we have a shot at sweepstakes. 

Marching band isn’t just a family, it’s a whole network of families. No matter where you are, marching band is marching band, and through all these years, I only realized that today.

I could never give enough thanks to everyone who made it possible for us to make the best of our bad situation. Our band could have fallen apart and bombed that performance and no one would have blamed us. I have never had so much pride and so much faith in humanity.