Just Random Things

Let's Play a Different Game Today

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I started taking evening walks along the roadside. It got me out of the house, but it didn’t quiet my thoughts the way I hoped. Horns blared. Roadside marketers shouted. Vehicles rushed past. Pedestrians talked over one another.

I wished for somewhere quieter. Then I remembered I should probably be grateful for the privilege of hearing things at all. Still, my plan to settle in a remote area remains. Because why in the world is everybody yelling?

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I wish solar panels weren’t this expensive. The constant generator noise drives me insane.

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I don’t think I’d ever want to be a celebrity. I just want to walk somewhere unnoticed. No hard feelings.

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I don’t think I’ll ever fully understand the western culture of moving out at eighteen. First of all, I thought age was just a number. Secondly, who even made these rules? Thirdly, what if I simply don’t want to move out? (Although… are you really comfortable living with your parents for that long?)

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I recently read a book of poems. This line stayed with me: “I love you more than I have ever been loved.” Guess who “I” was. (Hint: a woman.)

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Another thing I’ll never understand is racism. Why does the color of my skin matter that much to you? And no, I don’t think I’d feel differently if I were white. See? That’s the problem. Why would that even be your first assumption?

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When I say “flower,” you probably think of something beautiful. A field of roses, maybe. But beauty comes with compromise too. Every rose has to bend its frame one way or another just to become the thing we admire.

Humans are not so different. As rewarding as commitment can be, loving another person costs you some autonomy. Maybe I want to be a lone rose for now. I don’t think I’m ready for those beautiful complications yet. I hope that’s okay.

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Politics turns friends into enemies so easily. Maybe that’s why I keep my distance from it. Everything about it feels unnecessarily loud.

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One of the things I hope to do when I finally have the means is spend entire afternoons in libraries. I want to walk slowly between shelves, running my fingers across the spines of books. I want to inhale the smell of freshly printed pages. I want to feel brown paper against my palms. Is that really too much to ask?

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One of my rules in life is: don’t start what you cannot sustain. Which is unfortunate because I want to begin skincare. But what if I become too broke to maintain the regimen afterward?

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I don’t like having things in my ears. I receive most of my calls on loudspeaker. So if you ever see me wearing earphones, one of two things is happening. I’m either pretending to listen to something or it's a matter of life and death.

Unrelated: when I was younger, I once stuck a sweet stick into my ear.

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There’s this friend of mine. I want to take him out on a date and spoil him a little.

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Novels always describe birds chirping as some beautiful natural soundtrack. But the birds on my roof sound genuinely distressed. Is there something I'm missing?

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Last week, I became curious about whether VIPs do their own laundry. Their underwear specifically. Okay, bye. I have homework to do.

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Children crying unsettles me. What’s the matter, angel?

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Why would you even think “Let’s count the stars together” sounds romantic?

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Five years ago—actually, exactly five years ago—I liked a boy. I liked him so much. Then after one week, all my feelings disappeared. Exactly one week. I still don’t know why. But sometimes, even now, I randomly catch what smells like his cologne in passing. Maybe people are right about first crushes.

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Imagine your life without the internet for one year. And don’t tell me you’d rather count rice grains.

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When you think about your father, what comes to mind? Do you hope to become like him?

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One afternoon, a woman knocked on my door and asked if I had any chores she could do for some money. I almost said no. Instead, I asked her to come back in the evening. She looked skeptical. I told her to return only if she felt comfortable enough to. I hope my smile helped.

When she came back, I sat on a stool and lowered my head. She sat on a higher stool. Then I handed her two pairs of chopsticks and asked her to scratch my scalp with them. She has been coming once a week for four months now. (Hint: I don’t like physical touch.)

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Surrogacy must be one of the hardest things to do. No matter how prepared someone is, I can’t imagine it being easy to let go afterward. But they still have to. Right?

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Authors of children’s books are a special breed. I suddenly remembered one of the novels we read growing up. The girl told the boy the only thing she wanted from him was the moon. She said she wanted to eat it. Imagine coming up with that.

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Have you eaten fried snails before? They taste ridiculously good.

#exaggeratednonfiction