Issa mood

Hi, what would you like to order today?

*gibble gabble confusion confusion*

Ok. Honest, heart to heart rant coming right up.

I grew up as a socially awkward child. In fact, to the majority of people, I still am a socially awkward person. No matter how many videos or articles I consume to be funny or charismatic, I end up being myself, my inconvenient self.

I know that multiple people around the world go through the same thing as me and I’m not special in any way. But, being immersed in an environment where you are bombarded with socially savvy people who glide through conversations with ease can really take a hit to your self esteem.

I’ve definitely improved, socially at least. In elementary school, I literally would not talk. I tried making friends, but as soon as I saw the slightest sign of disinterest, I’d isolate myself from that person. This method worked until I ran out of people to isolate myself from. Meaning I was left alone at the lunch table, no one to talk to and no one to laugh with. The occasional friend would come along, but our relationships would never grow to be as close as the suave people I spent so much time observing(not a stalker, I promise). And even then, they ended up moving by the next year. Why was it that I could identify myself doing things wrong, yet attempt after attempt to mend such wrongs, I was left bereft of any true friendship? The kind of friendship where you hang out all day, every day. The kind of friendship where you can’t stand being apart. The kind of friendship where no moment together would ever be boring. I longed for that kind of friendship, but as they say: “the harder you try, the more difficult it is to obtain.” It’s apparently called the Reverse Effect. And, boy, did I want a friendship like that so bad.

I grew up in a good family, in a good environment, in a good school. And yet, here I was having problems that doesn’t make sense for someone put in my position. Being quiet was okay. Quiet people can have amazing friendships. But being quiet and awkward, that’s a recipe for disaster. I gave compliments and I meant them too. I was nice and polite. I tried to be interesting. All this societal pressure to have friends, all in elementary school. Of course my longing for friends is not just due to society, but my needs as well. Human beings are social creatures, and if I wasn’t social, wouldn’t that make me inhuman?

Friendships are the sources of the most pleasant joys and the most nasty scars. I never had to deal with any drama growing up, mainly because I wasn’t part of any. I didn’t have to go through gruesome friend-breakups. I was saved from that kind of heartbreak. But, this same heartbreak is what gives you the ability to feel the spectrum of emotion you do. The more intense the emotion, the more you learn about relationships and thereby, humanity.

Middle school was a vastly different story. I was desperate to get more friends, and seeing that I’d be meeting new people meant that I could transform myself into this self-perceived outgoing girl. Looking back, I was just obnoxious. I would high-five people in the hallway. I would force people into spontaneous staring contests.

I do remember one instance that burns badly in my memory; I was walking down the hallway, when I saw my friend approaching from the other side of the hallway. I opted to give her a high-five, smiling like the goofball I was. She did end up giving me that high-five, but not before asking me if I was socially awkward. That single question really solidified my low self-esteem. I smiled and laughed it off, but 4 years later, I still think about that day and wonder if I’m that same socially inept girl.

The funny thing is, that girl that asked me if I was socially awkward ended up being my closest friend come high school. She is smart and beautiful and funny and adorable. We’ve talked about that instance multiple times on our walks home from school. Each time, I realize how raw my emotions still are, no matter how much time progresses. That’s because one’s self-awareness never disappears, no matter how much one improves. I have a group of friends. Or, to be more accurate, I’m friends with one or two people in multiple friend groups, which means I never get invited to anything. Well, I get invited about twice every six months. That’s far below my standards. I want friends that want to hang out with me. I want friends that aren’t busy 24/7 and can make time for me if they are.

I’m learning along the way though. I’ve come a long way since elementary school and have a long journey ahead of me. I can only hope that my efforts in improving myself come full circle (karma, I’m looking at you sweetie).

Please, if you have any advice, take some time out of your day and comment below. I get a sort of euphoria when people actually react with my blogs.

Thanks for reading this far out about my bland life,

-shemightbesped (being sped could be an explanation, couldn’t it?)


Sped is my name, and clueless is my game

Careers; there’s so many to choose from and although I’m only 16, it feels like I should have everything planned out, down to the year. But careers; I can’t choose a single one without finding another that outdoes the last in terms of benefits. It’s an endless cycle and the worst part is I feel as though by the time college comes around, I’ll be going to school for the wrong thing.

Up until two weeks ago, I was dead certain I would be going to a prestigious school to get a computer science degree. And at this point, I think I might be obligated to go to college; after all, I’m Asian, and if I don’t become a doctor/lawyer/programmer/*insert other stable (and tedious) career here*, than I’m a disappointment to the family and a waste of the time and money spent to raise my stubborn ass.

I can’t help but feel like I’m in one of those torture devices that pulls you from all different directions. I tried googling it to find out what it’s called, but the closest I came to such a torture device was “The Rack”, which is a piece of equipment that stretches you out, from head to toe.

My point is, it feels like I’m being milked for all I’m worth, and I have no part in the milking process. It’s kinda sad to be honest. I grew up with people telling me to follow my passion, which contradicted the constant insistences originating from my family that I become a professional of some sort, whether that be medically or scientifically, as long as it was in the STEM field. Even if I did follow the former’s advice, it would require that I have a passion, which I don’t. I wish I had feelings of a more intense variety. Yet, at the same time, I’m not emotionless. I can cry, I can feel. I don’t have to convince the readers here of that.

I just don’t have an interest. I try new things and I go on walks in the wilderness, all to no avail. For those who are reading this out of pity or have experience of any circumstance, I accept all donations (in the form of advice) in the comment section below.

Sorry if this was a tad bit too serious/negative.

I really am clueless,


My dumbass

Alrighty my loves, it’s time for your favorite blogger to make her appearance yet again (and this is when you, my one and only crowd, goes wild)! Having a blog is a little weird; it’s almost like I am obligated to write consistently, churning out insightful content one after another. The craziest thing is, this is only my 3rd post, all in less than 24 hours after I started this blog.

Now, for the majority of you who didn’t bother to read my about me, I am what folks call a dumbass(it’s called dry self deprecation, Karen). For one, I’m not an expert on anything. For two (this should be a thing, we shouldn’t have to say second of all), I don’t know any experts personally, so it’s not like I can even plagiarize anyone to milk fame(fame through blogs is a concept, ain’t it).

To be honest, I don’t even know if I like writing. It’s meh. That’s the most emotion you’ll get out of me. I really only have three moods: bad, good, and meh. My meh state is the default. I wake up meh. I sleep meh. But, oh do I dream good.

Ok, ok I’m getting off topic… not that I had one in the first place. I’ll write about my dreams sometime. Oh, now that I reread what I wrote, I remember the direction I was going in.

For three(we gotta stay consistent), I have no experience and am what most would call a boring person. It’s almost as if even if I did the most interesting thing in the world(like saving a plane from crashing), it’s not like that’d be of interest to other folks. Why should they care that I saved those (metaphorical) 26 people? As the teens say, it’s nbd(no big deal for you ninnies and yes, there will be name calling on this blog [all in good fun ofc]) . That is until I capture the attention of my audience with an intriguing narrative.

Don’t say I said this, but talk show hosts have it easy. People pay to see them talk; the listening is already guaranteed by their audience, so they can go on about how their grandma died in the dump at the restaurant and everyone would be laughing their asses off. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do at a talk show: laugh. Ok, I’m gonna mark this as the end of my rant.

Disclaimer: Every time I write sarcastically, I know there’s that one person(glaring at you Karen) that will take it seriously. I know talk show hosts work hard, I’m not sped.

But you shouldn’t trust me; my username says it all.

(World) peace out,


Ah shit, here we go again

Y’all, I’m typing this at 11:34 p.m. before school tomorrow. Last night, I had slept from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m., woke up till 4 in the morning, then went back to sleep only to arise once again at 6 in the morning. Thanks school, I really appreciate the stress you add to my already stressful life. :)) side note: my baby Jesus, I sound so spoiled. Believe me, I am incredibly grateful for the opportunities and lessons school has offered me, no matter how much I chastise the system that runs it.

I remember freshman year of high school, I had such a I’m better than you mentality towards my friends just because I slept 8 hours a night, no exceptions. Of course, for the average high school student, that is an accomplishment in and of itself. However, my sleeping schedule this year really would put my former self to shame, a shame she would never recover from after boasting about her sleep to kids barely able to part their eyelids for more than a second. What a shame, what a shame indeed. Not to mention that school has gotten more boring as well. But that’s a rant I could go off on, only to end after my brain was mushed to exhaustion from typing angrily away about how the education system has failed us.

I’m disappointed in myself, I’m disappointed in school, and I’m disappointed about the apathy my generation has towards a healthy amount of sleep. From time to time, I do hear a fellow peer speak upon their own sleeping cycle, almost humble bragging that they got only two hours a night for the past week. Like, are you kidding me? Why, oh why would you find pride in the lack of sleep you get? I mean I understand complaining, but at least make an effort to fix it. You know the risks of staying up late consistently: it takes away years from your life. But are you going to try and remedy your sleep schedule? Of course not, because school; school obviously doesn’t let any teenager get 8 hours of shut eye even one day a week, let alone a whole year.

Realistically, school does play a factor. Yet, so does your time on Instagram, Snapchat, Netflix, and Youtube. It’s just a sad reality school steals so much of our time to teach us facts wholly irrelevant to the rest of our lives (the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell!), but it’s one we have to live with. Make do with what you get and at least try to get some sleep. Seeing your zombie reincarnate in the mirror doesn’t exactly help your self esteem either. Do yourself a favor and dream. That’s an order.

Over n’ out chicos


P.S. If you caught onto my sarcasm throughout this rant, you deserve a gold star. 🙂 here you go: 🌟 Oh, and what the heck, have a cookie too: 🍪

So much for a first

You know what? I’ll say it. Firsts are overhyped. I don’t remember the first time I brushed my teeth. Or the first time I took a shower. So, by the looks of it, when I’m on my death bed reading over my blog (cause obviously that’s where my priorities are at that point), I’m not going to remember the thoughts racing through my mind at this moment in time. Nor how mind-numbingly bored I am. This blog post, as a first, will serve as a comparison to which I will (that’s the future tense folks) observe how shitty I used to write. In fact, there’s so much I don’t know about blogs. How often are we supposed to post? Are we allowed to curse like we do in real life, or is this platform only for the faux intellectuals who boast via solely labyrinthine vocabulary (see what I did there?)? What are words? What is reading? So many questions, so little time.

To make life a little easier for those who truly don’t give a shit, I have nothing to offer except my sarcasm, which is on the same level as a duck, and my crusty insults that I hope lowers your self esteem *cue the Aubrey Levine glare through your laptop camera*. I’d recommend you not waste your time, and I’ll try to follow my own advice.

Au revoir, Zai Jian, Aloha, Alafiz, Hasta luego (read goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye for you multilingual freaks)!

-shemightbesped(I might be, you never know)