beanie baby worm blog

The intern on my team is leaving. With the end of summer comes the start of the school semester. So he’ll go back to the college he attends, out of state. He’s a rising senior, a college athlete. Perhaps I’ll see him in the office again next year, since I heard he got a return offer, but it’s too hard to predict. Maybe he’ll get a better offer elsewhere. When asked how his experience in our office this summer was, he chuckles and says he really enjoyed his time here and other canned polite and corporate phrases. He’s slick, I observe, when I watch his final internship presentation. He dodges potential sticky situations when difficult questions are thrown at him by upper management. The sharp planes of his face shift, I watch the barely perceptible scrunch of his eyebrows before they smooth out back to their usual unbothered state. I idly wonder if I could manage to do the same, as I read the logo of his vest that lays atop his pressed dress shirt while he talks at the front of the conf...

I rounded out my first week at my first official full-time job out of college. I had just gotten inside and was trying to take my black boots off without undoing the zipper. I was in a hurry, home sweet home. Simultaneously, I tried to hike up the leather strap of my work-appropriate tote bag so it wouldn’t slide off my shoulder. As I finally gave up and leaned down to unzip my boot, my eyes were drawn upwards as I yanked my purse back up with the other hand. They caught on a photo frame of me as a fourth grader on the door. It was in a flimsy white frame, decorated with some foam stickers of assorted colors, in the shape of stars and snowflakes, studded with plastic gemstone stickers. I remember gluing weak magnet strips to the back while making it in class. Then I waited my turn to pose in front of the projected image of a waterfall for my teacher to snap a picture and mutter "next” to the next kid in line. We stuck those photos to the then-dry frames and brought them home. I’ve...

It’s my dad’s birthday today, just a few days after mine. Last year, I wrote a short piece about him, so I’m keeping up with the tradition. My dad is the sole reason for my blog and Instagram empire. He’s the one who brought me and my siblings to max out his library card as kids, encouraged me to start a blog for my writing as a teenager who was afraid of what my classmates thought of me, suggested I apply to a creative writing program when applying for colleges. He still tells me with a straight face to just write a New York Times bestseller and quit my future job. He’s the one who thrifted my siblings and I’s books before we even knew what thrifting was, phoning us to see if we had the so-and-so A-Z Mystery book or a certain copy of The Magic Tree House when we were kids. "Yes, we have  The White Wolf ." Sometimes at the dinner table, he’ll fondly recall his schoolboy days, reminiscing about how he was the chubby kid with glasses who read a lot. There was this one time in ...

 It's my birthday today. Rather than ruminating on this event, I’ve been thinking about what to do with myself after I graduate with my bachelor’s in just a few weeks. Change comes with busy-ness: packing, paperwork, tying up loose ends. The concept of no assignments and midterms to worry about, no more classes to rush to, and no plethora of social events to fill my weekends is alien to me. Instead, there will be meetings with my manager, Microsoft Excel, morning commutes to the office, and long walks after dinner. Maybe movies and books. The horizon of my life stretches, flickering and shifting before my eyes like a mirage. When I read Lord of the Flies two years ago, mirage was a recurring word that continually stuck out to me. I feel like Ralph lately, disillusioned, overwhelmed, confused by the senseless behavior and workings of human beings.  My dad asked me what my dreams are when we were on the phone last month. I was wearing my pajamas and standing in the parking lot n...

"Two words from him, and I had seen my pouting apathy change into I’ll play anything for you till you ask me to stop, till it’s time for lunch, till the skin on my fingers wears off layer after layer, because I like doing things for you, will do anything for you, just say the word, I liked you from day one, and even when you’ll return ice for my renewed offers of friendship, I’ll never forget that this conversation occurred between us and that there are easy ways to bring back summer in the snowstorm." This was the line from Call Me by Your Name that came to mind when I saw a bunch of the yellow flowers I used to call sour grass as a kid growing straight out of the recently redone brick floors of my parents’ backyard. Now I know that they are technically called sorrels (thank you, Google). My third post ever on my Instagram account shared some of my favorite quotes from the book. Spring has barely begun, a few sunny days here and there, and I’m already fantasizing about summ...

I needed to do my sheets. I stripped every sheet, blanket, and pillowcase from my twin-size bed, not something I usually do since it’d take two loads, but I figured, what the heck. Exams are coming up, your physical space is a reflection of your mental state, yadda yadda yadda. Fine, I’ll do all the sheets. So I huffed and puffed and brought my laundry down the flight of stairs. Naively, I had thought that maybe, just maybe, I could fit it all into one washer. Extremely loud incorrect buzzer. I took another two trips up and down to grab more stuff, forgetting the laundry room key, then forgetting the Tide Pod for the second load. Out of sheer habit, I grabbed a white knit sweater I wear quite often to add to the second load. It felt like a waste since the red blanket I was washing didn’t fill it up. As you may have guessed, my whites got stained. It was like something out of a cartoon. The red blanket was loaned to me from my partner, and he swore it’s been washed a million times since...

I went home this weekend, not for Lunar New Year, or just New Years, depending on who you ask, but it was a pleasant coincidence. I was glad to see the little things my parents put out to celebrate; we don’t do anything big. The bowl of crunchy snacks, the glutinous cake recipe sitting out, mixed with the familiar sights of home: dishes drying on the stovetop, my mom's attempt to freeze lemon juice while saving the lemon peels to freshen up the fridge — a sign that my uncle's lemon tree was bountiful this year. A hideous paper and cardboard dragon craft that I made as a kid hanging on the new bookshelf my dad made, the sawdust still littering the garage I entered through. My mom handed me my red envelopes for the year, and I said the all-too-familiar New Year's sayings in return. I hope my pronunciations of the language I never completely got a hang of don’t bring her to shame. I walked into my bedroom to find my childhood stuffed animal holding a gift. Was anyone else obse...

I was fondly remembering the trip I took last summer with my sister to visit my brother in New York. The separate flights we took there were disastrous: she got stuck in another state overnight due to storms and weather, and I got harassed on the plane , but we persisted. On the day my sister was stuck, my brother and I wandered the West Village. Between frantically rushing after him in his confident strides through the subway turnstiles and past exploded public garbage cans, we found our way to many bookstores, some iconic, and some smaller. Yes, I begged him to take me, but I hope he had a good time too. As we visited Hmart where we got a calamansi soda and took the arduous trip to Muji to stock up on gel pens, sweat dripped down my leg and my Doc Martens rubbed my calves raw. Luckily, my sister and brother were both present for our trip to MoMA. We went to the Met the last time we came, so we decided we were due for a trip to the MoMA this time. After eating some overpriced Indonesi...

It’s raining today. I was taking photos of my book haul from yesterday’s library book sale. My partner and I try to go every month when our college town’s library hosts it, but we haven’t been on it as much as we had hoped when the school year started. But yesterday we were free so we drove over, holding hands and chattering about nothing, like usual. When we got there, we searched for old paperbacks of Willa Cather, Emily Dickinson, and Don Quixote . Before the photo shoot, I had just put my laundry in the apartment complex laundry room and was thinking about how nice the sheets will feel when I go to bed tonight. The rain gently pattered as I struggled to haul my flimsy basket down the flight of stairs. The wind threatened to blow my banana-patterned umbrella away, but I clamped it between my neck and my shoulder as I fiddled with putting the key in the laundry room lock. The sunlight was warm on my skin when I trudged back up. I noticed that the lighting was good, so I set my books ...

I’ve been enjoying these cozy nights in lately, with rain pattering outside. The bath is a warm solace; I feel constantly cold. The sensation of my feet freezing as I try to tuck them underneath my body or bed covers is all too familiar. I do a chemical exfoliating face mask and resist the urge to wince from the stinging pain. I imagine it sloughing off my dead skin as I wash my face over the sink with my hands thoroughly, and my cheeks emerge baby pink. I scratch some of my pale yellow nail polish off in the shower and think about painting them a deeper color next, to match the season, of course. I brush off my mom’s advice about never leaving a candle unattended, field my brother off as he enters my room and tries to mess with me. He flops on my bed, and my weak attempts to push him off prove to be unfruitful. I settle for laying down on the tiny sliver of mattress left uncovered. I hunch over my laptop as he scrolls on his phone beside me, and I try to sift through emails. Who’s eve...

I woke up today and the first thought that came to mind was how I should do my hair. I contemplated using a headband as I brushed my teeth, then sprayed my roots with some orange mango scented dry shampoo. After some analysis in the mirror and scrunching it with my fingers, I decided to tie it up. I need to wash it soon.  I did my makeup for the first time in a while after too many days of throwing on whatever clothes were on my desk chair before rushing to the library to study. Midterm season is no joke. I used some white eyeliner and dabbed a bit of light purple eyeshadow on the outer parts of the lid. I had a moment of doubt over my unconventional makeup. Is there a reason people usually use black eyeliner instead of white? Then I remembered that I don't care what other people do and put my socks on.  I met up with my friend for breakfast burritos and coffee. We were lucky enough to snag a table once we paid. The honey I requested in my coffee sat at the bottom of my cup, u...

I was walking along the busy car filled road to work the other day and the thought of a wheat haired little prince popped up amongst the dull hum of the incessant brown noise in the back burner of my mind. Mostly work stress, personal issues, frustration and exhaustion. Although the ever elusive thin gold line of excitement for the unpredictable future that could potentially burst open and present all that it has to offer me at all times was in attendance as well, it was rather dim that morning. The thought nearly brought me to tears as I watched my low heeled black boots tap tap tap against the muted gray of the pavement, complemented by the dirty white of the clouds in the sky right above. I was thinking of the line, “time soothes all sorrows” from one of my favorite comfort books, The Little Prince.  I breathed in deep to mitigate any unwelcome tears before stepping into the lobby. I think of the little prince more often nowadays. My dad got me a necklace for my birthday, depict...

This concludes my Life in Moments series, a project I embarked on with the initial plan to share some moments of my journal entries from over 3 years ago. Life seems to take on a larger than life quality when zooming in on hyper specific instances that I wrote down in the heat of the moment, which is what I hoped to capture in this series. This entry is slightly different, turning to thoughts I've had in the recent months, rather than relying simply on quotes from prior journals. I've adequately named it, "Does It Ever Get Easier?" I find myself shocked by some of the thoughts I've had recently, something I struggle with because this is the brain I have to live with for the rest of my life. Fear is different when it's directed at yourself. These thoughts don't debilitate me, but disturb me. I fear what life has in hold for me, I worry that things never really get better, an irrational thought, but then again, maybe it isn't and life truly does get wors...

 I’m addicted to searching for a job. Let me explain.  Securing a job upon my graduation this year has consumed my mind. I woke up on my friends couch after a sleepover and immediately opened LinkedIn to surf open job postings that have 800+ applicants already. I try to find that homemade pumpkin spice latte recipe in my saved Instagram posts, hidden in the masses of saved job application tips I’ve saved. I can’t stop watching and saving them, so they keep recommending more to me. Tips for getting an interview. Dos and Don'ts of resumes. Lesser known Job Board sites. Questions to impress your interviewer. Sleepless nights in bed are spent blearily scrolling through open job postings and screenshotting the ones I'm interested in but never look at again, glancing over at the time in the upper left corner and wondering where the past hour went. What was the point of taking a melatonin if the fear of never succeeding in my career will keep me up anyways? Is success a LinkedIn post...

I often think to myself and tell people that my dad is one of my best friends. We go book shopping together, talk books, and he was the first person to support my writing. I get my sense of humor, nihilistic tendencies, overthinking, love for reading, thoughtfulness, and God knows what other personality traits from him. I even need an optical prescription, like him. Anyone who knows me knows that he’s very important to me and I don't think I'd be in my current place in life and at this point in my writing career if it weren't for him.  There's a gray armchair in the corner of my living room. It sits behind my dad’s CD set up, he has a couch facing his sound system and against the left wall is his homemade wooden CD shelf. He also made me a wooden nightstand in the garage after that first project. He spent an extra $70 on the secondary machine that would smooth the edges and corners of the table so I wouldn’t hurt myself on the sharp edges. I perch myself in the little a...

The length of this short book was perfect because if it stretched any longer I probably would have gotten tired of it. Each entry in this book is simply a description of a different variation of what time is in a certain world, captured in just a couple pages. The concept was dreamy and at times quite poetic, but the execution felt like something was missing and didn't feel quite as precise or meaningful as I had hoped when I saw that this book is quite acclaimed.  I still remember the day my dad gifted this to me. I was laying in bed after a long morning of sitting in my online summer calculus lectures and I was feeling pretty burnt out. I hate math and it brings up a lot of bad memories and negative feelings. This is a result of my childhood and the years of attempting to beat the intuition and knowledge required to maneuver through mathematical problems and calculations into myself, but to no avail. I had to take the course to complete my calculus requirements for my degree, a B...

In the front of the room, the econometrics professor drones on about his precocious son's ability to ask complicated mathematical questions at a young age, multi-variable regression models, the importance of statistics review in this class and matrices. I try not to look too bored as I cross my legs and fidget with my arms, crossing and uncrossing them, shifting my lanyard in my lap and rearranging my laptop on the tiny desk. I blink tiredly up towards the front as the chalk grates on the chalkboard. The Excel sheet values are too small to discern even from my seat near the front, and I have no idea what he’s saying nor what any of it means. I turn and murmur to my friend sitting beside me that I don’t understand a single word from the professor's mouth and she smiles, agreeing, then goes back to her phone.  My eyes keep getting drawn to the door in my direct line of sight, on the left front side of the lecture hall. The door is open on this beautiful spring day, as it usually ...

Through the haziness of strange dreams lingering in my subconscious despite the constant interruption from my morning alarms, I can hear footsteps pitter-patter in the hallway towards me. As I clutch onto my pillow and bury my face into the worn fabric, sleepiness continues to cling to the edges of my reality. I don’t want it to let go either. I feel the indentation of my mattress as she sits on the edge of my bed. A pause. Her hand brushes my hair out of my face as I reach up to rub my eye with the back of my thumb. “Wake up sleepyhead.” Another pause, then a sigh. “You shouldn’t keep your hair tied up before you sleep Fifi.” I mumble my answer, “I know, I just forgot. I was reading my book.” My eyes focus on the sharpening view of her reaching over me to pick up the still unfolded glasses beside my pillow, next to my headphones, both haphazardly thrown aside the night before. She picks up the copy of The Stranger  that fell from my sleep heavy fingers as my eyes struggled to hold...

Against the backdrop of rain pounding the ground outside, I added a slow stream of liquid bubble bath under scalding water that was quickly rising. I watched the bubbles climb, breathing in the sandalwood scented air. I was impatient and cold, which added to my impulse decision to rush my step into the water, instead of my usual slow careful descent. The sides of the tub were slippery and my inner shin struck the edge of the tub very hard. Fear of falling altogether stopped me from withdrawing immediately and I watched as my leg scraped against the sharp tile as if in slow motion, lengthening the pain and contact. After the bath, I leaned over the sink, my reflection fogged in the steamy air, and Googled, “hit leg hard hurts a lot,” “how to tell fracture,” “hit shin how to tell serious.” The answers varied, my questions were ultimately left unanswered. Later, I sat on a dining chair and delicately lifted my pajama pant leg to assess the damage. I had never felt such acute pain from a “...