Had an incredible experience working behind-the-scenes with OG style blogger Aimee Song at CLEO Singapore's October cover shoot as Assistant Fashion Stylist.
Showing posts with label published. Show all posts
Showing posts with label published. Show all posts
Lace is such a delicate and dainty fabric that can be incorporated into every young lady’s wardrobe to accentuate her femininity. The tricky thing about lace is that too much of it or if worn in the wrong way – may come off as, well, tacky.
I’d like to start off with some tips to take note of while incorporating lace into your outfits.
#1 – Invest in good quality lace. This sounds simple enough, but trust me, it makes a HUGE difference in the overall look.
#2 – If you’re planning to wear a LOT of it (like a black lace dress), then keep the fit modest. If it’s too fitted, you risk turning what’s supposed to be elegant and sexy into something that could look cheap.
#3 – It doesn’t have to make up the entire article of clothing. If lace is not a fabric you’re not too comfortable wearing, you could always accent your outfits with touches of lace instead (such as lace trims, or cutouts lined with lace).
Now that that’s out of the way, here are some ideas of what to pair with lace in your wardrobe to turn your outfits from simple and girly – to effortlessly chic and stylish.
DENIM
Denim is such an easy way to make your lace outfit look a little more rugged. Try pairing your lace blouse with some skinny denim jeans, or your lace slip dress with an oversized denim jacket. This simple pairing also makes it easy to dress down lace pieces that may have once looked a little too fancy for a casual walk about town.
LEATHER
Leather and lace go together like sugar and spice. Try throwing your leather jacket over a lace cami to give it some edge, or grunge up a boho lace dress with some leather combat boots. When both come together (in a tasteful way), it’s a sure-fire way to look strong and sexy.
KNIT
Wear your lace under a nice, cozy knit to recreate that effortlessly laid-back “just got out of bed” look. Try hurling an oversized, slouchy knit sweater over your lace slip or a more fitted knit cardigan over a lace pencil skirt for a more polished look.
SUEDE
Suede is like leather’s less provocative, more plush cousin. Try pairing a pair of suede thigh-high boots with a lace tunic, or have the trim of your lacy bralette peek out under a sleek suede blazer. The rich earthiness of suede contrasted against the airy elegance of lace – will elevate your look into something new altogether.
Online adaptations: CLEO SG
Hey, you.
It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? I know you asked for space, so I gave it to you. But somewhere in all that space, I just never got around to telling you my side of things.
So here goes – please hear me out.
I’ve always thought that relationships are like road trips; and on the 14th of December, we got into a car. We didn’t know where we were going, but we just drove.
And on the 20th, on a Saturday, we finally caught sight of our destination. But there were two separate routes we could take to get to where we wanted to be.
The first, was a highway. It had no set speed limits, no stop signs, no traffic lights. Nothing to save us from ourselves. It would’ve been a fun route, and we knew that all too well.
The second, was the scenic route. Which – although safer – would take us that much longer to reach where we wanted to go, since the speed limit was low. It had potholes, and bumps, and swerves where it could have ploughed straight through.
Two routes, the same destination. And reasons aside, we took the first.
Along the way, we stopped for a picnic, fed the ducks and took long walks under the moon. We entertained ourselves with ‘I Spy’ and ‘Would You Rather’, and sang along to radio tunes.
They say that the real destination is the journey, and I really enjoyed my time on that route with you.
But I guess we had gone so fast and covered so much distance in such a short time, that I didn’t think – maybe, you just weren’t ready for all that distance, after just getting out of another car from another journey not too long ago.
And maybe, this route just wasn’t for you.
So we pulled over.
And though my foot’s off the throttle, I don’t regret taking this route with you. Maybe I wish we’d taken the other, but there’s no way I’d wish that I had gotten in the car with anyone else.
So if this letter finds you or if you find it, here is what I plead: meet me back at the starting line.
We weren’t on the first route too long, so maybe we could just make a turn back and start our journey all over again on the second.
We don’t need those frivolous time-passing games to savour the journey, we can simply look out the windows and enjoy the view.
And the best part about this route is that: the destination will be optional – if we change our minds, or perhaps lose them, or just never make them up at all.
Because God knows, if we just kept driving on this scenic route forever, that’d be more than alright with me.
Published adaptations: Unwritten
One.
The number of days you’ve gone without speaking to him; and all of a sudden, your brain, the one that’s been functioning completely fine for the past 18 years, decides to become codependent on someone else. Suddenly, your own company is not enough. You open your text chat with him and see that his ‘last seen’ is nearly 11 hours ago. You force yourself not to text him first – at least not until he’s checked his phone. At least, not until you’re sure he wants to hear from you too.
Two.
The number of crinkles perched on the side of his eyelids when he laughs, so hard, that his eyes disappear beneath his lashes and his voice disappears under his breath. You pretend you don’t see him. Him and her. Laughing, as they walk like parallel lines. You remember him telling you she’s just a close friend; just like you are. And that he would never date a close friend. You try to convince yourself you’re no exception but that little sliver of hope whispers, “You could be.”
Three.
The number of inches on your heels, that you strapped on just moments before he arrives. He’s in a T-shirt and sneakers. You feel stupid for trying. But then he tells you, “You look really nice tonight.” So you smile and roll your eyes. But that’s your ‘thank you’, and he knows. And while you’re scanning the menu for something that catches your eye, you pretend you didn’t dress up to catch his.
Four.
The number of cigarettes he’s slipped out of the box in the past 20 minutes. The window is open and you’re settled on a pillow, watching as white phantoms leave between his lips. He offers you a puff, like he always does. You reject, like you always do. You ask him when he’s going to quit, because it’s a bad habit, and you like him alive. You tell yourself you don’t want to kiss him, not after that. But your eyes still settle there – giving you away – but only if you get caught.
Five.
The number of butterflies in your stomach; one for every fingertip that is tracing the skin on your arm as he ushers you into slumber. The driver speeds over a bump in the road and you both jolt in the backseat. He strokes your hair that’s in his lap, trying to salvage the damage of alcohol and cab rides. He plays a song on his phone – his new favorite – and sings over you, off-key but feverishly. He has to remind you that you’re almost home, and you have to remind yourself that you surely,
most definitely,
can’t possibly,
hopelessly,
love him.
Published adaptations: Unwritten | Huffington Post
If you’re a frequent shopper like me, you’ll know what I mean by having a “productive” or “unproductive” shopping trip. You’ll know what I mean by having “good days” or “bad days” – when everything either seems to look good on you or when nothing seems to flatter at all.
Chalk it up to experience, but I’ve uncovered the top 3 mistakes every chronic shopper makes. And hopefully, these tips and tricks will help you not only make the most of your time and money, but also feel the best about yourself while shopping for clothes.
1. INEFFICIENT SHOPPING OUTFITS
THE MISTAKE:
Wearing jeans, jeggings, any other type of tight pants, shirts with buttons, lace up shoes or boots. Never. Wear. Boots.
Yes, the point of a shopping trip is to buy NEW clothes. But the existing clothes that you choose to shop in make a difference too. So many times I’ve walked into a store, spotting so many things that I want to try on. But lo and behold: I’m in my ultra-skinny tight jeans, and the entire prospect of taking them off and putting them on again just seems like too much work for me to bother.
THE CONSEQUENCE:
Wasting valuable time changing in and out of the clothes or if you’re lazy, then missing out on a potentially great piece of clothing altogether.
THE CURE:
Wear clothes that are easy to put on and take off. Slip-on shoes (no buckles, or fastens, or laces). If you plan on trying separates, then avoid wearing one-pieces to shop in (unless you intend on doing that half-unzipped dress, hanging off your waist while you try on a blouse thing). My go-to shopping outfit is usually a tank-top/t-shirt and shorts, with flats or loafers. Wearing simple separates can help you imagine what the top/bottom would look like when paired with something else.
2. SHOPPING ON OFF-DAYS
THE MISTAKE:
Going shopping when you’re bloated/sick/hungover etc.
Basically, just going shopping at any time when you know you’re having an abnormally bad day. Whether it’s your mood that’s particularly temperamental or your physical body that’s just not as you as usual.
THE CONSEQUENCE:
Feeling frustrated when you can’t find the particular size/colour/style or feeling upset with your appearance when clothes don’t seem to fit right.
THE CURE:
Choose a day that you generally feel good and confident, and the time of day when you’ll know your body will be most cooperative (e.g. for me, that’s in the morning). Or to prevent unnecessary distress, bring in a couple sizes of the same item into the dressing room with you. If you feel good, it’ll show.
3. IMPULSE BUYS
THE MISTAKE:
Buying something a) you will never wear, b) that is cheaper somewhere else, c) both.
Ah, the number of times I’ve been guilty of this… If I were to raid through my closet at this very moment, I’d probably be able to fish out a decently sized pile of clothes I have either never worn, worn only once, or don’t fit me at all whether size-wise or style-wise. Just admit it: you have some version of that eccentric knitted scarf you bought when you felt particularly artsy, or that excessively studded biker jacket you got when you were feeling especially edgy. And if you’re like me, you’ll probably also have 5 variations of basically the same thing – each succeeding the previous one with some sort of weak excuse like “but this one has a button”.
THE CONSEQUENCE:
Letting a lot of money and material go to waste. Not to mention, a total misuse and misallocation of your wardrobe space.
THE CURE:
Never buy something immediately after seeing it. Take a picture of it then carry it around for a bit while you look at other stuff, because there’s a good chance you might change your mind within that short period of time. Check other stores for similar items in case they might be selling it at a better price, or specifically look for it on a website you know will have it at a bargain. Another important thing to note is to stop buying a “slightly improved” version of something you already own, especially if it’s a staple piece. If you’re looking for that perfect leather jacket, then save up and hold out! Don’t just buy the next best thing, 10 times in a row, to tie you over till you finally find the one.
My final tip to all you shoppers out there, is to:
*When in doubt, reserve it at the counter and if you’re still thinking about it when you get home, go back the next day to re-evaluate the purchase.
Most customers aren’t aware that they can reserve items at the counter (in exchange for just your contact details) for at least one full day, sometimes more. I do this often if I don’t have enough money on the day itself, am curbing impulsive buying, or am trying to buy time before I make up my mind.
So there you have it – my years of retail experience condensed into one organised page. Hopefully this helps make the slightest difference for you guys towards the productive shopping trips we women deserve!
Published adaptations: Unwritten
I thought that truth would come. I thought that truth would come and hit me so hard across the face, I would’ve had no choice but to acknowledge its presence. I thought that the moment the veil was lifted from over my eyes, I would be rid of you. That when I finally saw all the reasons I had to let you go, I would finally want to.
It’s funny how the term ‘hopeless romantic’ contradicts itself – because all one ever seems to do is hope. But when did having hope become such a taboo? When did we decide that being giddily and blissfully in love just wasn’t cool anymore? These days, all anyone in the dating game cares about is staying “chill”. Because surely, being “chill” guarantees more success in our relationships than being excited, passionate or hopeful ever will. Right?
We are too afraid of being kept in the dark, humiliated, hurt, deceived. We think that it’s foolish to love someone, believing that they’re one person but not knowing who they truly are. To be so eclipsed by love that we can’t see where the story ends – or that it’s even going to end at all. But it’s not. Choosing to see the best when you love someone isn’t a weakness – it’s a strength. Once you face the fear of getting hurt, you’ll have nothing left to lose.
We’re all realists until we fall in love.
People pride themselves on being realists, but being a realist is easy. Accepting things exactly as they are doesn’t make you any smarter, or wiser, or braver. Challenging reality; challenging ourselves to do better – now, that’s bravery. The way I see it, dismissing every opportunity you come across as “unlikely” or “improbable” is just an admittance of insecurity.
Chances are if you choose “being a realist” as your escape, it’s not because you genuinely don’t see the odds of it working out. You’re either too afraid of getting hurt, or you simply don’t want it enough to try. Because whether you’re a realist or a hopeless romantic, whether you admit it or not, the truth is this: everyone sees the best case scenario, but not everyone dares to acknowledge it’s there.
And me? I refuse to accept anything less than the best case scenario, if I’m sure it’s what I want.
Don’t let anyone blame you for being hopeful; never apologise for having hope.
Because although the presence of hope sometimes leads to heartbreak, its absence always leads to worse. In the absence of hope, happiness is stifled. In the absence of hope, nothing is given a chance.
Truth did come. And I did see all the reasons that I had to let you go. But until I stop wanting this and wanting this with you, I will also see all the reasons that I should hold on.
I’m a romantic. I still have hope. But not because of your promises, or your apologies. Not even because of your lies. I hope because it’s who I am. And it doesn’t mean I’m ignorant of your bad habits, my insecurities, our sloppy routines, or the fact that I’m leaving for college and will probably never see you again. It just means that I’m willing to continue laughing with you, fighting with you, and falling for you until the chance to is taken away from us.
I am a realist. So I admit that you’re wrong for me – intoxicatingly, recklessly, chaotically wrong. You bring out the worst in me. But with you, I feel something. And I’d rather feel angry, and jealous, and intoxicated, and reckless, than not learn anything from being just “fine”.
I am a realist. So I admit we don’t have a forever – but we do have a now. And right now, we’re young and can afford to spend our time loving the wrong person, even if it’s at the expense of a few broken hearts. I have the rest of my life to heal but right now, I won’t deprive myself of the opportunity to feel.
I am a realist. So you are my first love – but I know you’re not my last. You're wrong for me. And though you say you want to, you may or may not change. I am a realist, so I won’t be surprised if you don’t.
But I’m also a romantic. So I hope that you do.
Because that’s the most fearless way I know how to love you.
Published adaptations: Thought Catalog | Unwritten
If any one of you claim that you’ve never ever been able to relate to a single Taylor Swift song, at least once in your life, then I call bluff. Because this shit is golden.
ENFJ - The Last Time (feat. Gary Lightbody)
Because everything boils down to dedication. You spare no effort in reassuring your significant other, and you demand the same reassurance in return. You don’t just want to be won over, you want to be persuaded – slowly but surely. Every little gesture goes a long way with you, because all you want is for someone to put your name at the top of their list.ENFP - Treacherous
Because nothing safe is worth the drive. The probability of you getting your heart broken is directly proportional to the probability of you feeling something so real that it scares you. People only fear the things that could potentially be amazing. And you? You don’t plan on shying away from anything if there is even the slightest chance of it being amazing.ENTJ - We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together
Because no one does “I’m out of your league” better than you. And that’s not such a bad thing. You wouldn’t waste your time with someone who is unsure about their future, because then how can they be a part of yours? You hold yourself to high regards and in turn, your expectations in a relationship follow. And you would never want to have to settle for less. Like, ever…ENTP - Bad Blood (sans Kendrick)
Because you’re having too much, aren't you? You live with reckless abandon, not really worrying about who’s getting hurt. Band-aids don’t in fact fix bullet holes, but you acknowledge that collateral damage is inevitable. Because maybe if you just keep on pushing the boundaries – you’ll find the people that don’t have any.ESFJ - I Know Places
Because in your eyes, love’s a fragile little flame and it could burn out. You’re protective and reliable – you take pride in that. You like knowing that you are what’s keeping your significant other feeling happy and safe. You’re more than just a couple, you’re a team. And you don’t typically enjoy letting your team down.ESFP - Blank Space
Because the only thing longer than your list of ex-lovers (and almost lovers) is your list of potential future lovers. You love exploring all your options and fully experiencing every connection you make. You love discovering the different sides of yourself when you’re with different people. But most of all, you love the game.ESTJ - Clean
Because you’re addictive. As f***. Which means you’ll need somebody who cares enough about making you happy, but never at the expense of their own happiness. Unlike the past 5 people you’ve dated, who you know would still take you back in a heartbeat if you only asked. Because hey – just because you’re clean, don’t mean you don’t miss it.ESTP - Girl At Home
Because admit it: you like attention. You can’t help it, and it isn’t always a negative trait to want to be noticed. Keeping your options open is fun and exciting, but it could lead you to miss out on something that could have been substantial. Sometimes you get so lost chasing down the newest thing that you forget how valuable the people already in your life are.INFJ - White Horse
Because your fear of getting hurt has made you cynical. Eventually, you forgive those who hurt you. But that doesn’t mean that the damage is undone because at the end of the day, you’ve become too aware that this ain’t a fairytale and not every story has a happy ending. So you’re convinced that yours won’t either.INFP - Enchanted
Because you fall in love with moments. You let yourself get swept away by the sparkly-ness and the magic of it all, precisely because you want to believe in everything that is good in the world. And if there was ever a word that could accurately describe how you are when you fall in love with someone, it’s ‘wonderstruck’. And that word in itself already sounds make-believe.INTJ - Style
Because to you, love has to be equal parts passionate and pragmatic. You strive in relationships that challenge you and keep you on your toes – yet are practical enough for you to feel secure. You’re often caught between going for the obvious, sensible option, or the option that bewilders and perplexes you. Perhaps, that’s why most of your love endeavours always either end in burning flames or paradise.INTP - Shake It Off
Because the most important kind of love to you is self love. Although you have your own insecurities when it comes to relationships, you’ve developed the coping mechanism of shrugging everything off. Because heart-breakers gonna break, break, break and no problem is worth you compromising your own happiness for.ISFJ - I Knew You Were Trouble
Because you always know. Everybody and their mother knows. And yet, you get yourself so deep into lopsided relationships every time. Perhaps, you should start listening to your gut instincts and stop hoping that every bad habit will correct itself. One of my favourite sayings goes: Never fall for someone’s potential. Shame on you, I suppose?ISFP - Have you even heard of Taylor Swift?
Ah, emotions, what an alien concept. I kid. You’re just waiting for that one person who will come along and finally make you understand every single Taylor Swift song all at once, so until then… If only there was a T-Swizzle song about being indifferent or worry-free but alas, there are none.ISTJ - The Way I Loved You
Because you keep going for whatever makes the most sense. You let logic overrule emotion every time because you’d much rather risk your head than your heart. But what you’re truly craving is for someone to make you fall for them without your permission, until you’re so in love that you act insane. So for the first time in your life, you won’t feel in complete control – and for the first time in your life, you’ll like it.
ISTP - New Romantics
Because whatever goes. You’re able to enjoy moments for exactly what they are – just moments. You probably receive a lot of criticism and judgement for your life and love life choices on a regular basis, but that doesn’t bother you so long as you’re having a good time. Because at the end of the day, no one is going to try bringing you down when you’re too busy dancing to get knocked off your feet.Published adaptations: Thought Catalog
The difference between your best guy friend and all other guys is that you don’t need to tell your best friend what you’re thinking – because he already knows. Your minds are so in sync that one knowing look can send the both of you into fits of laughter, recalling one of your countless inside jokes.
The difference between your best guy friend and all other guys is that your best friend and you are each other’s default dates, and it goes without saying. Whether it’s a relative’s wedding or when you’re both single before prom, there’s no doubt you’ll have each other’s backs because it’s just what makes sense and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
The difference between your best guy friend and all other guys is that everybody already thinks you and your best friend are dating, and tease you both mercilessly for it. And you’ve given up on trying to douse the rumours because at the rate you two are seen together, no one would believe you anyway.
The difference between your best guy friend and all other guys is that you can fight with your best friend, but still not be afraid that you could lose him. Because you know that your friendship is sturdier than your mood swings, and your tantrums, and both your potty mouths combined.
The difference between your best guy friend and all other guys is that with your best friend, you are unafraid to make plans waaaaay in advance. Because you don’t just want him there in your future, you already know that he will be there. And that’s not something you’re willing to let time or distance ever change.
The difference between your best guy friend and all other guys is that everyone thinks your best friend is in love with you. Because he has got to be – after all he’s done and how much he cares? But the thing is: he’s not in love with you, he loves you. There’s a difference, and only you have to understand.
The difference between your best guy friend and all other guys is that you actually bother coming up with 8 new differences between your best guy friend and all other guys, just to express how much you truly appreciate him. Because you’re especially into showy gestures and shameless displays of affection, and texting him to tell him just wouldn’t have met your standards.
The difference between your best guy friend and all other guys is that you will still show up to your best friend’s birthday party when if you’re borderline crippled from menstrual cramps, have to get up at 6 the next morning, and your ex is sitting two seats away at the dinner table.
Because you know you can’t be there for everyone you care about no matter what, at any time, or at any cost – but you’re sure as hell going to be there for him.
Happy 19th birthday, my friend. Love you.
Published adaptations: Thought Catalog
We watched Paper Towns on a Thursday, the day of release. And when it was over, you turned to me and told me all the flaws in the plot and story. You told me how it should’ve gone and how it should’ve ended. That if you were Margo Roth Spiegelman, you would have been leaving clues for the entire 9 years Quentin thought he’d been drifting, but disappear before he found them all. You’d have the movie end with Q figuring them out too late. And, “you know what I mean by too late”.
And for awhile, I was bothered.
I was bothered that a part of me agreed with you, and wished that Margo had died, or left Agloe or just disappeared. That the literary and interpretive combination of of John Green, Michael H. Weber and Scott Neustadter hadn’t drove Quentin and his friends (and the audience) through 281 pages of hype and 21/26 hours of bland road, only to find disappointment at the end of the journey.
I wished that Q’s Margo could continue to live, and for that, the real Margo had to “die”. And at least, if he couldn’t return to Florida with the real Margo, the Margo of his own could make him 100 times happier anyway.
I was bothered that I understood; irrefutably and undeniably, why you wouldn't want to be found.
But most of all, I was bothered by the fact that in that moment, untangling myself from your deep red hoodie and untangling your arms from me, I had realised: we cannot be.
We are wrong for each other, we have nothing to give. We cannot be, at least not right now. And I’ll tell you why.
We cannot be because we are both Margo Roth Spiegelman.
We are both strings on the verge of breaking, with no one driving 1200 miles to fix before we snap. We are both the dreamers and the dream, with no clue where to settle. We are both the ones to pick, you idiot; with no one to pick us back. We are both made of flaky paper, switching paper clothing as we please. We are both imaginable and consistently misimagined. Both the mystery and the myth. We are both the ones dropping clues and hints. Both a trail of indecisive crumbs, that neither has the patience to follow. We are both the selfish disappointments, uglier up close. Both too immersed in orchestrating our own stories, that we run out of pages and write over someone else’s.
We are two beautiful, complex ideas – that collide and crash to nothing.
You would exist in my life only as my Margo, and I would exist only as yours. There would be no room for us both. There would be no room for two tragically lost protagonists, for each needs a storyline of their own. We wouldn’t be happy with a happy ending, because there’ll be nothing for us to learn. And that’s why we cannot be.
But here, I propose, another ending. Something I think we’d both be able to appreciate: We will disappear. And people will look. They’ll continue to wonder, and imagine, and hope. But no one will find us, not yet, and that’s okay. Because we’ll know that job belongs to us.
We cannot be, at least not right now, because we are both Margo Roth Spiegelman.
And she wants to be the first one she finds.
Published adaptations: Unwritten
There are always girls like you.
How many coincidences does it take to become a choice?
It’s not hard to notice this destructive pattern you’re weaving – because in fact, that’s all you want to be. Noticed.
For you, it doesn’t end with ‘and they lived happily ever after’. For you, that’s your cue to make your entrance.
Winning someone over is too easy, isn’t it? You’ve done it too many times before. You’ve had a poor pile of hopeless hearts in your hands, but they don’t satisfy your need to know you can be loved.
Winning someone over when their heart is unavailable – now, that’s a challenge. Because if they choose you after having already chosen another, then you must be pretty something…right?
Words are just words. They no longer excite you. Nothing about a listless, lazy text in the middle of the night professes ‘you’re the one’ and you know it. But then throw in a little scandal, and that’s enough to reel you in. Throw in a little controversy, and that’s enough to convince you ‘maybe, you are worth the trouble’.
An embrace is just an embrace. It no longer assures you. Nothing about a slick hand on your thigh confesses ‘you are special’ and you’re aware. At least not unless they have to return to someone else’s arms once they leave.
Because to you, it only matters if they choose to hold you when they shouldn’t. It only matters if they choose to love you when they can’t.
Because to you, that’s the ultimate gesture of acceptance.
And they will take the bait, they almost always do. They will keep you in their back pocket, for when they’re lonely, or bored, or just want a little thrill. And when they slot you back under their bed when the sun comes up, you get to tell yourself that it’s not their fault. You get to reassure yourself with a million reasons why they can’t give you all of themselves.
And you’ll succeed, because it’s true.
You find excitement in the secrecy, but you fail to see that esteem is in sincerity. You lavish and bathe in lust, but what you’re missing is loyalty. You feed off the chaos and anxiety, but feel lonely in your serenity. You are so romanced by the potential that they could possibly leave her – that you never ask them to in case they won’t. And on the off chance that they do, it’s never solely so that they can be with you.
You think that if he truly loves her, he wouldn’t pay you any attention anyway. You think that if she feels threatened by you, surely then, you are a threat. But the thing is, you avoid facing the one person that this boils down to. You avoid seeing the crux of the issue. And in your mind, you’ve got it all twisted so you come up on top every time.
But why don't we both just say this out loud?
Him being a cheater doesn’t make you more innocent.
And her being wrong for him doesn’t make you any more right.
Because God forbid he should be unfaithful if he’s the one in a relationship, and God forbid she should feel insecure if she’s the one who has him.
When the truth is – you’re the one who’s insecure.
But I guess, you aren’t too concerned with being a decent person because for the moment, you’ve got everything you want.
I don’t know what or who hurt you before, for you to always only strive for second best; for you to tramp on your perpetually perilous journeys only to always end up in the back burner. I don’t know what part of yourself you feel is so inadequate that you celebrate being offered sloppy fragments of conflicted consciences every time you manage to lure them in.
For the moment, you’re convinced you’re winning. But in the long run, you’re alone.
How many coincidences does it take to become a choice?
The truth is you do choose. Over and over – to be prominent, but insignificant. To be contentious, but irrelevant.
You do just that to keep your heart under wraps, because there is no rejection when you aren’t asking to be theirs. You do just that so they’ll never not have an excuse to give you only what they want and not what you need, and you’ll never not have an excuse to be okay with that.
So I'd advise you to get out while you can, because the right to demand for more will never be yours.
But I suppose, for now, that’s all you think you deserve. And it’s not up to her, or him, or anyone else to convince you otherwise.
1. We use it as a guesstimation of how long it will take to read.
How much time do we have to burn before yoga class? An hour? Hell yeah, we’ll read this vacuous article of 101 Weirdest Posts Ever To Appear On Tumblr. Got 5 minutes on the toilet before we’ll really really really be late for school? Guess these 6 Creative Ways Of Eating Your Cereal will have to fill this vast, incurable gap in our day between the time when we unzip our pants and fold our toilet paper.2. We want to know where this is going, before we get on board.
Something about vague, artistically thought out titles just doesn’t interest us anymore. Why read through 700 indecisive words to find out exactly How He Broke My Heart – when there are 8 Signs He’s Going To Ghost You trending on the neighbouring page? We want information, opinions, viewpoints, arguments, and we want them NOW. We don’t want to have to writhe them out from a paragraph of buoyant metaphors, rhymes or analogies, when we can have it summarised into one sleek, simple bullet point. To hell with expression! We want journalism! Who has time for literature anyway, right?3. We want to feel a part of something bigger.
Because over-generalisation, in a way – is comforting. The very fact that 12 Things That Happen When A Girl Falls In Love could so easily gather a handful of relevant points – makes us feel like all those other 5k views must come from a place not much different from ours. Someone finally understands. Aaaaaand cue the sharing, and the tagging, and the “No. 4 is soooo true!”s. We want to validate each other’s beliefs and experiences. We want to relate. Because beneath our restless desire to be unique, is the insatiable need to feel connected. (Woohoo, everybody wins. We all love each other. Ellen DeGeneres would be proud.)4. We sieve out what we’ll want to read beforehand.
And conveniently ignore what we don’t. Have at least 50% of these 32 Times Your Period Did You A Solid happened before? Are at least 7 out of the 10 Telltale Signs You’re Dating A Gentleman applicable to us? If yes, read on! (Only those which apply.) If not, then keep scrolling… Whoever wrote this obviously doesn’t know what they’re talking about enough to be on the Popular page.5. We are constantly looking for the fast-lane.
Are you even reading this right now? Well, congratulations, because you’re a part of the minority of readers who effectively read the text under the individual headings – and don’t think that reading only the headings (plus a few lines in between) counts as reading the full article. Too often do we find ourselves skimming once through, expertly connecting each sub-heading to craft what exactly we think this piece of writing could be all about. Then we emerge from the article with the words intact, but no recollection of the voice to which they belong.So kudos to whoever made lists a trending thing! Someone call me when they figure out precisely what about placing a magical number strategically in my title garners me that many more views, yet that few viewers who will actually read.
Published adaptations: Thought Catalog | Unwritten
It’s a dangerous topic to dabble into, because people have become so quick to fight and to defend; to assume that If you are not with us, then you must be against us.
I had my qualms about putting this online, knowing that it doesn’t matter whether my grammar is flawed or flawless, whether my thoughts have been well or ill-expressed – someone out there is still going to find it offensive or ignorant. But ultimately, the hesitation I felt about being able to express my thoughts freely is exactly why it has to be done.
So let’s talk feminism.
There is a fear today of being associated with men-hating, aggressiveness, isolation and all the other negative connotations that come along with being a feminist which, essentially, have nothing to do with feminism – and everything to do with the way that it is being portrayed by some.
It’s become more acceptable to be an extreme feminist (I’m talking about the kind who advocates feminism in all the erroneous and misconceived ways, that give the rest of the world an excuse to dismiss feminism entirely as a joke) than it is to be a non-feminist. (A non-feminist, mind you, not an anti-feminist.)
Because as a female, fighting for feminism will empower you while not fighting for it will categorise you into the breed of women who are ignorant, ungrateful, feeble, and simply incapable of living without a man taking care of them and telling them what to do.
And to the men who have felt blamed, accused or villainised as a result of this cultural phenomenon, I apologise. Because that wasn’t our original intent; and we certainly shouldn’t have to push anyone down when trying to make our way up.
But let me tell you more about myself before we go into this further.
I’m 18 years old. I enjoy writing, making or listening to music, and watching frivolous television shows in my spare time. I aim to study Visual Communications in a Fashion Institute in LA. I don’t dream about getting married, settling down, having kids or being a homemaker. At least, not at this point in my life – not anytime soon.
I am female. I am not a feminist.
See, the idea itself is beautiful. Feminism advocates equal civil rights, social rights and liberties to every individual regardless of gender. It’s a movement toward liberating women, and giving them the same rights over her body, her future and her lifestyle choices as any man.
“As any man.”
So what about those who don’t identify as either?
Discrimination exists, even with feminism slowly embedding itself into our society, into our legal systems. We still allow for loopholes that let discrimination happen right under our noses, loopholes that don’t protect or speak up for those who don’t see themselves as men and don’t see themselves as women. Because we still see the world as Blues and Reds, and we forget to see everything that exists in between.
We expect to change the whole world, while talking about one half of the population. And even when a reference is made to the other, it’s only to compare.
We want to be paid as much as men. We want the same civil rights as men. We want to be given the same education opportunities as men.
But men can be underpaid. Men can be denied education. Men can be discriminated against. Men can be sexually harassed. Men can be raped. But you’ve already heard that before.
We might not realise when we make these comparisons, that we are openly admitting our understanding of how to achieve “equality” is to use men as the benchmark of how women should be treated.
But why are we hitching our wagon to something that is fluid; that could still change in the near or distant future?
If one day, just as many boys are sold into prostitution, married off to women thrice their age, refused the chance to go to school. If one day, discrimination toward men rises to the level of discrimination toward women, would we then achieve what we are so desperately fighting for now? Equality? Because if women only deserve to be treated equally as men are treated, does that truly guarantee kind and fair treatment for everyone?
Perhaps, when we demand for equality, we don’t think about how things could be equally bad.
If we were to achieve better and fairer treatment, I wouldn’t want it to be because society recognises the worth and capability of the male gender and has to accept, by default, that “it’s only fair” if women were pulled up to the same level.
If we were to achieve better and fairer treatment, I’d want it to be because society genuinely recognises our worth and capability, regardless of whatever the status of our male counterpart is at any given point of time.
I’d want it to be because society has finally stopped comparing in bulk and realised that yes, we deserve to be treated equally. But also that individually, we have our own strengths and weaknesses; our own needs and wants that have nothing to do with whether we are female or male, but rather who we are as uniquely flawed human beings. And for that reason, we can afford to be treated suitably.
My value and worth as a human and to society shouldn’t have anything to do with men, but it shouldn’t have anything to do with another woman either. It shouldn’t be dependent on anything else except for the fact that I am human with distinct character traits and skills, and so is everyone else.
I am not a feminist.
But that does not mean that I don’t acknowledge the flaws in this world – that I don’t see tragedy, inequality or segregation. It does not mean that I think everything is PERFECT, and ponies, and rainbows.
Just because I do not label myself a feminist, does not mean you get the right to label me as anything else. Just because I do not label myself a feminist, does not mean that I don’t want the same things for our world.
I do believe that all girls deserve the opportunity to be educated; that all girls have a choice; to say no, to say yes, to say not right now, or to not say anything at all; that girls are not objects solely here to sate the needs of men.
I do believe in all these things, not because we are girls, and not because girls are “equal” to boys. This has nothing to do with men. And everything to do with being a person, and it’s simple as that.
I don’t believe that if she is not a feminist, she automatically believes that girls do not deserve to be educated. That if she is not a feminist, she automatically believes that girls do not deserve to have a choice. That if she is not a feminist, she automatically believes that girls are sexual objects or property.
I am not a feminist because I don’t believe that: If you are not a feminist, surely then, you must be an awful human being by default.
Because lately, all these fervent blog posts and vehement campaigns declaring that “all women have a choice” – have in turn left me feeling like I have no choice but to be a feminist.
I believe that every girl has a choice: to be a feminist or to not. And should she decide the latter, she definitely shouldn’t have to feel like she’s on the wrong side of the fence.
Because that defeats the entire point of feminism in the first place.
So when I say I am not a feminist, I don’t mean I don’t want change.
When I say I’m not a feminist, what I don’t want is a label. Because maybe labels have given us a reason to divide ourselves and dwell on our differences, rather than remind us of where we are overlap.
It really doesn’t matter what we call ourselves; what we identify as, be it feminist, non-feminist, humanist, egalitarian, equitist – because at the end of the day if you are a person who simply believes in respect, love and consideration for all, then our goals will be the same.
And if we’d stopped standing up for ourselves as genders, races or sexualities, and started standing up for each other as human beings, then perhaps we could have already achieved what were trying to do all along.
Published adaptations: Elite Daily
Loving you is like riding a bicycle – I’ll have to expect to get a few scraped knees before I really get the hang of it. I’ll have to expect a little wobbling before I finally trust that both my feet don’t need to touch the ground. I’ll have to push past the fear of falling and keep going, like I’ll never lose balance.
Loving you is like riding a bicycle – I’ll need to know when I have to change gears. I’ll need to be able to tell when I have to pedal harder, and when to go with the flow. I’ll need to work through the uphills and be cautious on the downhills. But most of all, I’ll need to not get tired of level ground.
Loving you is like riding a bicycle – the car might take me there in half the time, but I won’t smell the flowers. The train may be efficient, but I’d sacrifice the view. I could take the bus, but I’d be restricted to the road.
Loving you is like riding a bicycle – once I learn how, I’ll never want to go back onto training wheels. I’ll never want to have to go slow, or start from scratch. Because nobody wants to return to flat concrete of their driveways, once they’ve discovered they can weather arduous terrain.
Loving you is like riding a bicycle – if I want to enjoy the breeze, I’ll have to be prepared to get my hair messy. If I want to feel the sunshine on my face, I’ll need to know that it could scorch me. If I want to delight in drizzle, I’ll need to know that it could rain.
Loving you is like riding a bicycle – once every while, I’ll want to lift my hands off the handle bars; just to feel the thrill of not holding on. Because as indecisive creatures, we are both afraid of getting hurt but adamant against feeling bored. We want the option of the brakes, yet refuse to put our knee guards on.
Loving you is like riding a bicycle – how long ago the last ride is irrelevant, and how far the last place doesn’t count. Because though I may not remember when, or where, or who, or what, or why – loving you is like riding a bicycle; I can never really forget how.
Published adaptations: Thought Catalog
I think that I, along with a large population of this generation, have participated in rating people on a scale of 1-10 (based on their appearance or personality or both) as a grossly superficial and insensitive, yet entertaining past time.
We’ve all done it, and that’s okay – maybe as a method to weasel out what attributes our crush finds attractive, maybe simply over a casual conversation on the phone.
But here’s the thing we’re missing: it’s utter bullshit.
10s do not exist.
Or maybe they do. But they aren’t forever.
10s are fleeting, and flaky, and as uncertain as the rest of us. No one person can be summed up in a single fixed number. Everyone fluctuates on every scale.
Some days, I’ll be confident and some days, I’ll be insecure as hell. Some days, I’ll be nice, and some days, I won’t. Some days, my make-up will be on point and my tummy will be flat and I’ll flash a smile at anyone I meet. Other days, I’ll be bloated and ugly and socialising will become a chore. But those days never make it onto Instagram.
I can safely say that on my good days, I could feel like a solid 8 and on my not-so-good days, I could barely feel like a 3. But I shouldn’t have to be ashamed of either.
See, the problem with this generation is that we have too much of a choice what we let other people see.
We take selfies. Delete. Delete. Delete. Post. We choose who sees our good side. Smile. Smile. Smile. Glare. We film the exciting and eventful bits – crop out the bits that make us look bad. We mask our genuine reactions with false modesty, fake nonchalance, forced enthusiasm.
We are so conscious of who we’re supposed to be that we forget to just – be.
We want to be carefree, so we try not to care. We want to be “the bigger person”, so we try to forgive. We want to be liked, so we try to be likeable.
But we forget that trying in itself essentially suggests that we are not.
And this is why being a 10 is never real.
Because when we start at 10, disappointments are inevitable. Sooner or later, someone is going to realise that our face is actually asymmetrical, or we have this really bad habit of chewing with our mouths open. When we start at 10, the only place to go is down. And we leave no room to discover something better.
When we start at 10, what we start with is the idea. And we can only fall for the same flawless idea so many times over before it gives way to something real.
Don’t date a 10 until you’ve seen them bat-shit crazy and crying, and you’re still sure that you want to stick around. Don’t date a 10 until you’ve seen them on the night-of and then on the morning-after, and still think: man, are you attractive. Don’t date a 10 until their confidence turns to cockiness, and you still admire them the same.
Don’t date a 10 until you’ve seen them at a 2, because nobody will be a “10” –100% of the time – until you decide that they are the one.
Published adaptations: Thought Catalog
We often live life as two different people: the person we know all too well, the creature of habit; the one who is predictable and falls into old patterns and trends and imperfections – and the person that we don’t know all that well yet, but we want to; the one who we’ve only met in short bursts of confidence or passion or resolve, but can’t wait to meet again.
They say to do more of what you love, to attract people who will love you. And you’ve done just that.
You’ve got a girl for when you can’t see the road ahead and so you keep looking back; who will drag you out of your room in the middle of the night and roll you paper highs to make you forget. She will indulge your vices, because she has them too.
She will be there every time you fall through the cracks, every time you plunge into reverse. But never to help you up. No, she’ll be there on the ground laying next to you – and for the moment, that’s what you want. She will reassure you that it’s okay to be distracted, it’s okay to be a mess – at least when you’re with her. And together, you are a tangle of messes that will never feel disconnected.
There’s a strange kind of comfort that comes with being with the one who has seen the worst. Because there’s no more expectance, only acceptance. And though it’s a futile kind of love, it’s love all the same.
Then you’ve got a girl for when you’re trying to move up the ladder, who will sober you up in the mornings and follow you to the gym, and the library, but never to the alleys behind your house. She expects more of you than you would, yourself. And will be there – not when you fail – because she knows that you won’t. She will be there to pull you along, even when you don’t think you’re ready.
She will show you honesty in its brutal form, and it will sting, but you will like it because it reminds you someone cares. She will reassure you that just because you can’t see your future, doesn’t mean it isn’t bright as hell. Because she sees everything about yourself that you never could (but you wished was there) and she’ll make you believe that you could have it all if you only tried.
The best part about being with the one who sees the best is that with her, there is a long run. Moments exist beyond the Nows and the Tomorrows, and instead of reminiscing on what has passed, you’re looking forward to what’s ahead.
And the misconception here is that we can only be one person: either the one who’s lazy, and demotivated, and distracted, and lost – or the one who’s surer, and braver, and stronger, and wise. Because we think that these two facets of our character are mutually exclusive; that once we make the choice to pursue our future, our past becomes irrelevant.
The misconception here is that once we choose who we want to be, we can only have one person: the one who has seen the angry, and the hurt, and the ugly, and the cold – or the one who sees the potential, and the “could be”s, and the good, and the kind. Because surely, there’s no need to act better around those who’ve already seen the worst, and there’s no need to show the bad to those who only see the best.
And just like that, we’ve split our world down the middle.
We become who we are with. What they see is what we’ll be, and the other half won’t exist. We’ve got friends to do the old us stuff with, friends to do the new us stuff with, and God forbid that they should mix. So we think that somehow if we stay in this limbo, in between wanting to be better but still latching on to what we’ve known, maybe we could hold on to both.
When you have to choose between the one who has seen the worst, and the one who sees the best, choose neither. Because the right one won’t make you choose.
The right one won’t hold you back, neither will she rush you forward. Instead, she will trust you to figure out what’s best for yourself. Then change as you change. She will be at the same pace; not a step behind nor two steps ahead. You won’t feel weighed down, neither will you feel like you’re weighing her down. Because the right one sees the worst and the best, and understands that you will always be a combination of both.
When you have to choose between the one who has seen the worst, and the one who sees the best, choose yourself. Because the right one will follow.
Published adaptations: Thought Catalog
Forgive me, if I don’t want to be nice.
“Nice” is what they call the Queen Bee in school. Because she has an infectious smile, and a chirp in her voice that only turns to malice behind their backs. So forgive me if I don’t want to be “nice”.
Forgive me if I’d rather be genuine, and sincere, but frank. Because I don’t relish painting people a picture that I know I can’t possibly live up to if they were to see what exists beyond the canvas.
“Nice” is what they call my classmate. Because she lets everyone have their way, even if it means putting them before herself 90% of the time. So forgive me if I don’t want to be “nice”.
Forgive me if I’d rather be strong, and spirited, or even selfish. Because the only people who shame standing up for yourself and what you want – are the ones who are too afraid to do it themselves.
“Nice” is how we claim every person seems to be when we barely even know them. Because first impressions count, and are apparently enough for us to make judgement calls on their entire character. So forgive me if I don’t want to be “nice”.
Forgive me if I’d rather be misunderstood, or complex, or even a little enigmatic. Because everyone has an unpleasant side, and at least I’d know who stuck around after seeing mine.
“Nice” is what you call that admirer of yours, whom you never give the time of day to. Because he has never been able to capture your attention for long enough that you bother actually getting to know him. And so you just sum him up in one lazy word. So forgive me if I don’t want to be “nice”.
Forgive me if I’d rather be compelling, and attractive, and desirable. Because we all know that “nice” is just a listless excuse we use to turn away the people that don’t meet our expectations in one way or another. (And of all the qualities we expect from someone who will matter in the long run: loyal, honest, kind – “nice” is hardly ever one of them.)
“Nice” is how I describe a mediocre night spent with mediocre company. Because I’m only happy when there’s trouble – but that’s not normal. And normal is watching a blockbuster movie with a boy that doesn’t even make my heart skip a beat when he’s pressed up against my side. So forgive me if I don’t want to be “nice”.
Forgive me if I’d rather be exciting, and captivating, and unforgettable. Because there will only be a handful of adventures that we’ll reminisce about for the rest of our lives, and the “nice nights” don’t ever make it on that list.
“Nice” is a lot of things. But no one bothers to think of what it isn’t.
“Nice” isn’t how we describe the moments most meaningful to us, or the moments that have changed us forever. It isn’t how we describe the best times of our lives that will never be relivable, no matter how hard we try to capture them in a photo, or a diary entry, or a memory.
“Nice” isn’t how we describe our parents, our best friends, our heroes. It isn’t how we describe the greatest people we know who escape all comprehensible description, that such a common word could never attempt to express who they are and how they’ve touched our lives.
“Nice” isn’t the first thing that will cross your mind when asked about what made you the person you are today. It isn’t the first thing that will cross your mind when you think about who and what you love most in this world. It also won’t be the last thing that will cross your mind as you draw your final breath on the stark white sheets of the hospital bed.
So forgive me, if I don’t want to have “nice days”, or have a “nice life”, or meet a ton of “nice people”. Forgive me, if I don’t want to be “nice”.
As human beings, it’s in our nature to measure, because that’s how we understand the things around us. We put numbers on everything: time, quality, standards of living. Everything to us is about the bigger the better, the more the merrier. Or sometimes, it’s about second to none, and less is more.
It’s become so easy for us to take these superficial quantities as benchmarks for measuring our own lives, to gauge where exactly we fall on every spectrum. How successful, smart, rich, happy, loved, respected, accomplished, talented we are.
I wonder what silly things we would come up with if we were to measure the extent to which we are a part of the world we’re in. The extent to which we are alive.
For the rationalist, the number of breaths taken. The number of heartbeats per minute. How many wrinkles on the surface of the skin. How many years lived.
For the student, the percentage on a test. The ratio of As to Fs. How many books still unread. The word count on the bottom of the page.
For the athlete, the number of medals. The time on a stopwatch. How many wraps around a sprained ankle. How many laps in a pool.
For the artist, the number of views. The value in a frame. How many spins on a pirouette. How many octaves reached.
For the socialite, the number of parties attended. The digits on a phone. How many likes on a status. How many names tagged in a photo.
For the materialist, the size of a pay check. The price hanging off a wrist. How many inches on a television screen. How many rooms in a house.
For the addict, the number of packs smoked. The number of pills swallowed. How many cups of caffeine. How many withdrawal symptoms.
For the indulger, the number of seasons watched. The count of calories on a plate. How many days spent sleeping in. How may nights spent wide awake.
For the narcissist, the number of inches on a waistline. The number of suitors in waiting. How well known a name. How desired a face.
For the traveler, the number of borders crossed. The mileage on a car. How many countries explored. How many still left on the bucket list.
For the daredevil, the amount of adrenaline in the bloodstream. The number of locks broken. How many scrapes on a knee. How many heartbeats skipped.
For the lover, the number of kisses in a day. The years on a relationship. How many hearts broken. How many hearts put back together.
For the fighter, the number of tears shed. The number of words that can’t be taken back. How many times knocked to the ground. How many times gotten back up.
Perhaps, we were none of these. Or perhaps, we were all.
As human beings, it’s in our nature to measure, because that’s how we understand the things around us. But if I were to measure the extent to which I was alive, I’d want it to look like nothing.
I’d want to realise that the most meaningful things can’t possibly be measured, and so I wouldn’t be building a mountainous pile of frivolous somethings. To realise that the things truly worth living for can’t be quantified, because quantity is limited and if we put a number on living, then life runs out.
In celebration of my 18th year with this name.
- The first thing people ask you when you introduce yourself is, “Were you born in April?”
- If you say yes (which is likely), the second thing people ask you when you introduce yourself is, “Is that why your parents named you April?”
- You don’t actually know why your parents named you April, but you feel like you have to give them an answer so you say, “Probably”.
- Growing up as a child, you’ve had students turn to snicker at you whenever your name is mentioned as part of an important date.
- In fact, that does still happen now.
- People think that you and the month are interchangeable and often find amusement in swapping the two. E.g. “My anniversary is on the 12th of you.”
- You’re too polite to tell them that: things just don’t work that way…
- Every month, year and season-related joke has lost its hilarity, including the infamous:“Can February March? No, but April May.” (I mean, come on. That has got to be the laziest joke ever, apart from “Because 7 8 9”.)
- You’ve probably had tons of practice politely fake-laughing, that you’re now a pro at making people feel like they have a decent sense of humour.
- Every April Fools’ Day is a shit show.
- The entire month of April is a shit show.
- When it’s finally May, you enter the room and get told that you’re “late”.
- You have the luxury of your name (almost) never being misspelled on Starbucks coffee cups.
- Your name gets its own different spelling and pronunciation in every language! (This one, I’m actually excited about.)
- People often remember your birthday. Or at least, the month in which you were born.
- Common Tinder pick-up lines include:“You’ll never guess my favourite month!”“Spring came early.”“Santa came early.”And the occasional “I was born in you.”
- No matter how creative and original people think they are with their jokes, you’ve heard them all before. Nothing can surprise you.
- Although it comes with its nuisances, you can’t imagine being named anything else. Because you actually live up to your name, and feel like no single word can even attempt to sum you up any better.