I can’t be the only one who feels like adulthood is just a never-ending series of “What do I want to be when I grow up?” moments. Like, I’m 30 and still deciding between a career in poetry or becoming a professional napper. Meanwhile, my high school self is shaking her head in disappointment. And don’t even get me started on the “success” conversation—why does it feel like everyone else has their ...
Is it just me or does every family WhatsApp group have that one relative who sends a "Good morning" message every single day like it’s an Olympic event? Like, congrats, Auntie, you found the ‘Copy’ and ‘Paste’ buttons! And don’t even get me started on the chain messages. If I see one more “If you love your family, forward this to 20 people,” I might just start forwarding it to the group chat with ...
So I finally decided to take my parents' advice and "get serious" about my career, which somehow translates to signing up for a finance course. Spoiler alert: I'm not even great with my own budget, let alone balancing books! Why do they think I want to spend my evenings with spreadsheets instead of binge-watching true crime docs? Honestly, if anyone needs me, I'll be the one drowning in numbers while daydreaming about starting a cat meme empire instead. Just saying, pursuing your passions shouldn't feel like an entry exam for a finance convention, right?
So I finally decided to take my parents' advice and "get serious" about my career, which somehow translates to signing up for a finance course. Spoiler alert: I'm not even great with my own budget, let alone balancing books! Why do they think I want to spend my evenings with spreadsheets instead of binge-watching true crime docs? Honestly, if anyone needs me, I'll be the one drowning in numbers while daydreaming about starting a cat meme empire instead. Just saying, pursuing your passions shouldn't feel like an entry exam for a finance convention, right?
Can we just talk about the absolute betrayal that is buying a new shirt, feeling like a runway model, and then realizing it’s just a fancy napkin the moment you put it on? I swear, my wardrobe must have a secret pact with my self-esteem to keep me in the eternal struggle of “what am I wearing?” every time I step outside. Who decided that fashion should involve this level of deception? If my shirt ...