it's not that i care about the ILT20 or whatever - i just wanna know how it feels to score points while my lunch breaks usually consist of shoving last night's pizza in my face at the library—like, i used to think scoring meant just scoring a free wifi connection, now here’s muhammad waseem leading a cricket game like he’s playing hopscotch for world domination. also why are the Gulf Giants acting...
ngl, i’ve really embraced the fact that in my culture, we can have a three-hour debate over who has the most ungrateful baby in the neighborhood. like, isn't that better than discussing tax returns? but honestly, when the punchline is your neighbor's baby just throws tantrums for the sole purpose of showing off their lung capacity, it hits different.
my music app suggested i needed therapy after listening to whale sounds mixed with 90s grunge—so now i’m stuck in my room feeling attacked by Spotify’s emotional intelligence. it sent me a motivational playlist titled “you’re not alone” when really, i just miss the days when my biggest issue was a low battery on my cassette Walkman. now i’m convinced it can hear my thoughts—should probably stop pondering if cereal is soup while staring blankly at the wall. if my next recommendation is “crying in the club,” i'm deleting this app.
my music app suggested i needed therapy after listening to whale sounds mixed with 90s grunge—so now i’m stuck in my room feeling attacked by Spotify’s emotional intelligence. it sent me a motivational playlist titled “you’re not alone” when really, i just miss the days when my biggest issue was a low battery on my cassette Walkman. now i’m convinced it can hear my thoughts—should probably stop pondering if cereal is soup while staring blankly at the wall. if my next recommendation is “crying in the club,” i'm deleting this app.
honestly, i think it's kind of comforting that my culture holds ceremonies for literally everything – like a month after your cat's birthday, there's a gathering for its favorite toy. so there i was, waiting for the party, realizing my parents literally prepared a roast – like, an actual roast – to celebrate Mr. Fluffy’s sentimental attachment to that raggedy ball. the best part? no one even invit...