The
House
on
████████ ███

We didn't always live on ████████ ███. Before that we lived on █ ███ on the second floor, and before that we lived on ████. Before ████ it was ██████, and before that I can barely recall. But what I do recall is the feeling of disappointment. Each time we moved, it seemed like our place got smaller and smaller. By the time my mom and I got to ████████ ███ we had three rooms — bedroom, bathroom, and living room.

The house on Prescott Way is not ours, and we'd have to pay rent every month, and share our balcony with the neighbors next door, and be careful not to damage anything, and worry about where we will live when our lease ends. But even so, it's one of my favorites of all the houses I've lived in.

We had to leave the apartment on █ ███ quick. It's a thirty-minute drive away from school and the gas prices are rising because of inflation. We left as soon as our lease ended. We were filling up the gas once every week and spending two hours commuting every school day. That's why Mom and Dad looked for a new apartment, and that's why we moved into the apartment on ████████ ███, just ten minutes away from school.

My mom always dreamed that one day she would move into a suburban house, a house she owns so that she would never have to move again. I've dreamed of owning a house one day, too. My house would have two bedrooms, one for me and one for my hobbies. And it would have a giant refrigerator, not the regular ones, but those with an ice dispenser like the smart fridges sold in Costco. My house would be one story with spacious rooms, a huge garage, and a fancy backyard.

But the house on Prescott Way is nothing like this. It's an apartment. Not a house. But it does have its own charms. It's ocean blue and traffic cone orange with stairs so steep you'd think you would fall every time you walk down. There is no front yard because it's on the second floor. On the balcony are two chairs that only my dad uses and a table that is the home of a sad-looking succulent. There are carpets in our apartment, nothing special. My bed is in the living room, and so is everything else I own.

I would like to live in a house. A real house. One I could call home, knowing that it isn't going anywhere. And an apartment isn't it. The apartment on Prescott Way isn't it. But, for the time being, Prescott Way is my home.

My Name

In English my name means █████████ ██ ██████. In my heart it means nothing. It means conventional, it means generic. It is like a comma. A neutral color. It is the white crayon that I never used but somehow went missing, hiding in the dark.

It was perhaps the result of an imprudent decision. Or a deliberate decision, depending on what you choose to believe. And the story goes my dad put down █████████ as my name for my birth certificate. But the next day he realized that he had made a spelling mistake. He ran back to the hospital and changed my name before the document was processed. █████████. Meaning the ██████ ██ ██████. I was a flower ██████ ██ ██ ███████ ██ ███ and will one day blossom. I have adopted this name, but none of its sentiment.

Sometimes I wonder what kind of person I would be if I had a different name. Initially, I was going to be named Crystal, because my Chinese name means purple crystal. A name that is the epitome of femininity and quirky, like a fancy glass vase. On the contrary, █████████ is something more neutral, like an unremarkable white coffee mug that you can find in every department store.

█████████ is my name, just as my Social Security number is nothing more than a form of identification. I would like to add some colors to my name that is as blank as a piece of paper. A nickname that reflects who I am, how I see myself. A name that will stand out like an asterisk or an exclamation mark. █████████ as ████ or ███████ or Zem. Yes, something like Zem would do.

Ellis

I don't remember how I met them — Ellis. But I knew I felt differently. Every day. All the time I want to hang out with them. They and their friends leaning against the wall next to the playground, telling inside jokes. They look happy. They do, and I wish I was like them. I had to prove to me I wasn't a boring quiet kid, and prove to them. I had to make them laugh, just once, like I'm a friend. And I did. I did once. I joked because I wanted their attention, the joke so funny that they listened and laughed like a maniac, laughed, and I felt good.

And then the laughing stopped. But I only had one joke. And once the conversation resumed I saw my pathetic self, like a chair in a conversation, too awkward to join but also too awkward to leave. I've got an overthinking brain, and my feelings are fragile like snowflakes, and I suck at social interactions too. But I don't know what else to do. I need validation.

Often I hear them talk about anime. My mission is obvious: need to be relatable, relatable, relatable. I don't like anime. But they either watch anime during recess, or talk about anime. And so I started to watch anime. But a wise man once said: don't change yourself so that other people will like you; be yourself and don't force yourself to fit in. People pleasers who try too hard. They're not truly happy, aren't they?

Everything is sinking in mud within me. Everything is waiting to explode like a firework show. I want to be all funny and likable. I want to hang out during recess, a friend with me and other people's opinions out of my sight. Not this way, every day hoping to not be alone again, sitting by myself, pretending I am someone else.

I once knew everyone and had close friends, I swear, I felt the joy and ease of a popular kid, but that was before.

Paracosm
& the Personas

I can never have enough paracosms. I can escape reality and wake up indulged in paracosm, and my personas can keep me distracted when I am anxious. In my head there is too much overthinking and not enough certainty. Self-doubt too is plentiful and so is imposter syndrome and most things that are worrisome. Still, I use what I have — my mind — and make the best of it.

Zemu, who doesn't care what other people think, who is sometimes compassionate and mostly a sarcastic person, said something supportive today, though most days she says nothing. Zemu, who responds to jokes with witty comebacks or humorous lines that fit the situation and is hyperactive, today softened her voice because a girl who overthinks has sought refuge.

You see all those people, those strangers right there? Zemu said, See them? Yes. Forget about them, because they will forget about you in ten minutes. See them? They have better things to think about than a random girl who did something embarrassing today. Really? the girl asked. Really, she said, and made the worries go away.

Smart and Nerdy

I am an average person. I am the kind you come across on the streets every day.

I promised myself that I would not spend my life waiting for success to knock on my door, that my sister became independent by working, and I want to follow in her footsteps. I want to fulfill my hobbies, to craft and create.

My mother says as I get older my mind will change and my passion will be devoured by work, but I have decided to not grow up dull like the others who lay in bed dreading to wake up every day.

In the movies there is always one with big big glasses who is smart and nerdy. He is the one whose hobby is laughed at and judged by the people in his life. He's passionate about doing what makes him happy. He will not give it away.

I want to be like that. Minus the socially awkward part. I have begun my own quiet transformation. Ordinary. Sure. I am one who gets excited about my hobbies like a nerd, but I am content doing what I love and will not change this part of me for anyone.

A
Life
of
My Own

Not a loser. Not a Mrs. Not a housewife. A life of my own. With my house and my cat, my dream job. My drawings and my crafts. My shelves full of models.

Only a house comfortable as a cup of hot cocoa, a space for myself to relax, a life peaceful as a whale amidst the tides.

Dreams
Come
True
Sometimes

I like to create paracosms. I escape my life through them. I escape to there when the teacher says, The test will be next Thursday. The test will be next Thursday he said.

A new character is created, for each step I take to become the person I wanted to be. I say, "And so she picked up the gun, her glowing blue horns signaling her guilt to the country she so loved."

I like to create paracosms. I am going to tell you a world revolving around a girl who eventually got her life together.

One day I will pack my bags of paracosms and aspirations. One day my dreams will come true. My perseverance will turn wishful thinking into attainable life goals. One day I will become who I want to be. Or perhaps accept who I always am.

Friends and families will say, What happened to █████████? Who did she become with all her talents and dreams? How is she doing in life?

I hope to answer their question with a smile on my face. A sincere smile for the ones I love. For the ones who love me back.