Anonymous asked: Haha. I can't tell you who I am, but I forgot to add something to my last comment: I really admire how you are so passionate about something and that you've actually done something with it and written a blog for other people to read about. Although I won't say who I am, you can definitely call me a fan!
Thank you so much for your support! Words of encouragement are always nice to receive.
You’re so sweet :)
TELL ME WHO YOU ARE PLEASE
or at least tell me if/how I know you…
Anonymous asked: Your wordpress blog is awesome! It's so legit, and you're awesome for making it and writing all those stuffs :)
WHO ARE YOU
thank you <3
Dear Citizens of Tumblr,
I have a newfound love for Wordpress. That’s where I’ve “been” lately. If you’d like to follow my blog, that’d be awesome of you. I mostly talk about how much I love Taylor Swift and One Direction (what else is new?). There’s also some stuff about other celebrities, movies, music, etc. I’ve been scared to share it with people I actually know. I think only two of my friends have actually seen it because I was terrified of being judged. Well, here goes:
Have at it.
Pop-country-dubstep (~trouble trouble trouble~) singer-songwriter/prophet/queen Ms. Taylor Alison Swift once penned Fifteen, a cautionary tale about the struggles of coming-of-age teens, the loves they lost, and the knowledge that their dreams could take them further than just “dating the boy on the football team.” This musical masterpiece will always have a special place in my cold, judgmental heart (ha!).
I was pleasantly surprised recently when Fifteen played on the One Direction Pandora station (trolls, that Pandora. Trolls!). I was reminded of the first time I ever heard that song, alone in my room on a typical Tuesday night, in the fall of 2008. I thought I was dealt a full hand of unsolvable problems in my melodramatic teenage mind. This is life before you know who you’re gonna be, says Fifteen. I had yet to have a real boyfriend and my crush remained-a-crush-remained-I’m-crushed. I was trying to keep my grades up because I am Asian and that is what Asians do, didn’t you hear? I came home to a family with financial difficulties, communication issues, and my father lived on the other side of the country (who the hell moves from New York City to Salem, Oregon? Sorry, Salem, Oregon—you’re lovely. I’ve visited three times.).
Fifteen was a breath of fresh air in a time when the world was (is?) muddled with catchy yet ultimately meaningless pop drivel. Fifteen reminded me that I won’t always have the answers, and I shouldn’t anyway because what good would that be? Fifteen, as cheesy as it sounds, encouraged me to not be discouraged. Fifteen taught me to be perfectly content on my own. TeenageNaomi used to think she needed a significant other to be a significant person. But post-Fifteen, I didn’t need a boyfriend to validate my successes in life. And I still don’t.
I like to tell people about this one time a good friend of mine totally made my day just by using Fifteen lyrics in a text message. I’ll never forget it. It was my first day of college in a new city and I was terrified and already homesick. I looked at my phone and there it was:
Take a deep breath as you walk through the doors,
It’s the morning of your very first day
It’s your freshman year and you’re gonna be here for the next four years in this town
Take a deep breath girl,
Take a deep breath as you walk through the doors
After reading that, all I was left with was excitement for the new people I’d meet, the professors I’d eventually suck up to, the roommates I would later complain about to friends from back home, and the feeling of maybe I will survive college after all.
So, to the wonderful Ms. Taylor Alison Swift, T-Swizzle, TayTay, if you ever read Tumblr and happen to stumble upon this post, just know that you have impacted my life more than you will ever know and not just with Fifteen. Your discography is a gem in my heart and in my iTunes library. Except for We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together. I could do without that song.
It’s true. When I like something, I REALLY like something. I will marathon-watch a television show (or twenty), perhaps stalk a boyband for hours on the streets of New York City, and regularly keep tabs on all the latest celebrity gossip.
I try my best to know everything there is to know about whatever it is I am currently obsessed with. Actually, that’s a lie. It makes it seem like a chore when I say “I try my best” but in reality, it’s just a thing that happens. I can’t explain it. I do it and I do it often.
Did you hear that Reese Witherspoon and her husband got arrested last week for drunk driving and disorderly conduct? WTF is up with Selena Gomez flying to Norway to see the Biebs? I thought they broke up for good last time. You’ll never believe the latest cute thing Harry Styles posted on Instagram!
I’m a walking and talking encyclopedia of useless yet entertaining entertainment knowledge. It frustrates me to no end that I have yet to be a contestant on the best game show in existence—Jeopardy! (sorry, Wheel of Fortune). Trivia like this has always been a passion of mine. I like learning facts, reading the behind-the-scenes happenings, and being ahead of the curve. I also really enjoy writing but oftentimes don’t have the confidence in myself to share my work with other people. And that’s been okay for the most part. Nobody has to know until I’m good and ready.
Sometimes though, I get to thinking and when Naomi starts thinking, shit happens.
What is the point to all of this? Why do I frequently check my twitter timeline for updates on these famous people who have no idea who I am and fictional characters who are just that: FICTIONAL! Why do I spend so much time devouring the selections on Netflix? Do I really need to pass this level of Candy Crush (don’t download this game, it’s a life ruiner)? Did I really need to stand outside One Direction’s hotel for hours in the cold, just for a glimpse of them?
A few days ago, my mother asked me what I got out of seeing these famous people in person. This was the day after I saw the Jonas Brothers at MTV Studios in Times Square (do not insult the JoBros. Or do it and feel my wrath).
I couldn’t give her a straight answer.
Why DO I do these things? I’ve spent so much time invested on this specific type of knowledge. I know that in the future, I want to put my brain to good use. The world will be that much better when I am an editor for Entertainment Weekly—obviously because I will give you the scoop on the latest Glee number, or live-tweet the worst-dressed celebrities from my seat at the Oscars.
One day, this will happen. The end goal is make a happy living, breathing and working in entertainment news and eventually work my way up to Ryan Seacrest status (that guy does it all! Hosting American Idol, a morning radio show, American Top 40, producing reality tv shows, etc). Or maybe I could have my own talk show like Oprah. Actually—I’d probably be a cross between Ellen’s shenanigans and Chelsea Handler’s IDGAFness.
My future is uncertain.
Who knows if I will actually be able to pull off these dreams I dream. One thing I know for certain is that I won’t be saving lives like a Filipino nurse or doctor (props to y’all, it’s just not for me) or winning cases in court for clients like my parents probably want me to (probably as in, duh). And I have no idea how to tell them that this is what I want. They will laugh. Then they will get angry. “That’s not a real career! If you want to be treated like an adult, you better start acting like one!”
It took me so long to recognize and realize that this was the path I should take. I went to college completely unaware that I could actually really enjoy my work if I went against the grain. So I do just that. I am always talking about my work, even if I haven’t been paid for it just yet. It probably drives my friends crazy whenever I go off on tangents about random pop culture factoids but they’re too polite to tell me to shut up. And bless their souls for putting up with me.
So back to the question of why I fangirl so hard. Maybe I shouldn’t even call it fangirling because this is just who I am. I am a girl who is a fan of many things:
Taylor Swift’s music and entire persona brings me endless joy. The 90s will always be alive in my heart and in my Netflix queue. Friday Night Lights is the best show you haven’t watched yet. And you’re seriously missing out.
All these little things (see what I did there) are what puts a smile on my face.
If and when I “make it” to the big time, I’ll remember that this all started out as escapism from the harshness of reality and ended up being all I wanted out of life.
It’s crazy to think about the life I live now and compare it to the life I was living just last year.
I remember being so happy around this same time last year because I finally, after two years of trying/getting rejected/depression/anger/acceptance/more anger/trying again/getting rejected again/etc etc etc, got elected for a position on an eboard of the college student organization I was most passionate about since Day 1 of life as a Colonial.
To the unacquainted eye, it probably sounds a bit pathetic to place such high regard for an extracurricular club, but it was my everything. Those people were my friends, teachers, inspirations, problems, solutions, and some even became family. And when the majority of them decided they trusted me to be part of the team that lead them, that meant a great deal to me.
So after two years of feeling like a goddamn cliche—I don’t belong/I’m on the outside looking in—I was one of the in-crowd. My closest friends didn’t have to tiptoe around my feelings anymore (I have a lot of feelings) when it came time to go to eboard meetings, or when they wanted to discuss a confidential issue, or share news. I got to go to the meetings, I got to be in on the emails, I got to do admin-things—and I was damn good at it. I also only got to savor that feeling for about a month or two.
That’s when it all went to shit.
But really, what else could I have done? Nowadays, I can only hope for my worries to be that small. I know life isn’t always rainbows and butterflies but I feel cheated out of my college years—the supposed best years on my life. And I’m not ready to quit whining.
I see all of my friends doing amazing things and I’m so happy for their happiness and success. Selfishly, I also can’t help but feel left behind. I get jealous. I get angry, mostly at myself for feeling this way.
When people ask me how I’ve been and what I’ve been up to lately, all I can tell them are lies.
And I hate it.