Why do parents worry about their kids?

I know this is a stupid question. Because they’re parents. Because they brought them to life, and because their kids are the only ones in their lives who are more important than themselves. The answer seems obvious.

But as a child, and as a teenager who has no idea what parenting is about, I don’t understand sometimes.

Why do parents make you come home early? Because it’s dangerous in the night, and they want their kids to be safe. I know this. But what if the parent is depriving the child’s bonding time with his or her friends by restricting the time? What if the child faces sheer embarrassment because of his or her parents?

I’m not saying that parents shouldn’t worry. No. I’m trying to understand, because I hate myself for getting irritated every time my parents worry about me. There’s something about being mad at your parents–you can’t blame them, because you just KNOW in your guts that you’re going to be just like them when you become a parent.

I guess this is one of those things that will only make sense once I have my own kids. Who knows, I might be the strictest parent in the world. Yesterday, when I was telling my mom how she was too strict sometimes, she told me, “You only have 2 months until you leave this house for college. You only have 2 months to listen to what we say. You only have 2 months where somebody will actually care for you, worry about you. At least bear with us for the next 60 days!” I almost cried when I heard this. I realized just how selfish I had been for telling her not to be worried about me, when it was actually a privilege I would long to have in the next few months. Worrying is a sign of love. I’m trying so hard to understand this.

Put your happy pants on and I’ll see you later,



A Much Needed Update


Wow, I’m a horrible blogger. I opened this and realized I haven’t posted anything since April 14. Way to go, me. I could probably come up with 100 excuses right now, but I won’t list them here because it won’t change the fact that I failed my readers. Sorry guys.

A lot has changed since I last wrote in this blog:

  • I’m growing out my bangs
  • I know where I’m going to for college (and I’m very very excited)
  • I got my driver’s license
  • I broke up with my boyfriend
  • I’m drinking a lot of water

It’s amazing how one can change in a month! I feel like a completely different person. When I started this blog, a lot of my future was undecided, and I didn’t know what to expect. I was, to be frank, always nervous. Now I feel like I’m finally able to breathe and just write whatever I want to. So definitely expect more blog posts from me. 🙂

Put your happy pants on and I’ll see you later,



Wise Words of a 7-Year-Old


“What’s 1+1?”

A 7-year-old came up to me one day during work and asked this to me. Without thinking, I bluntly answered, “2.”


Here comes the Big Question, I thought, as I stopped what I was doing and faced him.

“Here’s 1,” I said, as I put one finger up, “and here’s another 1.” I had two index fingers sticking up in front of this boy’s face. “When you stick them together…” I positioned my two index fingers next to each other. “You get a 2.”

I could feel the boy’s eyes following every movement of my hands. “But that’s an 11.”

I looked at my two index fingers and felt as if I was caught red-handed. That did look like an 11.

I tried again. “No, there are 2 index fingers here, see?”


“Because you learn this in math class, don’t you? We have to accept what we learn at school because they’re thought to be the truth in this world.” This kid was messing me up.

“But if you can’t explain the reason to an answer, then it can’t be true!” The 7-year-old gave me a goofy grin and said, “I win.”

And that was true–even I could explain the reason for that. I could not explain the world’s easiest math question, and a 7-year-old had crushed me by telling me that 2 didn’t deserve to be the answer of 1+1 unless I could tell him why. I had been defeated.

This is what it’s like to work with kids. They have mind blowing perspectives that we can’t come up with, and it’s impossible not to have fun with them.

Have you been told something by a kid that took you by surprise? Leave them in the comments below! 🙂

Put your happy pants on and I’ll see you later,


The Perks of Being a Returnee


I may or may not have mentioned this before, but I’m a returnee. I was born in Japan, moved to the States when I was little, and came back after a few years. In other words, I’m bilingual. And there are a couple of hardships that come with this.

-In the States, I’m too Japanese, and in Japan, I’m too American

-People constantly beg me to speak different languages (I’m sorry that I can only speak English and Japanese–I’m not a language speaking machine)

-“It’s so unfair that you’re bilingual!” is a common criticism I get

-There are some culture shocks that I can never get used to (wait, so it’s rude to slurp in the States?)

I struggled to find a place where I could actually belong for a long time. I’ve been bullied so many times just because of the fact that I’m “different” from everyone. And that was when I was introduced to my English cram school. This school made me realize the perks of being a returnee student.

-I’m a unique girl who doesn’t have to have ethnicity/nationality as a boundary

-I can eavesdrop on people who speak Japanese or English, thinking that others don’t understand (yeah, I’m sorry I’m creepy)

-“It’s so cool that you’re bilingual! I wish I could be like you!” is a common compliment I get

-I am able to understand different cultures, due to the diversity I have been exposed to my whole life

I have come to understand that it’s not where you live, what language you speak, nor what color your skin is that determines your identity. It’s what you’ve done and what you can do that matters. As cliched as it may sound, it’s only yourself who can decide your identity. Embrace it.

I have to admit–it’s not that bad being a returnee. In fact, it might actually be pretty awesome.

Put your happy pants on and I’ll see you later,


I Promise This Isn’t Sponsored


Now that I’ve graduated and am officially a member of the society (a.k.a no more student discounts, a.k.a my wallet is crying), I started a part-time job recently.

I work as an assistant at an English cram school. It’s not just an English cram school, though–it’s an after school program for returnees, meant to improve and maintain students’ English skills after they come back to Japan from living abroad. I used to go here for a long time.

What I love about this school is how comfortable the atmosphere is. It’s not the normal school you would imagine. Once you open the door to the school, the first thing you see is the huge lounge complemented with tons of students chattering away in English. Some are eating snacks, some are playing card games, and some are dancing to the music that is coming out from the speaker. The staircase leads to the huge library that looks like a recreated scene from Harry Potter, and the older students are burying their heads into their books while sinking into their beanbag chairs. Students who feel cramped in the Japanese society and feel like outsiders sometimes can come to this school and meet tons of other students just like them. It’s literally like a second house (look at me doing my job and casually advertising my cram school lol).

I was a student at this cram school for about 6 years. This place not only helped me get in to my dream junior/senior high school and college, but they also made me feel at home. And let me tell you, as a returnee, this wasn’t easy.

I’ll write a blog about what it’s like to be a returnee in the next blog, but for now, I just wanted to introduce this cram school to you guys. If there are any people who are curious as to what name/where it is, please feel free to comment! I’ll DM you–after all, I am a worker here now.

I’ll write more about my job later (is it just me or did the advertising part take up most of the space of this blog post? sorry).

Put your happy pants on and I’ll see you later,




It’s been a while. Nothing’s really changed, except for the fact that I’ve been a little bit depressed these days. Okay, maybe not a little–a lot. College results are coming in and it’s hard to have one college smile at you while another slams the word “REJECT” right into your face. This whole angel vs demon battle going on above my head is physically and mentally tiring me out.

I know that being rejected doesn’t mean I’m not good enough. I know that it simply suggests I did not happen to be a good fit for the school that year. But it still hurts. It hurts because I know that I got a chance, and it feels as if I lost it so easily. Maybe I should’ve spent more nights writing my essays. I could’ve went to a cram school to know whether I was really on the right track. Perhaps I could’ve prepared more for the interviews. Who knows, maybe I wasn’t the “perfect” girl everyone expected me to be.

I think the main reason why I’m feeling this depressed is because I feel like I’ve let so many people–and most importantly, myself–down. I used to think I was one of those people who could pursue their dreams if they tried their best, but the results show just how much I was wrong. There are smarter, more talented, and more outstanding people than me in this world–there always will. I feel so foolish for not realizing this earlier, and for believing that I had a chance of being number one.

This is why I’m not jealous of my friends who were accepted to their first-choice schools (at least, not anymore). My friends didn’t get in with a snap of their fingers; they studied, worked hard on their essays, went days without sleep, and did everything they could to pursue their dreams. I didn’t strive hard enough–I can’t blame my friends for getting accepted.

Application results have made me realize how far I still have to go. I don’t think I’m ready to say that being rejected has been the best experience ever, but I do know that I can’t sit here acting like I’m at a funeral. That’s so unlike me.

Put your happy pants on and I’ll see you later,


Graduation, and Why I Don’t Want to Be Congratulated


I graduated 5 days ago. And let me tell you, it’s crazy.

Having been in the same school for 6 years, it’s weird to suddenly wake up and realize you can actually sleep in. It’s weird having to carefully pick out your clothes instead of randomly grabbing your uniform. It’s weird to realize you’re no longer going to get on that same train you always take, walk that same route you always walked, see those same faces you always saw in the morning. It’s weird not belonging.

During these 5 days, so many people have given me kind words on my graduation. But one thing in common is that they all begin with the same word: “Congratulations.” My answer is, of course, always “Thank you,” but I wonder. Why do I have to be congratulated when I’m here crying in my own puddle of tears?

I couldn’t possibly express how important my school has been in my life. My school made me who I am today, and I have so much love for my teachers, friends, and the 6 years I spent there. I miss my school and I still can’t accept the fact that I’m a graduate, but no worries–people keep slamming the word GRADUATION into my face to remind me of the reality. Congratulations, you graduated! Now get your butt out of here and MOVE ON.

I know I’ll move on, eventually. As I write this, my elementary school group chat is suddenly becoming active, with several people saying they want to meet up. I don’t recognize anybody in this chat. We make friends, we forget them. It’ll probably be this way for my junior/senior high school friends as well.

But what I can say is that for now, I don’t want to forget the friends I made during the 6 years. I am so thankful for my school for bringing us together, and for providing me with these people that make this goodbye so sad.

Put your happy pants on and I’ll see you later,