Pipes and sewage stuff in my house have been broken for a week and we’ve been trying to fix it but we can’t afford it. We’ve been taking family adventures to public restrooms in fast food places and grocery stores. This night we went to the local hotel so we can use some high-end toilets.

It sounds like something that would be in a book or movie about a poor immigrant family.

I mean, we are one, but it’s hard for us to not laugh about it.

I came home to find that you used my makeup again.

Now I see why you do it.

You said you wanted to look like me. That you don’t look as good in makeup as when I use it. I guess I’m flattered, but it doesn’t work that way.

You think my eyes look nicer, so you steal my eyeliners/eyeshadows/primer. You like the way my skin looks so you steal my primer/foundation/powder. You can take my makeup all you want, simply using my makeup isn’t going to make you look like me. You don’t apply it the right way.

You really don’t know how to apply makeup. When you use mine you kind of look like a 6 year old playing with her mommy’s lipstick. You fill in your eyebrows too much and smudge on your eyeshadow into a mess, but you think you’re doing it right because you bought fancy new brushes and tools at Sephora. You don’t know what the different objects are called. You don’t even know how to apply it.

I’ll teach you, just leave my stuff alone.

You say that my eye makeup looks better because I have biggereyes. Uh, no. You have big eyes too. You just don’t know how to wear makeup correctly. And when I tell you how I do mine, you get all butthurt.

I give you tips on how I wear my makeup, but you say that you already do that even though you clearly don’t.

“What I do is make the eyeliner thinner towards the center then much thicker on the outer corner”

“I already do that. Isn’t that what everyone does? That’s what you’re supposed to do!”

No, you don’t already do that. If you did, then you wouldn’t be having this problem.

If you’re going to be all defensive then enjoy looking like crap.

I guess it is humiliating for you to ask someone younger than you how to put on makeup. In a sense, I should be the one going to you since you’re older.

I’m willing to help you, but only if you’re willing to actually listen to me and stop taking my stuff without asking.

Why can’t you just use your own stuff?

I get that we’re supposed to share and all, but you forget that sharing goes both ways.

Remember we were each given $100 for clothes last year? We decided that we would pool it together to get clothes that we could both share. I spent my $100 on clothes for both of us, I even asked you which colors you wanted. You spent yours on 2 pairs of shoes, which we can’t even share. You still wear the clothes I bought that day. I haven’t even seen you wear those shoes 3 times.

It’s been happening so much lately.

You keep taking my favorite sweatshirt without asking. You know it makes me mad, too. I got so fed up that I gave up and bought another sweatshirt which was pretty expensive. I bought it with my own money, which I work for unlike you. Now you’ve abandoned the old one and have moved on to my new one… why? You know I bought it for myself. You walk out the door wearing it even though I hung it up the night before with my other clothes for the day.

Now you can’t even buy your own makeup.

When I ran out of eyeliner, I borrowed yours and promised I would only need it until I got my own, which was 2 days later. You just take my things because you think they’re yours.

“Where’s our ___?”

You mean mine?

I’m not sure what to do about it. I’m tempted to buy you a set of your own. At least I have the satisfaction in looking better in the things that are mine than you do.

The boy I had a crush on when I was 14 sits behind me in one of my lectures.

It’s not like he noticed me back then anyway. I was a freshman in high school, and he was a senior. It was just a one-sided crush.

Five years later and he still doesn’t notice me. When I first saw him sitting next to me in class, my heart jumped a bit because in that instant I remembered all of those little feelings I had for him. It’s was as if I had transformed into a freshman again, too nervous to call out his name. Of course when I did say his name, he didn’t recognize me, nor did he remember my name. I didn’t expect him to.

Throughout the semester he’s talked to me, but only for help in the coursework. Today he tapped my shoulder and asked me for help on one of the assignments. The 14-year-old me would have died to get that mere tap on the shoulder. I was happy to help him out and gave him my extra copy of the handout. Then he asked me what my name was again.

When I’m around him I’m reminded how of I felt about him back then. When I see him, I see the guy my 14-year-old self would blush over when he would be on campus.

But then I blink and I look at him through the lense of the woman I am today. Those feelings have dissapated. I’m not interested in him at all. He always looks like he rolled out of bed. His voice is annoying. He’s not as good looking as I thought he was in high school. And when he keeps asking me for help on easy assignments it’s a real turn-off.

He’s just not attractive to me anymore.

I don’t love him. I don’t even like him.

I just want him to remember my name.

Three boys and three girls exploring different restaurants in search of great food. It’s not even about the love of food. It’s the friendship. Sharing a meal with someone is one of the most common yet intimate acts you can do. The bonding, the laughter. This is how I’ve always pictured it. This is the friendship I’ve always wanted. This is what I’ve dreamed of.

Hah, well I’ll be damned. 11/11/11 really is a day when dreams come true.

Doctor said it’s benign growth and that I should be fine after they remove it.

Phew.

Going to see a doctor after class.

I’m so fucking nervous.

I hope I’m healthy.

You’re out having fun with your friends and I’m sitting here freaking out over this mole. You’ve been waiting for this concert for a long time. I just want to talk to you about it, but I don’t want to ruin your night. I’m scared.

I can’t tell you. I don’t want you to worry about me. I can’t do that to you, it would be selfish. I’m going to burden myself with the worrying. I’ll just tell you after I come home from the doctor tomorrow when I know if it’s even something to worry about.

There’s nothing to worry about. It’s probably nothing. I’ll be fine.

I’m not going to ruin your night.

I’ve been so included this week.

“You look so pretty today, Liza.”

Something so simple.

A compliment.

Recognition.

Affirmation.

Inclusion.

Affection.

That’s all I wanted.