Blurry vision and blood shot eyes. Tiredness mingling with awakeness. This is the aftermath of fucking up my sleeping patterns yet again in the form of an all nighter. I pace around and fight the waves of nausea and drowsiness. The importance of my duties outweigh the comfort of sleep. My brain is driving 90 mph. I repeat this process again and again and again. Either I undersleep or I oversleep. It's never a healthy amount. I can't rest. I rarely relax. I have such unhealthy habits. I wonder how I even initiated this vicious cycle.

Behavioral Changes to Attractiveness

Several steps have been taken to become the person that I am now. No longer am I the person that I was in middle school. Out with the puffy bowlcut, unflattering clothes, and extreme introversion, and in with a medium length, wavy/straight hairstyle, different way of dress, and more extroverted attitude. Standing 5' 2" tall as an Asian American female, I have become my own person–a sense of identity completely separate from the Asian stereotype. That being said, my uniqueness and selfhood is something I will always treasure and has made me feel secure with myself.

Entering middle school, I was thrust into a new environment. While my elementary years were an ignorant bliss, I felt great anxiety in the next chapter of my life. I encountered different social standards from before. People were far more aggressive and socioeconomic barriers became obvious. I took longer paths to reach a destination simply because I did not want to be seen by many people. I was always afraid that I would give people the impression that I was a loner, so I used to ask people to walk with me EVERYWHERE around school. I did not know how to dress myself and gave up on myself appearance wise.

That began to change in 8th grade. I met a girl named Jennah. Thanks to her, I bought ridiculously expensive pants and random tops. Unfortunately, that was not the only awkward stage in my life .Entering high school was another strange chapter. Still slightly socially inept, I had a difficult time adapting to a school completely out of my area with much higher social standards. After graduating, I can truthfully say that I am glad to have gone to that high school, not only for its education, but for the lessons it has taught me on how to conduct myself in public.

Anyway, that is not the subject I want to touch up on. Becoming conventionally attractive has elicited many responses, both favorable and unfavorable. Being able to frequent more social circles due to better social acceptability/treatment is definitely a perk. Now able to smile and function daily in society, I am finally confident. However, there are some setbacks.

As an "ugly duckling," I did not face the problem of excessively friendly people. Unwanted verbal utterances constitute as harassment. Unwanted physical contact is assault. For some reason, I almost forgot that it was not normal for this to happen in daily life. For one, people always assumed I was a genius back when I fit the Asian stereotype. Now, people believe they have the license to insult my intelligence and make crude descriptions of my body. Although they are basically calling me attractive, I find the descriptions intensely disrespectful.

Another thing that I would like to add is the fact that some of my friends have been forced into sexual situations by males that they once saw as a (potential) friend. I will always remember this: My ex-best friend telling me about a boy locking her in his room unless she let him touch her body. I too have been approached by people that have had a sexual interest in me. When getting food before going to the Homecoming dance, a classmate of my friend from middle school decided to slide his hand around my waist. Rather than seeing it as flattering, I was disgusted and find the unwanted attention intrusive.

Of course, superficiality affects everyone negatively and I cannot avoid this type of attention altogether by going backwards on my progress. Regardless, people will choose to push against another person's boundaries, either to test him/her or ignore them. Whether it is pushing at his/her boundaries or being rude, shutting down someone's attraction to you can easily be done. Behavior that makes another individual uncomfortable should be stopped and it's a simple fact I forget.

My chest is tight. My breath is sparse. My heart feels like it's tearing and my blood runs cold. I need to catch my breath. It feels like something has a hold of my lungs and its harsh grip is squeezing the life out of me. I almost feel sick. I fight the urge to vomit. I am disgusted.

I am fatigued, physically and emotionally. I'm breaking out and when I wake up, I am tired. I hate this terrible feeling. I need out. I need something.

In every corner of my thoughts stands a figure. It is myself. She makes me doubt myself and others. I'm not a strong girl. I'm not brave at all. All it takes is a few seconds or a phrase, and I distrust that person. I am frantic, almost desperate. I know it is just another strange emotional phase, yet I find questioning other people's motives. Once negativity is instilled in me, it festers and festers. I can't help it.

"Are you being sincere? Is that the truth? Please, I want to believe you. Will these conversations become dry? Are these promises empty?" All questions I ask myself each encounter with a close friend. I fear I become attached too easily. Is this my defense mechanism? Am I subconsciously trying to push people away?

This irrational paranoia is sickening. It actively bothers me, as I am falling asleep and when I am awake. I don't think my friends have the slightest clue about what goes on in my head. I have spoken about it vaguely, but I don't think they have an ounce of understanding. They usually have no words. The silence is uncomfortable. I wish I did not need people and that people did not need me.

I think I am simply afraid–afraid of having my feelings being trampled on and of attachment. I hate it. I hate it all.

A flood of tears gushed down my friend's ashen cheeks, staining her gray sweater. Attached to her tired and damp face was her dull brown-black eyes and her voice, usually high and full of warmth, began to crack with emotion, becoming hoarse in tone. I glanced at her bent, shaking form and somehow, a part of me could not feel compassion.

"I never thought this would happen to me... I thought things would last."

I felt disgusted.

"I guess he didn't love me as much as I loved him... No, he doesn't love me."

I almost pitied her.

She saw the signs. I saw the signs. Her other friends saw the signs. We had warned her.

Few shared interests. His parents did not like her. He stopped the calls at night. He stopped visiting, even when given the chance. He stopped texting throughout the day. He stopped trying. He stopped caring. I suppose it was blind optimism that tied her to him in the end.

I refrained from giving her the advice many have given me: "You'll get over it. You will find someone new."

I didn't want to be a hypocrite.

Back then, I was blindly optimistic as well. Now, here I was, listening to her soft sobs and watching my past mistakes unfold in her life. I knew the beginning, middle, and end here. I knew the pain she felt in that moment. I was stuck re-living an experience through her words.

"It's over and I don't understand why. I really loved him. Why did this happen?"

"Unsolicited Advice to Adolescent Girls with Crooked Teeth and Pink Hair" by Jeanann Verlee

When your mother hits you, do not strike back. 
When the boys call asking your cup size, say A, hang up. 
When he says you gave him blue balls, say you’re welcome.  
When a girl with thick black curls who smells like bubble gum stops you in a stairwell to ask if you’re a boy, explain that you keep your hair short so she won’t have anything to grab when you head-butt her.
Then head-butt her. 
When a guidance counselor teases you for handed-down jeans, do not turn red. 
When you have sex for the second time and there is no condom, do not convince yourself that screwing between layers of underwear will soak up the semen. 
When your geometry teacher posts a banner reading: “Learn math or go home and learn how to be a Momma,” do not take your first feminist stand by leaving the classroom. 
When the boy you have a crush on is sent to detention, go home.
When your mother hits you, do not strike back. 
When the boy with the blue mohawk swallows your heart and opens his wrists, hide the knives, bleach the bathtub, pour out the vodka.
Every time. 
When the skinhead girls jump you in a bathroom stall, swing, curse, kick, do not turn red. 
When a boy you think you love delivers the first black eye, use a screw driver, a beer bottle, your two good hands. 
When your father locks the door, break the window. 
When a college professor writes you poetry and whispers about your tight little ass, do not take it as a compliment, do not wait, call the Dean, call his wife. 
When a boy with good manners and a thirst for Budweiser proposes, say no. 
When your mother hits you, do not strike back. 
When the boys tell you how good you smell, do not doubt them, do not turn red. 
When your brother tells you he is gay, pretend you already know.
When the girl on the subway curses you because your tee shirt reads: “I fucked your boyfriend,” assure her that it is not true. 
When your dog pees the rug, kiss her, apologize for being late. 
When he refuses to stay the night because you live in Jersey City, do not move. 
When he refuses to stay the night because you live in Harlem, do not move. 
When he refuses to stay the night because your air conditioner is broken, leave him. 
When he refuses to keep a toothbrush at your apartment, leave him. 
When you find the toothbrush you keep at his apartment hidden in the closet, leave him. 
Do not regret this. 
Do not turn red.
When your mother hits you, do not strike back.