Creepy May

Dear Crush,

I stare from afar into your window, admiring the way you change every morning. You have absolutely no idea how amazing you look. I can just imagine myself hugging that hairy chest as I fall asleep every night. I reckon it will feel just like the stuffed doll I have of you on my bed.

At night, I see you in front of your desk, trying to figure out what probably is your Calculus homework. But all I can think of is how I will brush and braid your leg hair every morning; you’ll love it, I swear.

If you were to propose to me, don’t worry about the planning because it is already done. We don’t have to invite everyone in our school, but since you are very popular, I thought you might want to. So I made invitations for all of them just in case. I’m already excited! We can decorate the place with pink and white roses since pink is my favorite color and white is yours. It will be so pretty!

Of course, we can get married as soon as we can. My parents said no the first time, but after exactly the four hundred eighteenth time, they sighed and said yes. I’m sure it was a sigh of happiness because I didn’t give up my never ending love for you.

The first time I met you, you had bumped into me and accidentally ripped my bag. You looked so sorry with your puppy eyes and a spots of milk on both sides of your lips. You helped me with my bag and even took me to the lost and found to find me a bag that was not ripped. And you smiled at me, showing me the beautiful pieces of food stuck in your teeth. I just fell for you right then and there. How could anyone be so honest?

Girls always follow you around– usually cheerleaders. But I have been practicing my dance moves through YouTube. I guarantee you, I am better than them.

However, I must confess. The girl who you brought to your home about a month ago who ever so accidentally broke her leg… Remember her? Yeah well, I did that. I didn’t exactly plan it through, but I think I really like the results. She’ll never come near you again, don’t worry.

Oh, I wrote too much. This was all to ask you one thing. Will you go to homecoming with me?

Your One and Only True Love,
May. ❤

Word of the Day: logolepsy
(n.) an obsession with words

Dear Teachers

Dear Teachers,

How have you been this week? We really hope your week has not been as long as mine.

Or maybe it has been super long because you needed to grade about seventy essays written by your lovely students. In our defense, you assigned it to us– this is all on you.

Here is somewhat of a thesis for this email: Bored students get boring.

And guess what makes us bored. Yes, it is the lack of social life due to the overload of homework that you give every day. It is also the way you just talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk and talk to us about subjects we really do not care enough about. I mean, it is probably good to know your students, considering the fact that you are stuck with us for a whole year and maybe even more for that matter.

You want us to write essays about how George Washington’s eighteenth tear was so significant, about which hair Abraham Lincoln liked the most from his beard, about who first slaughtered an elephant, about when presidents blink four times in a row, about what it means to be a glass sculpture, and so forth.

Yes, these are very interesting prompts. The problems is that those are questions, not prompts. They can barely be answered with a paragraph, let alone an essay. Maybe if you told us the answers to the questions, we would not be so bored and boring anymore. The internet does not exactly have those answers online for us.

Therefore, when you conclude that we are boring through our essays, you must consider two things. One, that was the most creative we have been since the last essay you assigned to us. You make us squeeze everything out of our brains, trying to fill up the minimum word count you give us every time. Two, bored students get boring. And we are boring. Just think about that for a second. Sleep on it, even.

If considering and thinking about that is a bit too hard, you can always listen to us. Just, please, let us voice our opinions. You may think or feel like we do not have anything to say, but we do. Trust me. And it starts with us pleading for you to listen to us.

We would really like to tell you about how your zipper is open and we see your white polka dotted red underwear. We would really like to tell you that your make up looks really great today. We would really like to tell you about how last night’s homework was really hard to do because you did not teach us anything about it. We would really like to tell you that we also like to talk. We would really like to tell you that we actually like writing about things we are interested in.

But you refuse to hear us.

And conclude that we do not have a voice, that we are boring.

All on your own.

But we are students; we don’t have much power, if any at all, in classes.

Oh well.

From your wonderfully boring students. ❤

Word of the Day: shlimazl
(n.) someone who is always unlucky


Living with three little sisters who love food as much as I do, eating has always been a competition. For example, when my mother brings out three sausages as a side dish, the tension builds up and the four of us are almost bouncing in our seats by the end of the prayer. And as soon as the word “Amen” is spoken, our chopsticks shoot out, leaving one girl to grieve over their slow speed.

My mother has very fast hands. They are quite useful when she is cooking and cleaning. She also has a very fast mind. Decisions and thoughts are formed quickly. I am also like that. I am quick to think, quick to decide, and quick to get things done. However, there is one thing I just cannot be fast at: writing.

When we have to write something with a time limit during class, I focus fully and only on my writing, barely looking up or being side tracked. However, once the time to write is over and I look up at the person in front of me, the length of the writing on her paper is about twice as long as mine. This confuses me all the time; I was writing the whole entire time, I swear.

Maybe it’s because my handwriting is quite small and crowded together. I usually come up with an excuse to make myself feel better. But there is always the inevitable truth that is nagging at the back of my head: I write slow.

That truth is so hard to accept because I have been doing things fast all my life. I just can’t get myself to admit the fact that I write slow. There are so many opinions and voices in my head that I just can’t get them on paper in a quick manner. I always trip over the overload of voices that I have and struggle to not drown under all of my thoughts.

Sometimes, I write so slow that I mistake it for a writer’s block. I have so many things to say and so many ways to say them, yet I just can’t get them on paper. My fast mind quickly concludes that it is a writer’s block, frustrated at my speed. That is just about exactly why I have had a writer’s block for years now. If I sit myself and down in front of either a laptop or paper, I can manage to write. But other than homework, I haven’t been able to do that because homework steals time away from me.

Hannysarang will be like a rehab for my slow writing skills. I will either learn to accept the fact that I am a slow writer or quicken up my speed in writing. And in the process of doing so, I will have fun writing and learn to arrange my thoughts.

And then maybe, just maybe, I’ll give my sausage to the sister who was too slow. ❤

Word of the Day: amaranthine
(adj.) undying, immortal; eternally beautiful
(adj.) a deep purple-red