Hello bruv or whatever they say across the pond

First off, if you're seeing this, I'm so sorry. I know curiosity may have led you to opening this random dreamwidth journal, but I assure you that nothing constructive will come out of you reading this. Unless, of course, you're interested in what the threesome child of a never ending void, a cancer sun, and a dumpster fire might have to say.

A few little tidbits about me and this developing hellscape:

1. I am truly a wreck. Worms for brains, if you will. I have no sort of outlet for all the random thoughts I accumulate between the never ending lectures I have to attend and the numerous notes on genomics (whatever the heck that is, I say as a cell biology major with a concentration in genetics) I write, so I decided to open this up and just let it all out. I may present outwardly as a very put together person, but I implore you to leave that assumption at the door, because if you do the sight of this journal's contents won't let you down as much.

2. This is going to be the most random dreamwidth ever. I have varied interests, and this place will serve as a opinion page and possible rant page of sorts. Topics may range from how CIX has a discography with no skippable songs to the merits of MUJI cotton pajamas over any other brand of pajama. Be ready to see the stupidest shit ever, and possibly the most horrible opinions ever. Also keep in mind that I have no shame (swim team and changing in front of a gazillion girls took that away from me), so if you don't agree with anything I say, please be assured that half of this is fueled by mental illness and the other half exhaustion.. And simply close this webpage.

3. The English language sucks ass. As someone who grew up in a non-English speaking household and who nearly failed speech therapy as a child, my thoughts move faster than my fingers and my mouth, and sometimes they even make themselves known in different languages. Some things may not make sense at all because of this, but please don't overthink these. It's just how my brain works. (Yes. I'm a junior in college and still have issues with grammar. Don't ask me how I've survived, because I truly can't answer that.)

Anyways, that's pretty much it. If this was an in person interaction I would probably give you a few finger guns and exit stage left. Thankfully, this is online, and I can save at least a shred of my dignity. Have fun I guess! :D

An Ode to Boba

 Or, an in depth look at my history with the damn drink and my dependence on it at times.


As an individual who grew up at the edge of rural Washington and was surrounded by white people at a ratio of 1:20, there was literally no boba place near me at the time. Boba was an exclusive treat for Sundays, for when I drove across the river to Portland for math lessons with my brother and friends who also attended the academy I went to. There was a tiny cafe at the ground floor of the complex that the academy was located in, and after class, I would run down the stairs to the shop and order a slightly overpriced original milk tea with tapioca pearls and lychee jelly (but only if I got 100% on the test we had to take every time we went to class). Maybe that's why original milk tea is my favorite flavor; I always associate it with squishy couches, the scent of ginseng, and pure satisfaction.

I ended up going to college in California before permanently transferring to the UW this year, and I was definitely surprised at the amount of boba shops they had there. I wasn't even aware that boba shops could be part of a chain before going to the Teaspoon by a family friend's place, thinking that it was a unique shop like my beloved Sozo Cafe in Portland. I soon found out it was part of a chain after one sip of honey oolong milk tea and proceeded to have a mini breakdown in my friend's car at the thought of being able to afford this kind of luxury on a daily basis.

I won't even try to deny the fact that I got boba regularly. I got that shit every damn day; you could count on me standing in the TapEx line post-afternoon lecture with my roommate or classmate and buying a Thai tea with boba and less ice. I milked that opportunity to the hilt; my mom would look at my debit card statement every so often and grill me on how much sugar I was consuming, but I would assure her that I was working it all off (and I was; UC San Diego is a hilly campus, and getting around the place required me scaling a good amount of steep hills. Along with the hours I was putting in at the pool, I was successfully evading the Freshman 15 from a dietary perspective).

The fact that getting boba was practically a social custom on campus didn't help my obsession; everyone had boba in their hands and were planning their next trip to a boba place while drinking it. One of the big trips as freshmen was to go to the Ding Tea at the base of the campus hill by bus, and I once witnessed a very tense situation in the library involving a messed up order from Kung Fu Tea. (I don't think I was expecting to see a cold war fought over a botched winter melon tea while studying for winter quarter finals, but it was certainly something.)

It's safe to say that I've moved on from that obsession, now that I'm back in my hometown and gearing up to go to northern Washington for in person uni in a few months; I'm now much more interested in cold brew tea with fruit flavors and no sweetener to speak of. Sounds very snobby, but after such a long time of shoving dissolved milk powder and brown sugar syrup into my system, the first sip of unsweetened tea I had was like if you flooded a desert with fresh water. It's also much easier to indulge in it, since I don't get that much scrutiny for it. Plus, my mom's not mad about it because it doesn't break the bank!

That isn't to say that I've sworn off of boba entirely. The recent influx of Californians into the Pacific Northwest for work has changed the ratio from a 1:20 to a 1:10 in terms of being surrounded by white people, and the businesses of the area have catered to their needs. There is a Sharetea in my little corner of town, and it only takes 2 minutes by car to procure a perfectly made, if not slightly expensive, classic black milk tea with tapioca pearls. Quite pleasurable and much better than the Stumptown milkshakes that are a staple in this part of the PNW, in my humble opinion.

To be honest, typing this has made me realize how much I want boba right now, even if I had it a week ago and it's 10pm. Maybe I'll get some tomorrow afternoon. Who knows!

(I am so sorry if you read this all the way and you're seeing this. When I said random in the last post I really meant it.)