What do you want to be when you grow up?

I was babysitting for my neighbor’s kids the other day and as she got home, she asked me if I had picked my major for school. When I told her chemical engineering, her jaw almost dropped. When she finally spoke and asked why, I told her it’s because I’ve always been good with math and science and I’ll get a job easily. She then asked me if I enjoyed it. All of my extracurriculars had involved the things I liked doing (photography, writing, design, leadership) , not what I was known to be best at (math and science). So, what do I really want to be when I grow up?

We all can recall the first time we heard this question. When our teachers asked us this question, our eager 5 and 6-year-old faces lit up as boys shouted president and firefighter and girls exclaimed princess and nurse.

Sadly, I haven’t been asked what I want to do with my life recently. People just assume I will do something in the math and science field or something international (I’ve taken spanish since I was in 5th grade) because these are things I have always been known for excelling at.

In the past 3 years, no one has asked me what I want to do with my life. My aunt and uncle are both engineers, and have instilled the notion that being an engineer is the best thing for me to do because I’m good at math and science and can make a ton of money. One of their friends told their children that they can study whatever they want, after they get an engineering degree. Why? Because engineering makes you the most money.

Why don’t they ask us that when we grow up? Why don’t they ask us what we want to do when we’re choosing our college or university? Why is it, that we’re so obsessed with money and how much we will make? When did making money earn a spot above being happy and enjoying our job?

People tell me what I need to do. I couldn’t decide on a major, so I just said international business so I could put something down on my applications. I never wanted to do business, everyone around me wanted me to. Because I would make money.

Now that I have changed universities, and majors, everyone around me wants me to major in chemical engineering. Why? Because I will be a woman engineer, will get first priority on jobs, and will make money.

Since when did society decide that how much money we make in our lives is more important than how we live our lives? I never wanted to major in business. And I don’t want to major in engineering now. So, what do I do? Do I major in something that makes me happy, maybe never get a job in that field? Or do I live a miserable life of an engineer and have all the money I could ever need?

I’m not too much of a sap but I do believe that we’re here for a reason. We were not born to work 40 hours a week just to be miserable and then go home and be too tired and aggravated with our lives to be happy around our loved ones. Not saying my aunt and uncle aren’t happy. They get ample time off, sabbaticals, and have so much money that they go on multiple cruises every year.

But, why can’t I do that while doing something I love? I don’t want to have kids, hell I might not even get married. I just want it to be my dogs, maybe a goat, and myself. I want a nice house of course, and a nice car, but at the end of the day, when I’m on my deathbed, looking back on my life, am I going to remember the audi and the million dollar house that I had, or am I going to remember my job, where I spent most of my waking hours, my friends and colleagues that I met at that job, and all of the experiences outside of my house?

Shit, I want to do something I love, but the second I said I even considered switching my major to biology and them getting my masters in marine biology, my parents couldn’t have said the words “what about chemical engineering” faster. Why? They just want me to make money and be successful.

When did we define success as how much money you make at the end of the day? Why can’t success be something less materialistic? Why can’t we define success as something worth living for, something great? Something like how many friends I had, how many new places I visited, how much I enjoy my job? Why is success just money and power? When did we all agree that this is what society is going to be, and, why wasn’t I a part of this conversation?

So, what do I want to be when I grow up? Since I’ve started blogging, I have rekindled my love for writing. I love writing, being able to put all of my feelings down on paper, or on the blogosphere. It’s calming and I love seeing how my writing has progressed through time. I love animals. I would love to live on a farm with rehab animals and just help them escape lives of abuse, violence, etc. I would have farm animals, house animals, exotic animals, anything really. I would love, cherish, and care for each and every one of them. I love design. Over the summer. My life is a nonstop HGTV marathon. I love critiquing, agreeing and adding my own opinions on what I would do with each house, room, etc. I love yearbook. My entire highschool career was centered around my school’s yearbook, and although it may have caused me to turn gray early, I loved that class and I can’t imagine my life without it. And, now that I am not active in my school’s yearbook, I miss it. I love the mind. My entire life has been filled with mental illnesses and trying to understand the mind, why can’t I try to help others understand their minds as I have been trying to understand my own?If I could do any one of these things with my life, it would be grand. But, STEM is the way of the future and despite what you want/ like to do with your life, none of it matters if you can’t make money.

Everyone always tells you to never major in journalism, communications, psychology, philosophy. Basically nothing in the school of arts and letters. Major in business, major in STEM. Why? We need people in those fields, or else that major wouldn’t exist. We need biologists, we need therapists, we need writers, we need designers. Why can it be the other person. Why can’t it be me?

So, here we are. I spent countless nights crying myself to sleep because of how stressed I was, how stressed I was because I couldn’t find a major that suited me. And now, here we are, staring blankly at my ceiling wondering why I couldn’t have just picked something I enjoyed all along.

Talk to you all soon,



The Top 100 Inspirational Weight Loss Bloggers

Hi, everyone. Look at me double posting. My life update post will be up in the next few days, however, I was checking my stats page this morning and saw that I had a lot of viewers that were referred to my blog by DietToGo.

Curious as to how that was, I clicked the link in my stats and was brought here

I immediately noticed that the post was entitled “The Top 100 Inspirational Weight Loss Bloggers You’ve Probably Never Heard Of (Until Now)” and got super stoked because people have noticed I exist and they think I’m decently cool.

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Your girl (me) was lucky enough to score spot #13 on that list (happens to be my favorite number too) and I’m just so happy/stoked/honored to be put on this list with so many other amazing bloggers.

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So, I recommend everyone check out DietToGo’s post and check out all of the other amazing bloggers who are also featured on the list. I know I did!

Anyway, I want to say again how excited I am that I was featured and want to thank Caitlin (author of the post) for taking the time to hand select my blog and to read some of my posts. It means so much

Talk to you all soon,




To my brother…

It’s 12:04 am. I retreated to my bed over an hour ago, after receiving this news. I’m laying in bed, thinking of you. I won’t be getting to sleep anytime soon, no matter how long I count sheep or how long I paint pictures of us on my ceiling. I just stare at the ceiling, thinking of you.

It’s funny, isn’t it? How we think we know so much, but in reality we know so little? For my entire 19 years in this planet, It’s been my sister and I, well at least since she was born. I never knew you existed until today. Intriguing, right? I always thought the whole long lost sibling concept kept its place in the box of the television, but here I am, finding out after 19 years of life, I’ve had this older brother all along, and had no idea.

Everyone else knew. Well, not everyone. However, almost all of the adults I spend ample time with knew, yet somehow my sister and I were kept in this bubble of unknowingness for so long.

We sat there, my sister and I, mouths agape, as my our mom told us about you. Our half-brother, who grew up less than 45 minutes from where we live, and somehow we had no idea you existed.

12:09 now. I’m numb, still cozy in bed, still thinking about you. You know I exist, you’ve seen pictures of me. What do you think of me? Did you want two sisters? I always wanted an older brother. I nagged constantly to my mom that I wished I had been born second and that I had an older brother. And I do.

My Our mom showed me your instagram today. You look almost identical to my uncle, Jim, so I know we’re related. You’re my brother. I have a brother. Sorry if I keep saying that. Truth is, the facts haven’t sunk in yet.

As many times as scroll through your pictures, trying to absorb as much as I can through those square photos of your friends, family and 2 cats, I can’t wrap my head around it. How did I not know? How did I not know I had a brother? I have a brother.

12:12 and I’m upright, still trying to process how this happened. How you exist. How I never knew. How everyone kept this a secret from my sister and I for so long. Neither of us can. How did you never come up in conversation? How did your name never slip out?

I want to cry, buy why? What’s the point? I have a brother, and I didn’t know. I think it’s because I always wanted one. I always wanted a brother to look up to, to show me the ropes, to make sure no one picked on me, make sure mom and dad never gave me too hard of a time.

You were 11 when I was born. You had no idea I existed then. That my mom existed. You lived less than 40 minutes away from me but we had no idea. Crazy.

My mom told my sister and I about 6 hours ago now. We were in the living room, I was checking twitter and my sister was eating. She said she had something to tell us that she didn’t know how to say.

Immediately thinking the worst, I assumed someone had died. But really, someone was born, not really but born into my world, anyway.

There isn’t much to say about you. I don’t know you… I may never. I know nothing about you, but you’re my brother.

You were born on June 22nd, 1986 at 2:13 am. Your name is Evan. You have 2 cats. You live in Los Angeles. And I hope you want to meet me. I really do. Because you have two younger sisters that want to meet their big brother.

I love you already, even if you don’t know it yet.


P.S. Sorry I haven’t posted in a while, with finals and getting home a few days ago and then this news I haven’t had much time to do anything.

It hit me today

My high school’s prom was Friday night. As I scroll through instagram post after instagram post, admiring all of my friends’ magnificent flowing gowns and pinned back hair, I came to the realization that that will never be me again. My days of prom, homecoming, and turnabout dress shopping are long over. Now, I shop for dresses for weddings, formals, etc. I realized today that I am no longer a student of my high school, I am in college and my high school days are long gone.

People say you never know when it will hit you. The fact that you’ll probably never see these people again. That graduation night is the last night you will all be together. People say it doesn’t hit you on graduation night. You may cry, but you’re only crying because your mom and grandma are crying. It might hit you when you say goodbye to your best friends. After spending countless hours with them over summer, trying to squeeze every last memory you possibly can in with them until you part ways for 4 months. It might hit you when you pack up your entire life into suitcases, boxes, backpacks. When your room looks foreign to you because of how barren it is. It might even hit you when your parents leave you, alone, in your dorm. When you’re left alone with a roommate that you’ve only spoken to via Facebook chat exchanging social medias and what each of you will bring.

For me, it happened in bursts. Saying goodbye to my friends, I cried. I knew we would be different people when I saw them next. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that. It hit me when my sister had her first day of school and I was still in bed, because I didn’t leave for another week. It hit me, the night before I left. After leaving a friend’s house I drove around my town, driving up and down every street, passing my high school countless times, absorbing every last image of that town I had come to love. I cried. I drove around, listened to old songs and cried. I wasn’t ready and at the same time I was. I wasn’t ready to move on, but I knew that I had to. Saying goodbye to my family, I cried. I wouldn’t see them until family weekend, and I knew I would be different by that time. They weren’t ready for that. It hit me when I came home for winter break, and my room wasn’t my room. It was a bed and a desk where I would spend weeks at a time. But it wasn’t mine anymore. It was mine for so long, but not anymore. I cried my first night home. How no matter how long I lived in that house, how I knew every nook and cranny of that 3 story building, it wasn’t my house anymore. It was a place to vacation, before heading back to my new home- San Diego. My family wasn’t ready for the day that I called San Diego home. I see the hurt expression on my mom’s face every time I say, “I can’t believe I go home in ____ days.” I don’t mean to offend anyone, but it has become my home.

What no one told me is that it would hit me, a year later, scrolling through instagram and checking snapchat stories. No one told me I would miss that school. That school I dreaded going to every morning, would be a place I longed to visit one last time. I could tell you every hallway, every room number, every teacher, all of my friend’s locker numbers, the bell schedule every day of the week. No one told me I would miss it. No one told me that passing by it every break, I would lose a little piece of my high school self.

I hated high school but I loved it all the same. I hated 8am calculus but I loved the teachers and all the students. I hated the smell of the lunchroom but I loved that everyone gathered together for a time of relaxation. What no one told me is that despite how many events I went to, I wished I could eat just one more lunchroom cookie, attend just one more Shenanigans show,  or basketball game.

Personally, I think I did high school pretty well. I played 4 different sports and participated in at least one of those every year. I was on yearbook: editor in chief, business editor, and design editor. I was part of my student government. Junior class president for a year, and executive board treasurer the next. I took AP classes and studied hard, trying to make good grades, and I had a pretty great group of friends.

Some days I wish  I could do high school all over again. Be more outgoing, join different and more clubs, try out for a sport I never played my freshman year, and just redo high school knowing everything I know now.

But that’s not what high school is. High school is supposed to be big and scary. Walking into the new and inviting school painted blue and white with faces cheering and clapping for you is what it’s all about. Walking in with your best friends and out with your best friends is what high school is. Making mistakes, growing up, learning, crying, enjoying the new and foreign experiences. That’s what I did in high school.

Yes, I’ll never have the chance to go to my senior year homecoming that I missed, and I’ll never be able to go to another prom, but I did high school how you’re supposed to. I lived, I learned, and most importantly I grew into the woman I am today. I’ll never step foot into that school again as a student, but because of that school, I have blossomed into the brilliant woman that I am today.
Until next time.