road to rockford: week 1

sunday, 4/15: livetweeted the games entire day due to my patella tendinitis–I couldn’t play. I’m proud of my tweets; I don’t typically use twitter. when we win on universe, I’m freaking out so badly. I cry out of utter happiness, the first time I’ve ever experienced this combination. It’s made my entire year. I tell all my ulti friends about it, and all my non-ulti friends too. updated my social media with the dope action shot that gina copped of me on the first day. recount glory with my cloud friends who came. lose my voice from the 14 hours of screaming I did. moved my korean oral exam to tuesday tentatively.

monday, 4/16: when I try to laugh and talk, it comes out raspy and half an octave lower than I want it to be. I can’t sing, I just let out hurt air. I squeak when I laugh. I skip korean class and im so dead from the weekend but I’m still on that high. we’re going to natties. I spend the entire day thinking about ultimate.

tuesday, 4/17: my voice is still gone. I move my oral exam to wednesday. I start trying to learn korean for my exam but ofc my mind is still on ulti. I go to microbiology but end up reading ultimate articles. sorry, Dr. B. I’m super hyped for practice but I can’t run because my knee hates me still. I do rehab exercises and pout in the grass while all my teammates do timing drills. I get scolded by my friends for trying to do exercisey things while being injured.

wednesday, 4/18: my voice is starting to return; i take my korean written and oral exams. sorry, kyosunim, I tried. I can’t concentrate on anything although it’s kind of been crunch time for a while–5 exams and a presentation over these three days. I start psyc and microbio. those tests are tomorrow. i don’t know anything still. one of my oldest ultimate friends runs stats to estimate our new usau rank. i love his spreadsheet. we’ll probably get seeded last even despite our undefeated streak at regionals; who cares, I like being the underdog, I like no expectations; I like being gritty and working from the bottom up.

i throw a disc up and the air and catch it, over and over while sitting in my seat or balancing on a leg.

thursday 4/19: I’m dying; I’ve crammed for my two exams and hope for the best. I feel bad skipping prax but my knee still hurts, I don’t think I should run, and biochem is a disgusting monster that’s happening the next day.

friday 4/20: the test is an L. I spend the rest of the day catching up on sleep.

saturday 4/21: inferno tryouts are the next day.




and if everything doesn’t turn out ok?

and if the world tells me no? if I break and lose

what little control I possessed in the first place

if I lose my way; if I get nothing done today

if my dreams continue to hedge at reality, and the one’s I’ve vaguely defined


if I’m scared beyond reason and have no reason to fight,

if I’m exhausted through daylight and scrambling at night–

what if? what if I can’t, I don’t — what if it was never a possibility to begin with? if I was lying to myself.

if everyone else were lying to me

what if? what if my overthinking turns into reality; what dreams do I have left to pursue and see?

if I wasn’t supposed to be. if I wasn’t meant to; if I could drown under the infinity — I am, because

if I tie my thoughts in knots, I go nowhere at all


and if everything goes that way?

I suppose, my dear, that you should pray.


wanna smash?

I wrote this on november 9th, 2017, but have hesitated in posting it until now. more on this in a later post.

I recently started learning how to play Smash. As someone who’d never picked up a Gamecube controller before a week ago, I was pleasantly surprised to find a group of guys who were willing to teach me and play on a whim. Trash talking was all part of the fun in the game, and I took that–and my frequent falls off the platform–with good humor. Unlike what I’ve often experienced before with guy gamers, those I’ve met and played with have been patient with me, taking time to show me tips and ensure a good time. Over the past few days they have largely improved my impression and outlook of my college community, and I can be sighted outside of my room on a semi-regular basis, more willing to interact.

Today I was sitting in front of the station working on my control of Lucina with one of those friends when two other guys I didn’t know sat down and joined the next round, a typical occurrence that I didn’t think too much of. We played a few rounds. In the middle of one of the games, one of guys made an off-handed comment about teaming up and gangbanging ‘me’. My character was the only female character on the screen. As the only female sitting there playing the only female character, it gave me pause.

The guy looked around at us 4 (three guys and a girl) and must have had some small recognition as he laughed it off, trying to mitigate whatever he’d said by tacking on a “sort of, if that’s appropriate”. Shocked, I choked out a “no, it’s kind of not” in a way that was supposed to underline how very unacceptable that sort of comment is. For the rest of the time they were there, I was terse and untalkative, turning the game into a stressful rather than stress-relieving activity.

Truthfully, it wasn’t too hard to imagine being two streets away from my spot in front of the television, overhearing some strange men’s plans to gangbang me as I made my way to metro stop across the street. Needless to say, I couldn’t concentrate on having fun.

It still bothers me now as I think about it, as much as I wish it didn’t. It immediately made me recall a column I recently read that was written by a Yale student who had gotten catcalled. Despite being a confident, knowledgeable, well-spoken young woman, in that moment, she’d felt helpless and could only say nothing.

I had been similarly shocked to near speechlessness. The feeling of being joked about in a context that’s inappropriate to the relationship between two parties is horrid. Given that this guy and I had zero social rapport, such a comment from a complete stranger did not blow past me lightly. I likely didn’t make an impression with my weak rebuke, and I hate the idea that this guy will probably say something like that to someone else in the future.

Some people will of course say that I’m thinking too hard about a silly comment and taking things too seriously for a game, or that I’m clearly mixing up the reality between a character and myself.

I have several responses. Firstly, while colleges are some of the most liberal, free-spoken places, with ideas, profanity and sexual innuendos frequently spewed out by its young population, there should nonetheless be some courtesy in speaking to those in your community, particularly those you are unfamiliar with. If you’re sitting two feet away from the stranger you’re playing with, your mouth should not be running nonsense before your brain catches up. I’ve never heard any sexist nonsense over a game of Catan; neither do I want to hear that you’re enjoying ‘going down’ on someone as you continue down-sticking their character. Keep that awful perverted trash in your brain and exit stage left while you’re at it. You’re polluting the air and the game dynamic.

A character is a character. Regardless of it being a bunch of pixels, you spend a lot of time developing your knowledge about the character, its timing, and its moves until you play like its an extension of you. Having spent a good few hours with Lucina, I definitely don’t play her and think ‘oh she’s super female’ or anything. Far from it: I just want her jabs to combo and her up-b’s to get me all the way to that ledge I keep falling off of, the same as my other main, Cloud. Had I been playing a male character, that joke would not have been made; had I been a male playing a female character, I would have likely not thought anything of it. However, therein lies the problem: most guys wouldn’t think anything of a joke like that. They hardly recognize that an environment that’s so male-centered is sometimes off-putting for a female to step into. When she does, she’s frequently met with all sorts of unthoughtful misogyny. Little does a guy think about how an offhanded comment can make her feel. I often feel overpowered by males just by sitting at the smash station trying to flex their virtual muscles, letting their jaws run more than their characters.

Finally, we have to step up to tell the guys around us in our lives that this sort of behavior is not okay. Avoiding confrontation doesn’t save you or anyone else from getting hurt. We should all be looking out for each other. What sort of generation, what sort of example, and what sort of community will we be encouraging with the perpetuation of unthoughtful speech?


I’ve never been someone to get up on a soapbox about issues, but I better understand now why people do. I hope the next time someone makes an off-color gender comment to me, I’ll be able to get my point across better than Lucina’s side-B.




things I learned while doing house demolition

  1. filing insurance claims post-flood takes a long while, like most government filing things do. hearing back takes even longer, like most government things do.
  2. regardless of if you have insurance or not, document everything. dimensions. estimated values. amounts. take pictures of everything and every room before you start, including the waterline.
  3. you must strip and clear out a house asap to let it dry once waters recede & storm has passed to prevent mold. this includes carpeting, rugs, hardwood floors, spongy stuff that took on water (leather furniture, mattresses, sofas/couches), wooden things like desks, chairs, and pianos, and other unsalvageable things (books, papers, anything that will warp/mold.) everything you can’t save goes to the curb. even stuff you think you can save, sometimes you can’t.
  4. don’t put things on the curb if the storm hasnt passed yet; it could float away and clog a drain.
  5. good tools are everything, and so are good people. the key is having a good amount of both. (2-3 of each tool is nice, and anywhere from 6-15 people)
  6. essentials: utility knives, work gloves (waterproof ones are real nice), masks, crowbars, hammers, trash bags (heavy duty ones are best), brooms, dustpans, tarps, bucket/container for nails and other sharps. a cart or a dolly to lug stuff around. a power drill. water. snacks. patience. a willingness to listen, work hard and learn.
  7. building a house requires a different skillset than taking it apart.
  8. open all the windows and doors, turn on fans, dehumidifiers. a/c even. you gotta dry everything.
  9. don’t use electrical sockets under the waterline.
  10. electrical sockets are typically wired from the ceiling, so those that are above waterline are probably ok.
  11. you can avoid dulling your knife on concrete by rolling or flipping pieces of carpet and cutting it at the fold.
  12. carpet is heavy. carpet is heavier when wet.
  13. you can bet that sewage came out in the flood water, especially if it passed toilet level.
  14. you have to cut off all drywall 12″ above the waterline. measure, cut, tarp, smash, clean, repeat.
  15. crowbars and hammers are equally good at removing nails.
  16. pulling nails by putting your tool under and pulling up is more efficient than pulling sideways or down.
  17. wet drywall is damp-smelling and strange-feeling, but comes out easily. dry drywall doesn’t wanna move as much.
  18. a hammer-crowbar combination overpowers a lot of things.
  19. tackboards suck.
  20. you gotta drill holes under cabinet and interior wall toe space to air it out.
  21. insulation is disgusting when wet and super gross. wear face masks when removing.
  22. house frames look weird.

walking through a stranger’s house and demolishing it is incredibly surreal. slowly, you begin to take the house apart. suddenly you’re seeing various guts and crevices of the house you probably never would have in your life otherwise. glancing at their personal effects, talking to the homeowners about their lives, trying to save their possessions–you recognize a little bit of yourself in everything, and you recognize that you’re so incredibly lucky to have the things you have.

and all this aside, it took our team of more than ten people 7 hours to clean up one house. i kept imagining the work we did, unfolding across Houston, propagated across thousands of homes. no wonder i’ve heard from a lot of people that post-harvey relief is a marathon, not a sprint; people will be working here for weeks. months. years even, after all of this. yet, there’s a sense of hope and resiliency that pervades it all.

i suppose that’s the strength of houston.

edit: here’s a thing on what to do if you got flooded by a Rice bioengineering prof that’s been through it multiple times


consider this.

the world outside seems beautiful today. the weather was the nicest you’d experienced in years; a shame considering it came after a week of rain had shut you in. not humid. not hot. not a cloud in the sky. perfect.

atypical houston. yet, you’re not going to complain.

everything seemed otherwise normal during your drive, until you looked closer. piles of furniture could be spotted at the curbside of several houses. you peer around. some of it seems perfectly good. an office chair. a chest of drawers. a dining set. stacks of mattresses.

you frown at the spread of children’s stuffed animals one house has splayed across its yard.

today, people seem to be driving a little bit slower, a little bit more considerately. lots of traffic lights don’t seem to be working, so you patiently play out several ‘four-way-stop-sign’ scenarios unthinkingly.

after the fourth one, you realize that the electrical boxes must have gone underwater.


you keep searching these affected houses for clues, trying to figure out what’s wrong with what seem like perfectly livable habitations. did the water really reach them? it seems so improbable on a day like this, when the sun is shining and the criminal–that water in the bayou you’re driving next to–is innocently flowing far below.

eventually you spot a trend of off-colored strips on the houses. light on the top, dark on the bottom. it seems odd, but then it dawns on you: that’s where the water stopped?

indeed, every house subtly bears the stain of water. dark swaths of water-soaked brick sit like shadows. they meet untouched brick at the waterline, clearly demarcated with debris where leaves and dirt stuck to the house.

you imagine rows upon rows of houses submerged with only their tops peeking out over the water, and shake your head in disbelief. the waterlines are everywhere now that you’ve seen them.

some are above eye level. some are taller than you.

you navigate to your destination, still wrapped up in these thoughts. when you park outside at the curb of the house you’ve come to help at, you simply stare.

turning off the engine, you get out, taking a step closer. you find the house number with ease; the address is clearly right–the number on the house matches the number you were given.

the house is a nice little one-story building in a nice little neighborhood. it’s got a front yard, with two trees. a front door and a screen door. bushes, plants, a cute little front gate.

you notice, though, that it also has a waterline at least three feet high and a drooping cardboard box with books sitting on the front path. you pick your way over the grass (and almost slip–it’s still muddy) and squat next to it.

it smells wet. you recognize a few of the titles as ones you’d read and loved. you pick up one of them fondly, but that small interaction tells you all you need to know–the book is heavier than you remember, and the pages are beginning to show signs of warping.

you sigh. still grasping the book, you stand up to look again at the house. you recognize that it looks like a perfectly fine house. waterlogged book in hand, you can perhaps begin to imagine it as a home, rather than just a house. in fact, it could be your home. it’s not, of course, but dysphoria truly settles in with that thought weighing upon your other realizations today.

you set the book down. as you walk forward, the air near the house hits you like a punch in the nose. it’s pungently damp and earthy, laced with industrial toxicity. unpleasant, but bearable.

trudging past the open gate, you spot more personal effects littered about the front door. you step inside to see a house in a state unlike any you’d ever seen before.

you hardly know where to look. rolls of carpet were haphazardly stacked against each other in a hallway off to your left. the foyer was in a state you’d only ever seen on HGTV, and even then, it was the opposite–the hardwood boards were clearly being pried off the floor, rather than being glued to it. what startles you most is the fact that you can see straight through to the living room. why? the skeleton of the house is on display: the bottom half of what you had expected to be a wall is nothing but vertical wooden beams framing empty air, the tatters of its drywall in a crooked, dusty pile below.

standing there, encroaching on a stranger’s home but ready to help, you breathe.

this is where you begin to realize how little you know, and how much more willing you are to learn. this is where you begin to realize how fortunate you are, and what sort of responsibilities come with it. this is where you begin to realize there is so much more out there, and right now, there’s a city that needs you.

this is where you begin.


consider this.

College app protip #4: Brainstorm, drainstorm

So, you’ve got to write an essay or two or twenty. Even if, like me, you like to write, essays probably aren’t your favorite flavor of the written word, much like licorice is of jelly beans. Additionally, you have to write about yourself (yikes).

You’ll likely hit a couple of prompts that stump you. I personally had a lot of trouble with coming up with an essay response to The Big One (the Common App main essay, dun dun dun).

So what do you do?

Continue reading “College app protip #4: Brainstorm, drainstorm”