Not Here to Be Liked

by Michelle Quach

Then, because I can sense Kim’s impatience practically forming condensation on my silence,

You’re only as good as your facts, I like to say, in journalism and in life.

pontificating

oh hi dad

It reminded me of the drive to Hargis that day—how, for one fleeting afternoon, we were friends. And it’s the loss of that delicate thread between us, almost too faint to see, that really guts me.

“You want me to say that every time I have a bubble tea now, I can’t help thinking of your sad boba-drinking technique

LMAOOOOO

But as Mom likes to say in Cantonese, “If you’ve already gotten your hair wet, then you need to wash it.”

“Well-behaved women seldom make history” is originally from an academic article about Puritan women who were, in fact, very well-behaved. The book points out that large portions of history, and ways of looking at history, are lost when we don’t pay attention to the lives of women who aren’t necessarily fighting to be heard. Even after everything I’ve been reading about feminism lately, this is the first time I’ve thought about this, and it blows my mind. Feminists, after all, are often seen as women who do act out of line. And yet, could it be that a truly feminist version of history might also be about women who aren’t “feminists”?

How she simply accepts the fallacy that a crime like that can be avoided, just by being clever enough.

Was hooking up with Len stupid or empowering? Did I lose any self-respect in the process? Am I going to get hurt now?

I’ll go outside with you. I’ll go anywhere when you ask me that way.

Something about the way he reveals this, as he plucks a jagged leaf from the rosebush by his shoulder, makes me want him to kiss me. I want to feel it dissolve everything, like all the other times, and then I want to hear him describe it, so that I can have his words, too, the memory spun into poetry that I can tuck away into a little corner of my heart.

Sometimes, I don’t understand how I haven’t completely melted into the atmosphere by now.

girl same cussss

“What’s wrong, Len?” He looks away. “I posted the manifesto.”

COULDA FOOLED TF OUTTA ME!!!!!

Len, the boy who twirled me into falling in love, trampled on my trust before I even consented to dance.

“My point is,” I continue, ignoring him, “I don’t know if the play is necessarily claiming that Lady Macbeth is worse than Macbeth.” I assess each corner of the room. “Maybe the fact that we see it that way says something about us.”

TEAAAAA

I finger my sweater, which smells musty from sitting among lonely socks and misplaced textbooks and who knows what else. It feels like a long time ago that I wore this every day.

no prob smells cus u prob never washed it...