Personal Essay – Page 3

Our grading system is broken

I hate our grading system in America.

I’m not sure how grades work in other countries (maybe someone can tell me in the comments), but here, it’s everything. I didn’t used to see the flaws when I was a kid. But now, as an adult, I can’t help but question the validity of grades altogether.

Today I took a test and felt confident—I just knew I got at least a B. When I checked my score, it said 79. Huh?

That one test dropped my perfect grade down to a 92.

And sure, I know what you might be thinking: “A 92 is still good, why are you complaining?”

Yes, I get that. But it doesn’t feel accurate. I studied hard for that test. Seeing that “C” made me feel like my efforts were just… average.

Here’s the kicker: there were only 13 questions. Getting 2 wrong would’ve been an 84. Getting 3 wrong would’ve been a 76. So where did the 79 come from?

Was I given partial credit for one?

Were the questions weighted differently?

I was confident. I double-checked my work. I was only unsure about one question. But somehow missing 2.5 questions equals a C? That’s mind-boggling.

When I asked the professor which ones I got wrong, he said we’d go over it in class on Tuesday. Keep in mind—the class is on Mondays and Wednesdays.

Now look, I’m not trying to attack the man. People make mistakes. But what happens when those mistakes keep happening?

He handwrites problems and sometimes puts the wrong answers. He mixes up numbers when copying them from the book to the board. He struggles with technology. Right now, there are assignments in our portal that are marked due in January and February of 2025—even though the class started in May.

So no—I’m not being dramatic (even if I’m being a little bratty). But what if his mind confused some of the problems? What if, when he typed up the test, he input the wrong numbers? I’m not saying it happened for sure—but I’m not ruling it out either.

Guess I’ll have to wait until Monday.

Also if you’re someone grading papers, make sure you’re competent enough to be teaching the subject in the first place.

Anyway, back to my main point: if the test had been out of 20 points and I missed 3, I’d have scored an 85. But because it was only 13 questions, my grade got shortchanged—and that made it lower. In hindsight if there were more questions I would have had a better chance of getting a higher grade. Strange, right or am I tripping?

I’m not trying to whine or anything—he made it 13 questions, so it is what it is.

But maybe the grading system isn’t the best tool for determining whether someone has truly passed or failed a class.

Anyway, the whole situation stressed me out.

I need a drink.

Silence Isn’t Weakness — It’s Strategy

Let me talk about these two girls real quick. Yes, both of them have made appearances on my blog before, and yes — they’re back again because apparently, they don’t learn. And trust me, I’m trying to keep it respectful, but these girls be trying it. And I really mean trying it.

Girl #1.

She had the audacity to hit my phone going off about a blog post like I was supposed to be scared of her. As if I wouldn’t rock her sh—anyway. I let that situation slide. Never even got an apology, but I’m not the type to hold hate in my heart. I thought we were cool. Cordial, at least. Especially since we share someone we both care about — someone who wouldn’t want to see us fighting.

She came to my birthday. We were cool. But I realized real quick — she’s one of those people who takes more than she gives. I wish my dog could see that. He’s a good man. Solid. He does everything he can for her, and it’s never enough. She’s ungrateful. A social media groupie who thinks she’s Latto, Megan, and Nicki rolled into one, with zero talent to back it up. Just a chicken head clucking on the timeline.

She said getting my dog a pinky ring for his birthday was “too much” and got him a PS4 controller instead. But when it’s her birthday? Valentine’s Day? Christmas? She expects the world. Cluck cluck cluck, that’s all she really knows how to do.

But it gets worse. She put her hands on my dog. Yeah, you heard that right. On a man who doesn’t deserve that. A good man. And the crazy part? When she got called out on it, she laughed. Like it was a joke.

I wasn’t there, but I saw the video. And I swear, the revenge fantasies I had? Jail-worthy. But I have too much to lose. And I know God’s going to handle what I can’t. Because if the roles were reversed, and he laid a hand on her, he’d be in jail.

And all this? Over a missed text? Girl, are you okay?

She blew up because he didn’t respond fast enough while he was with his day ones. Next day, he’s scrambling to make things right with her. And I’m over here like — I can’t even defend him if this is what he keeps running back to.

She doesn’t love him. She wants to own him. She confuses control with closeness. And I hate that I’ve been dragged into it. But I’ve been forced in — intentionally and unintentionally. So now I’m watching his choices in women create problems for me. And it’s tiring.

Now on to girl #2.

I work with this one — thankfully, not for much longer. Not because I can’t handle her, but because she can’t handle me.

We got called into work early one morning. I had just finished a shift at midnight and had to be back by 8. I’m walking up, tired, annoyed, and she’s standing at the door holding it open for everyone… until she sees me. And lets it close.

Like, girl — are you blind? Or just stupid?

She’s lucky I didn’t kick that door down with her walrus-built body standing behind it. But another coworker saw and let me in. I greeted her and walked right past Miss Flipper like she didn’t exist.

Later, during the meeting, I hear her gossiping about me to the same girl who let me in. And of course, the story’s one-sided. But I’m not one to go backwards. I had moved on — or at least I tried to.

Still, I won’t lie: I wanted to stand up and snap. Slap her across the mouth on some Will Smith time and tell her to, “keep my f-ing name out of your mouth” But again — I’ve got too much to lose. I can accomplish way more using my mind than I ever could with my fists.

Here’s the thing:

I’m not mean. But people are pushing me. Testing me. And just because I care — about loyalty, about love, about doing right — doesn’t mean I won’t call it how I see it. Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I’m weak. I’ve got empathy and emotional intelligence — and that’s exactly why I choose silence over scenes, peace over pettiness, and growth over gossip.

I don’t need to get in anyone’s face. I don’t need to throw punches. Because writing is my punch. But just because I’m empathetic doesn’t mean I’m soft. Just because I think things through doesn’t mean I won’t call you out.

I’m not here to make everyone feel good.

I’m here to speak the truth.

Journal Entry #11

Sometimes I feel stupid. Like I’m no good at anything.

I’ve lost interest in things I used to love — writing, thinking, chess. There was a time where I could feel when something I created was enough, but lately, I don’t trust that feeling anymore. I ask myself if this is depression. And if so… what’s the point of it?

It feels like depression exists only to drain me, limit me, convince me that I’m not who I once was. I doubt my voice, my thoughts, my creativity. Is my writing even worth reading anymore? Is it still as clever or thoughtful as it once was?

What’s made this season harder is this undercurrent of quiet, unresolved anger. I feel like something important was taken from me — maybe it was my peace, my trust, or just the illusion that I could depend on people who claimed they’d always be there. Add in loneliness and abandonment, and the anger only grows. Abandonment has taught me to not let people close because there’s a chance they’re not ment to stay, so I keep people at an arm’s length. I know it sounds like a cliché. But it’s also true.

Worse still, I seem to attract people who only want to take from me emotionally. They dump their baggage on me like I’m built to carry it, but they can’t even handle it when I hand them mine. People like Hallo.

Yes, Hallo — who once told me we could never be a thing because his friends liked me. As if he’s doing them a favor while also coming off as he’s the one who friend zoned me. Like he’s the one who told me no. Now he comes around like we’re friends, talking endlessly about a girl he’s “talking to,” telling me how she cried when he called it off. It sounded more like he wanted me to be impressed that someone was sad over him. But the way he tells it — as if he was the reason she was ever happy — had me rolling my eyes internally. You might’ve been there during happy moments, sure. But you weren’t the sole reason.

What irritated me most was how he talked nonstop for thirty minutes — I gave him my full attention. But as soon as I offered my thoughts, he picked up his phone and started texting. His excuse? A friend was in the hospital. And while I hope that’s not a lie, it felt convenient. I made a note right then: I won’t let people use or drain me like that again.

You don’t get to barge into my job, unload all your drama, ask for favors, and offer nothing in return. He asked for a Sprite “on the house,” and I gave him one. The drinks cost $6, but I showed love because I knew the loopholes in the system. Then, the one time I needed help — I was hungry, and asked him if he could help me get a discount (not free food) at the restaurant where he works — he suddenly had a hundred reasons why he couldn’t.

That’s not a friend. That’s someone who sees you as useful.

So the next time he called me I didn’t answer. And when he texted saying, “See how you’re not picking up? You say I only talk to you at work,” I replied, “Did you need something?”

He said he just wanted to talk. And I felt myself boiling, because why do you think I’m your emotional dumpster? You come around saying you don’t want me, but still touch my arm caressingly like you do. Call me like you want to form a connection but then say you’re too busy to text. Then you remind me you’re still into someone else. The nerve.

So I sent him: “Loll I’m not your therapist.”

And of course, he didn’t like that. Said it was harsh. Said “never mind.” But I felt… satisfied. Like I finally took back something I’ve been letting people borrow for too long — my energy.

And still, I know he might come back. For some reason, boys like when I’m mean to them.

There was another guy I met at Universal — handsome, smart, working on his master’s in business. He found me on Instagram (a little creepy, a little flattering), but once we started talking, I realized he wasn’t really interested in me. It was all about him. Where he’s from, what he’s doing, how proud he is of himself, which he has every right to be. But not one question about me. So I let it fizzle.

Then there was a guy in my communications class. Warm eyes. The kind that made me feel seen for the first time in a long time. But when I found out his age, everything changed. I think he felt the spark too. But now there’s a strange awkwardness between us. The age gap left more than a number — it left a gap in conversation, in shared space.

All of this — the burnout, the boys, the emotional freeloaders — it’s a lot. But what I’ve come to realize is:

I don’t have to deal with people the way I used to.

I don’t have to be the nice girl who listens to everyone’s problems while mine go unheard. I don’t have to accept breadcrumbs of affection from men who want the benefits of me without the burden of loving me. And I don’t have to dim my anger just to keep things polite.

No, I’m not the girl I used to be. But maybe that’s okay.

Maybe I’m becoming the woman who finally chooses herself.

Journal Entry #10

These Boys Are So Lame

I genuinely try to be friends with guys. I try to be nice. And somehow, they always manage to ruin it.

Take one of my coworkers — we’ll call him Larry. Larry told me he was getting me something for my birthday. I didn’t ask for anything, but I thought it was thoughtful that he even mentioned it.

He never got the present.

And honestly, I can’t stand when people make you chase them just to keep their own word. There was no reason for him to say it if he didn’t mean it.

Still, being the forgiving person I am, I tried to move past it. I’m bigger than presents. But during a phone call, Larry showed me exactly who he was. He told me I should be using men who hit on me for money — as if that’s the kind of person I aspire to be. When I made it clear that’s not who I am, he called me stupid for it. Said if he were a woman, he would use every man he could.

Not realizing, of course, that the real fool is him.

Does he think those women aren’t giving something up in return for that money? Does he think that life comes without a price? I refuse to prostitute myself for some cash — sorry if that offends his twisted little view of the world.

I’ve been nothing but respectful to him, but the way he talks to me is disgusting. I speak to people the way I want to be spoken to. Meanwhile, he thinks it’s cute to call me a dumbass, a dyke, stupid.

It’s not cute.

It’s a flashing neon sign telling me never to speak to him again.

He demands things from me, expects responses like he’s entitled to my time, yet he shows no real respect. He even admitted that his sister and best friend would never use men for money — and somehow, he doesn’t call them stupid. Only me.

It’s clear he doesn’t see me as someone he actually respects.

And frankly, I never gave him the impression we were that close.

He asks about my blogs like he can’t read them himself, and then acts like we’re best friends.

Boy, please.

Honestly, it’s no surprise he doesn’t have a girlfriend. You’d have to be an idiot to stick around — or he’d have to grow up first. But the way he carries himself just makes me sick.

I’ve thought about blocking him, but ignoring him and letting him talk to himself sounds a lot more satisfying.

Then there’s Hallo.

Boy, am I over him.

He texted me today, asking if I was working. I asked him why that’s the only time he ever texts me. His answer? “Because it’s the only time I get to see you.”

Huh?

If you actually wanted to see me, you’d make the effort.

So I told him, “That doesn’t mean that’s the only time you can talk to me.”

His response? He called me dry.

Excuse me?

I’ve never had a problem keeping a conversation going. If the energy feels dry, maybe you’re the problem.

But I kept it cute and responded, “I’m just following your lead, since you never have much to say.”

He then asked what I’ve been up to — and he’s been sitting on “delivered” for a few hours now.

Because honestly?

I’m over it. Go find someone else to play with.

Where is my prince charming?

I’m tired of all the games and these boys.

I promise you, once I find you, I will never let you go.

Journal Entry #9

I must be on God’s list this year. Because there’s no way my life should feel this unfulfilling right now.

I have the most disrespectful little cousin. It’s downright disgusting. Saying things like make sure to pull his pants up after I’m done dick-riding. Like what? How disrespectful. Yuck, nobody wants that scrawny, hard-to-find shit. It made me want to cut him off for life. Maybe that’s cool with the younger part of my generation but not with me.

Then there’s all these boys who want to be around me, want to flirt, want to talk—but don’t ever want to show up for me.

One calls himself my work husband, but the minute I asked him for a favor, he told me he would do it then he went MIA—until I said never mind. Then suddenly he responded.

I asked another guy for the same favor, one who promised to call me the night before. I called him—no answer.

Some of them just ignored me altogether.

Even Hallo disappointed me. I was telling him about something that happened with one of his friends (who likes me), and he brushed it off like it was nothing.

It’s not that people can’t disagree with me. It’s how they do it.

He asked me to explain, to give him my time—and then told me, “It’s not that deep.”

That’s the part that pisses me off. I gave him my attention, my energy, my feelings—and got dismissed.

Even my cousin—someone I used to be super close with—has been distant. He doesn’t pick up my calls, doesn’t text back. And when he does call, it’s only to talk about the women in his life.

I’m scared he’s going down a dark path.