The other month, my Literature class was reading The Picture of Dorian Gray, when my teacher encouraged us to pay attention to the “language of flowers.” It was one of those afternoons where I was giggly and giddy, unable to focus or sit still. My teacher said that in the Victorian era, flowers spoke for people, that a rose might mean love, while a lily symbolized purity or grief. I remember finding that strangely pretty. Even something as small as a flower can have meaning i

I haven't had a solid night of sleep this week, but this week has also been one of my favorites. It's a very random week, just an...

I’ve been losing a lot lately. If this had been me a year ago, I would have been a wreck. I would have stared at my shelf, agonizing over...

The other day, my friend and I played a game. We called it The Alphabet of Illnesses. One by one, we went through the alphabet, naming...

I haven’t written in a while because of college applications. That sentence alone feels like the understatement of the year. These past...

Once in a while, I go back and reread my old blog posts. They’re kind of like reading letters from a past self I don’t fully recognize...

"You looked like you were about to punch somebody." That’s what my brother said as we sat together, replaying the video from my award...

Every year on my birthday, I tend to cry for one reason or another. I’m not someone who cries easily, but my birthdays have always...

I’ve delivered countless speeches throughout my life. I'm literally the vice president of my speech and debate team. You ’d think by...

I have packs and packs of stickers. Whole drawers filled with them. Stickers I’ve collected since toddlerhood, ones with sparkly...

Today is the first day of summer vacation. Usually, I'd be outside by now, running barefoot through sprinklers, planning movie marathons...

I think for most of my life, I’ve believed that my mom knows everything. Not just in the way little kids think their parents are...

A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon my fifth-grade diary. Inside was a life I had almost forgotten: my own looping, uneven handwriting,...

Last year, I was warned by everyone that junior year is hard. As always, I barely listened, thinking that I, THE Emma Luu, would be able...

Tonight is one of those writing nights—the kind where the world feels softer, where my sheets are cool and crisp, the mattress cradles me...

It’s almost my birthday, and while I am excited to be “young and sweet, only seventeen” and to meet new people, experience new...

My favorite question to be asked was always, "What do you want to be when you grow up"? Five-year-old me had it all figured out. I was...

Having a sibling has taught me many life skills. First, never leave your food alone. When we were little, having a brother was like...

In my five-year-old self's opinion, there was such a delicate elegance in covering my face with stickers, wearing a princess dress,...