🎃 I Wore a Paper Bag to Our Halloween House Party and Somehow It Worked 😂

 🎃 I Wore a Paper Bag to Our Halloween House Party and Somehow It Worked 😂 You know it’s officially spooky season when you find yourself standing in the living room with a grocery bag over your head, praying it doesn’t rip before someone takes your photo. That’s exactly how my university Halloween house party went this year: chaotic, hilarious, slightly vegan, and 100% unforgettable.

Halloween parties always bring out the weirdest, most creative sides of everyone. But this year, ours felt like the kind of cozy chaos you only see in coming-of-age films: small house, string lights that flicker like they’re about to give up, and everyone dressed in a mix of “last-minute costume” and “I actually planned this since August.” I went full Nevermore Academy student, uniform and all, because Wednesday Addams energy just speaks to my soul. Then I added the now-infamous paper bag head, thanks to a trend that Tyler wouldn’t stop talking about. You know the one where you draw a pumpkin face, doodle random chaos with black markers, and wear it like a badge of irony.

Tyler was the one who convinced me, saying, “Trust me, it’s low effort but high impact.” And he wasn’t wrong. The look was halfway between creepy and cute, and somehow it matched the vibe of our small Halloween get-together perfectly. Imagine a mix of pumpkin spice candle scents, lo-fi playlists, and people arguing about which version of Dracula is superior while sipping on apple cider.

We kept it chill this year: no loud club, no haunted maze, just a small potluck in the house where I live. The best part? Everyone brought food that could’ve fit in a cottagecore cookbook. Because half the group is vegan, we had tofu skewers, veggie pasta, mushroom sliders, and pumpkin cookies that disappeared faster than gossip after finals. I didn’t even realize vegan food could taste that good until I found myself going for seconds.

What made the night special wasn’t the decorations (we didn’t have many), but how we turned an ordinary space into something magical. We hung fairy lights, carved one slightly lopsided jack-o’-lantern, and played a mix of nostalgic Halloween hits that had everyone laughing, especially when someone accidentally queued a Christmas song. At one point, someone even started reading out loud from a horror book, dramatic voice and all, while the rest of us threw commentary like we were at a bad movie screening.

That’s what I love about these nights. They start as small plans, “just a few of us hanging out,” and end up turning into these memories that linger longer than the glitter in your carpet. Between laughter, terrible photos, and book talk that somehow got deep, it felt like time slowed down for once. We weren’t stressing over grades or projects or deadlines. We were just a bunch of college students pretending to be characters for one night, finding joy in paper bags, thrifted outfits, and shared stories.

I’ll admit, the photos turned out way goofier than expected. Picture me posing dramatically in a Nevermore uniform with a grocery bag over my head that says “BOO” in messy marker handwriting. Tyler photobombed half my shots with his pumpkin grin, and someone added filters so heavy! But that’s what makes it fun. Halloween doesn’t have to be cinematic perfection. Sometimes, it’s just about the inside jokes you’ll be quoting until next year.

The funniest part? The paper bag trend actually became the unofficial theme of the night. One by one, people started grabbing spare grocery bags and doodling their own designs. By midnight, we had a full gallery of weird bag faces: vampire teeth, anime eyes, cryptic symbols, even one that just said “I’m tired.” It turned into this unexpected art jam that made the night feel like a mini creative therapy session.

We didn’t realize it while it was happening, but the whole thing mirrored what we love most: storytelling. Half of us are readers, writers, or bookworms in some way. Between bites of vegan pasta, we ended up trading book recs, talking about the novels we’re working on, and sharing what inspired us lately. The party turned into an impromptu book club with snacks and silly costumes.

That’s the real magic of small gatherings like this. It’s not about fancy outfits or how “aesthetic” your feed looks. It’s about finding people who get you, the ones who can talk about world-building and character arcs one minute, then scream-laugh about how their paper bag is too tight the next. It’s raw, messy, and genuine, which honestly makes it better than any big event with fog machines and overpriced tickets.

And okay, maybe I got a little too into it by the end. Someone played “Monster Mash,” and suddenly I was doing the world’s worst dance moves while my paper bag kept slipping sideways. Tyler kept yelling, “Adjust your pumpkin head!” and I nearly tripped on the fairy light cord. The chaos was real, but so was the fun.

By the time everyone started heading home, the place looked like a cozy battlefield of cookie crumbs, empty paper cups, and laughter still echoing in the corners. We didn’t have professional decorations, we didn’t spend much money, but we created something that felt like a genuine snapshot of college life: imperfect, heartfelt, and a little chaotic.

It reminded me why Halloween doesn’t have to be scary or wild to be memorable. It can be soft. It can be about connection, creativity, and laughing until your stomach hurts. It’s about finding joy in silly trends, weird ideas, and moments that feel like they were written just for your friend group.

So yeah, maybe I looked a little wacky in those pictures, paper bag and all, but honestly, I wouldn’t trade that night for anything. Sometimes the best costume is confidence, and the best party is one that feels like home.

Because when you strip away all the fancy effects and spooky filters, Halloween is just about celebrating life’s odd little stories, the ones you write with the people who make you feel like yourself, even with a grocery bag on your head.

Next year, we’re keeping the paper bag tradition alive. Only this time, I’m drawing something more ambitious, maybe a bat, maybe a book cover. Because if there’s one thing I learned this Halloween, it’s that the simplest ideas make the best memories.

🎉 From Scholar to Black Belt: How Taekwondo Saved My Focus and Sparked My Writer Life 💥

🎉 From Scholar to Black Belt: How Taekwondo Saved My Focus and Sparked My Writer Life 💥 What if I told you the single biggest upgrade in my life didn’t come from a book, a grade, or even a paycheck, but from tying a piece of black fabric around my waist? Yeah. Today, I officially became a black belt in Taekwondo, and honestly, it feels less like an achievement and more like a rebirth.

Let’s set the scene. Imagine a university scholar juggling a mountain of readings, late-night essays, and the kind of deadlines that make your spine ache just by looking at them. That’s been my reality. Add on being a writer on the side, yes, the kind who stares at blank pages hoping the muse will clock in for her shift and you’ve got the perfect storm of burnout waiting to happen.

Now, here’s the twist: in the middle of all that chaos, I decided to walk into a Taekwondo class. At first, it was supposed to be “just exercise,” the type of thing you pick up to check the self-care box.

Spoiler alert: it became so much more than that. Today, I got promoted to black belt. Let me repeat that, because my inner child is still screaming: I. Am. A. Black. Belt.

And let me say this clearly: martial arts is not a sport. It is an art and a way of life.

For anyone outside of training, a belt might look like a marker of physical ability, but it’s not about that. It’s about discipline, patience, humility, and learning how to live with intention. Earning a black belt is proof of transformation. It’s a reminder that life isn’t about winning or losing, but about how you grow through every lesson on and off the mat.

And trust me, I needed those lessons.

Martial arts became the most unexpected therapy for my mind and body. I didn’t walk in thinking, “Oh yeah, spinning kicks and forms will fix my stress.” But that’s exactly what happened. Every kick was a reminder to focus. Every stance was a way to anchor myself back into the present moment. When I was training, I wasn’t drowning in deadlines or stressing about the novel draft that wasn’t working. I was just there. Breathing. Moving. Living.

And because I can’t resist being curious, I didn’t just stop with Taekwondo. My journey led me toward Judo and Hapkido as well. If Taekwondo taught me power, Judo showed me redirection, and Hapkido reminded me that flexibility is strength. Each art gave me a different philosophy, not just for training, but for life itself.

There were times I almost quit. Between my health struggles and the heavy demands of academics, it felt easier to give up. But martial arts whispered the same lesson over and over: “You’re stronger than you think.” That mindset didn’t just stay in the dojang. It followed me into my writing, into my studying, into my everyday existence. Suddenly, I wasn’t just surviving long nights of work, I was approaching them like training sessions. Focus, discipline, and perseverance became my tools.

Writing, after all, is its own kind of battle. It’s quiet, frustrating, and full of invisible challenges. But training rewired me. The way I drilled kicks a hundred times? That’s how I began to treat revisions. The way I endured sore muscles after practice? That’s how I handled writer’s block. It’s all connected.

People often ask me, “How do you balance being a scholar, a writer, and a martial artist?” The truth is, martial arts makes balance possible. It isn’t something I squeeze into my life, it’s the foundation of it. Without the discipline, clarity, and grounding that martial arts gave me, everything else would collapse. With it, I feel sharp, steady, and unstoppable.

Most importantly, martial arts gave me community. A dojang isn’t just a training hall; it’s a space where people come together with respect, dedication, and shared purpose. That community became a lifeline. On the days I felt drained or unmotivated, it was my instructors and training partners who reminded me that showing up is already victory.

At its heart, martial arts taught me what life is: showing up. Not perfectly, not without flaws, but with consistency and intention. That’s what carried me from white belt to black belt. That’s what keeps me writing, even when the words don’t come easily. That’s what keeps me studying, even when my brain feels tired. It’s not about the belt, it’s about the person you become while chasing it.

So today I celebrate the black belt. But what I really celebrate is the transformation that came with it. Martial arts gave me more than techniques or titles. It gave me a way to live.

Maybe the belt is just a piece of fabric, but the lessons I earned while training? That’s a way of life. And if martial arts can reshape me, it can reshape anyone who dares to step on the mat.

🐶⚡ HasanAbi Dog Collar Drama: Did the Streamer Cross the Line?

 🐶⚡ HasanAbi Dog Collar Drama: Did the Streamer Cross the Line? What happens when one of the biggest streamers on the internet ends up at the center of an animal controversy? The internet loses its mind, Reddit detectives start digging, and suddenly a streamer’s dog becomes the main character of a week-long viral debate. That’s exactly what happened when fans accused Hasan Piker, better known as HasanAbi, of using an electric collar on his dog Kaya during livestreams, a claim that instantly sparked outrage and split the internet into camps of defenders and critics.

HasanAbi is no stranger to controversy. The political streamer has made headlines for his fiery takes, his luxury lifestyle flexes, and his massive Twitch following. But this time, it wasn’t his politics or his cars that went viral. It was his dog. Kaya, Hasan’s well-known canine companion, became the unwilling subject of internet scrutiny after a clip surfaced showing what looked like a collar device that allegedly delivered a shock when she moved out of view of the stream.

The video clip spread fast. In it, Kaya lets out a yelp, and instead of rushing to check on her, Hasan appears frustrated, calling her spoiled. To many viewers, this came across as cold, sparking immediate backlash. People asked why he didn’t comfort her. Why was the dog placed on such a small carpet space on camera? And why was there a device at all? The combination of visual evidence, streamer reaction, and internet detective work created the perfect storm for viral outrage.

On Reddit, self-proclaimed investigators dissected the clip frame by frame. Some argued it was clear evidence of a shock collar, pointing to the dog’s reaction and the timing of the sound. Others countered that it might have been a vibration-only device, not delivering an actual electric jolt. The divide quickly became about more than just one streamer it raised questions about how creators use pets in their content, and whether animals are being turned into props for clout.

Critics accused Hasan of treating Kaya like a background accessory rather than a family member. The dog, always placed in view of the camera, became a symbol of the blurred line between personal life and content. For many viewers, the idea that a beloved pet might be controlled by an electronic device for the sake of keeping them in frame felt wrong. It didn’t help that Hasan seemed more annoyed than concerned in the viral clip. The optics were bad, and in internet culture, optics often matter more than facts.

Defenders, however, pushed back. Some pointed out that training collars can have vibration modes designed to get a dog’s attention without pain. They argued that people were overreacting, jumping to conclusions without knowing the full context. Kaya is a large dog with specific needs, and collars like these are not inherently abusive when used responsibly. Hasan himself claimed it was not a shock collar, dismissing the viral outrage as misinformation.

Yet the problem is that once the internet decides a narrative, it’s nearly impossible to undo. And this time, the tide turned further when another creator stepped into the conversation. Penguinz, also known as MoistCr1TiKaL, gave his take on the viral clip and he didn’t let Hasan off the hook. Instead of brushing it off, Penguinz admitted that it actually looked like a choker or shock-style device. His analysis leaned toward the idea that Kaya’s reaction wasn’t just coincidence, and that the clip raised valid concerns. For many, this was the tipping point. If even a respected, usually level-headed voice like Penguinz suspected the collar wasn’t harmless, then the conversation shifted from speculation to something Hasan couldn’t easily dismiss.

This made the controversy snowball. Penguinz’s breakdown was widely shared across YouTube and Reddit, fueling more debates, think pieces, and commentary videos. What could have been brushed off as “internet overreaction” now carried the weight of another major creator’s opinion. HasanAbi’s defenders lost one of their strongest shields, and critics doubled down.

What’s fascinating here is not just the specific accusation but the bigger cultural trend. Viewers want authenticity, but when pets become part of the livestream setup, there’s always a risk of crossing ethical lines. A dog isn’t a ring light or a chair, it’s a living creature. And when fans think that creature is being mistreated, the backlash comes swiftly and emotionally. Whether Hasan was guilty of misuse or simply misunderstood, the outrage was inevitable once that clip started circulating.

The HasanAbi collar controversy also reveals how quickly parasocial relationships can turn sour. Fans who once adored the streamer suddenly felt betrayed. In their eyes, it wasn’t just about Kaya — it was about the image Hasan projected as a relatable, caring figure. Seeing him react with frustration instead of concern clashed with that image, creating cognitive dissonance that fueled even more anger.

And let’s be real: Hasan didn’t help his case. Dismissing the backlash with sarcasm or annoyance only reinforced the perception that he wasn’t taking it seriously. In today’s internet landscape, creators often underestimate how much tone matters. Sometimes the perception of indifference does more damage than the actual act being debated.

The controversy also shines a light on the way internet culture thrives on “detective work.” Every pause, every yelp, every reaction gets analyzed like it’s part of a true crime documentary. While this can sometimes uncover real issues, it also leads to echo chambers where speculation hardens into “fact.” Once people decided Hasan used a shock collar, no amount of counter-argument could shake that belief for them. Penguinz’s commentary only added fuel to the fire, making it harder to dismiss the outrage as baseless.

At the end of the day, the real victim in this whole discourse is Kaya  the dog who didn’t ask to be at the center of a viral storm. Whether or not the collar was harmful, she became a symbol of content creators pushing too far for views. The outrage may fade in a week, but the question lingers: how far is too far when pets become part of the show?

This isn’t the first time a YouTuber or streamer has been accused of mistreating pets, and it won’t be the last. The internet loves animals, but it also loves a scandal. That combination ensures that anytime a clip like this surfaces, the outrage cycle will repeat. The HasanAbi drama may eventually blow over, but it leaves behind a reminder of how fragile the bond between audience and creator really is.

HasanAbi’s name is now tied to a viral dog controversy that no amount of dismissive comments can erase. And in the court of internet opinion, perception is reality. The question is, will Kaya ever be just a dog again or will she forever be remembered as the pet that exposed a streamer’s biggest blind spot?

🎬 Good Boy Review: The Dog POV Horror Movie You Didn’t Know You Needed 🐾

 🎬 Good Boy Review: The Dog POV Horror Movie You Didn’t Know You Needed 🐾 What if the scariest part of a horror movie wasn’t the monster in the shadows, but your constant worry about whether the dog survives? That was me and my blockmates last night at the cinema watching Good Boy - a supernatural thriller told entirely through the eyes of a loyal pup named Indy. And yes, I’ll calm your heart right away: Indy is safe, no harm, no sad endings, so you can actually enjoy the ride without sobbing into your popcorn. This film doesn’t just break the rules of typical dog movies, it flips the table on everything you thought you knew about animal-led storytelling.

There’s a reason why Good Boy, directed by Ben Leonberg, feels unlike anything else playing in theaters right now. On the surface, it’s about a loyal dog protecting his human companion Todd from creepy supernatural forces that have latched onto their rural family home. But underneath, it’s an experiment in filmmaking, dedication, and empathy. For the first time in forever, the main character of a horror story isn’t human, it’s a dog, with his POV becoming the narrative lens. And let me tell you, as a cinema student and lifelong animal rescuer, that artistic choice floored me.

The Fresh POV: Cinema Through a Dog’s Eyes

Let’s start with the basics: dogs have been in movies since forever. From Hachiko to Marley & Me, the formula is almost always the same. Cute dog, emotional bond, tragedy or tear-jerker ending. We cry, we post on BookTok about how unfair life is, and we promise never to watch another dog movie again until the cycle repeats. But Good Boy smashes that expectation wide open. Instead of forcing the audience into another “watch your furry friend suffer” sob-fest, it does something bolder. It asks, “What if we lived the fear, the confusion, and the loyalty through the dog’s eyes?” That framing alone sets this apart from 99 percent of pet-centered movies out there.

Now, don’t expect literal grayscale dog vision or reduced color spectrums, although I joked with my blockmates that it would’ve been wild to see the whole movie filtered through blue and yellow hues. Instead, the director made a deliberate choice: keep the color grading human-friendly, but let the camera movement, blocking, and framing mimic Indy’s world. The result is immersive. When Indy turns his head to follow Todd, the audience follows too. When he freezes at something unseen in the shadows, we freeze too. And when he faces the unknown, we’re right there at paw level, experiencing both the loyalty and the vulnerability of a creature who doesn’t fully understand the supernatural but knows enough to protect.

A Production Fueled by Dedication

What really makes this film feel authentic is the insane level of patience in production. Good Boy wasn’t filmed in one summer, or even one year. It took three years. Why? Because Indy, the canine star, was never forced, rushed, or exploited. There are strict rules on how long dogs can work on set, and Ben Leonberg honored that completely. Every single scene feels like a collaboration between director and dog, not a manipulation. Indy is, after all, the director’s own pet so the trust and relationship we see on screen is real. You can’t fake that. And as someone who knows how often the film industry cuts corners, I can’t stress enough how refreshing it is to see art prioritized over deadlines.

Indy Deserves an Award

Let’s talk about Indy himself. This dog doesn’t just act; he embodies the role. Watching his micro-expressions, the way his ears twitch, or the way he cocks his head - it’s pure cinema gold. Forget Oscars for a second; Indy deserves his own category. There’s something magnetic about watching a real animal carry an entire horror narrative without dialogue, without CGI manipulation, and without being reduced to a background mascot. He’s not “the dog that dies to make the audience cry.” He’s the hero, the warrior, the good boy. And yes, every time the film whispered suspense, I was holding my breath not because of ghosts, but because I was silently rooting for Indy. That’s powerful storytelling.

Balancing Horror and Heart

Another win for Good Boy is how it blends horror without resorting to the usual tropes of gore or shock. It’s suspenseful, yes. It’s eerie, definitely. But it never becomes so dark that you can’t breathe. Instead, the fear is layered with empathy. We don’t just want the family to survive; we want Indy’s loyalty to be rewarded. Every bump in the night, every shadow in the corner, every whisper of paranormal activity becomes filtered through one thought: “How will Indy handle this?” It’s horror redefined as care-driven tension instead of nightmare fuel.

A Dog Lover’s Dream Movie

As a dog lover and rescuer, my biggest concern with animal films is always: were the animals treated right? And in this case, the answer is a loud, proud yes. No tricks, no cruelty, no forced emotions. Just patience, care, and respect. The film even includes flashes of Indy’s puppyhood, reminding us that this wasn’t just casting, it was a lifelong relationship between filmmaker and pet. That authenticity hits different. It makes the story not just a film, but almost a love letter to the bond between human and animal.

The Student’s Take

Now, putting on my cinema student hat, Good Boy is fascinating to study. It’s proof that you don’t need a Hollywood budget or a CGI spectacle to innovate. Sometimes, the boldest experiment is choosing an unconventional POV and sticking to it with sincerity. The editing, pacing, and framing all reflect that commitment. It feels like a thesis project turned masterpiece. A director who clearly loved his subject matter enough to wait years to bring it to life. That kind of passion is rare in an industry obsessed with box office returns.

Final Verdict

So how scared was I, really? Honestly, not terrified by the paranormal itself but deeply invested in Indy’s welfare. And maybe that’s the genius of Good Boy. It reprograms your sense of fear. Instead of dreading what’s in the shadows, you dread the possibility of losing the loyalty and love staring back at you from the screen. That’s not just horror, that’s emotional storytelling at its best. And when the credits rolled, all I could think was: Indy is, indeed, a very good boy. All dogs are. But this one is cinema history.

If you’ve ever wanted a horror movie that makes you root for survival without tearing your heart apart, Good Boy is it. Watch it, cheer for Indy, and remember: sometimes the bravest hero on screen walks on four legs, not two. And yes, he’s still wagging his tail when the lights come back on.