Rant to me: I will cure your salt December 3, 2015 — by Tiffany Zheng Senior Tiffany Zheng Permalink I have achieved my parents’ ultimate dream. I’m a doctor. But the job comes with a couple of hiccups that my parents never anticipated: I don’t get paid, my patients are my friends and I mainly treat the emotionally constipated. Call me judgmental, but I’m the therapist of salt and the queen of quality advice.I have achieved my parents’ ultimate dream. I’m a doctor. But the job comes with a couple of hiccups that my parents never anticipated: I don’t get paid, my patients are my friends and I mainly treat the emotionally constipated. Call me judgmental, but I’m the therapist of salt and the queen of quality advice. It’s not much of a surprise that most of my friends are over-dramatic and overwhelmingly ratchet. They’re all basically salt mines, as proven by our daily salty rants. (For those unfamiliar with a salty rant, it’s when one complains and ultimately purges his or her mind of a certain topic in a bitter or “salty” fashion.) Complaints can run from being excluded from a lunch run to not being part of a certain squad. There’s so much sodium circulating in some of my friends’ blood that I’m surprised they haven’t developed a mild form of hypertension. But these disturbing salt levels would help to explain their thirsty, or desperate, attitudes. Most of these therapy sessions are based on relationship issues. Somehow, regardless of the fact that I’m possibly the most romantically devoid human being on this planet, I’m constantly probed for relationship advice. What does it mean if he holds open the door for me? Why is he taking so long to respond to my texts? Why is his Snapchat story consistently updated with new things to give me FOMO (fear of missing out)? Yes, I know, California’s current drought situation cannot keep up with their thirst. On the surface, these are petty worries, even by my standards. Trust me, I must’ve rolled my eyes enough to wear out several pairs of contact lenses by now. But in a society constructed around the preservation a perfect image, anxiety cultivated from some of life’s most basic tribulations can erode one’s sense of self. It’s not good to bottle up these feelings when you have the option to lay it out on the table. Worried about how your eyebrows just aren’t on fleek? Rest assured, I’m going to throw shade at you for days, but I’ll buy you a pair of tweezers. Our relationship, just like your eyebrow game, will be strong. When it comes to being honest, I’m the queen. Perhaps it helps that I have no filter. If you request my services, prepare to be roasted with my savage remarks. I don’t believe in the preservation of your feelings if it detracts from the problem that’s causing the emotional trauma. I won’t beat around the bush because I’d rather take that time to beat you with some common sense. If you’re in a toxic relationship, I’d probably tell you to dump the chump because you’re trash enough on your own. (I’m sorry, do you need some aloe for that burn?) Of course I’m only (half) kidding, because I love all my friends. Honestly, deep down, behind the savage burns and salty judgment, it’s nice being a rock for others. I didn’t choose the therapist life. The therapist life chose me.