#and the teacher told me i could take public transport but | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

notesfromthepalace · 2 months

Text

The Nara Smiths of this World

I'd like to begin with saying in no way, shape, or form, will I be bashing the beautiful Black woman, wife and mother, Nara Smith. I actually aspire to be like her.

I also prefer content and media (both digital and physical) that cater to the life I have been creating for myself:

Led by God

With a God-fearing man (soon to be my fiancé - then husband, God-willing),

As a wife and mother,

While having the time and ease to do things that bring me peace and happiness like basking in the sun, working out, creating dinner experiences, rolling in academia - simultaneously having a career with a lower tempo, hints my transition from one career field to another (another post for another day).

I love watching her content, especially all of the dishes she makes from scratch.

But what upsets me, are the Black women that make a mockery of her lifestyle and make the excuse like "who wants to be a traditional wife" or "ain't nobody got time for all of that" and people saying that her lifestyle is unrealistic.

Lets be real.

A lot of women who bash Nara Smith are jealous.

Nara Smith is a young woman who is also a model, married, with two children and a third on the way.

Besides being a model, what about my previous statement is unrealistic or unattainable?

"Well who makes everything from scratch like that?!"

Everyone outside of the United States of America, darling.

I implore all the women who read my blog to please travel outside of the United States. Everyone makes everything from scratch and not only is it healthier, it taste amazing.

My first experience in Europe was the Summer of 2017, as an intern at the University of Science and Technology in Bydgoszcz, Poland.

While interning, I also traveled to Germany and Amsterdam.

During my tenure in Europe, I walked everywhere, used public transportation (it was clean, on time and efficient if I may add), went to people's homes where they made their authentic dishes and simple ones from scratch - while simultaneously losing 15lbs, and not on purpose.

Making your desired entrees from scratch versus using products that are processed and already made with preservatives are better for your health. Not only do you taste the difference but you will feel the difference.

Back to the point of women being jealous of Nara Smith's more traditional lifestyle and leisure:

The unfortunate truth of this - speaking as a Black woman with real Black Women experiences - so many Black women are truly perturbed by Nara's choice to take the time to cater to her children, household and husband as she does.

I think most of this disturbance comes from the fact that as Black women, we're told from early youth to work so hard and earn so many accolades where we do not need a man/husband and to not submit to the idea of motherhood and marriage until you receive every possible degree, award and accomplishment - which turns into us working just as hard as men to achieve a certain status, settling down in our mid 30s, yikes!

I have recently transitioned from one career field to another due to my desire to not only become a wife, but a mother.

But not an overworked wife who does not have time to cater to herself, household and husband, but a mother who has the time to be as hands-on as possible, make dinner, be a part of the Parent Teacher Association (PTA), etc.

This was my reality as a child. My parents were married; My father had a career that pulled him away sometimes but he was the providing a comfortable life for my mother, sister and I. My mother chose to have an at-home daycare so she can make my sister and I breakfast in the morning, be home to receive us after school, help us with our lessons, and put us to sleep. She was intentional with her career choice so she could cater to herself, take care of her home and her family.

And there is nothing wrong with a woman choosing to still work to have some independence, but choosing a career that is not as demanding that she sacrifices her family for it.

I brought all of this up due to conversations I had with women in my previous line of work who tried to convince me that I could "have it all" as they like to say: meaning that I could have the demanding career and title, be married, and have children.

Anyone who knows me personally, knows that I am extremely observant. During the last four years in my career field, I paid attention and listened quite carefully to the women who had children in both orthodox and unorthodox manners. The women who were married, with a child or children said all of the following:

"There was a time I spent a year away from my child, leaving them at three months of age."

"I was on my feet working just to go home and still be working."

"I got divorced because he couldn't understand that I wanted a certain level of success and being at home would not push me towards that goal."

"I don't even have time for myself."

"I have missed so many important moments."

Mind you, there's more. And I'm not saying that you cannot be married, with children and have a demanding career. I just believe it is irresponsible for older career woman to perpetuate the narrative that you can have 100% of everything all at the same time - when it's not true. Something or someone is going to be neglected.

So when I chose to transition out of my previous occupation, all of these women kept trying to persuade me to stay, but then I looked at their lives, it was not what I wanted:

Woman 1: Divorced with a boyfriend, three children (two different fathers) - spent months at a time away from her children, struggles with being feminine; Top of the food chain at work.

Woman 2: Married closer to 40, one child, lives a flight away from her husband to keep her demanding career, spends weeks away from her son.

Woman 3: Divorced, two children, sleeping around (with people we know) and the joke of our department, falls in love fast, one son has joined a gang, ex-husband is in-and-out of jail; Has worked for our organization for 15 years.

Woman 4: Left her newborn after two months to take a position in another country for a year, marriage suffered tremendously, also another "big dog" for the organization.

Now, as a woman who wants the lifestyle I already described in the paragraphs at the beginning of my piece, are these stories that I would want to emulate?

ABSOLUTELY NOT!

I won't go as far as saying that this is every woman's reality who has a demanding career, but even the women who stay married and have children have also told me that their marriage suffered tremendously and there is a closeness they lack with their children.

And again, that statement is not for the totality of working woman, but it's a shared experience of most.

When I told multiple women that I am ready to be a wife and a mother I was told I would regret it.

I don't and I won't.

I've had a job since I was 16; I have dated, traveled, lived in the city and suburbs on my own, and my truest desire is to live a life of leisure and peace, with my future husband and children.

So, for the girlies who are ready to settle down, leave the busy careers behind, do it!

Side bar - I just turned 26, I want to have my first child before 30 (and after I am married of course).

And do not, I repeat, DO NOT allow people's opinions, especially your Black female peers (it is what it is), to dissuade you from the lifestyle you truly desire, because they are the same women who complain about how miserable they are because of their choices, and misery loves company.

Choose your family, choose love, choose yourself.

With Love,

Sarah Chanel

#black women #black women in luxury #luxuriousbw #luxury #black femininity #black women in leisure #black women fashion #blackwomen #black beauty #nara smith #motherhood #marriage #relationships #happiness

64 notes · View notes

kiragecko · 1 year

Text

Hey Tumblr disability and neurodivergence communities?

I wanted to thank y'all for helping my husband get comfortable with getting a support my eldest needs.

NQ goes to a middle school that is just SLIGHTLY under the minimum distance away to qualify for bus transport. (His elementary school, across a field, WAS far enough away.) We didn't have any trouble getting an exception for him this year, since in elementary school I needed to make eye contact with a teacher and have them acknowledge they were accepting responsibility for him. He had no agency at all, so obviously he couldn't be trusted to walk all the way to school!

This year, though. He's flourished. The school trusts him to get into the building himself, to get on and off the bus himself, to decide for himself when he needs breaks, etc. And as a 'reward,' our government sent me a form titled 'Physician's Certification of Physical/Severe Cognitive Ability,' to be filled out before he is allowed school busing next year.

It's full of hyperbolic language like, 'it is imperative that only those truly in need are provided this service,' 'the disability must be deemed severe or chronic,' 'resources ... are extremely limited,' and 'it is physically impossible for the individual to walk/take [Public] Transit.'

My husband was obviously uncomfortable. NQ is a smart and capable kid in many areas. He's autistic, (and ADHD) not cognitively disabled. My husband sees the world as possibilities and strengths, and didn't want to say things like that about his son.

So I talked to him about posts you guys have made that walk people through getting diagnosed, and/or filling out forms about disabilities. About the importance of describing the person's worst days, the ones where they will need the support the most, rather than focusing on what they can do at their best.

He got it! He supports us talking to the doctor! And he told me how grateful he was that I'd learned this stuff.

We got to talk about the reasons NQ REALLY needs bus support:

no sense of direction

forgets what he's doing and wanders vaguely for 20 minutes on a regular basis

VERY easily distracted

'Getting Off The City Bus At The Right Stop' is an advanced skill, and, for those with ADHD, requires a prerequisite 'Can Problem Solve What To Do When You're 10 Stops Past Your Stop And Lost'

'Checking That This is The Correct City Bus' is also an advanced skill

minimal stranger danger

germ phobias mean that if he wiped his nose his fingers would 'become contaminated,' which would mean he could NOT put his gloves back on, even if it was -20℃ (0℉). Which is a major frostbite risk.

no impulse control if he misses his medication - can not be trusted to not do things that might harm himself/others

without meds there is a 2% chance of him getting to school unassisted (with meds, he might be able to get up to 90% on good days)

Like, taking the bus is actually a sign of maturity! Previously, I had to drive him most days, and I still do 3 mornings a week. The 2 mornings he walks himself to the bus stop (and the afternoons he walks himself home) are things I'm really proud of! If we don't qualify for the school bus, he's going to go back to relying entirely on me, rather than slowly increasing his independence.

So thank you. Getting my husband's support on this was really important to me. You guys gave me the words to do it.

#disability #neurodivergence #possibly #ableism #none of this is meant to be 'ugh why can't he do these things'#half of them are things I struggled with even as an adult #there's a reason I say 'getting off the bus at the right stop' has prerequisites

98 notes · View notes

mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess · 1 year

Text

A series of university events

Here is the ficlet for the winning option on this poll, Jingyi going through some of the funniest moments/situations I experienced as a university student.

All of these did actually happen, believe it or not, either to me personally, or I was there to witness them.

(The last one was a bit adapted to fit the characters and the theme, but I did argue with my group mates over color accents and other such aspects when we did our project, so there is a grain of truth in there!)

I really hope this is actually funny. Enjoy!

It was 7.15 am when Lan Jingyi stepped into his university building and he didn't know whether he found that ironic, hilarious or eerie.

He had promised himself he would not be cutting it so close to Professor Lan's 8 am class anymore (last time he arrived 53 seconds before the lesson began, as per Ouyang Zizhen's cronometer), but 7.15 was way too early.

It just had to be that day that the Public Transportation Gods decided to smile upon him and have him arrive 45 minutes before Teacher Lan's class. The man was probably still home having his coffee, minding his business, while Jingyi was at school, regretting the extra 30 minutes of sleep he lost.

Jingyi walked up to his class, and was surprised to find one of the cleaning ladies struggling to clean up yesterday's mess. She was equally as surprised to see him, and even checked her watch, panicked.

"Young man, you really scared me, I thought I ran out of time!"

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to do that." A sheepish smile as he chose one of the middle seats. "The commute was surprisingly short today."

He took out his phone to scroll on social media for a bit as began to sip at his coffee, but his eyes inevitably caught onto the cleaning lady's pained expression every time she bent down to pick up discarded papers or small pieces of trash.

Jingyi immediately abandoned his phone, walking up to her to help.

"You really don't need to do that, sweetheart, you're here to learn, not to clean!"

But Jingyi only offered her a reassuring smile, placing all the trash he'd collected into the bin. "You guys work so hard for us, so we have a clean place to study. This is nothing."

And so, Jingyi and the cleaning lady worked together for a few more minutes, rearranging desks, dusting and sweeping. Neither seemed to have realized how quickly time passed, until the door swung open to reveal Jin Ling carrying a massive Starbucks drink in one hand and the keys to his car in the other, a backpack hanging off one of his shoulders.

He looked at Jingyi, then at the cleaning lady, and, as the woman thanked him for the help and left, he couldn't help lowering the rim of his sunglasses with a smirk. "Training for your future workplace?"

Jingyi rolled his eyes. "How are you able to walk around with your head so far up your ass?"

"With great ease in designer shoes." Jin Ling replied, taking the seat in front of Jingyi's. "Now how come you're so early?"

"I'm being responsible."

"Yeah, right, and I'm poor. What other lies are we telling?"

Jingyi half debated throwing his hot coffee in Jin Ling's face but decided against it. There were no coffee shops around close enough for him to go get another and return in time for class.

"You ask about me, but why are you so early?"

"I drove dad to work. His license was suspended for speeding and now he's making me drive him around like a fucking chaffeur!"

"You guys shit money. Why isn't he using an uber or something?"

Jin Ling took a long, tired sip of his drink. "He says it's good driving practice for me. And mom won't drive him because she told him if he gets one more speeding ticket, he's on his own."

Jingyi couldn't help a mischevious grin. "So it looks like you're training for your future workplace too!"

------

Lan Jingyi was hungry. He was pretty sure that his whole class was, it was lunch time after all, and you could hear a stomach growling every few seconds.

Thing is, Jingyi did have food. Plenty of it. Because he knew he would be getting hungry, he had 12h of classes back to back, after all, of course he needed to eat.

The problem was that the professor promised them a 15 minute break halfway through the class... and had yet to deliver on that, droning on about some boring lesson that Jingyi couldn't even be bothered to take notes for. He was too hungry to write, and he could always ask Sizhui to fill him in later.

The professor began drawing something on the board but stopped midway through.

"You guys are not paying any attention to me at all. What's going on?"

"We're so hungry, professor!" A female voice responded, and Jingyi was quick to recognize her as Song Qing, the insanely smart girl two years younger than him that got into university on a gifted kid scholarship.

The professor sighed. "Why didn't you guys say so? I'm hungry too, let's eat up so we focus better! Brains don't work on empty stomachs!"

The class blinked at the man, confused for a few seconds as he took out a pink lunch box from his bag. "What, you think I eat your essays for lunch or something?"

Everyone began pulling out their own food, from sandwiches to cakes, snacks, salads and everything in between.

"You have a cute lunch box." Song Qing commented, barely holding back a giggle.

The professor laughed. "My daughter packed my lunch this morning, okay? She said this is her lucky lunch box, and wanted me to have a good day, so she gave it to me."

The class collectively aww'd at that, before returning to their food. Jingyi greedily bit into his chicken sandwich, hoping to God nobody heard him moan with both delight and relief.

"Jingyi, you really need to stop moaning into your food like that." Zizhen commented as he stabbed a cherry tomato from his to go salad with a fork, "It's weird."

"Have a bite of this and you'll get it." Jingyi offered, and Zizhen shrugged, taking him up on it. The moment flavor filled his mouth, his eyes fluttered closed and a low "mm" escaped him.

"See? It's amazing!"

"Will you guys stop orgasming over food?" Jin Ling intervened. "The rest of us want to eat in peace."

"Food orgasms are the best." Jingyi replied before taking another generous bite of his sandwich.

Jin Ling mumbled something, sinking his spoon in his container of hummus, but Jingyi and Zizhen continued to fawn over their food anyway.

---

When Sizhui returned to his dorm room that day, exhausted after a long day of studying in the library, he had not expected to find his roommate, Jingyi, with a flip flop in one hand and a massive can of big spray in the other, looking nothing short of a hunter.

"Jingyi. What the hell."

"There is a massive cockroach hiding around here." Jingyi answers sternly, eyes searching the floors. "And I am going to kill it."

Sizhui sighed, placed his book bag on his bed and wondered whether to join Jingyi in his hunts or just go to bed and leave him be.

But- "Hah! There you are!" was followed by the comical sound of a flip flop hitting the wooden floors, and Sizhui realized that his friend could do very well without him too.

"So." Jingyi began, placing his weaponry down. "How was today?"

"Exhausting. Did you do any studying?"

"No, I hunted the cockroach."

"Jingyi. The final is in two days."

"I couldn't have focused knowing there was a cockroach."

"Teacher Lan is so going to fail you."

Jingyi sent him a pleading, wet dog look. "And you're just gonna let that happen...? After I saved you from that terrible beast just now?"

"I'm taking Zizhen as my roommate next year."

"As if he doesn't mooch off you too!"

"So you agree. You do mooch off me!"

---

It was once again 6 am on a Monday and Jingyi wanted to die. Well, maybe not die, but definitely sleep. Like the dead.

Still, he had to go to class. Sizhui's didn't start until 12, that lucky bastard, so he had to go through the terrible grogginess of his early morning on his own.

He was just about to get into the shower - bless Sizhui for having picked a room with an en-suite bathroom - when he heard the unmistakable sounds of... well, fucking.

They were doing it in the other room, obviously, but the walls had either thinned out over night or his neighbours just happened to be screamers. Either way, Jingyi's already foul mood was not eased by the litany of moans and begs and curses from the other side of the wall - who fucks at 6 am on a Monday, first of all, and second, who does it so damn loudly too?!

He tried to focus on his own washing up routine, tried arguing to himself that, perhaps, he too would do that if he had someone to do it with, and it was a free country, people could fuck anywhere, any time.

But the moment that he began to hear screaming, all that flew out the window and he knocked loudly into the wall, three consecutive times.

The noise stopped for a while after that, and he was gratefully enjoying the silence, only to hear, loud and clear from the other side: "that's why you get no bitches, man!"

It took all Jingyi had not to go down to their door and start a fight.

God, he hates mornings.

---

"You aren't seriously going to pick golden accents." Jingyi said, incredulous. "That's the most cliche, overdone, boring choice!

Jin Ling rolled his eyes. "It's called timeless, you dumbass. A classic."

"Are we really fighting over decorative accents right now?" Sizhui asked, exasperated. "This whole thing is fictional, guys, it's not real! We aren't actually organizing this art gallery!"

And they were not. For one of their classes, the professor wanted them to come up with an event to organize on the basis of the information he gave them, following a strategy and some pre-defined steps. It was meant to test them on their knowledge, as well as show them what event organizing entails and whether they would be up for a career in the field.

"We have to do it right still!" Jingyi argued. "And I won't have fucking golden accents! I know you Jins have gold for breakfast but this is supposed to be fine art!"

"Your ass has never seen gold filigree and it shows! Gold is elegant, subtle. What colors do you want to use, huh? Magenta?!"

Zizhen sighed. "Calm down, you two. Our gallery theme is Cloud Recesses. There are no golden clouds."

"The sun is yellow!" Jin Ling argued.

Jingyi had to intervene. "It's the Cloud Recesses, not the Sun Recesses!"

"And where the fuck do you think the sun is? Not behind clouds?!"

Sizhui sighed quietly, turning to his other friend as the two kept arguing. "Zizhen, what do you think of light blue?"

"Sounds good. White could work too, but an ashen type, we don't want the contrast to be too obvious."

"I'll write that down. Say, how much did our budget add up to?"

"500k."

"Jin Ling." Sizhui called out, just as he was about to send a book Jingyi's way. "Where do we get 500k from? That's how much the event costs."

"We'll sponsor it. We as in Jin Corp. And add Jiang Corp too, jiujiu wouldn't mind and if he does, I'll threaten him that I'll buy out my stocks."

"Fuckin' capitalist." Jingyi glared, "But if we get such rich sponsorship, we should organize an after party too."

"Oh so I'm a fucking capitalist, but then you go around and spend my money?"

"What good is it for if you don't spend it?"

"You know what? Fair."

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #writing attempts #ljy #lsz #jl #oyzz #somg qing is a qing btw #song lan and xxc adopted her

34 notes · View notes

yloiseconeillants · 1 year

Text

15 Questions!~

1. Are you named after anyone?

Yes! My mother named both me and my sister after Very Popular Characters on her Very Popular Late 1980s Daytime Soap Opera. Then she named my brother after MacGyver.

2. When was the last time you cried?

bachelor party mushroom trip bath time last weekend (it was a joyous cry)

3. Do you have kids?

No, and no interest personally. I have two nieces and a nephew. My partner and I are considering fostering older kids/teens when we're in our 40s/50s but that remains to be seen.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Not often, and when I do it's almost exclusively purposely meant to fall Very Flat (I have been told I have some sort of sense of humor by my friends but none of us can figure it out).

5. What sports do you play/have you played?

My grandfather was convinced that since I was tall for a preschooler that I would end up as a basketball player and tried to encourage me and my sister to take up basketball as children (taking us to college games, playing with us at the local park, etc) but I ended up more of a 'scrambling through creeks before spending hours being weird at the library' kind of kid. In high school, I did enjoy dance, badminton, and field hockey when forced to do so through p.e. classes, but I'm. not sports.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about other people?

Oh yikes, it depends on the circumstances? If I'm meeting someone new at a familiar place among familiar people, usually how they interact with people that I know? What their body language conveys about a relationship or acquaintanceship, I guess. If it's an entirely new person in a neutral environment, like at work, probably still body language, but I'd be checking more for like, how nervous they are to determine what kind of tone to take with them (I worked in a government office for Official Technical Stuff and there's a lot of people who are Very Unsure about what they ~should be doing).

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Oh, scary movies. Happy endings are great but I tend to prefer media that just coincidentally doesn't have them? (so when I *am* enjoying something that *does* have a happy ending, it's so much sweeter). However, I love being spooked and I am *very* easily spooked so like, you can find me watching horror movies from a distance in my kitchen with all the lights on, and the sound turned off during the really scary bits and I'll be like, making food to combat the terrors - having a fucking fantastic time actually.

8. Any special talents?

Good memory for things I have written down.

9. Where were you born?

California, baby!

10. What are your hobbies?

playing barbies and falling into research holes

11. Do you have any pets?

I have two cats :) They are Very Neurotic.

12. How tall are you?

13. Fave subject in school?

I mean, I really enjoyed majoring in community development (focus on urban planning, but the public engagement bits of that were really fun), but if we're talking like, high school, definitely drama. Like, yes, it was mostly just my friends and I fucking around for an hour during school and however many hours after school, but I genuinely enjoyed the academic bits of it when my teacher still pretended to give at least somewhat of a fuck before she checked out entirely in my last two years in it. Language and literature classes were usually pretty fun, especially in community college (shout out to my Russian lit course for being Wild and to that time that I took a required English class that was taught by a teacher whose background was poetry). OH AND THIS INSTITUTIONAL ECON CLASS I TOOK-

14. Dream job?

Don't believe in 'dream' jobs but in a situation where I was still forced to rely on working to survive but I could do whatever I wanted, I'd love to like just wear a bright vest and hang out on public transportation and give people information on transit routes and destinations. Please let me help the tourists. They need help.

15. Eye colour?

that fucky 'grey' color which means I can't fucking see shit when it's bright out because i'm squinting too much

Tagged by @mirrim-the-moonfaerie and @sundered-souls

Tagging: whoever wants a tag!!

#not ffxiv #memery

14 notes · View notes

callmemars17 · 1 year

Text

Falling in love

I think I was 6 the first time I fell in love We met in the playground And I don´t remember what you were wearing but you say I was wearing a red dress with teddy bears I wish I remembered I hate that my brain remembers everything single unimportant thing, I remember every damned conversation I’ve had in my life, But I don’t remember what you wore when I met you. I remember you being kind, and smiling, and taller than me, and how you were so easy to befriend. I remember your blond hair, exactly the same color as mine, and I remember your baby face.

I don´t remember falling out of love with you.

I loved you when we were 12. I loved you when we were sleeping in the same tiny bunk bed on that school trip, When we giggled, and our noses touched, and our teacher told us to be quiet. Do you think the teacher is still awake? Yes, I´m awake. Giggles, always so many giggles. We rode the same rollercoast two times. I think I remember us holding hands. I think I fell in love with a boy somewhere along the way.

We were 14 and maybe I didn’t fall in love with him, Maybe I fell in love with the ideia that he liked me. But then I didn´t love the way that he liked to touch me when I didn’t want him to, Where I didn’t want him to, And how he always said sorry after. And you told me I was too good for that. And then I should’ve fallen in love with this other boy, Who was so kind, and so respectful, and too good to be true. But I didn’t, because I was in love with you, And you were in love with some other tall, nice boy.

I was still 14 and still in love with you, Still too young to really appreciate how easy it was to talk to you, How rare that is, How I would never meet someone again who made me fell like that. Confortable, Heard, Safe. I always say I can’t really talk to people because I’m to shy. I always felt like I could talk to you. I was always in love with you.

We were still 14, close to 15 now. Still on the same bed, on a different school trip. I held your hand on the plane because you hated the take off, and the landing too. I remember switching seats to sit next to you on that plane. I was supposed to be sat next to that too good boy, I would rather just hold your hand. I remember the tears because September meant a new school, New friends, more classes, less you. I have so many memories I couldn’t write them all in all the paper in the world. Instead I drew little snails on all your notebooks. I was so in love with you.

I was still in love with you when we were 19. We basically never saw each other, we were to busy, You were learning to sculpt even though you preferred drawing, And I was leaning to stitch other people’s fingers but never my own heart. We met up and it was summer, And you were late and I would’ve waited for you forever. And you looked so pretty, And we talked for hours, About our lives, and love, and queerness, and how scared I am to just be me.

And then I think I fell in love with some boy in university, And he was so nice, And hugged me when I had a panic attack, And I felt like he saw me. It fizzled out quick, because he didn’t love me back, And I loved my memories of you more.

We’re 21 now. We never see each other. We talk sometimes. The last time I saw you we were on a public transport, And I was dead on my feet because I hadn’t slept well, And I was too tired to really talk to you about real things. I wish I had slept well that night. The last time we talked was when you answered my insta story, And you said my dress was so beautiful. Some time before that, you had said that we should meet up some time, I said I couldn’t wait! I´m still waiting.

And I know you have a girlfriend, And you look so happy, And I´m so happy for you.

I´m just sad for me, Cause it’s my fault I’ve always been too scared, And you've always been so brave. But I loved you, And I think I always will.

#falling in love #queerness #poetry #ill always be a little in love with you #or maybe a lot

13 notes · View notes

elaine-abroad · 11 months

Text

Volume 2 Part 1

Week One

Okay…a LOT has happened this past week so this might be long. Tuesday was the first day of classes for everyone. Everyone has to take at least two classes and I’m taking Korean Traditional Painting and something called Visual Journal which I found out is an illustration drawing/creative class. I knew Alyssa and my friend Bianca (from STAMPS) were going to be in my painting class, but I knew no one else. Bianca had two friends with her (Zoe and Grace) and I kind of tagged along with them for lunch. Luckily Grace is in my Visual Journal class so we’ve stuck together since then and I can officially say I have a new friend.

Naengmyeon which are cold buckwheat noodles (that’s why there’s ice)

Anyways the takeaway from this week’s painting class is that my teacher is unorganized because the school is unorganized. There are probably about thirty or so students in my class, and my teacher was very surprised because she usually teaches classes with a max of twenty students. She was unprepared as apparently the school didn’t let her know of the class size.

We found out that Ewha is like UM and doesn’t help out with art school materials. While my teacher could’ve sent an email or message to us before the program, she waited till the first day to tell us we had to buy over 100,000 won (over $90) worth of materials. I don’t know if she saw the unimpressed looks of everyone, but she insisted we could take out/add whatever we wanted. The art shop we went to was in a different area and she assumed we all knew how to get there, but after some communication she said we would go the next day as a class. The art shop was very small and the materials did look pretty good. Unfortunately the man pre-packaged all of our stuff so we basically were forced to take what he put together.

Traditional brushes from art shop in Insa-dong

My friends and I were one of the first people to pay so the teacher told us we could stand outside and walk around while the others got situated. We were only gone just long enough for three people to get drinks, but when we returned to the shop, no one was there. So of course we were all freaking out, thinking they took the bus back without us, but we found out they went to an art gallery nearby. We spent some time there and after a while, the second group arrived. Basically a section of our class didn’t have money loaded on their T Money cards (cards used for public transportation and convenience stores) so one of the Korean speaking students took them to figure that out first.

Extra pics

Class is supposed to end at 11:30 so that we’d have an hour for lunch, but we were still there as the ending time approached. I don’t think our teacher was aware that we wanted to go back, but she eventually “dismissed” us and the first group including Grace and I left. Some upper class STAMPS kids were trying to be the leaders but led us the wrong way and then blamed the map, but we eventually managed to make it back to campus at 11:50. We weren’t very happy, but at least we made it in time. I later heard from Bianca that she and Zoe went to use the bathroom when everyone was there, but when they came out the first group was gone. They chose to take the subway thinking it’d be faster but apparently arrived at 1:15.

Gallery

My visual journal teacher is chill and speaks good English. She’s a children's book illustrator and said she used to work in San Francisco which was cool. 95% of the class is from STAMPS so it was kind of weird when we were all introducing ourselves. I like the class though.

Bottom floor of visual journal class building

Unlike UM though, Ewha has an underwhelming amount of tables/chairs to sit in. It’s become a challenge to find a spot during lunch as students literally sit on every step of the stairs just for a seat.

Here we are sitting on the ground like bums two lunch days in a row

Since Tuesday, I’ve hung out with Grace a lot and she’s just like me. We’re both nervous to use public transportation by ourselves and go into restaurants without English translations or kiosks. So we’ve gotten along pretty well and have gotten food with each other every day since.

We also both like going to the convenience store on campus even if it’s to just get a drink or ice cream. I’m pretty sure the guy that works there knows us by now.

Part of the ice cream collection (I tried my first Melona bar!)

Oh yeah and before I forget, I have a messed up fun fact. So the Ewha campus is a series of uphill and downhill walking which is extremely tiring in the hot temps. Even just the thought of the walk up the hill to the art buildings and then the 6 floors we have to walk up because of the nonexistent elevator makes me sigh. Anyways during our welcome tour, they told us that the reason why it’s such a journey all around is because Ewha is an all girls school. Back in the day when the school was made (over a hundred years ago), women pursuing an education were so looked down upon that they purposely didn’t flatten the land to try to make it harder for them to go to school. The school next to us, Yonsei University, was just like any other school which is why their land is completely flat.

Another fun fact totally unrelated to anything other than Korea is that there are absolutely no public trash cans on the street. I’m really sure why, but it’s kind of annoying because we have to hold onto our trash a lot of the time.

Moving on, I signed up for several Friday field trips. This past week was a Seoul city tour. We took a double decker tour bus around and stopped at a few notable sites.

The first stop was the Namsan Tower, also known as the Seoul Tower. Unfortunately it was a rainy cloudy day so we couldn’t see much of the land below.

It cost extra to get to the top of the tower, but it just wasn’t worth it with the weather. We did go into the tower plaza for a little bit though.

There were mostly refreshments for tourists. At the top there was a wide space with stores and traditional looking buildings.

Korea has a lot of life-size models of characters just standing around shops and stuff. Restaurants and cafes often have animal mascots and sometimes they just throw a statue outside to attract more people. I’ve noticed it around shopping areas too.

Penninah and I posing with Haechi, a Seoul mascot. Apparently he is some kind of mythical lion creature

The next stop was to Changgyeonggung Palace. I don’t know much about the history, but it was built back in the mid 15th century by the 4th ruler of the Joseon dynasty for his retiring father. It often served as residential quarters for queens and concubines. It was a pretty wide space with many buildings and pathways.

Front gate

By the end of this stop everyone was hot, sweaty, tired, thirsty, and most definitely hungry. We went back to where I had gotten my painting materials from for lunch and a break. Insa-dong has had quite a few people walking around both times I’ve gone there. The street shops were cool too and less focused on trendy items.

We all sort of went our own ways for lunch but Penninah and I joined a big group of people for food which made the process much easier.

Spicy beef jjigae (jjigae is a Korean stew and there are many variations)

Go to part 2 because I ran out of photo space for this post

3 notes · View notes

driftwork · 1 year

Text

I could easily put a date, a period to the music... part one

Today is my birthday, I am 63, my 64th year has begun.... How did I end up across the world teaching Hegel? It was a long time ago, I don't actually know how long ago, decades at least. So here I am trying to remember the name of the philosopher hiding out in Europe who produced a a a phrase that defined the major part of our lives since then. It rapidly became normalized and the words dropped out of the mouths of the publics throughout the world. So here I am sitting, typing these phrases, it's a mathematical formula that defined the way in which we live, perhaps though its more precise than the mathematical phrases of 'willing slaves of capital'. Out there are a few billion willing slaves. Men and women, children and geriatrics, the healthy and the sick, people at keyboards, cosmonauts, astronauts, mall workers, teachers and the others who may think in terms of a collapsing evil empire, but we don't live in amongst these remnants for the publics love their enslavement. A long time has passed since then, decades. Barbarism has become normal, and we have no idea how to prevent barbarism from growing still further. How did I end up working and living here? How did it collapse like this?

The story begins with the sea: After she left our prison I was there another year, still constrained within the 100 metre diameter cell, towards the end all i remembered of her was the feint almost homeopathic scent of honey. For a long time I had to avoid the scent of honey for it made me long for her. "We should leave now," they told me without taking time to pack things in a thoughtful fashion. Not giving me time to think, or even to put my shoes on. I threw a few things in a bag. I took my notes, the books, clothes. There was nothing else, a few memories of her, I had missed her for months. They let me out on license when the regime began to change, put a GPS tracker on my wrist, escorted me back to my apartment. A two bedroom living room and kitchen, with a nice shower room close to Little V... The only thing I did was to ask them to pause so that I could stand on the concrete promenade looking at the sea. Long waves beat diagonally, across, the beach, bulge hunchbacked,with cords of muscle, raise quivering ridges that tip over at their very repetition. No wave is unique, each one identical. Their crests stretched tight, already welted white, around the cavity of air crushed by the clear mass like a secret made and broken... For the entire time i had been a prisoner here i had only seen it in the distance, Is it the same beach? The same sea? It’s a year later. The intervening pages scarcely matter, we’ll get to them over the days and weeks of living. I stick my bookplate on the inside cover: someone sees someone standing. And try to think of the last time i read a book with the sea in it. The coach driver calls me, I board the bus and he carries me and my escort away. The old coach took us to the railway station where we caught the slow train to the nearest city, passing through the snow, and then transferred to the southern express. We, the escort and I didn't speak. Shortly after the train began heading south a seller of sweets passed through the carriage. More parochially I arrived back in January, it is a a a a beautiful day before us, its the early morning and we are wondering what we will or should do with it. There is only a single choice really. We travelled in a police car through the city, to my apartment in the block of flats which sits in a side street in the north of ... People looked away to not know who the police were transporting... The apartment had been newly cleaned, a few meals, handed me keys, pass codes, a document that listed the constraints imposed on a political prisoner life me, and instructions about when to go to the police. I asked my escort about the missing items, things that were listed on the document but not in the apartment. Usually solitary political prisoners like you get burgled, anything valuable gets stolen. Could have happened anytime over the years you were away. Should I report the burglary?? I asked him. He shook his head, no point you don't have any idea when it happened, and you won't be able to claim anything on insurance. Do I need to sign anything, he handed his tablet to me, sign here, and her, and here....then again on this document. You must live in this place. He instructed. Where would I go? I have been disowned. I replied. Yes, it's normal.

It took a few weeks for me to get employed as a barista in a quasi-independent coffee store. I worked 40 or 50 hours a week, 10% over minimum wage, a hundred and more espressos and teas a day, I never really counted. sometimes milk shakes, usually for children. The cafe owners were ex-communists (smiles) after a few weeks of serving people, the weak sunlight entering the cafe through the UV filtering glass. Me, eventually, wearing teeshirts with images of Hegel and others. Ex colleagues from the university appeared. It's the way of nepotism and political protectionism that I got a temporary assistant teaching post, 12 hours a week in the university. Dividing my time between the cafe and the evening shifts and then into the daytime. After about four months they removed the GPS trackers from my body. Insanely feeling free at last. I lay on my back in the park watching silver airplanes flying overhead in the bright blue sky. Once the trackers were gone I applied for work at the Black Hotel Gardenia. We have been asked to employ you the Hotel said. I didn't understand what this might mean. I left the cafe to work in the Hotel cafe and then elsewhere in the Black Hotel. I began to think I might survive in this newly lonely life. I didn't dare have friends as I waited for them to arrest me again. In the late autumn the politics stabilized again. One morning at the Hotel I was taken into the directors office and was told by a dark suited european that they would rearrest me next week and that I should leave. They gave me an envelope of instructions, tickets, money, credit cards, a new identity and passports. Let us say a year passed perhaps more perhaps less. And there I was running along a slow line of flight boarding a small ship in winter… Today is my birthday I am 63, I have never returned to the country that wants me, a teacher of Hegel to be imprisoned. I am an exile on a small planet.

https://www.driftwork.work/post/684428858721697792/a-village-on-the-coast

#everyday practices #port story #nonfiction #prisoner

2 notes · View notes

nightmarestudios06 · 1 month

Text

Happy Autism Awareness Month!!!

I originally posted this on Insta and Tiktok at the beginning of April and then I thought it would be nice to share my little story here too.

When I was little, my mother noticed that there was something out of the ordinary with me. Many doctors saw me and I went through several diagnoses, but from 4 to 6/7 Yrs there was one that remained untouchable.

Autism spectrum disorder (ASD).

Motor delay, I was not able to formulate complete sentences, I did not make eye contact, not understand basic social concepts such as modesty or shame and I couldn't communicate with other children. Many times ending in frustration and leading to violent behavior.

In the area where I was born, not much was known about this disorder and even less about how It affected women, the doctors told my mother that they didn't know if I would be independent when I grew up.

But she didn't give up on me.She took me to ballet, so I would learn to have balance and improve my motor skills, in church I learned oratory, she spent hours teaching me what my school teachers didn't do, showed me neurotypical thinking, she take me to the psychologist, educational psychologist, speech therapist, psychomotor therapist, psychiatrist, neuropsychiatrist, etc.

And most importantly, she was with me every step of the way.I received psycho-pedagogical treatment for years.

Right now, i'm currently in my senior year and will be 18 in October. If I manage to graduate, next year I will be able to enter college like anyone else.

How?

Not even my psychiatrists know.

Apparently it is a mystery how I managed to pass to such a ASD from low performance to high performance (I have some professors/doctors/psychologists who did their thesis on my case lol)

The conclusion for many here was treatment, I still have my difficulties, ASD is a disorder NOT a disease, it CANNOT be cured. BUT it could be treated.

I still have a hard time getting dressed, being in places with a lot of noise, or a lot of light, I still flap my hands and start walking or turning, sometimes singing or humming as a method of self-regulation, etc.

However, I can talk, I can take public transportation and travel alone, I can do housework, study and work.

And the most important. I can improve myself.

Happy Autism Awareness Month.

#ASD #autism awareness #digital art #lil animation

1 note · View note

ifuckinghateasce · 5 months

Text

Extreme ramble on car crash fatalities. im 21 and stupid. but im also 21.

Ever since I declared a focus in transportation for my engineering degree, I feel like I've become hypersensitive to every fatal transportation accident that has happened and it feels personal every time, whether it was my friend I was in high school band with or a traveling little girl in a big city.

II. (personal guilt and the total effort)

The science around people transportation (my 'area of approximate knowledge'; I don't know a single thing about freight transportation) has revealed itself as unique to me in the last year as I've realized: we are investigating an extremely small number of trips resulting in death and severe injury as opposed to the millions of trips in which people survive without any issue. cities only keep data on the crashes that actually happen, if at all, and again only a small percent of them are lethal. from face value, it seems it's hard to study how fatal crashes happen, because we don't have a lot of data on them.

More appallingly, I've noticed from the inside that sometimes we (transportation People - planners, engineers) let our egos shield ourselves from the possibility of these crashes simply because they haven't happened yet, despite concerns around the block to add a stop sign because of the close calls. Every time it happens, we feel so much shame that it happens. We fix it through bureaucratic means. Months pass. and then it happens again. We investigate it and do nothing. And it happens again. Days pass. We investigate it and fix it through bureaucratic means. And it happens again. We feel shame. And it happens again.

I heard one day to "not take it personally", because people get too heated. More lives are lost. Time passes; the lives turn into names. Names turn into numbers. I am 21 years old; the people who teach me are only one or two cohorts older. I don't want this to happen to me too. I don't want to forget names, I don't want to forget how old they were when it happened: 19, 20, 4.

III. (the dragon king)

My friend told me a few months ago that even if we could naturally live to be hundreds of years old, statistics show most of us would die long before that anyway because we would die from a car crash.

in risk analysis / statistic world, the black swan is an unforeseen extreme disaster that could not have been predicted in the process towards the disaster, but is then rationalized.

"and it happens again..." (II.) i propose, rather safely to be honest, that the disaster of traffic death apathy in the US is not a black swan but more similar to a dragon king, an extreme disaster of unique origins. as people transportation people, we have a small (increasing maybe, but still small) piece of the perception pie that is people transportation. we have dominion over the road design. we have dominion over the speed limits, the signals, and if we're lucky we have dominion over public transportation. we do not have control over human behavior, and extreme behavior at that -- we can't control road rage, drunk driving, or very old age. Barring "green solutions", we can't influence extreme weather conditions. and in places where road, human and world fail to be on their best behavior, the dragon king is there, from unique origin.

i wonder if anyone else in my suburb thinks about this - my parents who drive, my grandma who can't so my aunts and uncles drive her, my high school teachers who commute on the freeway for an hour and a half to get here and an hour and a half to get home. i desperately hope someone does. to me, the transportation conversation feels so segmented and individual, rather than a group compilation of choices that result in the traffic we get. the way public transit has been beaten down into the ground if you don't live in a big city, to the point where you don't even consider it.

speaking personally and dreadfully i believe it all - cars of all kinds suck, climate change is making the road suck more, drunk drivers fucking suck, a lack of GOOD infrastructure for transportation for elderly and disabled people is making the road suck more. i believe it - individualism on the road is a raging disease with flaring symptoms. the car problem is an intersection of engineering, social and policy failure, and i am despairing that it may not be fixed or even acknowledged in my lifetime.

IV. surrender

i accept my line of work is morally incomplete. the risk i will accept as an engineer will always be there. i am going to be a part of projects conceptualized in the 1990s poorly retrofitted to the standards of today. and as much as i want to work on the things that will make life easier for people, i know i won't get to all the time. i'm despairing. i don't have an answer. i don't even know what i'm getting out of posting this. just maybe someone might think differently.

0 notes

laura-apexart · 9 months

Text

BOGOTA DAY 1

7.8.23

I arrived late at night July 7th around 10:30pm to a hotel close to Zona G after much anticipation, a delayed flight and long immigrations lines at the Bogota airport--staying at a hotel the first night was a good way to get my bearings--a shuttle service picked me up (one of the pieces of advice on repeat--don't take cabs that cannot be tracked--and don't walk around with your phone out). Nice to have friendly hotel concierge to help me situate the next morning, especially since I speak very little Spanish!

Woke up--ventured out--began by going south to plaza de Bolívar, the historical square in the heart of the city. A cobble stone--stone slabbed? plaza surrounded by large imposing municipal and museum buildings of various architectural styles. The plaza itself was full of street vendors, a small crafts market and lots of pigeons surrounding and adorning a bronze statue of Simón Bolívar, sculpted in 1846 by the Italian Pietro Tenerani--The first public monument in the city. How to take in all the history--what is presented via the monument and plaza itself---guide books and google/wiki vs ones own subjective experience, and sensory activations.

Then to Independence Museum - Casa del Florero- Trying to buy a ticket I was confronted with the language barrier and also figuring out converting $ into pesos and got a bit flustered and overwhelmed so I left and went to the Catedral Primada de Colombia--(also on the list) --filled with paintings depicting the immaculate conception and various representations of Jesus's crucifixion--something about religious sanctuaries, I sat in one of the pews at the back of the church and had a good cathartic cry while a catholic mass was being lead at the front of the church. Gathered myself and went back to the independence museum which told the story of conflict and rebellion over a smashed vase on view--"the broken vase was heard around the world" --there were paintings and also a bronze statue inside depicting the fight over the vase--wow, the symbolism of material objects their value and weight...there was much more history presented here but I am still trying to piece it all together.

Went back to my hotel to checkout and then traveled far north to Usaquén Public Library - Servitá; for a literally arts cafe meeting discussing the different voices of narrators

I arrived an hour early and did my best to communicate to the security guard why a was there and then a group of intergenerational women who were involved in the group, and leading it realized I was there to participate and were very intrigued and curious who sent me and how I heard about it and ended up there! One of the very sweet women Louisa spoke English and helped translate the discussion for me focusing on the difference between author, creator, writer and narrator -lead by Stephanie who I could tell was s wonderful teacher -expressive, warm , open, confident and very engaging. There was also a presentation on myths from around the world and while and we listened we were given plasticine and told sculpt a figure from one of the myths, I choose Medusa.

After a morning of self directed activities, rainy weather and feeling very overwhelmed by not speaking Spanish or being able to navigate public transportation YET, the warmth and energy of the women involved in literary arts cafe (they meet every Saturday and discuss and share different ideas and presentations) was very fun to engage with and be a part of for a couple hours. I was invited for drinks after but sadly declined b/c I had to get back to check into my Airbnb and then meet a contact I had been set up with for dinner.

Took Ubers everywhere which feels crazy (but also wild because a 30 min ride is $2) but I will get a bus pass tomorrow when I figure out where to buy one.

#Laura Bernstein

1 note · View note

makescenewithmeagain · 1 year

Text

You were 7 and I was 27 when we met.

Hi Olivia,

First of all, one thing you should know about your auntie is that I NEVER LIKED BEING OUT OF PLACE ALONE.

When your mom told to take you and pick you up at school for the first time, I was so scared. My hands were sweating in the 4degree weather and my tummy is hurting. I never spoke about it.

When the day I came that I had to bring you to school, I woke up an 4hours earlier than I usually wake up(without an alarm at that). An hour before you wake up. Got ready and made coffee.

Your mom and I got you ready, fixed your hair and we went to catch the bus. I was so scared of running late. I was scared that we might have taken the wrong bus or get off at the wrong stop. I had to ask your mom for every small detail just to make sure that we weren’t going the wrong way.

Then walked the cold morning on the way to school. But then you suddenly decided to bury your face on my jacket. Only for me to realize your face wasn’t covered by your scarf which was a little too small for you already. Haha. You took off your gloves and took my hands off my pocket just so your hands would get warm.

We ran and walked and ran again just so you wouldn’t be late for school. Maybe because I get distracted by the ducks in the pond and the signages at the shops a lot and I kept on telling you to look at them so we’d stop and stare for a little while. Then when we reached your school’s gate (just like clockwork) you just took your bag and ran to the side entrance of your classroom. I message your mom that you got in and I went back home.

Picking you up was another thing though. Went the same way as that morning. Got on the same bus, walked through the same pond and down the same tunnel. Got to your school and waited outside with all the other mummies, Nannies and grannies.

Gates opened.

Went to the side where you came in.

Bell rings.

And saw you with your teacher. She had your bag and lunchbox.

You saw me..

THEN YOU JUST CAME RUNNING. SLAMMING YOUR FACE DIRECTLY AT MY STOMACH. It didn’t hurt but my heart started to feel tight. Your teacher asked for the password and I told her and we left.

We went on our way home. You were holding my hand and you were singing. The song you sang so many times that the lyrics were etched to my brain even if I never watched that show even once. I started singing along and you kept on singing. I’d change the song and you’d sing the same song. We sang those 3 songs over and over again. We were laughing and singing.

The walk back home was awkward for me because there were a lot of kids. And how I hate crowds. 🙄 but you and your shouts of “AUNTIE MEX HERE. OH NO. HERE AUNTIE MEX” while dragging me through the ocean of kids in the bus.

When we got to the corner street of your house while waiting at the stop light: (again, just like clockwork) you say “WAIT FOR THE GREEN MAN” then I tell myself….

Yep.

I don’t mind being around a million people.

Being in the busiest crowd.

Standing in public transportation.

Being in the noisiest places.

And coming to unfamiliar places,

if it’s for you, I’D SHOW UP.

I’d show up just to see your face light up every time your classroom door opens and just before you start running to SLAM YOUR FACE ON MY STOMACH AGAIN.

I’d show up just to wait in the car and for you to open the door with the biggest surprise face ever. For you, I’d show up just to run through the street in the cold just so we could chase each other. For you, I’d show up just so we could sing our hearts out in the sidewalk, the bus stop and in the forest.

I gotchu and mini you, that came into our lives last winter, Matthew.

Auntie will come to pick you up.

#Olivia belle #vacation #7-27

0 notes

mac-lilly · 2 years

Note

Ain't that the truth! I almost became a teacher only to switch majors in college because my aunt (who was a kindergarden teacher until she retired) told me that all of the stuff you learn in the classes to become a teacher never gets used afterwards.

Lol oh very true! Though I gotta give Zac props on building his singing voice to go from having to be dubbed by Drew Seeley to being considered good enough to duet with Hugh Freaking Jackman!

Well Zac and Charlie are the same height (5'8") so the table would be needed! 🤣 And yeah, Julie is the sole exception to Luke's love of music because as he said, no music's worth playing if it's not with her.

Ah yeah I saw that on Twitter. Don't know how I feel with them not requiring testing or masks since cases are on the rise in Europe but hopefully people will use good judgement.

So the queue is like the seating arrangements when they said you could email to sit by friends (higher passes could sit in the lower zones but the lower passes couldn't sit in the higher zones).

Why...why wouldn't you want the poster signed?

Good to know about the public transport but I'll likely be taking a cab anyway (I got a hotel about 30 mins away from the convention center because I got a good deal on it through my job).

Fingers crossed we'll get something about discounts though my wallet is definitely happy for the break lol.

Oh did you see the tweet from the person raising money for the Cameron Boyce foundation? I hope they make their goal (they said it was $800 this year because they raised $600 last year) but they're closing it soon and they were at $500 last I checked. Though they've got 5 days to go so hopefully they can get that extra $300 to make their goal :D

Oh wow! You're going to be doing a lot of travel!

I have a cousin who is about to become a teacher (for high school, I think), and yeah, I don't envy her. Although, she'll make more money than Mr. Bolton. The minimum wage for newbies (who have passed the exam) on the job is 50,000€. (Still not enough money cause some schools are warzones.)

Yeah, sure, it's an achievement for him. On the other hand, the problem with Zac in the first movie was that his singing voice didn't work with the songs. (The songs were probably already written when the casting happened, so they couldn't make any adjustments.) With the later movies, they could write songs that suited his voice.

(Oh gosh, they are so tiny. And Madi and Vanessa are even smaller. I'm still very concerned about the photos with them.😅)

Yeah, I'm also not sure. On the one hand, it's nice that you don't have to worry about what happens if you are positive. On the other hand, it's risky. But their hands are probably tied since there are no Covid regulations in France anymore. 🫤

Yeah, exactly like the seating. Well, enhances your chances of getting everything done. 🤞

Because I have to do a lot of traveling after the con and a poster is so unhandy and easy to damage. Also, I already have a few autographs, and they are photo-sized, so the poster wouldn't fit in. But I'll decide later.

Ok, when your hotel is that far away. Mine's within walking distance. However, because of this, I just checked the way from the airport to the city, and there's a disruption too. 😑 So either bus or taxi. (I hate buses, I hate taxis.😅)

🤞🤞🤞

Yeah, I did. And I already donated. I hope they can raise the money. But with inflation going on … it won't be easy. Would be nice if they got $600 at least. 🤞 Kenny looked so happy when he was informed about it.

Yup. Lot of travel. However, once I'm home, I have an entire weekend to recharge (with the new Pokemon game🤩).

#mac lilly's rambling #anon ask

0 notes

through-blue-eyes · 2 years

Text

Co-Star told me to speak my truths loudly and clearly, or I may lose them in the vast murmur, so I'm taking that as a sign to make a post. I want to try to do this regularly - I am just so freaking busy right now 😩😩 ANYWHO.....

For the past month, honestly, I keep thinking about this incident that happened when I was in second grade. I've never really talked about it before - and I think I need to. I never had a lot of friends in elementary school, pre 5th grade actually was some of the hardest years for me as a child. I grew up lower middle class, in a religious home, so I only wore skirts, and they were usually hand downs. I was an outcast in my class, but there was another outcast too, so we sat beside each other and did our work and things in silence -I actually didn't mind being left alone. That all changed, shortly after I "gave my heart to Jesus" got saved and started to process to be a Christian. I was 8ish - I can't remember what month this happened in the school year so I'm not for sure exactly how old I was (December baby) - I remember I told EVERYONE at school the next day about my Christianity. I was happy, I thought others would be too. Most people didn't care. I do remember the teachers congratulated me though - with the exception of one, she almost seemed to disapprove. Shortly after this happened, within a month, something happened though, and yeah, I'd be lying if I said it didn't still bother me.

I rode public transportation to school, and back then we had assigned seats - I shared my seat with my cousin, who lived in the same holler that I did. There were two younger kids that sat in front of us. I cant remember his name, but I will never forget his tear stained face, blue eyes and blonde hair. I can't remember what I was doing on that bus ride up until I noticed he was upset - he looked terrified, he was crying and we were right at his stop, so I didn't get a chance to talk to him. I remember I asked him if he was okay, and what was wrong, but he wouldn't tell me. I would have (should have) told the bus driver immediately, but where we were at his stop, I didn't. Because he was home.

The next morning I noticed he wasn't on the bus. Shortly after school started, I was called to the main office. There, I was met with an extremely angry father of the little boy, my mother, who looked upset/worried/uncertain, the principal, vice principal and counselor. Someone, the day before had pinched this boy, all over his arms, legs, back, stomach, literally EVERYWHERE. When asked to identify the person who did this to him, I was told the first two times he went though the yearbook, he didn't point anyone out. The third time, he pointed at me, and said that I did it. I tried to explain that I didn't do this, my cousin even spoke for me and said I didn't, but that was dismissed because she was my cousin. I asked to speak with the boy, and that was denied (I understand now, it's victim protection, but I certainly didn't at the time). I tried to defend myself - I didn't sit next to this boy, he was in a different grade then me, how could I pinch him all over if I didn't sit with him? My mom asked about cameras on the bus, at the time there weren't any. My mom did believe me - but she also didn't know how to properly advocate for her child. She was intimidated by the boys father, she even told me this then. And so, despite not having the answers as to how, the fact that he pointed me out, meant that I did it, as far as everyone else was concerned. Because my mom believed me, I didn't get paddled - but I did receive punishment. What got me more than that though, was what one of my teachers did. The same teacher who disapproved of my Christianity. She 'made an example' of me. She had me stand in the hallway, asked the other students if any of them had had issues with me bullying/being mean to them. And some lied, and said that I had made mean comments, or took their things and didnt give them back etc. None of which was true. She then humiliated and shamed me in front of the entire classroom and finished with the line I will never forget "And you're supposed to be a Christian". I think I was in the "doghouse" as they called it for at least a month. You sit by yourself, at a desk that was 5 feet away from everyone else, you were not allowed to speak, you are lunch alone, you went to the bathroom alone, and you didn't receive recess. And that's when I started to get bullied, rather than left alone. It was never physical, it was just words, but they definitely made lasting impressions on me. All of these people who were my peers knowing lying about things that I didnt do, just further cementing that I wasn't welcome, didn't fit in. Didn't belong. I probably should have been put in counseling after that incident. It definitely changed me. I loved school before that happened. But the remainder of elementary was hard after that. That's when I really started to read I think. That's when I started escaping.

This post turned out to be super long 😳 I started writing this at 1:30, and I'm just now finishing it up. (busy, busy). Hopefully getting this out there will get it off my mind. I do feel better after having finally wrote about it. I'm not for sure why I've been thinking about it so much, but maybe this will help.

0 notes

southernersblog · 2 years

Text

Second Week in the Books!

Technically, this weekend had been my third weekend here in Boston. But my first weekend consisted of a fourteen hour travel day where I had layover in Minnesota, of all places, and other complications. This weekend, however, has been the most productive and I can't wait to share all about it!

Starting off with what happened last week I can tell y'all this, tedious prep work sucks but it does make a difference. Last week I told you all a little about the projects I am working on with other workers at Harvard's EASEL Lab. The work, on my end of things, was not as exciting as some would think. It was a lot of printing, drawing, hole punching, stapling, and organizing binders for the teachers. But another set of hands doing this work to get ready for in-person training was very useful. I had helped get all of the binders and prep materials ready for the teacher training happening at the end of last week. We included the strategy guides, student cards, schedules, tips and tricks, as well as other useful tools teachers would need to follow along the two day training. I did not attend this training with my coworkers, instead I held down the fort here. In the meantime of their trip, I had been drafting support emails that will be sent out to teachers every Monday to remind them what this week is about and what they can do to put their training into practice this summer.

We also met a few times over zoom to debrief about the feedback that the teachers gave about their experience, the research EASEL Lab had given them, and what we could do to make it better next year. So far, this has been a very hands on project where none of the teachers have to worry about being left in the dark about what they should try to do next.

As for the weekend, I finally conquered public transportation and downtown Boston. The busses are nicely air conditioned and pretty clean. The trains, red line mostly, are also clean. I cannot say that the train stations smelled good or even decent because of how hot it was this weekend. Still is not what we think of hot in Kentucky but it got up to 90 degrees. So with all the smells that a city usually has plus marinating in the heat and humidity that comes with a coastal state, the train stations were stinky. But I have overcome my fear of trains and busses and plan to definitely use them in the future even if they smell bad.

I had a wonderful New York guide show me around Boston so it was much easier to navigate! We went to Boston Commons and the public garden, which seems to be the most green you'll get in the big city. We walked around all these huge buildings that you had to crane your neck all the way up to even see. We walked around and through Quincy Market, which is the Fayette Mall food court on an insane amount of steroids. You could get anything in that place! It was very packed too, so if you are not comfortable with big crowds I do not suggest Quincy Market on a weekend. From there we walked around the Harbor and I have never been more envious of a bad owner in my life. The water is so gorgeous and the view of the city mixed with it is surreal. After taking my picture of the pretty blue water we went to Northend which is also known as Little Italy. I will be making trips back here mainly for all the authentic food you can get! Everywhere you look and even smell you are met with Italian restaurants that are either wayyy out of budget or surprisingly affordable. We ate at a pizza joint called Locale and it was very budget friendly and worth the trip. I will be going back to try much more food including the infamous Mikes Pastry that everyone says is to die for when you are searching for the right cannoli's.

#boston #beyondberea #massachusetts #harbor #education #internship

0 notes

dreaminginthedeepsouth · 3 years

Link

Early on Sunday morning I was heading to university for a class when a group of women came running out from the women’s dormitory. I asked what had happened and one of them told me the police were evacuating them because the Taliban had arrived in Kabul, and they will beat women who do not have a burqa.

We all wanted to get home, but we couldn’t use public transport. The drivers would not let us in their cars because they did not want to take responsibility for transporting a woman. It was even worse for the women from the dormitory, who are from outside Kabul and were scared and confused about where they should go.

Meanwhile, the men standing around were making fun of girls and women, laughing at our terror. “Go and put on your chadari [burqa],” one called out. “It is your last days of being out on the streets,” said another. “I will marry four of you in one day,” said a third.

With the government offices closed down, my sister ran for miles across town to get home. “I shut down the PC that helped to serve my people and community for four years with a lot of pain,” she said. “I left my desk with tearful eyes and said goodbye to my colleagues. I knew it was the last day of my job.”

I have nearly completed two simultaneous degrees from two of the best universities in Afghanistan. I should have graduated in November from the American University of Afghanistan and Kabul University, but this morning everything flashed before my eyes.

I worked for so many days and nights to become the person I am today, and this morning when I reached home, the very first thing my sisters and I did was hide our IDs, diplomas and certificates. It was devastating. Why should we hide the things that we should be proud of? In Afghanistan now we are not allowed to be known as the people we are.

As a woman, I feel like I am the victim of this political war that men started. I felt like I can no longer laugh out loud, I can no longer listen to my favourite songs, I can no longer meet my friends in our favourite cafe, I can no longer wear my favourite yellow dress or pink lipstick. And I can no longer go to my job or finish the university degree that I worked for years to achieve.

I loved doing my nails. Today, as I was on my way home, I glanced at the beauty salon where I used to go for manicures. The shop front, which had been decorated with beautiful pictures of girls, had been whitewashed overnight.

All I could see around me were the fearful and scared faces of women and ugly faces of men who hate women, who do not like women to get educated, work and have freedom. Most devastating to me were the ones who looked happy and made fun of women. Instead of standing by our side, they stand with the Taliban and give them even more power.

Afghan women sacrificed a lot for the little freedom they had. As an orphan I weaved carpets just to get an education. I faced a lot of financial challenges, but I had a lot of plans for my future. I did not expect everything to end up like this.

Now it looks like I have to burn everything I achieved in 24 years of my life. Having any ID card or awards from the American University is risky now; even if we keep them, we are not able to use them. There are no jobs for us in Afghanistan.

When the provinces collapsed one after another, I was thinking of my beautiful girlish dreams. My sisters and I could not sleep all night, remembering the stories my mother used to tell us about the Taliban era and the way they treated women.

I did not expect that we would be deprived of all our basic rights again and travel back to 20 years ago. That after 20 years of fighting for our rights and freedom, we should be hunting for burqas and hiding our identity.

During the last months, as the Taliban took control in the provinces, hundreds of people fled their houses and came to Kabul to save their girls and wives. They are living in parks or the open air. I was part of a group of American University students that tried to help them by collecting donations of cash, food and other necessities and distributing it to them.

I could not stop my tears when I heard the stories of some families. One had lost their son in the war and didn’t have any money to pay the taxi fare to Kabul, so they gave their daughter-in-law away in exchange for transportation. How can the value of a woman be equal to the cost of a journey?

Then today, when I heard that the Taliban had reached Kabul, I felt I was going to be a slave. They can play with my life any way they want.

I also worked as a teacher at an English-language education centre. I cannot bear to think that I can no longer stand in front of the class, teaching them to sing their ABCs. Every time I remember that my beautiful little girl students should stop their education and stay at their home, my tears fall.

A Kabul resident

#afghanistan #taliban #south and central asia #world news #Kabul #women #girls and women #political

311 notes · View notes