#the same way that my family has always looked forward to it in poland | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lewis-faith · 2 years

Text

Trip 3, day 10. The day started by realising the communal food was getting very thin on the ground so a big shop was needed. We have been stocking up daily on bread and fruit but when the potatoes and onions are running low you know you have a problem.

I took the opportunity to reorganise the cupboards and found lots of things hidden away or in the wrong place. A secret stash of tinned peas was found, only after I had bought a few more tins. Pea soup maybe? We get regular bowls of borsch made by the Ukrainian mothers, I must learn to make this when my crop of beetroot are ready back home.

With a promise of receiving Julia's daughter's visa today and the remaining visa for the new family it was back on my now regular commute to the visa center.

Before I left I met our new volunteer Paul, it just so happened that he had a relative who was living in Poland staying just round the corner from Heavenly Hostel and was able to sleep there. Vlad's mum was also around in the kitchen, she is going to be staying near Birmingham so I showed her a video from YouTube to prepare her for the Brummie accent. She had a go herself and actually took to it quite well. I look forward to hearing some Ukrainian spoken in a solid Brummie accent before to long.

The new family's youngest boy sat up front on the way to the visa office with his dad, this is now a much sought after seat amongst the children. We drive past the airport on the motorway and are usually treated to a plane flying over us at low altitude as it lands.

The news at the visa office was that Julia's visa was ready but not her daughter's, opposite to what we were expecting. I didn't bother trying to unravel this one, it was still a result and we are promised the daughter's is coming today. The new family were informed their last remaining visa was due so it was shaping up ok. We had an hour or so to wait until the visas would actually arrive so I took them all for a drink over the road, at a hotel that had a nice garden area.

To strike up some conversation I asked them for an example of a famous Ukrainian joke, they seemed amused but stumped for an answer. The new family's dad stepped in and typed away on his phone.

I tried to think of a return but struggled to think of anything that would translate properly. I opted instead for teaching the joke "what is black and white and red all over", explaining that "read" and "red" sound the same.

We got back to the visa office and it was unusually quiet, even compared to the day before. We waited in the long corridor of chairs for our numbers to be read out. Whilst waiting I asked Julia if she was afraid or allergic to dogs, her mother was and this was causing us problems finding her parents a host near their daughter. We could only find one host family and they have lots of dogs and cats.

Julia showed me a picture of what I think was a bullmastif, she told me she used to have a dog like that. The catch was it was killed by shrapnel. I didn't know this but her house was bombed when she and her family were there. She showed me pictures of the damage. Luckily no people were injured.

I asked where her house was and Julia showed me on Google Maps, a very small town west of Severodonetsk.

Julia applied for her visa 11 weeks ago so although this city is now very much the focus of media attention that area clearly hasn't been safe for a while. It is hard to understand why the Russian's target tiny nondescript towns in the middle of nowhere, it can only be to terrorise civilians. Julia also showed me the bomb damage to her parents house, they fled last week.

With a journey to Poland taking days and being far from safe it is understandable why the elderly stay put, it is sad to think these decisions don't always work out.

It really should be obvious how bad the situation in Ukraine is. It is also no secret that the British response to needs of Ukrainian refugees has been embarrassingly lacklustre. We live in a world of information and data, the data speaks for itself. When you keep people waiting that just clogs the arteries of aid, and before long the inevitable chain reaction is that people are stuck in dangerous places they would be better off escaping from. Britain is exploiting the stretch of water between itself and the rest of Europe to skulk out of doing its bit, while people are bombed in their own homes. No need to reduce that sentence to a single word or pithy comment.

Julia's visa thankfully had no errors this time and the new family's visa also arrived so we headed home pretty happy. With Tanya and her family leaving for Manchester tomorrow there was gifts of borsch from all angles. Paul very generously offered to fund Vlad and his mother's flight to Birmingham, so that was booked and off they will be on Monday. He also offered me a place to stay in Liverpool on Tuesday, my chances of making the last train home look to be in the 10% range.

I was about to tuck into my helping of borsch and was instead confronted with a late in the day problem. The new family's visa have a potenitial showstopper. Because the dad had been dealing with the officials I hadn't had a chance to check the visas but was intending to do this today. It turns out the kids visas have the dependent listed as the wrong family member. We are hoping this is not a problem but will have to do some checking. As far as I know as long as the dependent listed is travelling with them then that is all that matters, but these things are wildly complicated and will need verifying. Another style of problem to add to the list.

#ukraine refugees #ukraine evacuation

2 notes · View notes

automaticneon · 3 years

Text

Hunting Season

Helmut Zemo X Fem!Reader

Summary: Going into hiding isn’t easy, and you and Zemo have to find new ways to entertain yourselves. Your Baron wants to introduce you to something a little different today.

Warnings: Very not safe for tumblr lmao. BratTamer!Zemo comes out in full force, inappropriate use of a riding crop, impact play, Zemo in leather gloves (that deserves its own warning in my opinion), oral (fem receiving) but with ✨added spice✨

When your new partner Zemo had said that you were going to have to lay low for a while, there was evidently an error in communication.

You see in your world flying under the radar meant months travelling between safehouses and run-down apartments, living out of your rucksack and calculating how long you could make your rations last before you had to emerge to restock.

In Zemo’s world that meant something entirely different.

After his escape in Riga the two of you had rendezvoused and begun the long drive to Austria, hesitant to take the jet out of fear the Dora Milaje would be keeping tabs on it. After two days of driving and an overnight stop in Poland the two of you had finally arrived at the location Helmut had deemed sensible for your hiding place.

A sprawling country manor somewhere between Vienna and Graz.

“I inherited it from my mothers side,” he told you when you first entered the light airy entry hallway, as if it was a common occurrence that someone would inherit such a place.

It was times like these that you were reminded that you and Helmut were not cut from the same cloth, he was a literal Baron and you were only an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D.

Had been. You had been an agent of S.H.E.I.L.D. You were now technically a fugitive of the law, wanted for aiding and abetting the escape of your criminal boyfriend.

It took a lot of time to adjust to your new life in the manor, but Zemo was ever so patient with you. He never berated you for getting lost in the long hallways, was always patient when you asked about the difference between a Baron and an Earl, and humoured you when you quizzed him about the events frequented by aristocracy.

Eventually you began to feel at home. You and Helmut fell into a happy routine of exploring the house and grounds and enjoying each others company.

Of course these activities were all interspersed with a healthy dose of fucking. Frantic, groping sex hiding behind marble statues in the sculpture gallery, giving fashion shows to Zemo in all the new clothes he bought you just so he could tear them off you again, kneeling between his thighs in the parlour whilst he enjoyed his evening whisky.

The two of you couldn’t get enough of each other.

“I should take you to see the stables tomorrow” he muses one night, trailing the tips of his fingers over your exposed back “I want you to meet the horses before I take you out one”

“You should know then that I can’t ride to save my life” you warn.

An amused smile spreads across Zemo’s tired face.

“I beg to differ” he quips roguishly, breaking out into a smug laugh when you slap his chest in admonishment,

“Don’t be crude, I’m being serious!”

“And so am I, you broke me tonight my love. You can be a cruel mistress when you want to be” he says, pressing a tender kiss on the top of your head.

“I learnt from the best” you say, and return the kiss with a brief peck against his chest.

“And I’m sure you’ll learn a lot more”

The sun over the grounds the next morning was bright and crisp, dispelling the mist from the lake and leaving behind a pleasant climate for your walk.

“You look lovely,” Zemo says as you meet him in the entry hall. He’s fixing the lapels of his long brown overcoat in one of the ornate mirrors and his warm eyes find the reflection of yours as you approach from behind. He picks up his trusty pair of worn leather gloves and slides them on, flexing his fingers to soften the material.

Ever the gentleman he offers you the crook of his arm.

“Shall we?”

The two of you make pleasant conversation as Zemo leads you through the grounds of the estate. Today he’s full of promises about the future, it warms you to know he intends to make this last.

“I should take you into Vienna soon, I know a place where they perform Mozart by candlelight”

“Have you been to any races before? We could visit Monaco, or perhaps somewhere in Spain would be less conspicuous”

“I promise we won’t always have to hide like this”

The stable was an old building, as old as the house, but impeccably well maintained. The stalls, of which many were empty, were arranged around a courtyard and as you wondered around the perimeter Zemo pointed to the various amenities.

“Back when we still hosted the hunting season this place would have been filled with horses. My mothers side of the family took great pride in their collection” he said as you stopped to pet the nose of a great black horse.

“You hunt?”

“Not personally, my parents were fans of the tradition of it all” he says, his gloves creaking as he flexes his fingers “I joined the army very young. I suppose when you start killing out of necessity, killing for sport becomes somewhat repugnant.”

You knew very little about Zemo’s time in the army. From what you could gather it had been a particulalry unpleasant time in his life, one born from a sense of duty to his country and a need to establish his place in the world before he took up the mantle of Baron.

Helmut’s aversion to hunting didn’t seem to impact his care towards the horses, he told you each of their names and ages and you admired how healthy and shiny their coats looked.

As you walked he kept a hand on the back of your neck, a possessive little gesture that he had taken to recently. The warm leather of his gloves a relaxing presence as he lead you through the tack room, a clean and chalky white room with a high vaulted ceiling. Your footsteps echoed on the stone floors as you admired the expensive riding gear mounted on the wall, stopping at a collection of leather riding crops.

“Oh Baron,” you teased, plucking one from the wall “very kinky”

Helmut gave you a lazy smile as you reached out and tapped the flat end of the crop against his cheek, huffing out a little laugh before taking it from you.

“Careful there my love, you could do real damage with that.”

You laugh and move to perch on the sturdy wooden worktable in the centre of the room.

“As if I’d ever want to hurt your pretty face, Helmut”

“I’m flattered, but it’s hardly a matter of if you’d want to,” he says, fixated on tapping the crop in his open palm “you need good training to use these properly.”

You narrow your eyes. You’re fairly sure that he’s sizing you up right now, trying to figure out if you’re down for whatever it is he has planned.

You decide to bite the bait.

“Do you think you’re well trained, Baron?”

For a fraction of a second he doesn’t respond, keeping you trapped in his levelled gaze instead. His nostrils flare and he puffs his chest ever so slightly.

“Get up,” he says in a tone that verges on cold.

You obey, but the sparkle of a challenge still glints in the deep of your eyes. If Zemo notices he doesn’t make it known, simply clenching his jaw as you come to stand before him.

“Turn around and put your hands on the table,” he instructs, and you can feel his gaze on you as you comply.

“We’re going to try something new today. You can always say no if you want to,” he says, placing his hand between your shoulder blades and pushing, bending you slightly over the table.

Experimenting wasn’t anything new with you and Zemo, over the last few months the two of you had tried just about everything that took your fancy in the bedroom. You were fairly sure you knew what he had planned, particularly from the way he was using the riding crop to tease the inside of your leg, but you still wanted him to say it out loud.

“What do you have planned?” you ask, and your voice gives out just a little when Helmut uses the crop to make the tiniest slap against your leg.

“Five hits. If you can take five hits I’ll give you something special in return” he says, lifting the hem of your floaty skirt with the crop until it rests on the small of your back and leaves you exposed to him.

You know he’d give you something in return no matter what happened. If you noped-out after one swat? No problem. You had complete faith in this man to make sure you stayed happy and satisfied and so you arch your back a little in anticipation.

Helmut smooths his gloved hand over the globe of your ass, lulling you into a soothed state before stepping back. You don’t look back at him; the silence and the tantalizing suspense only adding to the excitement growing between your legs.

You register the sound of the hit before you register the pain.

The soft whoosh and harsh crack echoes around the high ceilings and bounces off the white-washed walls. It’s not a strong hit, barely even a swat. Zemo had used more force with regular spanks before yet the harsh bite of the leather crop still startles you.

“Alright?” He asks, and finally you turn your head to face him.

A rogue strand of hair dangles over his forehead and his pupils have blown to swallow up his hazel eyes. Helmut looked as though he was holding onto his sanity by a thread, and that was a thread you wanted to break.

You nod, not trusting your voice to remain levelled and instead turn to face forward again to await the second hit.

The next swat was just the same as the first, but with the now tender condition of your skin it hurt slightly more. The third was ever so slightly harder, forcing a yelp out of you and making your nails dig into the wooden table.

Zemo puts down the crop for a moment, coming to stand behind you and hovering his hand over the welts you’re sure are forming on your ass. You peer over your shoulder at him, watching the way his breath comes in quick pants as he examines his handiwork.

His eyes flit up to briefly meet yours before using his teeth to pull off one of his leather gloves and he tentatively brings his fingers between your legs, careful not to touch the tender flesh of your rear. His fingertips gently run along the clothed seam of your pussy, feeling the way your arousal is soaking your underwear.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he quizzes as you tremble under his touch. His fingers find your clit through the fabric and begin to circle it, letting out a low chuckle the way you moan and slouch at the contact.

“God your wet,” he berates, and that momentarily sated spark reignites at his tone.

“I’d be a lot wetter if you actually put your back into it” you quip, and Helmut’s fingers still. You keep pushing.

“I assumed you were trained well with these. I guess I was wrong”

Your Baron doesn’t respond, and you can practically hear the last strands of his self restraint snapping.

Grabbing his discarded glove, Zemo presses himself against you fully, using his weight to pin you down against the table. The expensive material of his trousers rub against the sore skin of your ass, and you can feel his arousal pressed into you as he uses one hand to grasp your jaw.

“You’re going to regret that, мали зека” he warns against your ear, tightening his grip to force your mouth open and stuff it with his leather glove.

Zemo steps back, pulling his other glove off and pressing it into your palm.

“You drop that glove and this all stops. If you don’t, then I don’t want to hear anything else from that smart mouth” he says, picking up the crop and taking his place again.

You love it when he gets like this. When you’ve broken down that cool and collected exterior you know that both you and your pussy will be paying for it for days to come. Not that you have a single complaint about that, though.

The next hit catches you entirely off guard. It’s much harder, causing your skin to warm instantly and your body to jolt against the table. Helmut waits, probably to see if you drop the glove.

When you don’t he delivers the final hit, so harsh that the tears pooling in your eyes spill over, trailing down your cheeks and mixing with the drool that has begun to dribble from the corner of your gagged mouth.

You don’t realise that your face had pressed itself against the table-top until Helmut is pulling you back up. He pulls the glove from your mouth, using one had to smooth your hair away from your face in a soothing gesture.

“It’s over,” He says, pressing his lips to yours in a frenzied kiss “you did so well.”

He shrugs off his coat, placing the material on the table and guiding your head back down, giving you a soft place to rest your head.

“Do you want your reward?” he asks, stepping back behind you again.

“Uh-huh” you nod against the soft coat, all of the fight had been drained from your body, evidently the ability to speak had gone with it too.

You feel as Helmut slowly pulls your underwear over the curve of your ass and down your legs, shushing you softly when you whine over the soreness of your skin. He nudges your feet apart, and you feel him kneeling down behind you.

His hands find purchase around your waist, and he presses a kiss to the skin of your ass, being careful to find a place that doesn’t have any welts. His breath fans across your skin as he moves to press a kiss directly on your pussy, pulling away to listen to your breathy sigh. After the pain, soft and pure pleasure felt so good.

Helmut buries himself into the warm wetness, feasting on your pussy whilst you moan into his coat. His signature smell clings to the fabric and fills your nose, fisting your hands into the silky lining you pull the coat closer to you.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he manages to make you cum like this. All he has to do is bring one of his fingers to circle your fluttering, soaked hole and he has you falling apart on his tongue.

He holds you up as you practically sob into his coat, pressing fleeting kisses against your swollen pussy until your aftershocks stop. Helmut raises to his feet, gently pulling up your underwear and fixing your skirt, trailing kisses up your back until he reaches your head.

“How was that?” he asks, his voice quiet and tender.

“Good,” you push yourself up from the table shakily, letting Helmut keep his hands on your arms to keep you upright “you’re waiting on me hand and foot for the rest of the week though”

Helmut laughs, picking up his jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“Of course,” he says, pulling you in for a tender kiss “your wish is my command”

You kiss him back, smiling into the embrace as a few ideas for revenge spring to mind.

#zemo marry me challenge #my writing #zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo x reader #baron zemo x y/n #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x y/n #zemo x reader #tfatws #marvel #nsft

162 notes · View notes

lag1995-fics · 3 years

Note

Hi!! May I request a dadneto fic of them calling each other dad and son for the first time? 🥰

Of course my love I’m a total sucker for dadneto. ❤️❤️❤️ I hope you enjoy

Dad.

Summary: Peter didn’t need a dad and he was sure Erik didn’t want a loser like him for a son. His father had already had the perfect family and had them snatched from him. Peter like he usually is was wrong.

Warnings: Peter has low self worth and anxiety. There’s a bit of angst but nothing heart wrenching. I don’t even think I cursed this time but I might have.

Pairing: there isn’t one just some good old fashioned father, son bonding. Maybe Cherik if you squint and turn your head to the left.

Words: 1408

Masterlist

Rules

——————————————————————————

Peter had been avoiding Erik like the plague since the older mutant had moved into the school to help with construction. Peter may be twenty seven but telling someone they missed out on twenty seven years of their child’s life wasn’t an easy thing to do. Peter knew if he couldn’t tell the man at the end of the world then it probably wasn’t going to happen.

His issue was he had already opened his fat mouth to Raven who kept trying to trap them in a room alone together. She had even gotten Charles in on it. Sure Erik had a right to know he had another child but it shouldn’t be Peter's responsibility to inform the man he had a child much less adult twins. His mother had really dropped the ball on that one.

Peter was content to just continue living his life as if everything was the same as always. He didn’t need a dad, he was a grown ass man at this point. He was afraid the information would only make Erik even more depressed. He had seen a picture of Nina in his snooping and he had determined that the tiny girl was everything he wasn’t.

She was beautiful with a tiny freckled nose and big blue eyes. She couldn’t be a loser like her big brother who up until a couple of months ago had still been living in his mother’s basement. Why would Erik want someone like him in his life much less as a son.

“Peter you’re spiraling” The professor's voice echoed through his head and Peter groaned frustrated. He pounded on his ear like he had water caught inside.

“Peter you should tell him I can be there with you if you’d like” The professor's meddling voice came again causing Peter to lose that round of Ms. Pac-Man.

“You see Professor, I would do that but I know he doesn’t want a loser basement dweller for a kid.” Peter shot back turning up his music even louder letting the voice of his generation sweep over him. David Bowie was a king and nobody could tell him otherwise.

“Peter, you aren’t a loser, you took on Apocalypse by yourself and lived to tell about it, rather loudly I might add. You also are starting a teaching position here in the fall. You are such a good kind hearted person don’t degrade yourself that way.” Charles scolded. This was an ongoing argument between the two men and it never seemed to change his mind.

“I mean, is a P.E. Teacher even a real teacher Professor?” Peter asked.

“Physical Education is a very important role in children’s lives”Charles retorted to the unconvinced twenty-something. Peter could feel the frustration bubbling up inside him. He jerked in surprise when his watch that was laying on the side table forgotten began to vibrate. He snatched it clasping it around his wrist taking deep even breaths just trying to calm down.

So he inherited more than just the x-gene from his father. He had a secondary mutation, that was just great. He would have to be even more cautious than he already was. He knew Raven would try to trigger this in front of Erik if she found out. Which she would with her brother being a freaking mind reader.

***

“I need all staff members to my office for a staff meeting” Charles' voice echoed loudly in his head. He zipped to the office finding that Charles and Erik were already there. He should have taken his time and the tension could be cut with a knife.

“Peter, how are you? I haven’t seen you around much” Erik greeted the silver haired mutant politely.

“Oh you know I’ve just been around” Peter waved him off and he could feel the professor’s eyes burning into him like Scott’s lasers.

“Peter did you know that Erik will be staying on a our new foreign language professor?” Charles asked and Peter could once again feel the frustration start to bubble up.

“Really? I thought the government gave you an island or something?” Peter asked pointedly, ignoring the professor’s smug grin.

“Well I decided that I should stay, one thing apocalypse was right about was mutants needing to stick together” Erik explained and Peter was suddenly regretting taking this job.

“Isn’t it delightful Erik is fluent in so many languages German, Russian, French, Spanish, and even Polish. Peter isn’t your mother originally from the Ukraine?” Peter wanted to glare at the older man but couldn’t...not without giving himself away at least.

“No she’s originally from Poland she moved to the Ukraine after being liberated with my ciotka” Peter bit out unknowingly feeding Erik valuable information.

“You are Jewish?” Peter wanted to run, he supposed he had Jewish blood he had known his father was Jewish.

“Romani” Peter answered shortly, trying to hint that he didn’t want to talk about it. He also wasn’t technically lying to be Jewish your mother technically had to be Jewish.

“And your last name is Maximoff?” Peter could feel the anxiety build up in his throat cursing his seventeen year old self for dropping the fact that his mother quote “knew someone who could control metal”.

Erik began staring hard at the boy taking in his features. He began to see a resemblance to Magda, his ex wife. He tried to explain it away he was probably Marya’s child, but how likely was it that Marya would give birth to a child with a mutation. He knew that Django and her husband didn’t have any mutation that he knew about.

Erik’s calculating gaze only served to push Peter that much closer to an anxiety attack. He could feel his already swift heart rate pick up even faster with his emotions. He could feel the cool metal of the watch hum and he fought the anxiety. The last thing Peter needed was to give Erik another clue. Controlling metal would be like a neon sign yelling I’m your son.

“Your mother was her name Marya or Magda?” Erik asked, still studying the nervous man. With his mother’s name all the metal in the professor’s office began to hum and vibrate. Peter began internally cussing as Erik’s eyes went wide. He started to bolt out the door but was held in place by his watch and the zipper on his jacket.

“Peter” was all Erik could say and suddenly Peter began to wonder if the professor hadn’t called the staff meeting and only let him and Erik know. That was something he should have expected from Raven not the professor. It seemed being a meddling meddler ran in their family.

“Uh yeah?” He nervously rubbed the back of his neck trying to get the metal in the room to stop vibrating.

“Your mother, her name was Magda” Erik remarked, it was a statement not a question. He couldn’t help but wish the Wanda was here with him. She had always been the smarter twin.

“Ummm yeah” he confessed. Erik’s face looked like a cross between anguish and pure joy. Anguish that he had missed so much of his child’s life and joy that he had been reunited with said child. This was Anya’s baby brother and Nina’s elder brother. Erik knew that he would protect Peter with all of his might from now on. Erik would not waste another moment.

“My son” Erik’s voice was thick with emotion as he started down his adult child. Peter went to look at Charles for help but cursed when he saw that the wheelchair bound man had excused himself without Peter or Erik noticing.

Erik staggered forward wrapping his arms around the man and Peter melted. Peter may not have needed a father but that wasn’t to say he didn’t want one. He had always craved male companionship, he had always looked forward to visiting his aunt and uncle as a child. This was different though this man was his father, something his uncle Django tried to be for him but never really could. Erik’s hug was warm and safe and strong and he suddenly felt like he was fifteen years old again.

“Dad,” he muttered, finally squeezing the older man back fighting back tears. He had thought Erik would be angry, that he would think that Peter was trying to replace Nina. Erik wasn’t angry though, Erik was relieved he had his family. His family might not be whole but at least he had part of it.

“You have my mother’s eyes” Erik informed him, as he pulled back to further examine Peter’s face. Peter had always thought that his eyes were a dull brown, he had always wished they were bright like his mother and sister’s were. He supposed this was better, if he had his grandmother's eyes that meant that a part of her lived on.

Peter knew that he needed to inform Erik of Wanda, but that could wait a few more moments. For now all Peter wanted to do was soak in his father’s acceptance and love at least for a moment

Thank you please feel free to request.

#evan peters #dadneto #peter maximoff #quicksilver #ralph bohner #wanda and pietro #xmen #fanfiction #xmen apocalypse #x men fanfiction #dadneto fanfic #erik lehnsherr #erik Lehnsherr fanfiction #peter maximoff fanfiction #metallokinetic!peter maximoff #request

169 notes · View notes

introvertguide · 3 years

Text

The Life of Roman Polanski

The director of our current movie under review, Roman Polanski, is a man that has been surrounded by sadness and controversy. I think that he is a great director and an amazing creator of the visual arts, but he has a major flaw that makes me very glad he is nowhere near me. I think a statement like that deserves some explanation, but know that a lot of my take is based on opinion. I was not alive when a lot of his issues occurred so I base my opinion on news and official record statements. I will try and rely on recorded facts as much as possible and make a point to mention if something is not proven. I also encourage anyone who is interested to find out more because it is a fascinating story.

Polanski started off the in a pretty bad way as he was born in 1933 in Paris during the height of Nazi reign in Europe. He was moved to Krakow in 1937 right before the German invasion and his parents were taken in raids. He was kept alive in foster homes under an assumed identity and was lucky to survive. His mother died in Auschwitz, but he was reunited with his father after the war in 1946. Roman had quite the artistic eye and used it for both photography and filming. He attended the National Film School in Lodz, Poland and started directing short films that gained recognition. One film in particular was called Bicycle. It was a true story of a thief that tricked Polanski out of his money when purchasing a bicycle and instead beat Polanski around the head with the butt of a gun. The thief was found and eventually executed for past crimes including 3 murders.

After graduating in 1959, Polanski went to France and continued to make short films. He reported that there was a problem with xenophobia at the time since so many Polish people had dispersed around Europe after the war. He went to England and made three movies between 1965 and 1968 that gained recognition in America: Repulsion, Cul-de-sac, and Dance of the Vampires. A young woman named Sharon Tate played a role in Dance of the Vampires and Polanski fell in love. He married her in 1968 in England, and they moved to the U.S. so he could make movies in Hollywood. His first film in the states was a horror film entitled Rosemary’s Baby, one of the highest rated horror films of all time. Polanski had a beautiful young wife, a son on the way, a hit movie with more work coming, and great prospects for life in the United States.

As horrific as his formative years were, I am surprised to find myself writing that this is when Polanski’s life really went out of control. On August 9th, 1969, cult members who followed a man named Charles Manson broke into the Polanski home in Los Angeles and murdered the 8 month pregnant Sharon Tate and four friends that were at the home. Polanski had been working in London on a new film and wasn’t there that night. He says to this day that it is by far the greatest regret of his life. Remember this. It seems that some wires got crossed as far as Roman’s thinking process because his behavior really took a turn.

His films had been dark and violent in the past, but they started to have sexual undertones with more graphic nudity. His first movie back after the loss of his wife was Macbeth, a movie that was rated X at the time for graphic nudity and violence. Polanski later said that he was in a dark place, but the media would find things in his movies always looking for a story. He hated the media after the sensationalism and lack of privacy involved with the loss of his wife and son. Next came an extremely odd road trip sex comedy that was appropriately called What?. And then came his last work filmed in the United States and the film he was probably best known for, Chinatown. I don’t want to go over the film too much since it is the film currently under review for the group, but it is very dark and has an extremely down beat ending.

And then another crime was committed in Polanski’s life that would haunt while simultaneously erasing any good will the American public had for him. He was charged for drugging and raping a 13-year-old girl who modeled for him during a Vogue photoshoot. It was recorded as occurring at the Bel Air estate of Jack Nicholson. There is no question about this encounter as Polanski was arrested and confessed to the charges. He thought he was going to receive probation and timed served for a guilty plea, but the judge was reported to have changed his mind and was planning to reject the plea and give Polanski prison time for all charges. This would result in up to 50 years in jail and what amounted to life in prison. Polanski would not serve this sentence so he fled the country to France where he would not be extradited.

The charges are still pending and there is no statute of limitations on rape in the United States, so Polanski is on a list of people that if found outside of certain countries will be immediately sent back to the U.S. to face charges. He has dual citizenship in France and Poland; both countries do not extradite citizens. He went on to make one of his best works, a film called Tess, while in Europe. It was a great success and Polanski was nominated for Best Director. The film ended up winning three Academy Awards (none for Polanski). So it seemed that this acclaimed director would live in France and hope that things would blow over. He settled a civil suit in court with the girl and she went on to marry and says she forgives Polanski. But it didn’t end...

Because the woman was in the U.S. and Polanski was not, she was harassed by the press to speak out and tell her story. She reported that the media did much more harm to her and her family than Polanski did. That is a very strong statement considering the charges. Things finally cooled down somewhat when Polanski married an actress from one of his films, Emmanuelle Seignor in 1989. The couple have two kids together and things were apparently going fine in France.

Things remained well through the 90s although nothing Polanski did got much attention. It seemed he would simply live out his life quietly in France. Then in 1999, he came out with a film called The Ninth Gate that garnered attention since it starred the very popular Johnny Depp. Polanski was back on his game and he directed and produced a film called The Pianist. It stars Adrian Brody and told the story of a Polish-Jewish composer who survived the concentration camps because of goodwill received from German officers that appreciated his work. It is a masterpiece and earned Polanski the award for Best Director. He could not accept the award in person because he would be arrested, so Harrison Ford accepted it on his behalf and took it to him in France. A strange little detail about this is that The Pianist was also up for best picture, but stirrings about Polanski’s past were brought up by a competing producer to throw the award. There is no real proof of this, but the man said to have done this was quite powerful in Hollywood at the time. Ironically, that man who was said to remind people of old rape charges was none other than Harvey Weinstein. I don’t have proof of this, but it is an interesting story. One of those “I heard it is said that” kind of things from TMZ.

Anyway, these reminders had people trying to interview Polanski and his wife about the past and he basically said that people needed to move past it. This does not tend to go over very well with the American public or the legal system and Polanski was arrested while in Switzerland and held in Zurich. Public sentiment in America, France, and Poland leaned towards Polanski being sent to America to face trial. The Swiss judge denied extradition and Polanski was sent back to France. There were requests in 2014 by US courts that Poland send Polanski to stand trial since there was question concerning the conduct of the original judge in Polanski’s case. It was believed that Polanski would be given some form of probation, but it also meant he could travel. Polish courts ruled that Polanski had served his punishment and should not have to face U.S. courts again. In 2016, it was presented by Polish officials that no amount of time could account for the crime of rape, but the decision of the lower court was held.

In 2018, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences removed Polanski as a member. Strangely, that same year, they offered a membership to his wife (who loudly said no).

So the final say about how to feel about Polanski and his works lies firmly on the individual. Here is all the information about the trial that can keep it nice and ambiguous for you. The judge, the lead prosecutor, and the LA County Deputy DA at the time all admitted bias against Polanski. He would not have gotten a fair trial and would likely have ended up in prison for life. The prosecutor said later in an interview for a documentary that he was not surprised at all that Polanski left and it would have been a media circus. Polanski paid the victim almost a million dollars in civil settlement money and she said she doesn’t want to see any further prosecution. Okay. In 2017, a website run by Matan Uziel was sued by Polanski for libel when it was posted that 5 other women had come forward and accused Polanski of sexual assault. Polanski did not show up in court so Uziel was dismissed of charges. Uziel requested specifically that the cases not be dropped so that Polanski could not try and sue him at a future date. It is true that, in 2010, an English actress accused Polanski of “forcing himself” on her during filming of the movie Pirates. In 2017, a Swiss woman accused Polanski of raping her in the 70s when she was only 15. The same month, another woman accused him of assaulting her in 1975 when she was only 10. Finally, in 2019, a former actress model from France said that Polanski violently raped her at a Swiss chalet in 1975.

So what can you say about the man? His early life was tragedy and misery. The loss of his wife and child was horrific. He seemed like he was in a very bad place in the 70s. I don’t want to give credence to accusation without proof, but it can be sure that he committed at least one sexual assault of an under aged girl. He ran from his trial because he knew it would not be fair, but he was still never held accountable in a court of law for what he did. He has been forced to stay in Poland and France, but he is wealthy with a wife and kids, never seeing the jail time for what he did. And if it is true that he has committed other crimes like this, then he needs to be in jail. But could he ever get a fair day in court at this point? The man is 87 and will likely die soon, likely before any sentencing could occur. Also, how reliable is testimony from any parties about things that happened between 40-50 years ago? Everything he is accused of seems to have happened after the death of Sharon Tate and before his marriage to his current wife, so it seems like his behavior was linked to his state of mind and he is no longer in that state. That may explain things but it does not forgive them.

I don’t know. This is probably why I chose psychology instead of law enforcement or criminal justice. Trying to decide if someone has adequately paid for crimes they have committed is not my specialty. It will be a moot point soon enough because he will be dead. So what do we do with the guy? He has encountered both great suffering and great joy in his life. He as also caused great suffering and great joy. I guess it is more about how he will be remembered at this point. I would be curious to hear what others think.

#roman polanski #sharon tate #chinatown #rosemary's baby #film director #extradition #court charges #life and times #assault #70s #media coverage #introvert #introverts

12 notes · View notes

bigbeautifulmothwoman · 3 years

Text

Family Values Ch. One

Martin Mathias x (S/I) Lena Wilusz

Braddock nightlife is almost non-existent, and that was how most of its residents liked it. A collection of old and new, families and singles. Braddock was religious, intended to be pristine under the light of the sun and quiet in the dark of night.

Braddock was not the best place for Martin to be. Martin Mathias, young and inquistive. Preferred his hair longer but dressed simply. He always felt as though he stuck out like a sore thumb by his mere existence, and as such worked tirelessly to make himself as unassuming as possible. Dressed plain, acted plain; he kept to himself in town, never wanting to make a fuss…

...So he took the night train to the next town over. By train or bus, it was about thirty to fourty-five minutes to Pittsburgh, close enough to be back home in time but far enough that his name wouldn't reach back to his family's ears. The day was for showing Tata Cuda that he was in fact not a monster; the night was to be one.

Stepping off the train in the Pittsburgh station, he found his way into directions towards the bustling center of town. If Martin was any one thing, it was careful. He always got what he needed, safely and how he wanted it. His first nightly adventure in Pittsburgh, he had decided, would be reconnaissance. Just thinking the word made him feel like a man out of the movies- he was already armed with the tools of his trade, packed away neatly inside the small leather case he carried them in. Just in case, he thought.

Just in case.

This night he wandered around town looking aimless, taking note of what kinds of things the place offered. It was already more diverse than Braddock was: a few larger grocery stores, a candy store, a small theater, and a multitude of restaurants lined the streets along with a number of other things to enjoy. Unlike Braddock, there were still a number of people roaming around at this hour; couples and singles alike. Martin finds it strange to see so many people out on an average night, the clock just barely hitting nine p.m. But this was only natural, he was only used to small towns after all.

The man comes to a stop rounding out his investigation back onto the strip of restaurants he'd passed before; his stomach growled. Dinner at his home wasn't always substantial, especially when he had no say in the menu. It was another night with a half full plate of something he could barely stomach. A decent amount of cash tucked in his pocket leads him into the first establishment that catches his eye.

The place was called The King's Tavern. His first thought was that his feet were leading him to some kind of bar, but stepping inside gave him an entirely different sensation. He couldn't understand how a place could look so much like his black white thoughts and yet still make him feel so...safe and comfortable. The entire inside was lit by false lamplight, with wooden tables and chairs. Some corners had booth seating with velveteen lined seats. His first instinct was somewhat correct, there was a small bar space with a woman standing behind it mixing drinks and pouring ales into steins. In this place, everyone else was out of place. For him, it was like stepping back into his own eastern Europe.

Confidence beside him, Martin slides into one of the available booths, still not looking for extra attention. He sat, waited, observed, and he saw her. A woman approached another table just before his. Somewhat petite, a corset keeping her linen blouse tucked against her skin and resting just over the waist of her skirts. An apron was tied around her waist, adorned with colorful floral embroidery in contrast to much of the dimmer atmosphere. Her face is soft but her eyes exhausted, a notepad and pen readied in her hands.

"All I'm saying is, the point is moot if you aren't going to keep everything to fact. No one in the 15th century would be wearing sneakers or have synthetic fabrics."

"Sir please, this is just a restaurant-" The woman tries to keep her cheerful work façade up despite her frustrations.

"It's just a little bit of extra effort, for the true authentic experience." The customer insists. By the look on the woman's face, Martin can tell a nerve has been hit.

"Well sir, the cobblers been ill and price of linen is up. We can make you a meal, but you'll get no women here. Now, can I get you something?" A thick European accent coats over her words, sounding impeccably natural. Martin can see that finally the man in front of him is appeased enough to let her slip from his attention and finally move onto his table. She sighs one more time before him.

"Good evening sir and welcome. Have you been with us before?"

“Ah, no, this is my first time. A-and uh. I’m sorry about...that-“ He says.

"O-oh...Thank you. It's kind of stupid, people seem to get really...annoyed? Irritated? Something like that. They don't even know what it's like there...only ever seen it in books. I'm sorry, you came to eat not to listen to me talk, please, what can I do for you?"

"I only have so much cash...do you have something easy? As, as long as it isn't stuffed cabbage?" He must have said something funny, because the woman chuckles happily at his remark.

"I'll surprise you then. And no cabbage, I promise." She departs as quickly as she comes, leaving Martin to sit in his own quiet. Shifting his fingers, eyes darting between spaces of decoration. His hands itch to dig into his bag and reset the organization of his tools another time, just to ensure they're in their proper places.

He keeps his hands planted on the table. You don't know who's watching, Martin.

He breathes a sigh of relief when the woman returns with a plate of food in her hands and a glass of water.

"I hope water's fine, I forgot to ask what you wanted… I can get you something else too."

"This is fine, thank you."

"Swell! I uh. I hope this isn't too forward but...do you mind if I ate with you? My shift is ending soon and my boss is letting me grab some dinner because of the time...and really I just don't want to sit alone. I-if it's not okay that's fine! I just thought I'd...give it a shot." Martin bites his tongue. Instead of speaking, he gestures towards the seat opposite him in invitation.

"Oh thank you! Let me go get my plate!" She scurries off again.

This was a surprise. Never in all his years, or at least the recent ones, had a woman throw herself so willingly towards him. Perhaps there was something new to him? No, he was sure everything was quite the same when he got up that morning, and no sickness magically changed anything about him. Not that there was any magic at all. Once again, she's back in his sight, another plate and glass in hand.

"I just got us both the same thing. Leftovers of today's rouladen special, leniwe pierogi, and some vegetables. No cabbage, I made sure!" She laughs again.

"I hope you enjoy it." She says.

"Thank you." They both dig in, enjoying their meals in relative silence as life continues around them. Martin is reminded of a past time, sitting at a table in quiet comfort, candles burning and exchanging longing glances sat on either side of the wood between them…

"Uhm...may I ask your name?" Martin wakes from his daydream once again, eyes now fixated on her, blinking slowly.

"Ah. It's...Martin."

"Pleasure to meet you Martin. My name is Lena. Lena Williams."

"...Lena?"

"Yeah...it's Americanized. Magdalena Wilusz, my family is from Poland."

Something somewhere in him felt like a dream came true.

A stout older man approached their table, two glasses in hand. He assumed, and assumed correctly, that this man must of been her boss, and the owner.

"Mr. Kaufmann, what's this for?"

"On the house, dear. You've worked hard this week, just enjoy your weekend off."

"...Thank you sir."

"My boss," she says, "he's a good man, really looks after us. He really is too kind…" She takes hold of one drink, glass frosting with cool condensation from the liquid inside. She takes a drink with eyes closed, sighing.

"It's really good, sweet like apples. Try some!" Martin is unsure what’s been brought to the table, but he trusts her. And she’s right, the flavor is light, crisp, and refreshing. The thought crosses his mind that this is alcohol, and alcohol can make him clumsy and clumsy is not what he needs if he is intending to feed, which wasn’t his intention in the first place with this trip… But the bite of it is only as harsh as cold lemonade in

summer and encourages him to continue swallowing the drink down as he enjoys his meal. The two continue talking, drinking as the evening winds down in the dining room and their food dwindles.

“H-huh, oh dear, its getting late isn’t it...this is about the time the bars start letting out...s-shit- oh! Sorry, I usually d-don’t curse…” Lenas face is molded with concern as the minutes continue to tick down. He thinks she must be worried about the influx of men flooding into the streets…

“I...i could walk you home…?”

“Martin, I couldn’t burden you like that-“

“You’re worried, a-about the people? You drank some and just want to get home safe, right?”

“...Yes. Even when I eat I leave fast...you’re really a gentleman aren’t you, Martin? I’m sure...I can find something to repay you.”

“I-I’m sure you can, if that’s what you...need to do.”

Martin was ecstatic. It still raised a conflict in his somewhat addled mind, but the ease of solving his sickness for one night also held high. As minutes passed on, the facts and choices began to swirl into a haze. Dinner was finished and the plates left to the closing staff. Coats were donned, Martin's bag of tools secured, and on they went with Lena leading the way. She kept herself steady by clinging onto his jacket sleeve, pointing out vague instructions to her home. It wasn't very far at all, if not a roundabout from her place of work. Just under thirty minutes from the restaurant, only taking so long due to their somewhat inebriated states.

"S-see? Not too bad...thank you Martin. You're such a sweet guy…" Lena says, finally arriving at her front door. She's still unsteady on her feet, wobbling just a bit as she stares down at her hands and the concrete steps.

"S-so, Martin...do you… mind if I do something stupid?" The man in question remains silent, merely nodding a positive response. Sure of herself, she plants her lips to his, fisting her shaking hands into his coat.

"U-uh, if that was b-bad of me, I'm s-sorry, uhm...but. Y-you're welcome to come in, j-join me-"

“Join me, Martin."

Echoes of her flitting about dim halls in a white gown guided his hand over hers, turning the handle and letting them both inside. He was going to do this. He was going to do...something. Combined, they bypass the dark living room and go straight through to her own space. Her room is messy, as that of any busy employee's, and gently illuminated by the one wide window with the drapes drawn open. A socket mounted night light assisted the moon in keeping the floor lit. Returning from a quick trip to the bathroom, she stands anxiously by the bed.

"I-i uhm...i-i don't know what to do, I-ive never...brought someone b-back like this…"

"I-its okay. I know what I'm doing. I-i'm careful." He tells her. It's a truth and a lie mixed together, not fully aware of what outcome will occur. Both of them have toed off their shoes, and again Martin guides Lena to her back, on her bed. She's softly cradled by her sheets, and when he rests his forehead to hers, she kisses him.

In the time that Lena was gone, Martin was quick. In moments, he prepared an appropriate dose of his sleep agent, and carefully stowed the exposed syringe inside his jacket sleeve. Knelt over her, he runs his hands up and down her legs, both removing her skirt and seeking out the best spot for injection in her thighs. He finds his chosen location, squeezing gently as she sighs. Again, he kisses her as he maneuvers the needle carefully and pushes down on the plunger. Breathless, her eyelids already begin to flutter.

"W-wha...M-martin, what was that…?" She questions, her voice high and airy.

"Don't worry, i-it'll...it'll make you feel better." Lena, now on her path to sedation, he begins removing his own clothes. First shirking his coat, he gets back up to carefully place the now empty syringe on the beside table, and follows up by then ridding himself of his pants. Next he goes towards her top, fiddling with the ties to loosen and remove the corset over her linen shirt, her own fingers lacing into his to pull the strings apart. He continues to run his hands over her exposed skin as the sedative runs its course through her veins. She sighs softly, the gentle treatment combined with the power of the sedative and alcohol has her eyes barely fighting to keep open. She finally succumbs to sleep as Martin cradles her face and kisses her nose.

“It's all going to be okay…” He promises to her sleeping body. Finally, he’s safe enough to do away with both of their shirts and her bra.

Her skin was perfect, soft. It was of course marred by a cocktail of imperfections: stretch marks, discoloration, one generous scar on her belly. But it was warm and comforting to the touch. He no longer needs to kneel over her, the next step…Without gathering his materials, he lays beside her, pulling her close in imitation of a loving couple.

He is so tired… He keeps admiring her skin. The minutes pass as he tucks her limbs into his own body. In her sleep she takes advantage, wrapping herself tighter around him, fingers coming to rest delicately on his cheek.

Martin was there to be a monster. He was supposed to take and leave as easily as he came, then to never see her again.

Instead, Martin falls asleep.

#martin 1977 #martin mathias #fanfic #Lola writes things

3 notes · View notes

everydayanth · 4 years

Text

American Beauty Standard: A Brief History and Modern Application

I learned this in an anthropology class and I don’t remember the resources, but I know one of them was Tocqueville talking about the American obsession with committees and associations as a way to accomplish tasks with people from tons of different cultures and backgrounds and no formal aristocratic class.

So, back in the day of colonial America all the way through like... probably modern day if we’re honest, wealthy families that came to America kept strong ties with relatives or positions in their home countries. When their sons came of age to marry, they would often find a wealthy upper-class woman from their home country or ethnic background to wed, which meant that wealth circulated the culture it was coming from. A wealthy English lad would go to London and find himself a lady to bring to the US, a wealthy Frenchman would stay with his family in Paris or wherever, the would tour the continent blah blah, and come home with an upstanding lady of the gentry.

UNLESS an American girl could catch their interests first. This was why American girls were taught independent skills (homemaking rather than the class skills of entertaining), why they were allowed to marry for love (lack of a gentry class and singular cultural/social rules to follow), and why, at the end of the day, beauty became the most valuable tool.

Because a poor American girl who was beautiful and useful could out compete the European class rules of etiquette to secure herself a wealthy husband. And if you start there and work your way forward, our obsessions with smart or pretty girls (but watch out for too-smart or too-pretty), our beauty pageants and cosmetics advertising, our taboos and traditions, our girl vs. girl competition, it all starts to make sense.

Because being beautiful, witty, and useful meant you could be noticed and loved or admired, and married to a wealthy man. Wealth meant comfort and comfort meant safety and safety meant security and security meant freedom. Isn’t that what we all want? Isn’t that what we still want? Aren’t we still just competing for independence, for respect and freedom? Same tools, in many ways the same world. Girls fighting over college admissions, internships, medical research funds, they aren’t any different from girls competing in beauty pageants or arts, it’s always about freedom and for some, beauty is a way to get there.

There are a lot of socially aware people on the internet and I just wanted to add this nugget of history to the conversation about beauty standards. We seem to be aware that being able to follow trends is a sign of wealth, we seem to easily discuss that beauty standards themselves are an impossible oppressive tool to control and manipulate, and we are perfectly blunt about the wealth of industries capitalizing off insecurities. I wanted to bring this history into the conversation as well. Because like it or not, competition and our ability to be “wives” has historically been part of “American” culture since colonization, and that includes an incredible amount of isolated puritan and protestant extremists coming to the “new world” because their countries called them out on some bullshit or maintained economically exclusive advantageous relationships with their leaders.

Anyway: American [white] female beauty standards begin with competition for wealthy husbands and the illusion of comfort and freedom they could provide (with plenty of truth to the illusion) and still exists today. American girls were taught to “make” a home as a resource for their husbands while their European counterparts (of the same [similar] class) were often taught to entertain and host within the home as an accessory to her husband’s success, as expected by their class and/or station (often equally oppressive).

There are so many other interesting components to the conversation as well and I just figure that if we’re interested in having it at all, I might throw some other things out here:

WARNING: Long geeking rant about individual body adaptions and why they are incredibly beautiful follows:

Like how male beauty also evolved, with Americans emphasizing the fitness of a laborer or farmer, becoming the independent middle class, while their middle class European counterparts were often more slight and “intelligent” (relative, as perceived by access to education) businessmen, lawyers, doctors, etc., as they retained the inherited gentry and the American self-made man became more desirable to American women who had no single cultural courtship ritual and so relied on love and picking out a reliable husband based on their own choosing (which leads to its own conversation on American victim-blaming in assaults on females, especially when combined with that puritan past).

Which is then complicated further when looking at pockets of immigration where different adapted physical male bodies are living next to one another in America (the Dutch and Polish of W. Mich are a great example). They are separated by countries in Europe, so their different builds are suddenly compared in an entirely new environment that doesn’t necessarily fulfill their previous adaptions (MI isn’t as cold as Poland, so the shorter stature isn’t as useful, while the sexual selection of the tall Dutch male remains, it isn’t as differentiated from other larger Europeans (like lowland Germans and Scandinavians), and so isn’t as genetically insulated.

Anyway, these are all focused on “white America,” other cultures and ethnicities will also have changing and adaptive standards for different reasons. There are also some we will share as a whole culture. We’re having smaller families so each child will want to be the most healthy available. Guess what big booties are a sign of? Healthy babies (the type of rich fat stored in the butt is used to help form baby brains and shit), so as a general correlation, humans tend to figure out that curves = healthy babies. As our family-size expectations get smaller with the lowering of infant mortality and rise of individual life expectancy/health/comfort of average citizen, and as we push the age of first conception, we want to make sure that one-shot kid is healthy af.

Being black anywhere but the American South is hard, and even that’s muggy and wet as opposed to the drier conditions of the west coast of Africa many African Americans were adapted for when brought as slaves. Which means the likelihood of being vitamin D deficient is higher, without being too crass or negating to address social racism issues, I’ll round it out and say we’re all going to eventually have a Brazil effect, where people living in areas for a long while will adapt to them or “breed into” them and we all become a similar middle skintone. The SW US is going to be more “Mexican” because that’s the “proper” (ie most useful) adaptive skin tone to protect from the changing climate there, while those in a place like the Olympic Peninsula in WA are going to be a bit lighter as an adaption to the weather, but probably not as white as Europeans.

What is natural for an area’s skintone is also based on diet. The Inuit and Sami live at a similar parallel but the Inuit are much darker skinned on average. Why? Well, they eat more fish and seafood with Omega3s and Vitamin D (therefore needing less of the Vitamin D to enter through skin from sunlight) and live often on open plains (therefore absorbing more sunlight when it is there), while the Sami eat more red meats from reindeer herds with less Vitamin D, and travel through fields/forests (therefore needing more Vitamin D to enter through skin which results in lighter skin).

My favorite statistic I ever learned was that on average, an African’s skin can absorb NINE TIMES more sunlight than their European counterpart without getting burned. Nine times! For one hour in the hazy European sun, a black person would need to spend nine (+) to get proper Vitamin D amounts, while in Africa, a white person after ONE HOUR would begin to burn from too much uv. That’s so cool! Bodies are crazy awesome!

That applies to hair texture as well, black hair is often coiled to protect the head (you know, cus we stand on two legs and it’s in the sun all the time). Two inches of coiled black hair can dispose of that 9x uv by holding onto water and a bunch of other crazy amazing processes, while two inches of white hair generally dries quickly and lies flat against the head to insulate and keep warm, not expel heat.

Hair, eye, and skin color are all affected by melanin counts in the body (or melanocytes, which is where melanin is created, including collections of melanin at melanocytes which cause freckles and moles!), lots of melanin produced by the body makes someone darker skinned, but that doesn’t mean they need the coiled hair protection from the sun, which gives us so many varieties of follicle shape (which is what defines the curl tightness or looseness of a hair, with round holes producing straight hair and curved/slanted holes producing curls and coils like how you curl a Christmas ribbon with scissors, which means yes, you can have curly patches on your skull, your hair will change as you grow and based on your diet, hydration, products, etc.).

Having little to no melanin makes someone “albino,” or extremely light (which affects eyesight as having little or no pigment in the iris doesn’t shield the retina from light, though some may simply have extremely low pigment with light blue eyes). There are in-between colors like red hair, hazel/green eyes, and highly-freckled skin that result from different concentrations of melanin in different parts of the body, and there are things like heterochromia (different color eyes) which result from different concentrations of melanin in the same body part, and other things like Vitiligo (what Michael Jackson had), where concentrations in melanin change overtime, in this case from the shutting down of melanocytes which then produce little or no pigment for the skin, causing patches of whiteness.

There are so many ways for bodies to be different from one another and it’s incredible when you start to understand how unique our individual combinations are! Nose size is a direct correlation to air humidity, as are our sinuses. Face shape can often be the result of language, people from the American midwest accent will have rounder cheek apples from pulling their mouths wide and working different muscles than those with say, an RP British accent who pull their jaws down and cheeks in instead of wide on many vowels, resulting in more defined cheekbones. Jawlines are a symbol of genetic diet, if you have a less defined jaw, your ancestors were probably coastal people, more adapted to seafood proteins, which requires less chewing than those in higher altitude and mountain regions, which would require herds of red meat or poultry for protein, which is more chewing, plus the different textures plants must have to grow at different altitudes and climates. This is a loose correlation and there are plenty of other factors that combine to make different results, but they always fascinate me!

Why are African men often stereotypically faster than Europeans? Because their adapted environment is often flat savannah and adaptions for running long distances and fitting the climate generally involve being tall to expel more heat through the skin (while a cold-adapted person is generally more stout and short to keep more heat in with less skin surface area – there are always exceptions for other reasons, the Dutch are tall due to sexual preference of females, the African Baka people are shorter due to reasons still being discovered, most recently it is thought to due with denying puberty growth hormones because denying them retains immunity to certain dangers found in the environment or provides some advantages over niche environments). Part of being adapted tall and slim to dispel heat (Allen and Bergman’s laws for you curiosos) is that pelvises are more narrow, males even more than females, and narrow hips mean more straight femurs rather than the slight bow of wider/rounder hips, which means, if you go to physics, a faster turnover with no need for overcorrecting the bow, and less strain on joints. While a European body adapted to its environment would require different survival adaptations, the bow of the femur allows for less speed, but often more agility for moving through forests and up and down highland slopes and rocky craigs. Again, there are always exceptions, which is why you cannot identify race by a skeleton, though there are probabilities.

Adaptions to altitude are their own category and they begin from birth and before. It’s so cool! Being born in high altitudes develops larger lungs for taking in more oxygen in the less oxygen-dense atmosphere, which can develop into barrel lung, where the chest is nice and round like a barrel to allow the lungs full expansion. That’s so cool! When I go to higher altitudes, my sea-level coastal body is just like... wheeze. I also broke a bunch of ribs and they don’t expand easily due to complications, so it’s even harder for me to be at a higher altitude now, being adapted to it if I have to live there sounds ideal.

We seem to understand things like race are a result of biological adaptation to environments, but we don’t often carry on the conversation past that. What does adapting to climate change look like? What about colonization and immigration? What about pollution? What adaptions happened in the past, did we lose them when they were no longer necessary? How long does it take for people to become adapted to a new environment? Generations? Why do we socially present some things as more desirable than others? Why do we create beauty standards at all? How does a shared culture of diverse backgrounds even have a “standard?”

Everything comes down to predicting health and trying to live longer, to protect ourselves from danger. Whether that’s trying to be accepted by an outsider community or blending in with the “standard” at large, our understanding of beauty will continue to change as our social, political, economic, and climate/environment aspects of our shared culture change as well. For me, learning about why my body is the way it is was endlessly enlightening. Any doubts about my big nose (which was also broken, so bigger than my relatives’) are quelled by understanding that it helps humidify and avoid that horrible feeling I hate in dry air where it feels like my nose is going to start bleeding (I’ve only gotten it in saunas though). Moving around the country helped too, I understood a lot more about the purpose of those adaptions and saw how different localized beauty is marketed.

In Southern California, along the coast, the ocean spray makes everyone’s hair a bit curly, the humidity is high and I loved it (Jake, not so much). But the sun got to me. I got so many new freckles and my skin was always a bit dry, I had to work extra hard to stay hydrated and moisturized (even though my Polish side tans really well and I don’t burn easily, I was always dehydrated). Then we moved up to Seattle and I loved it even more! My hair stayed curly (though I’ve since learned that shower water and products make the biggest difference), I got more freckles as my skin adapted to not needing so much melanin and my hair got a lot darker for a while, my eyes seemed to get lighter in San Diego, which was crazy (and kinda cool). Then we moved to the desert-desert, the straight Mojave, and my body did not love it. I smelled all the time (dry air, my sweat is made for humid, but not too humid lol, that’s why I think white people smell in Asia and it’s not just a stereotype), my hair got sun-bleached and I lost a lot of the curl, it wasn’t the worst, but I was only there for a few months. Then we came to New England and I started to notice the change in trends and how my own preferences had changed in beauty and fashion. Marginal peripheral influence will do a lot and I can’t imagine living in that with none of the “qualifying” standards.

So basically, I’m writing this book of a post to say that if we step back and look at all the pieces, they have reasons, some of them shallow, others valid, but that they are changing and will always be changing and so is all of humanity. Your body is doing amazing things to protect you every single day, beyond digesting your food and feeding you dopamine. Every single thing about it has a purpose and a goal or a reason, except for maybe genetic mutations. I’m not going to go stand on a hill and say you’re missing an arm or your body hates you for a reason, my body built my stomach outside of me during fetal development and I promise that was just a fuck up, there was no reason (but my mom will tell you there was and it was God).

Bodies are crazy cool, sometimes they mess up and make cancer and don’t notice and it gets too big and we need help. Sometimes they only have one red-haired gene and we get blonde and brunette men with confusing bright red beards (lol, Jake), sometimes we’re in the middle of an adaption and we get patchy beards while living in a society that values them (looking at you, boys from genetic lines of men adapting to humidity where beards kinda suck or cultures that don’t like them). Sometimes we have been moved to a place where our genes aren’t as advantageous or actually hurt us and we don’t know about it or have to work harder than others to stay healthy, and sometimes our native or natural diet isn’t available to us and we work really hard to stay healthy but our bodies just don’t respond because they can’t or won’t.

For some people it feels overwhelming, or blasphemous, to talk about humanity as a whole, to look at ourselves as a single version of all the endless possible combinations of changes that can happen in a body, but I find it incredible! There is no one like you, but there are people who are similar, there are places where you’re perfect and there are cultural adaptions to help you when you’re not. Understanding the reason or purpose behind the body’s reasons for selection or change, combined with the lottery of your localized DNA options from your parents and potential genetic mutations during development and later in life, understanding that the body is always changing and adapting to what is best for you or catching up from past changes can explain so much of ourselves!

I just think it’s really cool!

I used to geek out about it a lot more and Jake would play a game where he would point at a face and ask me to guess their genetic heritage or combination of peoples/geographies. He still does it sometimes, I’m pretty good at it, but it’s more fun to be wrong and surprised, if I’m honest. Humans are just cool.

That being said, if there’s a thing about yourself you don’t like or don’t understand, that you feel doesn’t fit in to beauty standards and never will (for me, it was my nose and freckles, why so many freckles?), shoot me a message and I’ll do my best to tell you why it might be a thing so you can appreciate the incredible diversity of your own body as it adapts to your ancestors’ forced or willing migrations and changes to fit its new environments!

American beauty standards are complicated, but if there is one thing they always revolve around, it’s a humble confidence in your own value. I found that value in others, in seeing how intricate and unique humans are from each other, which lead to an appreciation of my own unique pieces. No industry standard or media pacification can take that or change it or judge it, because it’s your body doing its absolute best with the tools it has to protect you and make you the safest and most comfortable you can be in any place of the world. <3

#thanks for coming to my ted talk #sorry for the book #sorry not sorry #adaption #humanity #beauty standards #american beauty standards #anthropology #culture #society #beauty #beauty trends #diversity #unique

140 notes · View notes

ladyherenya · 3 years

Photo

Books read in October

I read a paperback book for the first time in over three months months and was sharply aware that I couldn’t change anything about the way the text was displayed to make it more comfortable to read. I wondered, sadly, if I no longer like reading physical books.

Then I became engrossed in the story, and there were long stretches of time when I didn’t think about how I was reading a brick of printed paper. I turned pages as automatically and effortlessly as breathing. I think I was just out of practice.

This month’s Unintentional Colour Scheme: pink, purple and light blue.

Favourite covers: The Time-Traveling Popcorn Ball and The Other Side of the Sky.

Also read: “Good Neighbors” by Stephanie Burgis and Tiny House, Big Love by Olivia Dade. (And half a romance novel which I disliked and have no interest in remembering or reviewing.)

Reread: The last section of The Beckoning Hills by Ruth Elwin Harris. The middle section of Hunting by Andrea K. Höst.

Still reading: Between Silk and Cyanide by Leo Marks, and Angel Mage by Garth Nix.

Next up: The Switch by Beth O’Leary, and Hamster Princess: Little Red Rodent Hood by Ursula Vernon.

The Time-Traveling Popcorn Ball by Aster Glenn Gray: A magical story of time-travel and of friendship between eleven year old Piper, who has just moved into a new house, and Rosie, who lived in the same house fifty years earlier. It’s totally charming, and exactly the sort of story I adored growing up. Sometimes that makes me wish I could send a book back in time to my younger self, but I appreciated this book’s references to things that my younger self didn’t know about. I also appreciated how, even though I’ve read similar stories, I couldn’t predict how this one would end. That was very satisfying.

The Game of Kings by Dorothy Dunnett: In 1547, Francis Crawford, the Master of Lymond, wanted by the Scottish government for treason, is back in Edinburgh. The audiobook was the perfect way to experience this! The voices the narrator uses highlights clues in the text, about who’s speaking or the subtext and emotional tones of a conversation, which helped me to follow the story even when I felt confused about exactly what was going on. I enjoyed the Scottish accents, the clever wit, the ambiguity about Lymond’s plans and motives, and the way many characters are very intelligent, perceptive people. I was interested in the historical political intrigue. I loved the twists and revelations, which are brilliant -- incredibly clever and satisfying.

“Good Neighbors” by Stephanie Burgis: The first “fantasy rom-com” about a grumpy inventor who, along with her father, moves into a cottage nextdoor to a notorious necromancer in his big black castle. I wasn’t expecting to read about Mia stitching up undead minions, but appreciate that Burgis doesn’t take this opportunity to give glory details. This short story was fun and satisfying, and I am looking forward to when the rest of this series becomes (easily) available.

Lake of Sorrows by Erin Hart: After Haunted Ground, Dr Nora Gavin heads to the midlands west of Dublin to oversee the evacuation of another body discovered in a peat bog. The setting is fascinating and I like the atmosphere -- this has a strong sense of both place and mystery. However the multiple murders meant there’s more unpleasantness than I’d prefer. But it’s probably not enough to deter me from reading the next book.

The Dictionary of Lost Words by Pip Williams: Engrossing -- a poignant story of childhood during the late 19th century and womanhood in the early 20th century, and an absolutely fascinating insight into the decades-long process behind the first Oxford English Dictionary. Esme’s father is one of the lexicographers collecting and defining words for the Dictionary. Esme grows up with a fascination for words and begins to collect words that the Dictionary leaves out. I liked that Esme has people in her life who love and support her, but the ending is intensely sad. I’m not sure why that disappointed me. As an ending, it fits this story.

Taking Down Evelyn Tait by Poppy Nwosu: Australian YA. Lottie is furious that no one else seems to realise what Evelyn Tait, her nemesis (and stepsister) is like. Her best friend Grace is in love with Evelyn. Her teachers and her father tell Lottie she should emulate Evelyn. So Lottie decides that she’s going to do just that -- she’s going to be better than Miss Perfect. I thought this was a very realistic portrayal of a teenager’s relationships -- with family, with friends, with school and with herself. It’s amusing and, ultimately, believably positive. It captures Lottie’s perspective and her experiences in-the-moment so effectively and intensely.

Wired Love: a romance of dots and dashes by Ella Cheever Thayer (1888): Nattie, a telegraph operator who chats whenever she can “over the wire” with C., another telegraph operator miles down the line. I love stories where characters fall in love through exchanged messages. And the experiences of telegraph operators is absolutely fascinating -- simultaneously a product of the past and yet incredibly relatable from a contemporary perspective, because the internet and mobile phones mean we communicate so much through text. After Nattie and Clem meet, the focus shifts away from the telegraph office to antics at their boardinghouse, but the story continues to be fun and delightful.

Once Upon a Con series by Ashley Poston:

Geekerella: When Elle discovers her late parents’ cosplay costumes in a box in the attic, she hatches a plan to enter a cosplay competition and use the prize to escape her step-family. This contemporary Cinderella retelling about two teenage fans of a SF series Starfield is a romance-through-messages story. Elle uses her father’s old phone, so sometimes she gets messages from people about ExcelsiCon, the convention her father founded. One message sparks a conversation -- but neither she nor Darien realise just who they’re texting. As expected, this is fun and fandom-y, and it makes the coincidences and Cinderella moments feel believable.

The Princess and the Fangirl: At ExcelsiCon, Starfield actress Jessica Stone swaps places with a fan, Imogen. Jess needs to find a mislaid script before she’s accused of leaking it, and Imogen hopes for an opportunity to promote the #Save Amara initiative. I enjoyed how they both experience a different side of fandom. Imogen discovers the pressures of being a star, when con appearances are your job, and, away from the spotlight, Jess discovers how cons allow people to come together and celebrate things they love. My only disappointment was the way they both deceive Imogen’s fandom friend, Harper. I wish that had been handled differently.

The Little Bookshop at Herring Cove by Kellie Hailes: Unlike other books I’ve borrowed because they had “bookshop” in the title, this didn’t focus very much on books, nor did it describe its bookshop vividly. Sophie could have easily owned a different sort of shop without changing the plot, the setting or the atmosphere. This is a light-hearted romance about nice people in a generic seaside town -- not what I was looking for. I wanted more about books and a stronger sense of place.

Lilac Girls by Martha Hall Kelly (narrated by Cassandra Campbell, Kathleen Gati and Kathrin Kana): This begins with three different women at the start of WWII -- a teenager in Poland, a newly-graduated doctor in Germany and a wealthy consulate worker in New York -- and becomes about the Ravensbruck Rabbits, Polish political prisoners subjected to medical experimentation. Not what I expected or wanted to be reading (which is not its fault. I switched to the ebook, because I'm irrationally squeamish about some medical things and cope better when reading to myself). This story is compelling and does a good job of showing how the pain and trauma didn’t just end with the war. And it’s incredibly important to keep telling stories about distressing parts of history.

The Other Side of the Sky by Amie Kaufman and Meagan Spooner: More or less the sort of story I expected from these two. Nimh is the Divine One in a world of magic and prophecy. North is a prince in a floating city of science and engineering. Nimh believes the gods fled into the sky thousands of years ago, and North believes no one still lives down on the surface… until he crashes his glider. I enjoyed this but don’t feel any emotional investment -- yet. I will read the sequel.

Spoiler Alert by Olivia Dade: April and Marcus keep fandom separate from their professional lives -- April to avoid negative comments, Marcus (an actor) to avoid violating his contract. So when Marcus sees a cosplay photo of April online, he doesn’t recognise his friend, he just sees a gorgeous woman getting nasty comments and invites her to dinner. I was hooked. As a romance, this didn’t always focus on the things I most wanted it to, but I understood why it made those narrative choices and liked how the characters resolved their mistakes. And I really liked it as a story about fanfiction and the way we tell stories in response to other stories.

Big Love, Tiny House by Olivia Dade: Lucy goes on a Tiny House Hunting show and drags along her best friend Sebastian. I’ve watched countless tiny house videos on Youtube, so it was fun to see tiny houses depicted in fiction -- although I was disappointed that all the houses are so disastrously bad. Beyond that, I have no strong feelings one way or another about this romance novella.

Memento: an Illuminae Files novella by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff (narrated by a full cast): A bonus prequel, set aboard the Alexander prior to the events of Illuminae. The audiobook is so well done! Even though this is a short story/novella, I cared about the new characters it introduces -- I really like the epistolary format and how it requires the reader to fill in some of the gaps for themselves. (I think that’s part of why I love The Illuminae Files but so far have no strong feelings about Kaufman and Kristoff’s latest series.) And it’s always interesting to see more of AIDAN.

#Herenya reviews books #Aster Glenn Gray #Dorothy Dunnett #Erin Hart #Pip Williams #Poppy Nwosu #Ella Cheever Thayer #Ashley Poston #Martha Hall Kelly #Amie Kaufman #Meagan Spooner #Jay Kristoff #Olivia Dade #Stephanie Burgis

8 notes · View notes

fishinthewater2611 · 5 years

Text

Mariona Caldentey: "Football was my escape when my father passed away"

"How am I as a friend? You would have to ask my friends that", Alexia Putellas answers when asked about her way of understanding friendship.

Well, Virginia Torrecilla tells story that Alexia opened the doors of her house when she signed for Barcelona, in the summer of 2012. "We were 18. It's the time we do crazy things, that you don't stop to think twice a thing”, remembers Putellas. "Above all, Vir had never left her homeland! The truth is that I am very proud of my family. They take her inside and want Virginia as if she were a part of the family" agrees the '11' Barca in statements to EFE.

Mariona Caldentey also appreciates the support that the Mollet del Vallès footballer has been providing for seven months, coinciding with the loss of her father. Alexia Putellas crossed the same trance years ago. "Unfortunately, the same thing happened to me" recalls the Catalan midfielder.

"I know how Mariona feels, she and her family. I just try to help as much as possible. Fortunately, Mariona is a strong minded person. She is moving forward. We will make sure that" remarks Putellas, with haltingly.

Sometimes through a gesture, other times through speech, Alexia Putellas has become a great support for Mariona Caldentey. "If you see a person besides you every day, to whom something similar to yours has happened, you simply do not need to talk every day. With a gesture, you can make that person not end up always thinking the same thing, both me and my friends, when something like that happens, it is a disgrace, for any person it is a very sensitive thing, we have to be there for each other. Above all, Mariona is a player who can always give you something different and what the most important of the soccer player is the mind" says Alexia.

The young Balearic (Mariona) has managed to accept it. "These are situations that occur, which obviously you do not expect or choose. They are things that happen. As hard as it sounds, life is like that and life goes on," she says in an interview with EFE in the concentration of the Spanish team in Le Havre

Fortunately, she says, she found in football a "way of escape" to sadness and pain. "When everything happened to my father I was at home, but a week or so it was like saying: 'I need to continue with my routine, I need to escape'. For me football also meant demanding me to sleep well, demanding to eat well , to have a slightly more stable life, a little quieter ", she clarifies.

In the world of football, however, Mariona Caldentey (Felanich, 1996) found complicities. Andrea Sánchez Falcón celebrated her goal against Poland in Butarque with a shirt with the number 22, Mariona’s. "I was watching that game at home. The truth is that they are gestures that move me" confesses the young Balearic.

From the first moment, the Barcelona player felt "supported". "Both in the club, which had very nice gestures towards me; as well as in the selection. When these things happen you have to stay with the positive and I stay with the reaction of the people. For example, with Alexia, who also faced something similar several years ago. It has been a very important support, she is always by my side just like her other companions. That is very beautiful because before we are players, we are human" she emphasizes.

Once this "tough year" ends, Mariona Caldentey RESOLVES to feel "strong" and "positive". There is often a big smile on her face and she laughs at the present.

"I am a young player, but luckily I have had many opportunities to play important matches at club and national level. I am prepared, wanting to face this responsibility. In the end, this happens very fast and we have to take advantage of it" she says. Immersed in its first ever World Cup.

"Surely there are players with more quality than me," he says, "but I am delighted to be here and to contribute the most". "We know that we are missing perhaps that point of verticality or goal. I, as an offensive player, accept that responsibility naturally and want to do it well", she adds.

Thinking about qualifying for the round of 16, Mariona Caldentey (headline in the victory against South Africa and in the defeat against Germany ) considers "an advantage" to have a wide representation of Barça players in the Spanish team.

"The game style is quite similar", she adds. "The idea of the game, too. We have many Barça players and I think those connections that are created throughout the season can be exploited in the tournament. The idea is the same and it is what we should play because it is what we are good at it", she maintains with the same naturalness with which" responsibility or pressure" fits.

"I don't play much on impulses but I try to be well placed, knowing what I have around, always looking forward", she explains. "For that I need to be attentive and focused on what is going on around me. It is true that I like to be watching a lot, watching, trying to anticipate what can happen, how my partner is going to move and how my rival is going to move to take the best advantage and maximum advantage", she adds without fear of the requirement.

Despite being in the first ever World Cup, Caldentey is in France ready to do her best. She wants to see La Roja for the first time in its history among the 16 best teams. On Monday, against China, she could celebrate that.

#mariona caldentey #alexia putellas #virginia torrecilla #so this is what happened #she's strong #Alexia too #my girls have to face many hardship #that's why I always cherish them #Alexia is a beautiful person outside and in #Falcon is a great friend of Mariona #she's really happy when Falcon come back #Andrea Sanchez Falcon #spain wnt #espwnt #fcb mags

96 notes · View notes

pope-francis-quotes · 4 years

Text

26th April >> (@ZenitEnglish By Virginia Forrester) #PopeFrancis #Pope Francis’ Regina Caeli Address: On the Third Sunday of Easter: ‘In Life, We Have Before Us Two Directions: Either We Are Paralyzed by Life’s Disappointment or We Choose the Greatest and Truest Reality: Jesus, Who Loves Us’

Here is a ZENIT translation of the address Pope Francis gave today, before and after praying the midday Regina Caeli, from the Library of the Apostolic Vatican Palace. At the end of the Regina Caeli, the Pope appeared at the window of his study and imparted his Blessing.

* * *

Before the Regina Caeli:

Dear Brothers and Sisters, good morning!

Today’s Gospel, set on Easter day, recounts the episode of the two disciples of Emmaus (Cf. Luke 24:13-35). It’s a story that begins and ends on the way. It was, in fact, the outward journey of the disciples that, sad over the epilogue of Jesus’ story, leave Jerusalem and go back home to Emmaus, walking for some eleven kilometers. It’s a journey that takes place in daytime, with a good part of the trajectory downhill. And there is the return journey: another eleven kilometers but done at nightfall, with part of the way uphill after the effort of the outward journey and the whole day. Two journeys: one easy during the day and the other tiring at night. Yet the first occurs in sadness, the second in joy. The Lord is in the first, walking beside them, but they don’t recognize Him; in the second they no longer see Him but feel Him close. In the first, they are disheartened and without hope; in the second they run to bring to the others the good news of the encounter with the Risen Jesus. The two different ways of which those first disciples tell us, disciples of Jesus today, that in life we have before us two opposite directions: there is the way of one, as those two when they set out, who lets himself be paralyzed by life’s disappointments and goes on sad; and there is the way of one who doesn’t put himself and his problems in the first place, but Jesus who visits us, and the brothers who await His visit, namely, brothers that wait for us to take care of them. Here is the turning point: to stop orbiting around oneself, the disappointments of the past, the unrealized ideals, the many awful things that happened in one’s life. We are led many times to orbit, to orbit . . . Leave that and go forward looking at the greatest and truest reality of life: Jesus is alive, Jesus — and He loves me. This is the greatest reality. And I can do something for others. It’s a beautiful, positive, sunny, beautiful reality! This is the U-turn: to pass from thoughts on myself to the reality of my God; to pass — with another play of words — from “if” to “yes.” What does from “if” to “yes” mean? If He had been here to free us; if God had listened to me if life had gone as I wanted if I had this or that . . . “ in a tone of complaint. This “if” doesn’t help, it’s not fruitful, it doesn’t help us, or others. Here are our “ifs,” similar to those of the two disciples, who, however, pass to the “yes”: “yes, the Lord is alive, He walks with us. Yes, now, not tomorrow, we set out again to proclaim Him.” “Yes, I can do this, so that people are happier, so that people are better, to help many people. Yes, yes, I can. From the if to the yes, from complaint to joy and peace, because when we complain we aren’t in joy; we are in a grey, in a grey, that grey air of sadness. And this doesn’t help or make us grow well — from if to yes, from complaint to the joy of service. How did this change of step happen in the disciples, from the “I” to God, from if to yes? By encountering Jesus: the two of Emmaus first open their heart to Him; then they listen to Him explain the Scriptures; then they invite Him to their home. These are three passages that we can also do in our homes: first, open our heart to Jesus, entrust to Him the burdens, the efforts, the disappointments of life, entrust to Him the “ifs” and, then, the second step, to listen to Jesus, to take the Gospel in hand, to read this passage today, chapter 24 of Luke’s Gospel; third, to pray to Jesus with the same words of those disciples: “Lord. ‘stay with us’ (v. 29). Lord, stay with me. Lord stay with all of us because we need You to find the way. And without you there is night.”

Dear brothers and sisters, in life we are always on the way, and we become that to which we are going. We choose the way of God, not that of the “I”; the way of yes, not that of if. We will discover that there is no unexpected <thing>, there is no ascent; there is no night we can’t face with Jesus. May Our Lady, Mother of the Way, who, receiving the Word made her whole life a “yes” to God, point out the way to us.

[Original text: Italian] [ZENIT’s translation by Virginia M. Forrester]

After the Regina Caeli:

Dear Brothers and Sisters,

Observed yesterday was the United Nations World Malaria Day. While we are combatting the coronavirus pandemic, we must carry forward the commitment to prevent and cure malaria, which threatens billions of people in many countries. I am close to all the sick, to those that care for them, and to those that work so that every person has access to good basic health services.

A greeting also goes to all those that are taking part today in Poland in the “National Reading of Sacred Scripture.” I’ve said to you many times and I would like to say again, how important it is to have the habit of reading the Gospel for a few minutes every day. Let us carry it in our pocket, in our bag, that it may always be close to us, also physically, and read it a bit every day.

The month of May will begin in a few days, dedicated in a particular way to the Virgin Mary. With a brief Letter — published yesterday — I invited all the faithful to pray the Holy Rosary in this month together, in the family or on one’s own, and to pray one of the two prayers that I have put at everyone’s disposition. May our Mother help us to face the time we are going through with more faith and hope.

I wish you all a happy month of May and a happy Sunday. Please, don’ forget to pray for me. Enjoy your lunch and goodbye.

[Original text: Italian] [ZENIT’s translation by Virginia M. Forrester]

26th APRIL 2020 15:02ANGELUS/REGINA CAELI

3 notes · View notes

belle82devart · 4 years

Text

73 Question Tag Game

Thank you to the lovey @thewanderer000 ❤

On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?

I would say a 6 or 7. Life can be so fucking scary (as well as people), but it still has it's charms and quirks that make it enjoyable and something to look forward to.

Describe yourself in a hashtag?

[#scared of everything] or [#justneedsahug]

If you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be?

Jeffrey Dean Morgan. He's got the swagger, the sweetness and the salt and pepper look isn't helping sway my opinion at all. Plus he's got strong arms, perfect for cuddles.

If your life was a musical, what would the marquee say?

(I hate to admit this, but I had to look up what a fucking marquee was.) The anxious and the strange.

What’s your wakeup ritual?

Get up, shower, have a little time for self loathing and negative personal views. Then go for the self affirmation card and continue the day.

What’s your favorite time of day?

Morning. Most days, the morning is where it all starts. Where the hikes in the mountains begin or where the next big projects begin.

Your go to for having a good laugh?

Crack videos of whatever fandom I'm obsessed with at the time. Or cat videos.

Dream country to visit?

I know it's not a country, but Europe in general. If it had to be a single place, Poland.

What’s the biggest surprise you’ve had?

Finding out while my mother threw up on the side of the road that 'hey, you're gonna be a big sister'!

Heels or flats/sneakers?

Combat boots. Now I can do heels, and I can do sneakers, but boots, especially combat style are my favorite.

Vintage or new?

Vintage all the way! It's oleasing to be able to experience something old and make it new in your eyes. I guess that's why I own a Polaroid camera and Walkman.

Who do you want to write your obituary?

My family. All of them.

Style icon?

My father. I've basically stolen all his band shirts and old biker vest/jackets. Sooo yeah.

What are three things you can’t live without?

Music, art, and friends/family. What's life without companionship? What's life without some sort of art? The world wouldn't suevibe without music, and I can't survive without any of the listed.

What’s one ingredient you put in everything?

Ketchup for most things, but not all.

What 3 people living or dead would you like to make dinner for?

- Vincent Price

- Bob Ross

- Anyone else who wants to eat my shitty cooking.

What’s your biggest fear in life?

Well, I absoluty am scared to death of spiders, but that's not my biggest fear. Failure and letting those I care for down... That's my biggest fear. I fear that I will never make anyone happy, that I can't do right...

God, this question called me out hard.

Window or aisle seat?

Window all the way. Give me the view !

What’s your current TV obsession?

- The Walking Dead

- The Witcher

- and The Boys

Favorite app?

Autodesk Sketchbook Pro

Secret talent?

For some reason, I can put people to sleep really easy when I pet their hair.

Most adventurous thing you’ve done in your life?

Went to Washington D.C. I got to see so many museums and cool little places.

How would you define yourself in three words?

Anxious. Sweet. Creative.

Favourite piece of clothing you own?

My leather jacket.

Must have clothing item everyone should have?

Fuzzy socks. Evwryoje deserves to have warm feet!

Superpower you would want?

Teleportation. I can go anywhere I want but also I can leave undesired sistiations when they get overwhelming.

What’s inspiring you in life right now?

People, music, books, movies/shows/games. You name it, i'll get something out of it.

Best piece of advice you’ve received?

Never give up, even when the odds seem stackwd agaisnt you. Always keep pushing forward and remember that there will always be someone in the world to fall back on when it gets to be too hard.

Best advice you’d give your teenage self?

You'll see and hear a lot of shit in life that'll being you down, that will make everything seem so bad... But it will get better. You'll make it to the next day, and you'll one day see yourself as a good person, even if you need that little push and reminder from your friends.

A book that everyone should read?

A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess

What would you like to be remembered for?

Being kind and helpful.

How do you define beauty?

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, so it truly can't be defined generally without personal opinion slipping in.

What do you love most about your body?

My eyes. I really don't see anything worth while besides my eyes.

Best way to take a rest/decompress?

Curled up with my cats. I may be allergic but i'll be damned if I don't get a good rest without them.

Favourite place to view art?

Anywhere and everywhere. Sometimes it's fun going to a gallery and seeing the art others have created.

If your life were a song, what would it be?

Ça va ça va - Claudio Capéo

If you could master one instrument, what would it be?

Drums or the marimba.

If you had a tattoo, where would it be?

Upper arm or as a 3/4 sleeve.

What’s your spirit animal?

Maine Coon

Best gift you’ve ever received?

A small box made of cedar from my mother for my birthday. I don't know why but I was a sobbing mess when I got it.

Best gift you’ve ever given?

A 4ft x 6 ft painting in dedication to my aunts and their family after their car crash.

What’s your favourite board game?

Risk, Pandemic (Ha! Ironic), Monopoly, and Sorry!

What’s your favourite colour?

Blue and all shades of blue.

Least favourite colour?

Yellow.

Diamonds or pearls?

Neither. Give me some good old fashioned gemstones like quartz and I'll be happiee than a pig in mud.

Drugstore makeup or designer?

Drugstore. One, I don't have the money for designer makeup. Two, you can use drugstore and dollar store make-up to achieve the same look. And three, I don't wear makeup too often, so what's the point od paying top dollar for something I'll only use here and there?

Blow-dry or air-dry?

Either. Depends on how much time I've got on my hands.

Pilates or yoga?

Haven't done either but I would love to try yoga.

Coffee or tea?

Both!

What’s the weirdest word in the English language?

Hullaballoo.

hullaballoo. noun. 1. Sounds or a sound, especially when loud, confused, or disagreeable: babel, clamor, din, hubbub, noise, pandemonium, racket, rumpus, tumult, uproar.

Dark chocolate or milk chocolate?

Both, but also white chocolate!

Stairs or elevator?

Both

Summer or winter?

Both. I love the storms during the summer, and the snow during the winter. Especially New York winters (Buffalo in particular).

You are stuck on an island, you can pick one food to eat forever without getting tired of it, what would you eat?

Chicken parmigiana

A dessert you don’t like?

Anything with Nutella.

A skill you’re working on mastering?

Welding. This year i'll be starting the rest of my classes to get certified in it.

Best thing to happen to you today?

Nothings really happened yet, but that can always change!

Best compliment you’ve ever received?

"Wow, you've got some talent" when it comes to my art or writing.

Favourite smell?

Rhododendrons and the forest floor after a rain storm.

Hugs or kisses?

Both! And at the same time makes it so much better.

If you made a documentary, what would it be about?

Paranormal locations along the Blue Ridge Parkway or how religion ties in with art.

Last piece of content you consumed that made you cry?

A poem about beauty in death and how the earth always reclaims what has been taken. The poem was truly amazing.

Lipstick or lip gloss?

Both.

Sweet or savory?

Both!!!

Girl crush?

Kate Beckinsale

How you know you’re in love?

I truly have no idea! I mean, I haven't been in love before...

Song you can listen to on repeat?

Fistfight by The Ballroom Thieves

If you could switch lives with someone for a day who would it be?

Mads Mikkelsen. He's classy, he's goofy, and who wouldn't want to?

What are you most excited about at this time in your life?

Persuing my passions. I'm on the road to become a Graphic Designer, and that's just so exciting to me!

------------

Tagging: @whitecrawace-mind-palace / @rosadiazbiqueen | @johnlocklover221 | @yancy-trash

#get to know the blogger #get to know me #tag game #73 questions #Spotify

3 notes · View notes

shawn-does-stuff · 5 years

Text

Krakow Q&A

Full Video -> HERE

"I'm finally here guys" -Shawn saying he's finally in Poland after 3 years of people asking for him to go there. — Q: Where were you in the morning? A: In the gym — Shawn's asking the fans how to say 'I love you' in Polish and some other words — Q: Would you like to fail or never try? A: To fail! Never trying sucks! — Q: How would you spend one day if you were a woman? A: I don't know I would probably do the same thing. — Q: Are you looking forward to the new season of the 100? A: I haven't seen the last two. Raven is my favorite. — Q: How are you doing? A: A lot of you asked this today, if I'm tired, I'm fine, thank you so much. — Q: Do you think about your future? A: All the time. That's all I think about actually. Don't stress about the future by the way, be more in the now. — "Poland and Brazil are tied....'COME TO POLAND COME TO POLAND'" -Shawn during the Q&A — Q: Day or night mode on twitter? A: I'm on night mode. — Q: Who's music did you listen to when you were a child? A: I listened to a lot of Jonas Brothers actually. — Q: Do you ever realize how easily you could've lived an entirely different life? A: Yeah, I think that's what keeps me feeling like I'm the luckiest person in the world, cause I know to be able to do this is one in a million & I don’t know why I got to do it but I just did & I’m the happiest person in the world because of that. so with that being said I’m gonna try really hard to make you guys happy always because I do appreciate it so much — "I think Polish people have the prettiest eyes I've ever seen in my life" — Q: What is your favorite relationship? A: I'm really close to Khalid, I love Khalid. Shawn: Oh! Who do I ship? I don't know! I don't want to get involved with that. — Q: What is your creative process like when writing a song? A: It's insane, it's like I'm in the bathroom showering and something comes up in my mind. I literally have two thousand voice notes in my phone. When I'm ready to write a song I just look back at my phone. — "I'm going to try my hardest not to fall on stage" — Q: Two years ago I gave you one of my drawings, what are the chances that you still have it? A: Probably very high because I keep everything, my dad has a lot of it. He has like MILLIONS of drawings, but I do have it, where it is? I don't know but I have it. — "I love Christmas time with my family" — Q: What's the best thing about being famous? A: You get to skip lines all the time, you don't have to wait anywhere. — Q: Do you ever considered involving dance in your concerts? A: You really want to see me dance? Fans: YEEEEEEES Shawn: No — Q: In a room full of people have you ever felt lonely and asked yourself "what am I doing here? I was supposed to be at home watching Netflix" A: I think it’s so wrong to tell yourself you’re supposed to be doing anything because I believe in fate and I believe in the fact that things are just meant to be the way they are so if you’re ever doing something and you say to yourself "I’m not supposed to be doing this" you are, because you're doing it. and that's just the truth so I don't really regret anything. I love what I do. There’re so many days I feel lonely and I call my mom and my sister and I’m one facetime with them for hours. — "I know you guys think Touring is crazy, IT IS crazy and exhausting but imagine how much energy you get when you get up on stage in front of 20K people and everyone screaming it's the most exciting thing in the world so even if I was falling asleep right now- I would get on stage with so much energy. Always remember that, don't stress about me, ok?” — Q: Would you ever collaborate with Jack and Jack? A: Yeah sure one day, I love them. — Q: Did you heard anything about Poland before you come here? A: I heard two things, first everybody is gorgeous which is true...and then I heard you guys were crazy. — A fan asked Shawn if he could record a little video for her friend who is going through a hard time he said he couldn't cause everyone would ask but he said "Tell you friend that I'm thinking about her and I love her, and I hope she's doing well" — Q: Was it hard for you to decide that you didn't want to live in the usual way of life, college, work. A: I didn't really decide it. I think you go a lot of years doing what you love to do and you try to make career out of that. I was so lucky to find that at a really young age — Q: If you could pick one show what would it be? A: am I gonna get in trouble if I don't say Krakow? Crowd: yeah! Shawn: then my favorite show is Krakow! — "I would have stopped wearing plaid shirts a lot earlier in life because I basically wore plaid shirts every day of my life for years" — Q: How are you doing? A: You guys are so thoughtful! so many people came in today and said are you tired? and I’m like "Ahh a little tired" but no, I’m fine thank you so much. You’re so sweet. — Shawn: What’s your question? Fan: Mine? oh my god Shawn: Well we're doing this, so I don't know. — "I woke up today in Poland so excited! Because you guys are more excited than usual. Poland and Brazil are tied" — Q: could you play bohemian rhapsody or perfectly wrong tonight if not it’s okay? A: Ehhhh, maybe… — Q: What's your funniest story with Niall? A: Idk, Niall is like my older brother. Every time I'm with him I'm just laughing constantly for 6 hours. He's one of my favorite people ever. — Q: How do you deal with anxiety? A: I have very amazing people around me. I think it is so important to know that if you're feeling anxious that you need to talk about it to let it out and don't hold that in. — Q: What is the most difficult thing during the tour? A: I don't know! sometimes we have to be on a bus for 20 hours which is kinda hard but its not that hard because I have a bed on the bus and a TV.

(Questions and answers from @SMendesQandA and @sm3thetour on Twitter)

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes the tour #q&a #tour: krakow

68 notes · View notes

broadwaycantdie · 5 years

Text

Eid! - Newsies (Pride) Month . Day 4

( tommy boy ) + ( religion )

a/n: i am not muslim! i do not celebrate eid! however, inclusivity and diversity is very important to show throughout stories so i had @newnewsieprice help me with this story because she is muslim and does celebrate eid! she also told me that everyone celebrates differently so this is just based off her experiences and the bare minimum i know :)

warning: besides the fact that i only partially know what i’m talking about ? none

background: Tommy Boy is a Macedonian Muslim Baby Boy™. He is technically the only Muslim newsie in his chosen family. Tommy Boy’s blood family was deported and sent back to Macedonia. Since he was the only family member born in the states, he was left alone. A lot of families were separated during the ICE raids—including some of the other newsie’s—so they all work to bring everyone together in their own little family.

( all macedonian is according to google translate and the translation will be in parentheses, sorry if anything is wrong, i don’t speak macedonian! )

——————————————————————————

“Те сакам исто така, мама. Ми недостигаш. Тоа нема да биде исто без сите вас овде. Ветувам дека ќе се јавам повторно по молитвата. Eid Mubarak.”

(I love you too, mama. I miss you. It won’t be the same without you all here. I promise to call again after prayer. Eid Mubarak.)

Tommy Boy hung up the phone and gently pressed his forehead on the wall, looking down with his eyes closed. He let out a breath.

“It’s hard without them here, isn’t it?”

Tommy Boy jumped, not knowing someone else was in the room. It was very early morning, he didn’t expect anyone to be awake.

He didn’t say anything. He just turned to see who was there.

It was Elmer. He was standing in the open doorway with a sense of understanding on his face. A change of pace from his often confused expression.

Tommy Boy walked over to him, wrapping him in a hug without saying a word.

Elmer knew what it was like. His parents and older siblings were taken back to Poland over a year ago.

He sticks to the newsies because they’re all he has.

Elmer’s family obviously wasn’t the only one who got taken away but his was the first. He has had time to heal, though it still hurts.

Tommy Boy’s parents were taken just weeks ago. He needs more time to accept and learn to move forward. And no one knows that feeling better than Elmer. He went from a blood family of 11 to 1. It was hard.

Elmer knew what a sacred and joyous time this has always been to him, year after year. He use to go to his parents and come back telling stories of all the gossip and events happening back in Macedonia. Stories of his parents saying how they wish they could visit their home again; but they never imagined they would get stuck there, leaving their only son behind.

Elmer was prepared to hold Tommy Boy for as long as he needed. He knew Tommy Boy wasn’t one for showing emotions, so he needed to undertand that he could be vulnerable and that was okay.

Tommy Boy pulled away gently. Tears soaked his face and his eyes were red. He hadn’t cried like that since his parents left. He never allowed himself.

He looked at Elmer’s shirt, now housing a wet spot from his eyes.

“Sorry about that”, Tommy Boy said, lightly laughing through tears and choked breaths.

“It’s okay, T. It’ll dry”, Elmer replied, smiling.

They stood there for a bit. Elmer gently rubbed Tommy Boy’s back while he let out the last of his tears and caught his breath. He just needed to get it out.

“What are you gonna do this year?” Elmer asked softly.

“I don’t know. I’m gonna pray. Pray a lot. I might go for a walk. Be by myself for a few hours. But after that I don’t know”, Tommy Boy replied in a deep breath.

“Why don’t you go get ready. Take some time to yourself beforehand. We’ll all be here with you after, okay?”

Tommy Boy nodded his head and went off to the washroom. No one else was awake so he really got to relax and calm down before he went off to the mosque.

In that time, Elmer devised a plan. He was going to do everything he could to give Tommy Boy a good Eid. Nothing would make him feel as good as he did with his parents, but he owed it to him to try.

As soon as Tommy Boy walked out the door Elmer yelled throughout the lodging house.

“Family meeting right now! Everyone come here, please!”

At least he was polite about his early morning aggressive screaming.

Ignoring the moans and groans of sleepy teenagers, Elmer actually got everyone into the main room.

He explained his plan, what he knew of the holiday, and Tommy Boy’s schedule for the day.

“Henry, how long does it take to make an entire feast fit for a celebration?”

“Um? Like all day if I’m lucky?”

“Well we’ve got about 5 hours or so, so you might wanna start now.”

“What?! Elmer that’s impossible!”

“Nothing’s impossible if you put your heart to it...and when you have friends to help...that’s why I made a chart of everyone’s responsibilities for the day.”

More groans filled the room but Elmer ignored them.

He went down the list, giving everyone their job.

Henry, Kenny, Smalls, Crutchie, Buttons, Romeo, Sniper, Specs, Jojo, Kid Blink, and Ike would all be working on food. Like Henry said, it would take all day if he did it himself so Elmer needed as many people as possible to get it all done.

However, not everyone could be trusted cooking.

Albert, Finch, Jack, Mike, Mush, and Race were in charge of getting the house ready.

That included cleaning, setting the table, getting conversation spaces ready, helping Henry if he needed anything and every other little thing Elmer needed.

Specifically, Finch was put on lookout, making sure Tommy Boy wasn’t on his way home. And if he was, the rest of the house would be warned and a distraction would be made.

While the rest of the family worked, Tommy Boy was enjoying his time. He never was one to like a lot of energy and chaos.

While at the mosque he prayed for his family. He prayed they were safe and happy even if he couldn’t be there with him. He prayed for the other first-generations to not have to go through what he did. He prayed that Race would be smart enough to not get in big enough trouble that would get him sent back to Italy. He prayed that one day he would be reunited with his family for good. He prayed he would at least be able to afford to visit until that day came. He prayed for a lot of things. That’s all he could think to do. So he did.

After he left the mosque, he took a walk. He walked around the city watching people live their lives. People not even knowing it was a holiday. People just enjoying their time together. It was nice to see.

Back at the lodging house, they ran into a bit of a problem. No one knew how to make baklava.

“Do we really need it?” Henry asked, already in the midst of making a million other things.

“Yes! It’s a staple of literally any holiday ever!” Elmer said back.

“Well you better bring someone who knows how to make it cause it ain’t me.”

Elmer thought for a minute then picked up the phone and dialed a familiar number.

“Hello?”

“Davey! It’s Elmer, we have an emergency.”

“What kind? The kind where I have to sew someone’s arm back on or the kind where you guys are out of m&m’s?”

“The kind where we don’t know how to make baklava and we were hoping you did.”

“I don’t, but my mother does. Why?”

“We need some, like today.”

“Today?! Elmer baklava takes at least two days to make!”

“Fuck. Uh. Do you know where we can get some?”

“Well, lucky for you it’s the beginning of the month.”

“Meaning...?”

“Meaning my mom makes baklava the first weekend of every month!”

“Can you bring it? Please? Like asap!”

“Yeah, I’ll be over soon.”

Since that was taken care of, Elmer got back to getting all the last details finished.

Meanwhile, Tommy Boy decided to participate in one of his favorite parts of Eid, giving to the poor.

He knows what it’s like to not have anything, so giving back to those with even less warms his heart. He remembers being on the other end and watching some of his newsie brothers there too. It’s been tough, but giving back is his way of seeing that he made it through.

He gave what he could in any form. Buying meals, volunteering, or just giving straight up money.

After another hour or so of him being out, Tommy Boy decided it was time to head home. He promised his mother he’d call again and he didn’t want it to get too late.

Davey made it to the lodging house just minutes before Tommy Boy did, finishing the table setting.

The boys somehow got everything done in time.

The table was set with all the food they could make. Foods like Tajine, Tufahije, Bolani, Pite, Spice Cookies, and—of course—Baklava. Along with other little things like dates and tiny snacks.

Finch yelled out that Tommy Boy was walking up. They all scrambled around and stood in front of the table, hiding what was behind it.

Tommy Boy walked in the same way he always does, but this time, noticed the odd behavior of the boys.

“Hey guys?” Tommy Boy confusingly asked.

“Hey, T! How was going to the mosque?” Elmer asked, genuinely curious.

“It was good! Uh...what is everyone doing?”

“Well...this is your first Eid without your usual traditions and celebrations. So...”

The boys slowly moved away from the table, revealing the food.

“...we wanted to make a new one!”

Tommy Boy’s jaw dropped.

“You—how did you? You—you did this? All of this? F-for me?”

“Of course! T, we are family, and after seeing you this morning I couldn’t have you just being alone. I can’t change what happened, but I can do everything in my power to make what you have here, the best.”

He felt the tears fill up his eyes again but quickly wiped them away.

Tommy Boy isn’t much of a talker, but that reaction said more than words ever could.

They all sat down in their respective seats and began eating the food. They all talked and gossiped and enjoyed each other’s company.

After they ate more food than probably healthy, they moved over to the couches while Henry brought out tea and cups.

Tommy Boy used this time to leave the room and call his mother back, as he promised he would.

He waited a bit longer than he should have, so his mother didn’t pick up. However, he did leave her a message.

“Здраво, мама. Се извинувам што не се јавив порано, толку многу се случи денес. Моите пријатели го донесоа Еид и ја направија речиси иста како она што го користиме за да го направиме, иако со својот мал пресврт сепак. Тие ја направија мојата омилена храна и навистина ме натераа да се чувствувам добредојдена. Не знам што направив за да ги заслужам сите, навистина. Тоа беше целата идеја на Елмер, ми рече дека тоа е групен напор, но знам дека го планирал. Неговото семејство беше однесено пред една година, па ми помагаше. Многу ми недостасуваш. Се надевам дека си имал добар Еид. Еден ден повторно ќе го прославиме заедно. Се надевам наскоро. Океј, те сакам, мама. Кажете им на сите што ги сакам. Повикај ме кога ќе можеш. Eid Mubarak.”

(Hello, mama. I apologize for not calling earlier, so much happened today. My friends brought Eid to me and made it almost the exact same as what we use to do, with their own little twist though. They made my favorite foods and really made me feel welcome. I don’t know what I did to deserve them all, really. It was all Elmer’s idea, he told me it was a group effort, but I know he planned it. His family was taken a year ago, so he’s been helping me out. I miss you all a lot. I hope you had a good Eid. One day we’ll celebrate it together again. Hopefully soon. Okay, I love you, mama. Tell everyone I love them. Call me when you can. Eid Mubarak.)

21 notes · View notes

literarystorm · 5 years

Text

I only just realised that I haven’t written a little journal post since before my trip.

SO.

WELL.

HELLO TUMBLR.

First off, my trip was altogether amazing, spectacular, beautiful and exhausting. I saw some amazing places, ate some weird food, made incredible friends and got pulled over for jaywalking at 3am in Poland. Check out my insta for some photos of me racing across a continent.

I got my uni results back during my trip, I ended up a Credit, Distinction and two High Distinctions!! For ‘Children and the Law’ I managed to get 91 for the entire grade and I am unbelievably happy and it really helps me to understand what field of law I’m heading towards. But...I barely got that credit and it’s safe to say doing 4 subjects in one semester is too much for me and something I will never do again.

Fast forward to this semester and I started already behind on my work because I didn’t get back from my trip until the start of week 2 (oops). This semester I’m doing Equity and Trusts, Administrative Law and (my final social and political science elective) Sex, Race and Empire. It’s currently mid-semester break and I’ve decided I hate Equity. Admin is enjoyable because it’s based on government actions and Sex, Race and Empire is AMAZING and I wish it was more than a 3 hour week load.

Equity. Oh Equity. How I despise thee. Equity is interesting because I think I would even like the subject if I wasn’t for the way it was taught. My lecturer, who is also my tutor, is absolutely for lack of a better word manic. He doesn’t follow a straight line of explanation, jumps onto tangents, doesn’t look you in the eye when he speaks and jumps around the room. I just cannot understand what is happening. Also, the tutorials run on class participation, which would be fine, if it didn’t riddle me with extreme anxiety every morning before class starts. Of course, classes normally run on class participation, but his presence is anything but confidence-building. Plus, because you are assigned a question along with four other people you might, like me multiple times, be called on last with nothing to say as everyone else has already answered every element of the question. Even better, because you’re so focused on preparing for your own question, you have no idea what the other questions even are! Or in the weeks you don’t present, you don’t even need to pay attention at all to get your mark for attendance. Safe to say, I have learnt nothing in Equity.

Admin also follows the CP structure, except you’re allocated only one week and only one person is allocated your question, aka you. BUT when it came to my turn, the tutor mismanaged time and I was left with only 2 minutes to talk about everything I had worked on for the past two days. 2 minutes for something worth 10% of my grade...fabulous.

Funny thing is... Sex, Race and Empire doesn’t mark on class participation and, much like all other subjects in social and political science, I find myself engaged the most and voluntarily talking. It is one of the most interesting classes I’ve had in such a long time and the other students and tutor are so welcoming and funny even looking at a depressing topic.

While I’m working this all this, I found out I have to enroll for next year in a month. That means I have to be 100% sure about what I want to do for my final year of university. Oh god. I know for certain that I have two compulsory core subjects left but I haven’t decided whether to do honours in law (which takes the place of two electives) or pick 5 of the dozens of electives that interest me. I’ve always liked the idea of further study, doing a masters overseas or something, but I don’t want to miss out on learning amazing content just because I think some courses require an honours degree. The electives I’m sure I want to do are Criminonolgy (which I’ve signed up to do during summer), Family Law, International Human Rights Law, Gender and the Law and Law and Justice Studies (placement based subject with justice-focused agencies). I know I’ll be struggling with this up until enrollment date...

Anyway, during all this, I’ve barely had time to read or rest. Even though I had my trip, it was so fast-paced that I feel like I haven’t stopped all year. While I’m currently on mid-semester break, I know I should be working on this admin assessment but I just can’t make myself get out of bed and coffee doesn’t have the same effect as it used to. I’m hoping that getting everything down like this will help me clear my head a bit and get me motivated to get back on track!

#studyblr #?#thoughts

1 note · View note

monabela · 5 years

Text

@eternal-night-owl! hello! this is your gift in the @aphgenficexchange, ft the Baltic trio as childhood friends, and, vaguely, a high school AU... and I guess this counts as historical but proBABLY not in the way you’d expect. for some reason, I decided this had to be set in the nineties. in 1997, to be exact. the setting in terms of location is a nonexistent Generically European location. but uhh expect a lot of denim, and the macarena. and a title referencing friends, because of course :) I hope you like it!

No One Told You

characters: Lithuania (Tolys), Latvia (Raivis), Estonia (Eduard), mentioned Poland (Feliks) and Finland (Tuomi)

word count: 4436 summary: Before Eduard and Tolys graduate from high school and leave their hometown for brighter places, they and their best friend Raivis decide to take a road trip together. It’s not like they’ll never see each other again, but it feels like the end of an age all the same.

“This is a bad idea.”

Tolys receives an unconcerned grin from Eduard over the roof of his mother’s old Škoda. He pulls a pained face back.

“Don’t worry, Tolys, it’ll be fine. Besides, look at it like this; it can’t be worse than when you and Feliks went hitchhiking.”

He promised not to mention that. Tolys groans. Feliks has refused to come with them this time, and he suspects it’s in part because of the hitchhiking disaster, which he’s been trying to forget happened since the minute they were picked up by a truck transporting geese.

“Geese,” he groans out loud. Eduard just grins more, pushing his glasses up. “And anyway, that’s honestly not much of a reassurance. I don’t think it can get worse.”

“Don’t jinx it,” says Raivis, walking out of the garage of Tolys house holding a duffel bag. “Where can I put this?”

Tolys gestures him over to the car so he can put it in the trunk while Eduard ducks into the passenger seat to start fiddling with his eternal cassette tapes. As outraged as he was to find out that the Škoda doesn’t have a cassette deck, he seems to have circumvented it with his own equipment easily. Raivis, meanwhile, has been wearing his Discman headphones around his neck everywhere, generally without the Discman actually attached, because it doesn’t fit in any of his pockets.

They may be Tolys’s first and best friends, but that doesn’t mean he understands them.

His mother comes out of the house after a minute and fusses over them for a while—especially Eduard, who hits his head on the roof of the car for the umpteenth time when he gets out—until Tolys can convince her that they’ll be fine and they’ll call if anything does happen. Here, Eduard proudly shows off his mobile phone, also for the umpteenth time.

He hits his head again when he gets back into the passenger seat and starts to curse before he realizes Tolys’s mother is still watching from the front doorway. Raivis snorts as he climbs into the backseat.

Well, here they go.

He’s certain they prepared their little road trip as well as they could have, but Tolys still feels a little nervous as he takes his place behind the wheel, buckles his seatbelt, and starts the car. For one, he’s never actually driven so far before—and he will have to do all the driving, because neither of his friends have their license yet—and for another, they’ll have to be back in time for his and Eduard’s official graduation from high school, and he knows the three of them. They’re bound to get distracted on the way.

“Relax, Tolys,” Eduard says. “No need the break the wheel.”

Taking a deep breath, he tries to ease his death grip. He’s looking forward to it, so he’s going to have fun.

They drive past Eduard’s house, where his brother and half-sister are waving a little too enthusiastically in the garden, with Tuomi clutching his chest dramatically like Eduard might never return. Eduard ducks his head and starts fiddling with his cassettes.

As they pass Raivis’s house on the corner of the street, where it’s silent, he presses play, and the Rembrandts start blaring through the car.

“I made a mixtape,” Eduard announces. Tolys grins. Raivis claps along from the backseat. Ironically.

There isn’t a set itinerary, but it’s May and all the campsites along the river are open for business, so as long as the weather stays mild, the three of them have nothing to worry about.

Tolys relaxes quickly after they leave town, sings along to Eduard’s mixtape while Raivis pretends to hate the pop songs but can clearly be heard humming along. He pulls his pointy knees up to his chest, where they poke through the holes in his jeans. Eduard, who is presently wearing a multicolored Nirvana shirt underneath a denim jacket, rolls his eyes fondly and reaches over to poke him.

“No sulking over the Backstreet Boys, Raivis.”

“Maybe I’m sulking because you’re here, Eduard. You ever think about that?”

Tolys can’t help but snort.

They’ve been friends practically their entire lives, the three of them, having grown up on the same street, and although they’re steadily growing more and more into vastly different people, they’ve remained close through all of high school. Tolys would trust Raivis and Eduard with his life, if not necessarily with his possessions. They’re like brothers to him in many ways, and as someone who grew up alone with his mother, that’s more than he could have asked for.

The first stop they have to make is a department store off the highway, because Raivis realizes he forgot to pack his hay fever medicine.

They tour through the store as if that’s their entire road trip. Eduard pokes an electronic thing in the toy section that starts singing at him, and he nearly falls over. Tolys wishes he had a camera with him. Well, he did pack the video camera, promising his mother to be very careful with it, but it’s in the car right now.

Somewhere between the medicine aisle and the clothing department, they lose sight of Eduard. When they find him, he’s holding up two graphic T-shirts and looking contemplative, the TL lights reflecting in his glasses.

“Hey guys, what do—”

“No,” says Raivis. “You don’t even watch MTV, Ed.”

Sticking his tongue out, Eduard obediently puts one of the shirts back on the rack. Tolys liked it, really, even if it said ‘Yo! Raps!’ in bright pink letters. The rest of it was a nice blue color. Nevertheless, he’s pretty sure Raivis is right and Eduard doesn’t like hip-hop. At least, not as much as he likes other kinds of music.

The second shirt has the Jurassic Park logo on it, and Tolys has the feeling he’s seen Eduard wearing one exactly like it before, but alright. He puts his hands deep into the pockets of his own overalls.

“We’re not here for you to be a nerd,” Raivis teases.

“We’re not here for you to be an unsupportive friend either,” Eduard shoots back. Raivis smiles.

They go to pay. In the queue for the cash register, after pulling his wallet out of his jeans pocket by the chain attached to it, Eduard picks up a candy bar.

“Hey,” he says, “we should do something reckless like they always do in movies.”

“Dude, you’re not thinking of stealing a candy bar. That’s a terrible idea,” Raivis says, and Tolys is on the verge of protesting the idea as well when he realizes that he doesn’t always have to be the voice of reason.

“I agree, it’s a bad idea. Raivis should do it.” He relishes the incredulous looks he receives. “Ed and I are adults, but if you get caught, you’ll be tried as a minor.”

“I turn eighteen this year,” Raivis grumbles, while Eduard snorts and puts the candy bar on the conveyor belt.

“Maybe we should stick with something reckless that’s less illegal,” he says, and the cashier gives him a withering look that has him pulling a guilty grimace at Tolys and Raivis.

When they finally make it back to the car, Raivis gives it a considering look and starts to say something, but Tolys forestalls him.

“No, neither of you is driving my mother’s car. That’s definitely illegal.”

“Spoilsport. Can I at least have shotgun?”

They both look at Eduard, who is putting the new supplies in the trunk, ducking a little to avoid hitting his head. It’s so strange. He used to be the shortest of the three of them until they were about thirteen, when he suddenly shot up like a weed and started hitting his head on everything. He hasn’t stopped in the five years since.

“Well,” Tolys says, “if you want to talk reckless, that’s definitely it.”

Raivis grins and shoots into the car at top speed.

“Booyah!” he shouts, and Eduard knocks against the roof when he jumps.

“Oh, no, Raivis,” he whines, but Raivis just grins smugly and stretches his legs out, so Eduard is forced to fold his gangly legs into the Škoda’s backseat, from where he digs out a bag of Bugles and starts throwing them at Raivis. Raivis eats them.

“At least put some music on,” Tolys says, so Raivis hands Eduard his cassette deck, and he carefully selects a new tape.

They arrive at a campsite to the Macarena, which even Raivis has given up on pretending he doesn’t know the dance to.

When Tolys has confirmed that they can stay there that night, Eduard leafs through flyers for local attractions in the reception area, happy to stretch his legs, while Raivis searches through the car for the tent.

“Hey,” he says when Tolys walks over to him. “Look, they’ve got geese here.”

“I hate you.”

Chuckling, Raivis turns back to the car and continues dragging the tent out, the poles rattling in the bag. Tolys hopes the thing is complete; last he heard, Eduard’s sister had taken it to some festival, and the music taste in that family sure is… Something. It’s just another way the three of them are completely different. He pulls a hair elastic out of his pocket, pulls his hair away from his face, and sets to work helping the tent get set up.

By the time Eduard saunters over, holding several flyers that he’s probably going to put in one of his scrapbooks, they’re nearly done with the tent, which thankfully isn’t missing anything and looks clean. The last time all three of them slept in it was several years ago, but it was after Eduard’s growth spurt, so Tolys feels pretty confident that they’ll still fit.

“Looks good,” Eduard says.

“You’re going to be the one to break it up tomorrow,” Tolys tells him. He’s not going to get away with hiding at the reception so easily.

“Alright, fine. Look, there’s a pizza place by the river!” He holds one of the flyers up.

They go to the pizza place.

As always, Tolys finds himself in a heated debate with Eduard about whether pineapple is a good topping for pizzas or not—Eduard claims it’s ‘so eighties’, which apparently makes it a bad thing, like he didn’t grow up during the eighties. Raivis gleefully steals slices of their pizzas during this argument, as always.

It’s going to be weird, not being around them so much anymore from next year on. They’ll be on opposite ends of the country, just about, with Eduard going to his fancy university to learn all kinds of nerdy things about computers and whatnot, Tolys hopefully studying to be a nurse, and Raivis finishing high school. Even after that, he probably won’t come either of their ways again, because Raivis has a curious mind and boundless creativity and will be… Who knows, writing a book?

Maybe Tolys should get a mobile phone as well, to stay in touch.

“What are you thinking about?” Eduard asks as they walk back to the campsite. The sun is setting, glinting off the plastic frame of his glasses and the pale hair that covers his forehead.

“Mobile phones,” he replies distractedly, and so he spends the next twenty minutes listening to Eduard raving about technology, not understanding about half the words he says but happy that he’s so passionate about something.

The tent is a nice temperature to sleep in, but it takes some time before they get to it, because Raivis has commandeered Eduard’s cassettes and insists on playing and replaying Wonderwall when he finds it on a tape, while Eduard protests halfheartedly. Tolys, caught in the middle of it, tries to ignore them and read a book. It’s a good thing there are no other campers nearby—it’s too early in the season for that—or he’s sure someone would have come to complain by the seventh rewind. It’s the first time Raivis has managed to stop the cassette exactly at the beginning of the song, preventing them from having to listen to the ending of a No Doubt song again.

“You have to admit Gwen Stefani is hot,” Eduard says.

“I don’t have to admit anything,” Raivis returns. “Tolys, what do you think?”

“I think you two should shut up, is what I think. Didn’t you want to go to that aquarium a few towns over tomorrow? I’m not driving you there if you wake up after noon.”

“Alright, mom,” he says. There’s a lot of shuffling, Oasis clicks off—“rewind the tape!” Eduard hisses—and then, eventually, they settle down.

“Goodnight, guys,” Eduard says.

Raivis pretends to snore demonstratively, and Tolys smiles at the canvas ceiling.

In the morning—barely still in the morning—Eduard manfully drinks coffee, which Tolys knows he hates, Raivis finds out that he also forgot his hair gel after he takes a shower so he makes a detour to the camp site’s little shop, and Tolys finds a sad, flattened candy bar underneath the air mattresses in the tent.

“Eduard can put that in his scrapbook,” Raivis comments, walking by with his hair parted neatly down the middle again.

That doesn’t sound like a very smart idea. Tolys puts it in his pocket and helps Eduard break down the tent despite his threat from yesterday.

They make it to the aquarium by noon. Raivis, again in his ripped jeans and wearing combat boots that seem too warm for the May weather, is suddenly not so concerned about appearing aloof anymore and takes pictures of fish so enthusiastically that his camera roll is full halfway through, but that’s alright, because Eduard apparently carries new ones around in his deep pockets.

“Come on, Raivis, I’ve known you longer than today.”

To be fair, Tolys also spends a long time staring up at the animals in the underwater tunnel, especially the squid sort of hovering by a rock, staring back at him.

Silently, Raivis sits beside him and draws the thing in a sketchbook Eduard was apparently also carrying around. Tolys bets he also has bandages and painkillers and pens rattling around in those pockets. Eduard is like that.

“Man,” says the boy in question, over their heads, “that thing is giving me the wiggins. Oh, hey, that’s a good drawing, it’s just as creepy.”

“Thanks,” Raivis says. He catches Tolys’s eye and shrugs, obviously amused.

“Are you guys hungry? I’m really hungry.”

“Yeah.” Raivis closes the sketchbook and looks up at Eduard. “Fish, I think?”

Fish, of course. But first, Tolys buys a mood ring shaped like a dolphin from the aquarium’s gift shop and watches it indicate that he’s… Somewhere between angry and sad, he thinks. Oh well.

“They don’t even have dolphins,” Eduard says, inspecting the ring. “Oh, this is like those shirts we all wore when we were like twelve. You know, the ones that changed color?”

“You were the only one who wore those, Ed,” Raivis replies. He’s rolled the sleeves of his plaid shirt up to his elbows, but looks quite warm all the same. From experience, Tolys knows he won’t take the shirt off, so he leaves it alone.

After they eat fish, they realize they don’t have a place to spend the night yet, and Tolys had enough of camping out in the wild with Feliks last year, so they pile back into the Škoda and drive around for a while looking for a campsite. He refuses to drive back to where they came from—because then what’s the point of a road trip?—and eventually, they end up quite a lot further up the river, where the landscape already starts to get more hilly as it leads up to the mountains in the north.

“We should go skiing sometime,” Eduard says, looking out over the campsite they choose as if he can see the mountains. It’s a beautiful spot, on the banks of a brook leading to the river, the grass blindingly green in the evening sun. Raivis huffs.

“You know we can’t afford that, Ed.”

He smiles softly. “Maybe not now.”

“Can you guys help me with this tent?” Tolys shouts.

The next day, with Eduard somehow having woken up at the crack of dawn and freaking Tolys and Raivis out by being unfindable for a good two hours, Raivis really gets stuck on the idea of doing something reckless.

“I should get a piercing,” he says, and Tolys says, “No, you shouldn’t,” and Eduard says, “Oh, I kinda want a tongue piercing.”

“You what?” Tolys swivels his head around to stare at him from where he’s eating the bread rolls his friend was buying at the local bakery while he was still asleep.

“Yeah.” He grins, showing teeth. “Tuomi got a tattoo, you know, when he turned eighteen.”

“Yes, but Tuomi is…” He waves his hand around, throwing crumbs everywhere on the grass. Something catches his eye, and he thrusts his hand in his friends’ direction. “Look, the ring says it’s a bad idea. I’m upset.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess we have to listen to what your ring says. Not!”

“Well, I’m not driving you there.”

After a fight for the car keys when both Raivis and Eduard insist they’ll drive themselves, thank you very much—which ends with Tolys shoving the keys into his overalls—the two of them grumpily decide to walk into town, leaving Tolys to clean up the tent. He hopes they don’t actually get holes poked into themselves, but you never know with them. They’re somehow always bringing out the most recalcitrant side of each other, egging each other on. No one ever believes Tolys when he tells them this, because everyone knows Raivis and Eduard as quiet, polite guys.

They are, but they’re also teenage boys and trying to be cool in their own ways.

This is nice, too. Quiet. No Spice Girls or No Doubt blaring. Just the water and the birds.

Tolys’s mood ring tells him he’s still upset.

What a great buy.

Raivis comes back a few hours later without a piercing but with his hair dyed black. It’s still styled the same way, but now paints a stark contrast with his light eyebrows, and there are smudges of dye all along his hairline and on his ears.

“Oh, this is way worse.” Tolys pushes his hands through his own shoulder-length hair.

“No, it’s not; your ring says you’re happy.”

“My ring says you’re an idiot, is what is says.”

Raivis just grins. “Wait till you see Ed.”

Tolys groans. They should have done this last year, before he and Eduard turned eighteen, because he swears being a legal adult has made his friend more childish somehow.

“Come on, Tolys,” Raivis says, softer. “You don’t always have to be the responsible one. Everybody already knows you’re a great guy, including us. We’re not going to stop thinking that if you do something dumb every once in a while.”

Smiling slightly, Tolys leans against the hood of the car. He’s going to miss Raivis. Underneath all the plaid and combat boots and black hair, he’s the most sensitive one out of the three of them, and also the one who’s been through the most trouble in his life. He’s the silent little boy that brought them together in the first place, alone on his front stoop and looking decidedly lost there.

“Was the mood ring not dumb enough?”

Raivis laughs, sits on the hood next to him. The smell of hair dye wafts over.

“Behold!” comes Eduard’s voice from up the slope. Tolys closes his eyes for a second, bracing himself. “Does anyone have some ice water?”

Oh, god.

“Stop sticking your tongue out, Ed,” Tolys says when they finally get on the road again, having recovered a little from the fact that he actually went and got his tongue pierced. “People are going to think you’re being rude to them.”

From the passenger seat, Eduard sticks his tongue out at him.

“It feels weird.”

“I could’ve predicted that.”

“Are we there yet?” Raivis asks from behind him, mock-whiny.

“The ring says no,” Eduard replies. They don’t even know where they’re going other than further north.

Tolys snorts. “The ring says you’re both idiots and I don’t know why you’re my friends.”

That earns him a chorus of booing and some Bugles thrown at his head from where they were lying on the floor under the passenger seat.

They stop at a gas station, because Eduard is hungry again and because the car needs gas, and find a flyer advertising a nearby hiking trail, which they decide to take a look at. It’s good weather for hiking, and at least Raivis’s boots are suitable for it.

The area is beautiful, too, and Raivis takes lots of pictures again. Tolys hauls the video camera up into the hills, checks that there’s tape in it at Eduard’s insistence—“we don’t have any footage of my sister’s band because we forgot once”—and captures some of the hike, including the view over a brook they find as Eduard splashes through it with his Converses in hand, getting even his Crystal Pepsi shirt wet but grinning, and himself and Raivis belting out Barbie Girl at top volume.

Tolys is Barbie, because he has long hair, apparently.

“And a mood ring,” Eduard adds sagely.

And a mood ring. Tolys suspects that’s going to be what he’ll always remember of this trip. Eduard’s piercing, Raivis’s dye job, and his mood ring.

He loves it.

That night, Tolys wakes up when it’s still dark outside, and blinks blearily at his nearly invisible surroundings.

Raivis is gone.

There is shuffling outside, the stones on the path leading up to their new campsite scrunching. Eduard breathes deeply and steadily on the other side of Raivis’s mattress.

After a minute, Tolys goes outside, wrapping his sleeping bag around his shoulder to ward off the chill of the night. It’s not really summer yet.

“Hey,” Raivis says from where he’s sitting on the hood of the Škoda, knees pulled up to his chest and bare feet against the yellow paint. His hair looks like an ink stain in the darkness.

“Hey. Be careful with that car, hm?” Tolys sits next to him. “It’s almost an antique.”

Raivis lets out a puff of air. “So are you.”

“Don’t be rude to senior citizens, young man.” He nudges his shoulder against Raivis’s. “What’s up?”

For a while, it’s silent, and the two of them just look out over the hills, at the shadows of the mountains in the distance and the vast garden of stars overhead, brighter here than even in their small town. Eduard snorts in the tent.

“Just a dream,” Raivis eventually says. “Could’ve been worse.”

Tolys hums. “It’s gotten better, hasn’t it? The past years?”

“Yeah, definitely.” A pause. “I’m going to miss you. You and Eduard.”

He glances at Raivis, who’s now tilting his head back and looking at the sky, his skin very pale in contrast with his newly dark hair. He’s wearing an overlarge sweater Eduard got him for his birthday ages ago—his fourteenth, maybe?—that has Mariah Carey’s face on it. For some reason. Tolys can’t even see it; he knows it’s there.

“I’m going to miss you two as well. It’ll be weird.” He sighs, drags his fingers through the dust on the car. “You guys are like brothers to me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, me too. I mean, I’ve got other friends, but it’s…”

“It’s different.”

The zipper of the tent.

“What’s going on here?” Eduard asks, sounding extra bleary because of his thick tongue. Out of the corner of his eye, Tolys sees Raivis smile as his friend lies back, resting his head against the windshield, which is probably a bad idea, but it doesn’t matter all of a sudden.

“A party,” he tells Eduard, “for cool people.”

“Guess you should come back inside, then.”

Raivis laughs, sounding carefree.

On his way back into the tent, grumbling about the cold, Eduard trips over a guy-line, and Tolys starts laughing as well. He lies down on the hood of the Škoda and looks at the stars.

They try to prank call Eduard’s brother from a payphone the next day, but they run out of money to throw into the thing halfway through, and anyway Eduard keeps giggling in the background, so he probably didn’t fall for it.

A while later, when his mobile phone rings, Eduard pulls a face at it and doesn’t pick up.

“Tolys’s ring says you’re a coward,” Raivis says, sounding dead serious.

“Tolys’s ring should know that Tuomi is kind of scary when he wants to be.”

That’s true.

Somehow, Eduard still hasn’t run out of mixtapes. Tolys’s favorite is the one he’s titled ‘That’s So Pizza Hawaii’, which apparently refers to songs from their childhood, and also the Rembrandts, who are on every single cassette. When asked why, Eduard just grins.

“Is it ‘cause we’re friends?” Raivis asks from the backseat, grabbing Eduard’s baseball cap off his head.

“I don’t know, what does the ring say? Give that back.”

“The ring is withholding comment,” Tolys tells them. And, “Ed, don’t— Keep your seatbelt on. Come on, I’m not your mother.”

Eduard sticks his tongue out again. It’s probably good Tolys isn’t his mother, because the poor woman is going to freak when she sees that piercing.

They barely make it back in time for the official graduation, in the end, going to their high school without stopping by any of their houses first, so Eduard is wearing an Aerosmith shirt and baggy jeans with one leg rolled up and Tolys had to borrow Raivis’s Mariah Carey sweater because someone spilled their energy drink on his own clothes—thanks, Raivis.

As Tolys drives through the town, Eduard fumbles with his cassettes until he finds the last one, forwards through another round of I’ll Be There For You, and grins when the second song starts playing, obviously proud that he captured no talking from the radio show host.

“So deep,” Raivis says, smiling, and he doesn’t even pretend he doesn’t know how it goes as they pull up to their high school.

“Mmmbop!” Eduard shouts.

“Du ba dop, ba du bop,” Tolys and Raivis chorus, and then all three of them are singing through laughter, startling several passersby.

“Du ba dop, ba du bop, du ba dop, ba du, yeah!”

They’ll never forget them in this town.

15 notes · View notes

eurohoopblog · 5 years

Text

It’s not for everyone.

2018 was one of the best and worst years of my life.

As I started off the 2017/18 season in Slovakia Eurocup, everything was going great. Traveling to a new country every other week for games, a competitive schedule, cool teammates, weekend road trip adventures. Life was good. As matter of fact, life was great. I was enjoying the peaceful, simple life that Slovakia offered.

In Slovakia, part of the visa application process includes gathering individual criminal record checks of everywhere you have lived in the past 4 years (before your mind starts wandering, the answer is no...continue reading🙃). In my case, this included Canada, United States, Greece, and Poland. After you’ve obtained all of your records, you have a 3 month validation window to apply for a visa. Prior to leaving home for Slovakia and after a lot of paperwork, I was able to secure 3 out of the 4 records- all that was left was Greece. Fast forward to mid November and mid season, my Greek papers finally arrived in Slovakia. “Finally, now my visa can be issued,” I thought. Not quite. Because it had been over 3 months, my three previous records had “expired” and were no longer valid. We had to restart the whole application process from scratch. Cross country road trips to Poland, early embassy visits in Bratislava, a scramble of paperwork and phone calls. As luck would have it, we also had an even more pressing issue on our hands. The maximum length of a short-term stay in the Slovak Republic cannot exceed a total of 180 days... we were nearing 150. Time was against my side and my papers were put on a rush. All I could do was wait.

After I returned from Christmas holidays in Florida & Greece, everything changed. My reentry to Slovakia without a visa delivered another set of problems and my struggles increased. After I finally finessed my my way back into the country *see previous post🙃, I was relieved to finally make it back to Ruzomberok. I was even more relieved to hear that all of my documents had arrived and were being processed. Although I was just over 180 days, I was sure there would be some way around it considering the circumstances of my situation. Well, less than a week later my naivety slapped me in my in face.... my application was denied.

I was devastated. I loved my team and I didn’t want to leave. My team and I exhausted all options in attempts of an appeal. Even with the help of the club’s lawyers and president, the law enforcement would not budge. I couldn’t believe it; I had never heard of anything like this before. After our appeal was rejected, I was faced with a choice. I could stay to finish out the season without a visa, crossing my fingers I wouldn’t be deported, or I could leave- two unfortunate and unfavourable options for both sides. My team staff and I carefully discussed my situation and the choice was left up to me. At the same time, I learned about a former American player that was (literally) deported a few years back for a similar situation. After hearing this, I knew that I couldn’t stay. Not only would I be playing with fire, but I would be jeopardizing my career. The risk did not outweigh the reward and I made the decision to leave Slovakia. Less than two weeks later, I found myself back in Greece playing for a new team to finish out the season with in Thessaloniki. Unfortunately, when it rains it pours and my bad luck continued to follow. Underwhelming living conditions, a losing record, and some other issues left me feeling emotionally drained. After playing for a few months, financial issues within the team forced my coach and I to resign the last month of the season. And with that... my third season overseas officially came to an end.

Although last year was one of the toughest I’ve faced, ironically enough, it was also one of the best years of my life. Even though a lot of things didn’t go in my favour last year, a lot of things did.

In 9 months, I travelled to over 10 different European countries- Slovakia, Hungary, Poland, Czech Republic, Austria, Turkey, Russia, Greece, France, and Italy. I met some amazing new teammates, reunited with old teammates, and made some unforgettable memories. Post season, I hosted a boys and girls basketball camp in Santa Margherita Ligure, Italy; a beautiful fishing town minutes away from Portofino and Cinque Terre. My best friend and I lituated our way through Athens, the Greek Islands, and Italy... leaving no carbs behind (pics below). The summer continued on a high note, bouncing between home and Portland to train and spend time with friends and family. I also spent some time in California- from up in the bay down to LA- and had the opportunity to coach at Klay Thompson’s basketball camp in Orange County. Although a lot of things might have gone wrong in 2018, a lot of things went right.

After a tumultuous season and the ups and downs that followed, I needed stability going into the 2018-19 season. When my former team from Athens reached out, I felt as though I was given a sign. After playing for Dafni my second year overseas, I had one of my most successful seasons professionally. I loved my team, I loved the city, I loved gyros and gyros loved me back. During the past four years overseas, Athens has made itself my home away from home. Once again, Greece found its way to mark itself as the next chapter in my book.

I’ve been back in Athens since September now and I couldn’t be more content. Our season is off to a solid start, currently sitting 4th in league and undefeated in the Greek Cup. Playing a tight knit rotation, we have a strong chemistry on/off the floor and if we stick to the script, this year could be something special. I’m joined by two younger Americans (I’m a vet now!?), and we share an apartment and team car together. This season, I am living in Piraeus, a beautiful seaside neighborhood near the port of Athens. South of the city center, Pireas is full of v cute cafes/bars/restaurants nestled along the sea. After living in the congestion of the center my previous year, the tranquil seaside lifestyle is definitely more my vibe. When the weather is right, there’s a very good chance you will find me down near the sea (only a 5 min walk from our apt), grabbing a coffee, laying out, or just relaxing/recharging between practices. I’ve been fully taking advantage of our new location, so much so I even asserted myself into the senior citizen swimming group a few mornings lol. Off the court, life is pretty hard to beat in Athens. Good weather, good people, good food; there’s not much more I can ask for.

After everything 2018 threw at me, I am grateful for it all; the good, the bad, and the ugly. I grew as a player and a person, learned many lessons, and came out of it all as a stronger individual. Even though life hit me hard, I got back up. The highs, the lows, and the in betweens are all part of what make us human and they are all part of our journey through life. My personal experience overseas has been a whirlwind of ups and downs; delivering some of the very best times of my life and also some of the hardest times of my life. As cliche as it may sound, I truly believe everything happens for a reason and a silver lining can be found in every situation if you look hard enough. The past four years have tested me more than I could imagine, and I’m thankful for them all.

I did not share my story for sympathy, I did not tell my story for attention; I told my story because life is not always easy. In a society oversaturated by perfectionism, we forget that there is power in vulnerability. When you look on Instagram, it’s easy to think professional overseas athletes are “living the dream,” a phrase we hear all too often. The truth is, yes, there are many highs, but there can also be many lows. These lows may not be making the superficial IG “highlight real” but that doesn’t mean that they are not happening. Nobody’s life is perfect no matter how social media makes it look. It’s easy to compare behind rose-colored glasses, but in reality- there is another side of “the dream” that people do not see. Two-a-days, language barriers, 10 hour bus rides, underwhelming living conditions, injuries, team financial drama, all day Netflix marathons. Nobody sees the struggles we go through off the the court; the isolation, the boredom, the loneliness. The reality is, playing overseas is not for the weak or faint hearted; I’ve seen overseas life break even the strongest people- it’s not for everyone. That’s exactly why I’m compelled to share the raw moments, the unfiltered moments, the good the bad and the ugly- without the airbrush.

With that..... 2018 has officially come to a close. A year full of many struggles and many blessing, I am grateful for them all and would not change a thing. Everything has aligned itself to bring me to where I am today, and in this moment, life is good. To this crazy thing called life, thank you.... I am exactly where I’m meant to be.

1 note · View note