also worth saying that this is driving me to writing thg fanfic bc I'm genuinely pissed off, but my favourite way of engaging with thg isn't even with canon characters at this point. it's through thinking about two ocs I've had for years that I mentally refer to as "toxic fishermen yuri", and I'm incapable of writing extensively abt anything related to thg that doesn't involve them lol

the older I get, the more the technological changes I've lived through as a millennial feel bizarre to me. we had computers in my primary school classroom; I first learned to type on a typewriter. I had a cellphone as a teenager, but still needed a physical train timetable. my parents listened to LP records when I was growing up; meanwhile, my childhood cassette tape collection became a CD collection, until I started downloading mp3s on kazaa over our 56k modem internet connection to play in winamp on my desktop computer, and now my laptop doesn't even have a disc tray. I used to save my word documents on floppy discs. I grew up using the rotary phone at my grandparents' house and our wall-connected landline; my mother's first cellphone was so big, we called it The Brick. I once took my desktop computer - monitor, tower and all - on the train to attend a LAN party at a friend's house where we had to connect to the internet with physical cables to play together, and where one friend's massive CRT monitor wouldn't fit on any available table. as kids, we used to make concertina caterpillars in class with the punctured and perforated paper strips that were left over whenever anything was printed on the room's dot matrix printer, which was outdated by the time I was in high school. VHS tapes became DVDs, and you could still rent both at the local video store when I was first married, but those shops all died out within the next six years. my facebook account predates the iphone camera - I used to carry around a separate digital camera and manually upload photos to the computer in order to post them; there are rolls of undeveloped film from my childhood still in envelopes from the chemist's in my childhood photo albums. I have a photo album from my wedding, but no physical albums of my child; by then, we were all posting online, and now that's a decade's worth of pictures I'd have to sort through manually in order to create one. there are video games I tell my son about but can't ever show him because the consoles they used to run on are all obsolete and the games were never remastered for the new ones that don't have the requisite backwards compatibility. I used to have a walkman for car trips as a kid; then I had a discman and a plastic hardshell case of CDs to carry around as a teenager; later, a friend gave my husband and I engraved matching ipods as a wedding present, and we used them both until they stopped working; now they're obsolete. today I texted my mother, who was born in 1950, a tiktok upload of an instructional video for girls from 1956 on how to look after their hair and nails and fold their clothes. my father was born four years after the invention of colour televison; he worked in radio and print journalism, and in the years before his health declined, even though he logically understood that newspapers existed online, he would clip out articles from the physical paper, put them in an envelope and mail them to me overseas if he wanted me to read them. and now I hold the world in a glass-faced rectangle, and I have access to everything and ownership of nothing, and everything I write online can potentially be wiped out at the drop of a hat by the ego of an idiot manchild billionaire. as a child, I wore a watch, but like most of my generation, I stopped when cellphones started telling us the time and they became redundant. now, my son wears a smartwatch so we can call him home from playing in the neighbourhood park, and there's a tanline on his wrist ike the one I haven't had since the age of fifteen. and I wonder: what will 2030 look like?

all the boys you’ve loved and lost during the course of our lives, we meet thousands of people, creating either a seconds long moment or memories that last a lifetime. some of them you’ll have the opportunity to know beyond their names and faces, some you may even grow to love. unfortunately, not all of them have the luxury of staying in your life forever. 

❥• one: the childhood best friend 

he’s the one you grew up next to, who lived in the house directly in front of yours. the one you’ll forever associate with popsicles on the sidewalk, bike rides at dawn, seesaws and swings at sunset. and you wish you could trap yourself within the memories, to never escape the hold of childhood innocence. but, just like everyone else, both of you eventually had to grow up. 

pairing: lee chan x reader genre: fluff, angst, childhood friends to ??? word count: 2062

→  it honestly seemed like you and him were meant to be friends: both your parents attended the same university, worked at buildings a few streets away from the other’s, and eventually ended up living in the same neighbourhood — buying houses directly in front of each other. you met chan at the ripe old age of eight months, when they decided that both of you were old enough for a little play date. sure, you mostly communicated in unintelligible babbles and spent the afternoon throwing plastic toys and stuffed animals at the other — you having to go home a crying mess — but your parents remained optimistic that you would eventually become good friends.

→  and they were right — of course they were. this had been their plan from the very beginning. you began to grow closer when both of you were old enough to understand that throwing toys at other kids was wrong and your communication skills evolved from babbles to simple sentences. alternating afternoons were spent at the other’s place, playing house, cooking fake food, tag in the backyard, blowing bubbles in the garden. looking back at it now, friendships were so much simpler. you never had to worry if they truly liked you or wanted to spend time with you, as long as you could laugh and play around, all was well.  

→  you and chan learned how to ride a bike together. your parents were there to guide you both along, but it was mostly both of you teaching yourselves. was it a good idea to have two eight year olds learning by themselves? probably not, but it introduced you to the basics of independence and meant that you spent a lot of your time with chan. he was the first one to have the training wheels removed, much to your dismay and his elation. 

“hah, yn, you’re still a baby who needs training wheels.” chan teased, pointing a finger at you with a smile.  

you could only huff and pout, gripping onto the handles of your bike until your knuckles turned white. that night, you asked your parents to remove the training wheels of your bike, determined to prove to chan that you were, in fact, not a baby. 

the following afternoon had him eating his words, not because you were blazing down the street, but because you fell off your bike. chan almost fainted at the scrape that marked your arm. it was small and had little to no bleeding, but that didn’t stop him from rushing to his mother with tears brimming his eyes, demanding that you be treated. even though you repeatedly told him you were fine, chan spent the next few days following you around.  

→  the following year had you asking your parents what it meant to love someone. 

your parents’ eyes widen at your inquiry. “what do you mean yn?” your father asked, tilting his head to the side at your inquiry. 

“you always tell me you love me, and i tell you i love you back. but how do you know you love someone?” you clarified with a pout, looking down at your feet as if you were ashamed of your question. 

your parents shared a fond smile at the genuineness of your question, though it faltered slightly at the thought of you only saying it back because you were taught to — not out of sincerity. regardless, they tried their best to explain. “loving someone means you care for them, not wanting them to be hurt or sick. you want to be around them, you think about them even when you don’t mean to. you’re happy when you spend time with them. things like that.”  

you nod, taking into account their words and how you’ve been feeling yourself. the next day, you sat on the curb with chan. the summer sun threatening to melt the popsicles both of you were intent on eating. it was rather quiet, nothing but the birds’ melodious singing and cars passing by. up until you blurted out, “i love you.”    

chan blinked back at you, it had been the first time someone outside his family had told him that. you panicked at his non-response, explaining quickly what your parents told you, “loving someone means you don’t want that person hurt and you’re happy when you spend time with them.” 

chan nodded, processing your words, “hmm. then i love you too.” 

→  saying i love you became a normal thing for you and chan. your parents found it adorable, the way it became a hello and a goodbye. with all the time you spent together, it was expected that both of you form some sort of attachment to the other.  

you sat on a swing in the playground five minutes away from your homes, chan stood behind you, gently pushing you forward every now and then. the sun was setting, turning a sky into a mixture of orange, yellow, and purple. “do you think we’ll be friends forever?” you ask, voice soft and tender as you felt his hands lightly on your back. 

“yes. we will.” chan answered without a moment’s hesitation, eyes still staring straight ahead into the horizon.  

“how do you know?” you asked, still unsure. you were to start middle school the next day. it was at a much bigger place than your elementary or kindergarten. at age eleven, both of you knew things were bound to change. you knew were going to meet more people, possibly be placed in different classes, join various clubs and organizations. 

chan moved to stand in front of you, the swing slowing down to a gentle halt. “because i promise we’ll stay friends.” 

you hold your pinky up towards him, a smile playing on your features, “promise?” 

he intertwined his pinky with yours, chuckling as he shook his head at your slight nervousness, “promise, yn.” 

“okay. love you.”

“i love you too.” 

→  but of course, promises aren’t always kept. even though both of you tried your hardest to do so. 

→  you and chan were inseparable throughout your kindergarten and elementary school days. despite meeting several other kids that were in the same age range, you still opted to be attached at the hip. eating lunch or snacks, playing, studying together. slowly, but surely, all of that changed when you entered middle school. 

→  it started with being placed in different classes, with different free periods. you had made friends with the students that sat around you, all of them bright and bubbly — eager to make new friends. you were slightly overwhelmed at the onslaught of new people, but you grew to like it, accepting their invitations to hang out after classes. chan had also found new friends of his own. kids he met when he signed up for the dance club, all of them just as passionate as he was. you were both happy for the other’s expansion of social circles, never failing to send a giant smile and an excited wave when you bumped into each other in the halls.   

→  chan walked with you to school in the morning and always met up with you for lunch, exchanging stories of his afternoons at dance classes and yours spent swimming at the town rec center with your newfound friends. you both still said your i love yous with a smile before you headed into your next classes, but as the months passed, they became more and more rushed, eventually more mumbled, to barely saying it at all. 

→  you would eventually join your middle school swim team, and chan never missed a single one of your games, just as you didn’t miss a single one of his recitals. always the loudest to cheer the other on, the first to congratulate and celebrate a victory, or pick up in a loss. but with the addition of new clubs in your schedules, it meant lesser and lesser time to spend with the other. hanging out together turned a daily activity into a weekly one. neither of you minded, you were happy and occupied, that didn’t mean you were no longer friends. right? so you pushed that concern to the back of your minds.  

→  high school rolled around more quickly than either of you could ever imagine. chan was now in the school dance team and you were in the varsity swimming team. back in middle school, you both managed to meet up at least once a week, now you were lucky to even spend a full day together once a month.  

you sat in chan’s room, watching him as he struggle to get past a level of a video game another friend of his had lent him. truth be told, you couldn’t recall exactly what that game was. was it a platformer, racing, fighting? you never really listened when he rambled on about. you were too wrapped up in your own thoughts, something had changed, you just couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was exactly. “hey chan.” 

“yeah, yn?” he didn’t take his eyes off the screen, “is something wrong?”

“no, um—” you were grateful that some of his attention was elsewhere, “we’re still friends, right?” 

chan paused his game so he could turn to look at you, “of course we are. why are you asking?” 

you wanted to believe him, so you nodded before shaking your head in slight embarrassment, “right. i’m sorry, i guess i’m just thinking about how we’d known each other for sixteen years now.” 

chan knew better that to think that was all there was to your question, but he couldn’t find it in himself to delve further or to ask more questions. instead, he gave you a small smile, his mind going back to that summer afternoon eating popsicles on the sidewalk. “i love you.” 

you offer him a weak smile back, your own memories taking you back to watching the sunset on the swings, “i love you too.” 

→  little did either of you know that would be the last time you would say those words to the other. as the months dragged on, you and chan only became busier, with academics, extracurriculars. communication became far and few in between, you didn’t mean it of course. you were tired from swimming laps, he was exhausted from practice. you had homework that you’d been putting off, his friends decided to surprise him. it just slipped both of your minds.   

“i’m free on saturday, how about you?” 

 “can’t, f/n is coming over. how about sunday?” 

“ i have a competition, you’ll cheer me on right?” 

“ i have a swim meet that day too…” 

“tuesday then?” 

“i have a huge test on wednesday. i have to study. ” 

conversations like these soon became the norm for you and chan, not that either of you wanted it to be. it just happened without either of you noticing. you both slowly stopped inviting the other to hang out after class, to watch a swim meet or a recital, thinking that the other might be too busy to even attend. in neither of you wanting to bother the other, you eventually drifted further and further away from the other. 

→  there was no dramatic falling out, no big fight that ended in tears, not even a single screaming match. things simply happened without either of you realizing what was going on. you still waved at each other in the halls, but he stopped walking with you to and from school. you still talked to each other when both of your families occasionally had dinner together, but it felt formal and impersonal — filled with more awkward silences than comfortable ones. both of you always felt the need to fill up the space, but it somehow only made it worse. you still said your goodbyes with a hug and a smile, but there was no longer an “i love you” that followed.  

❥•   but it was with chan you learned that growing up could also mean growing apart. and though both of you know you could’ve done better, you accept that it couldn’t be helped. besides, you’ll always have the memories of learning to ride a bike, playing tag in the backyard, swings at sunset, and that very first i love you. memories both you and chan will look back on with a wistful smile when you long for the days of your youth, and that was more than enough.

seventeen as all the boys you’ve loved and lost. next  ➤  yoon jeonghan, the academic rival 

An Educational Leap

My name is Leila. I'm a lesbian from Iran. I migrated to Britain a few years ago. I was a teacher in my country and the story that follows happened in the summer of 1986 when I was in my twenties. In order to make my story understandable for a foreign reader, I should explain the situation of those years. Shortly after the 1979 revolution, a theocratic dictatorship began which harshly oppressed the women in Iran. In 1980, a war started between Iran and Iraq. Since the government couldn’t provide sufficient military hardware for its army, the army had to rely on human waves. Masses of humans had to be brainwashed into believing that they are fighting in a holy war and if they die they go straightly to Heaven. But what kind of place was this Heaven? According to Islamic clergy, Heaven is a paradise full of tasteful food, beautiful palaces and Houris – mindless sex slaves who always stay virgin and unconditionally offer themselves to faithful people! The government used propaganda to encourage martyrdom. Since it’s a little hard to brainwash a grown man with that promise, the propaganda mostly targeted children. Brainwashed child soldiers were suitable for human waves since they made submissive cannon fodders. There was even a lesson in school books about a 13 year old child soldier who tied grenades to himself and jumped under a tank! I'm ashamed to admit I had to teach such lessons at school without realizing their effects on my students. Back then, I had made a small safe world for myself which was separated from the rest of society. Nobody cared about me and I didn't care about anyone else either, except for my partner Faranak. She and I were friends since our childhood. We grew up together, went to school together, realized that we were lesbians together and became partners in secret. She was also a teacher and worked in the same school with me. We are still together after all these years. Our families were close too. Back then single women weren’t allowed to live alone and homosexual relationships were a cardinal sin which could lead to execution as well. So, Faranak and I found a solution; There were many people living in our families small homes, so we asked them for permission to rent a small unit just across the corridor from theirs. With us so close, our families felt as though we were just living in another room, and their homes had more space. Faranak's family was also okay with that for similar reasons. Thus, I managed to create a safe place for myself and my love to live freely and happily. The government of Iran enforced mandatory wearing of Hijab for women and was extremely harsh on women teachers. We had to cover all of our body except for face and hands with thick black clothes. On the outside, I was a strict Muslim woman who dressed in black and preached the governmental propaganda at school. On the inside, I was a sexy lesbian who listened to western music and went to bed with another woman every night. One summer I had to teach the students who had failed their exams. Unlike the educational year before the summer when classes were crowded, my class only had 10-12 students who had failed in their Mathematics exam. I tried very hard to educate them, but it was useless. I dressed in a thick black veil in an extremely hot summer, went to school, spent several hours teaching Mathematics and gave them a small booklet which was simplified as much as possible and contained anything they needed to know to fully answer every single question in the final exam. But all that was to no avail. They never listened. Their minds were not in the class. I had become well acquainted with them. They were good people. Some of them had jobs and were providing for their families. We were in a relatively poor neighbourhood and as a result of hard lives, their faces looked much older than their age. Some of them had really believed the governmental propaganda and expressed a desire for going to the war fronts. That saddened me. I felt that I couldn’t just hide in my little safe place with my love and ignore the outside world. Faranak – who didn't work during that summer – agreed with me as well. She encouraged me to motivate them. Failing could have meant no future for them. Most of them probably would have ended their education after that. They had all the material means for passing the exam. All they needed was to read my booklet thoroughly and carefully once or twice. But that was too much to ask. They had failed the previous exam, not because they were stupid or lazy, but because they felt that there was no point in schooling. The "heroic" lifestyle which was propagated back then for a student was abandoning education, becoming a religious zealot who sacrifices himself for the ruling government, goes to heaven and finds Houris waiting for him there! At the last session I tried one last time to educate them. I explained a simple question which I was planning to put on the final exam. But when I asked them to repeat my solution, there was no response, as if I had talked only for myself! So, I resorted to my final solution: a motivation. I knew they were close friends, so I said "If you all pass the exam I will buy you cookies and if you all get a high grade I will buy you ice cream". I meant to motivate them to work together and encourage each other for studying harder. But they started laughing. One of them said "How about giving us pacifiers? Those work better for us!" another one said "Get a lollipup for me!" and another one said "I want a bedtime story!" I realized my mistake. They were not little children. I couldn’t motivate them with candies. I felt stupid and embarrassed. How could I have made such a mistake? As I was processing my mistake in shame and regret, I heard another voice. "What if we all get the perfect score?" That was surely not a serious question. They wanted to mock me some more. I really don't know how it happened or what I was thinking; maybe I felt so belittled that I felt compelled to give a mind-blowing answer to put them in their place; Maybe after realizing how childish my original promise was, I decided to replace it with a grown up one; Maybe I meant to challenge their manly pride by offering them something they couldn't reject for fear of being belittled themselves; Or maybe it was a combination of all these reasons. But, in any case, I gave the following answer: "If that happens, I will get naked and do an Arabic dance for you all!" Suddenly the laughter and buzz stopped. They all stared at me with their eyes wide open and mouths half open. After a few seconds someone replied, "Seriously?", and I answered, "Of course! You think I'm a liar?" At that moment I felt powerful for silencing them and ending their mocking. Now it was them who needed to defend their manly pride. In their minds, turning down an offer like that would have meant that they are not interested in women! And since one person's failure would have meant no prize for the rest, that put extra pressure on them for working hard to get it! They made me swear that I would do it. When some of them objected that fulfilling my requirement was impossible, I assured them there will be no question they wouldn't be able to answer if they understand my booklet perfectly. I promised to dance for them and to make it more believable, I reduced my promise from dancing buck naked to dancing in bra and panties. They all agreed to study as hard as they could in order to get the highest grade possible, which wasn't very hard to achieve if they really tried. I went home laughing. I thought to myself: They are such simpletons! They actually believed me! When they realize I lied, it will be too late! By that time, they will all have graduated with good grades! That’s what's important, not their disappointment afterwards! I told the story to Faranak. She was shocked. We had talked before about how the governmental propaganda was harming the students. She asked how my promise was less corrupting for their minds than the promise of Houris in an afterlife paradise? I tried to convince her my intent was to motivate them toward something that would actually benefit them. She insisted that if I lie to them, I might motivate them once, but they would feel stupid and betrayed and will become untrusting for the rest of their lives. She said "If they graduate like this, they will fail next year, end their education there and you have merely wasted one year of their time." She was speaking the truth. I had made a hasty decision without considering the consequences. I was thinking of my own success and not their future. But what could I do after realizing that? That was the last session of our class. I couldn’t see them until the exam. I couldn't come to an acceptable solution. There was no acceptable excuse for not doing what I had promised. I could have made the exam harder than what I had promised. One mistake was a sufficient excuse. I could have been very strict when it came to correcting their papers. But that was a betrayal of their trust. Faranak asked me "Why don't you actually do it?" At first I thought she was joking, but she was serious. She reminded me that we danced at the secret parties we attended without our families knowing. She asked me, "What's the difference? Are those students less decent or more outsider than some of those weirdo guests who stare at your good parts at the parties? Besides, the school is almost empty when you go there. The only other person except the students is an old janitor who never visits your classroom in that hour and you can lock the door to make sure of that." I began to think for myself. I realized that I had become a tool in the hands of the government for preaching its nonsense ideology. Why can we promise the students that they will see some imaginary sex slaves waiting for them in heaven if they get themselves killed for some stupid cause, but they can't see a real woman who is not covered in suffocating black clothes? How was dancing for them as a present for accomplishing something beneficial immoral but promising Houris as a present for doing something criminal was moral? I thought if I left them like that, not accepting my responsibility in preaching that poisonous propaganda and never try to change what I've done, how can I justify my own lifestyle? What if someone like one of them discovered what I did in secret? Even if that never happened, I had to live the rest of my life feeling guilty as a hypocrite. I put myself in my students shoes for a minute. What was a woman in their imagination? What image had I created in their minds? A strict and sullen person who always covered herself in black in order to avoid provoking their sexual desire – that was the legacy which I left for them, whether I liked it or not. I labeled them perverts from whom women need protection from. But I didn't want that to be my legacy. I had one final chance to correct that. I could prove to them that women can be fun and sexy without being slutty. I could prove that they didn’t need to die for some stupid cause to receive sex machines as a present in the afterlife; They could have real women who had minds, cared about them, were honest with them and appreciated their good behavior. Faranak also argued that punishing all of them for a tiny mistake of a single student wasn't fair and would ruin their friendship with any person who failed to get the highest grade despite trying hard; and if I'm going to do what I had promised, I should ignore a few slips and do it if I become assured that they have really tried their best. So, I took Faranak's suggestion. I prepared a sexy set of black bra and panties which went well with my white skin. I got an Arabic music cassette tape and practiced some Arabic dancing. On the day of the exam I put on some makeup and did my hair. Faranak also accompanied me to encourage and support me, make sure I fulfill my promise and, perhaps more importantly, see me dance semi naked in front of the class! As we were expecting, none of the school staff except for the old janitor (who barely left his room or cared about anything) was in the school. Students were disappointed when they saw another teacher with me. One of them asked, "Miss, what about your promise?" I informed them that my promise stands and Faranak was there to make sure of it! I sat them away from each other to make sure no one cheated. The exam began. As I had promised, studying my simplified booklet was sufficient for answering all the questions. After the exam, Faranak helped me to correct the papers. And what do you know! There was not a single slip! They all got the perfect score! When I announced that, there was a hooray! I was somehow relieved that I prepared myself for keeping my end of the promise. Disappointing them at this level could have made them very angry. One of them asked, "So, will you do it?" and I replied "Of course, did you doubt me?" But I asked them to listen to me for few minutes before getting their reward. I explained the conclusions which I had arrived at and apologized for preaching the nonsense which I had taught during the year. I explained that being beautiful and sexy isn't equal to being a slut and they should see me as a person who is entertaining and rewarding them for their hard work, not a sex toy who wants to seduce them to having sex with her; and that they should respect women and value their personalities as well as their outer beauty. After that I locked the door and put the cassette player which Faranak had brought on my desk. I asked the students to sit in the front row. Faranak also sat there with a big smile on her face. I was still covered in the official black veil, scarf and gown but I was just wearing a sexy set of black bra and panties under them. I removed my veil and opened my scarf, revealing my black hair which the students were forbidden to see and had no idea how beautiful it was. I wanted to make the last part a surprise, so I turned away from them towards the black board and undid the buttons of my gown. Then I turned towards them while I was holding my gown from opening with my hands. I asked "Ready?" they simultaneously replied "Yes!" and Faranak replied the loudest! I dropped my gown and revealed perhaps the most astonishing sight they had seen in their lives (except for Faranak of course!). There was only silence and amazement for a few seconds, until Faranak broke it with whistling and clapping and soon everyone joined her! I laughed and realized that I wasn’t ashamed or afraid at all. I posed for them for a minute and let them get used to my body. Then I turned on the cassette player and started an Arabic dance. The viewers clapped with the rhythm of the music. I danced for about five minutes, until the end of the music. When I stopped, Faranak began chanting "Again! Again!" and not surprisingly, everyone joined her! I was just getting warmed up, so I met their demand. I felt that I was getting better and their whistling and clapping encouraged me further. After the second round, chanting started as before: "Again! Again!" by this time, you don't need me to say who started it! "Nope. It's over!", I said. "Ahhh! Please! We were having fun!", they pleaded with me, and I surprised them again: "No, don’t get me wrong. I meant that the prelude is over. I'm just getting warmed up. I'm not going to repeat the same dance for you until you get bored with it. Since you have been very hardworking and polite, you deserve a special reward." They asked what it is, but I didn't say a word. I just smiled, gently opened my bra and threw it on the desk! The class exploded with whistling and clapping! Especially Faranak was so excited that it was like she had never seen me naked! I began the third round. This time I did my best. I just wish we had a video camera back then to record it! That day I danced a total of five rounds which lasted about half an hour. I was topless during most of it. Despite all the sexual attraction my body and moves may had for my students, I felt that what excited them the most was my courage and honesty, not mere sexual attraction. My students could find pictures of naked women elsewhere, but finding a teacher who dared to risk her life in order to fulfill her promise, in a society which was polluted with hypocrisy and lies, was something to celebrate! At the end I thanked them for their hard work and politeness. I had danced almost naked for them for half an hour without hearing a single indecent word. That meant a lot for me and proved that they really listened when I asked them to be respectful towards women and not see them as sex toys. I knew that I couldn’t expect them to keep the whole affair a secret, but I wasn't afraid of any gossip. On the contrary, I preferred to publicize what I had done without confessing to doing it. I felt that I had nullified preaching those horrible ideas during the educational year by my final act, and I stand by my decision to this very day. That night Faranak returned my favor. We stayed up all night, tussling beneath the sheets, body to body. As a result, two of my best memories took shape in a single day!

We’ve got Tonight

• Summary:  I'd known Felix since before he was born. My tiny preschool hand would often press flat against his mother’s round belly while I looked up at her with surprised innocent eyes as the baby inside kicked against my hand. Known him as a brother, a best friend and a rock to lean against through my whole life. But now, in just a month, he'd be going away to train with some of the best in the industry, and with time running out, perhaps there is more than just platonic feelings between us... something that would bring up more pain, jealousy and sorrow than we could ever imagine.

♥ Pairing: Bang Chan/Reader/Felix

♦ Chapter: 1/9

♣ Words: 5033

♠ Genre (in this one): Sweet, tooth-aching fluff. 

“Felix Lee. Dancer. Rapper. Singer. Owner of the sweetest smile in the entire world. Owner of the deepest voice in the entire world. Owner of-” I doubled over and burst out in laughter. The A5 paper was crinkled up after being folded too many times and the look on Felix face when he started to read from it was just priceless. “What’s this? You told me you were going to help me with my resumé”  The thick Aussie accent rolled off his tongue like smoke after you’ve put out a candle and I smiled softly while exhaling a slight snort through my nose in the chilly late September wind. It had been raining all day and the humidity that had hung low turned the air around us cold the minute the sun disappeared. It was close to 10:30 pm and the moon was up, joined by the stars that twinkled in the navy-blue sky. We were outside, sitting on a picnic table at an empty gas station, halfway between my day job and his campus.  Best friends for eight years. Known each other for another eleven and now here we sat, with my scribbled notes on a paper I ripped out from a notebook that I’d found in a shoebox in the furthest part of my closet. The notebook was old, and the paper that now threatened to be folded up for probably the 8th time had a coffee spot on it, but Felix didn’t seem to notice. He just looked so incredibly done that I stifled another giggle behind my hand. He tried; he really did but the smile he constantly wanted to chase away still tugged on his lips as I playfully hit his arm. “Continue” I urged and hid the grin on my mouth behind a sweater paw when Felix eyes traced the next sentence and read it silently before he looked up and met my eyes again, lips pressed into a thin line. “Owner of the best Aussie accent ever. Best friend ever. A baby” Gave me a look from underneath furrowed brows, added, “I’m not a baby” and though the dark, deep voice of his… and the sharp jawline… and his lean body, oh and those eyes that made everyone turn their heads to look after him when we walked down a street- was a sign that maybe it wasn’t as true as I tried to make it, it was still a nickname that I didn’t want to let go off.  He’d always had that aura of innocence about him, one that I saw less and less these days though- whenever he broke out in a smile that crinkled his eyes, showing off a row of pearly white rounded teeth, nose scrunching and cheeks puffing up. In that moment- he was still the cute boy I grew up. But now, when he stood there in front of me, paper dangling between his fingertips in one hand, an off-brand soda in the other, lilac hair poking out from underneath a cap and a body that was more of an adults than the younger boy I painted him out to be- he was just that; an adult. It didn't stop me from teasing him though and I sighed with a small smile on my lips, took a small sip from my own soda before I placed it on the picnic table I was leaning against, reached out, and placed both my hands on each side of his cheeks, puffed them up and said in my cutest voice. “Oh, but you are” I nodded and gave him a small smile while he rolled his eyes, ”You’re the cutest baby ever” He frowned. Knew that I was playing with him and huffed, even though the expression was more of fake annoyance than actual irritation. Watched me like he dared me to let him go, but I stood my ground and he didn’t try to escape the place between my open hands. He was taller than me, if only a few centimetres and constantly tried to use that against me but it didn’t stop the teasing or the way I played with the fact that he could grow until he was as tall as a giant and I would still be older. “I’m not a child anymore noona. I'll travel abroad soon” He muttered, and something shifted behind his eyes as the fake annoyance turned into a real frown. I let him go, frowning myself when I was reminded of the fact that we’d be separated soon.  In just a month he'd be going away, my best friend, who I’d never spend more than two miles away from, would travel across the world to pursue his dream. To train with some of the best for a whole six months. He was a professional, in more fields than one and I would be left were I was, in the town we grew from kids to adults in, surrounded by coffee beans and the heavy smell of sweets and pastries. “I’ll be ok” He said, as if he read my thoughts, like countless other times. I must’ve frowned harder than I thought as I got lost in my pondering. He met my eyes and damn… I was going to miss those eyes, and that cute little smile. “I’ll be ok” He reassured again, folded and placed the paper in the pocket of his hoodie. Reached out and the hand that suddenly held mine was warm, despite the cold wind biting through our way too light clothes. “I know” I answered shortly, and he squeezed my hand in response.  The smile on his lips as warm as his hand. Eyes turning into small crescents and I couldn’t help but smile back. “Besides you'll have Chris to keep you company until I get back, right?” He said and I rolled my eyes. Chris was my boyfriend since a few years back. We’d met through Felix when I came with him to one of his practises with the group he danced with and sort of clicked from the get-go. Bonded with our passion for writing, expression and need for adventure, the thrill of life and what it could offer.  I loved him.  I really did.  Even though Felix insisted later on that I only fell for him because Chris was a more polished and older version of himself. With the same passion for music, art and expression. Not to mention that same deep Aussie accent, and I had insisted that it wasn’t the case at all because I did not even wanted to ever imagine Felix being my boyfriend- because I’d known him for his entire life.  Known him even before he was born, with my tiny preschool hand pressed flat against his mother’s round belly. Looking up at her with surprised innocent eyes as the baby inside kicked against the palm of my hand at the same moment as the church bells rang to collect everyone for the sermon.  Our parents were friends since long, long before they had children. Going to the same high school when they were young and then the same church when they moved into the same neighbourhood. Inviting each other to celebrate the holidays and I couldn’t remember a Saturday where we didn’t eat dinner together, at my family home one week and his the next, rolling on a schedule that continued for years.  I was the oldest of our siblings and though I was best friends with his older sister for the most parts of our childhood, I’d never denied him if he wanted to play with us. When he was rounding the age of nine, I often babysat him and his little sister and during the following years, even though almost half a decade separated us in age, I started to hang out with him more and more. His sister unfortunately decided to hang out with the wrong people and even though time has healed the wounds we inflicted upon each other back then since we’ve both become adults, I still prefer the company of her little brother nowadays.  It was easy to understand why we had such a deep and profound bound. It had always been the two of us. We both moved away from our hometown at a young age. Going away because there was a better school in a few towns over. Our parents gave me the responsibility. Found us a place to stay, planted just a few hundred meters from the Catholic school they had chosen and then trusted me to make that two-bedroom apartment a home. I was eighteen, doing my last year in high school, and Felix was just thirteen, doing his last in middle school. It was tough, living two teens under one roof and we fought about anything and everything, from dishes to who was going to take out the garbage. I was forced to grow up faster, taking care of both myself, my homework, the place we lived in and making sure that we had dinner every day. That Felix was picked up after school, that he did his homework as well…  Our parents send us money for a monthly rent, bills that were connected to the apartment (water, electricity etc) food and a small allowance for us to spend on whatever we wanted, and it worked out… for a few months at least. I grew tired though when the water bills got too high because well, we were both teens and taking long showers was the only place where we were alone, and Felix was a bratty kid that demanded candy and games and “new cool stuff” because “all his other friends had that”  I got a job at a local café, a small cute hole-in-the-wall place with an owner that always had a smile on her lips, syrup on her forearms and coffee beans in the arms of her shirt. The years passed, I graduated high school, decided that I wanted to focus on work, met Chris, Felix started high school, graduated three years later on top of his class and my parents were crying with joy when they called me after he’d told his parents. Sent me virtual pats on the back for doing such a good job raising him because apparently taking a train to us to congratulate me, us, in person was too much of a fuss. He was going to university after summer and the talk when he, with a deep sigh, apologized because he wanted to get his own place, a room on campus, because it was closer (but probably also because he, secretly, was starting to get ashamed that we (me at age 22 and he at age 17) still lived together and were neither siblings or a couple. I’d only laughed at his worried expression and told him about the plans that me and Chris had of moving together. And the rest is history, basically. We grew up together, spend basically every waking moment with each other and I watched as a small uncertain boy grew up to be the young adult who currently held onto my hand. I didn’t regret it for a second though, even if there were times when I was so angry with him that I just wanted to leave him all alone in that apartment. It certainly made dating a living nightmare, and having a girls night with my friend without him ogling at them with big nervous eyes, and when he started to reach his late teens and I didn’t know if the sobs behind the closed door to his bedroom was because he needed to be comforted or because he was jerking off.  Yeah… thank goodness that time was over.  I couldn’t stop hanging out with him though even after we decided to go our separate ways. I still needed him. In a way that according to any psychologist ever probably wasn’t healthy at all. Like a drug that constantly had to be delivered to me. Just a small refill was needed, of his laugh, or his smile, or his humour, or that boyish nature, or the fact that anything he touched seemed to turn into gold the older he got- from the way he seemingly learned to dance over a night, to the way the music came to him just as naturally and I hated to admit that I felt left behind for the first time in our life when he moved away from me. I had poured so much into making his life as good as I could, to mould him into someone I knew his parents could be proud of that it felt empty when he waved goodbye to me, standing with his box of things and a big bag of clothes outside his dormitory.  It was like he didn’t need me anymore. Like the years I’d spent taking care of him was coming to an end, and in a sense, it was. But the fact that we didn’t live together didn’t change the fact that we saw each other at least once a week and I enjoyed, actually cherished those moments even more. He was growing up, passing his 18th birthday that autumn, and from there on, everything changed. He changed. Started to work out, spent hours upon hours of perfecting choreography, his own style of dancing and I watched, out of breath and sometimes in the small hours of the night, cheering him on and forcing him to go home when the sun started to paint the sky a soft grey. Putting him to bed with a small kiss on the crown of his head, and held back a small sigh every time he caught my wrist and begged me not to go because his feet hurt, and his back and his arms and he just wanted me to hold him and take the pain away. We both appreciated the art of creating. To make something and hear the sound of astonishment from our audience.  I knew how to make a perfect cup of coffee. I could make art with steamed milk and espresso that many said was good enough to compete with and I would blush and look away, not trusting myself to be able to win a prize, even though it was something that was as natural for me as breathing by now. I was always a bit uncertain, with a big lack on both self-esteem and self-confidence. Both with what I did, even if I did something good, and how I knew that I was just an average girl. Nothing special at all. Nothing like my best friend. I didn’t blame him, but it still made me jealous, like it didn’t seem like I was good at anything at all when compared to having people turn their heads, not because you. Absolutely not because of you, but because the person walking beside you looked god sent.  I huffed and buried my chin deeper into the hoodie I was wearing. “Do you want to go back?” Felix asked and the sound of his voice brought me back.  I nodded, slightly flushed from embarrassment because I’d probably been staring out into the darkness that surrounded the gas station for a few minutes too long. We jumped into my 12-year-old, silver coloured Volvo v70 and Felix placed his arms around himself in a self-hug as I started the ignition and turned up the heat on the AC to full. “You need to get a new car” He said, like he’d done pretty much every time we’d driven in it in the past year and a half. “Buy me a new one when you get famous and it’s a deal” I replied, like I’d done every time he stated those exact words.  He smiled again and I smiled back, his hand on mine as it rested on the manual gear and my heart broke in two again when I remember that I had to hold onto these kinds of memories because soon, the passenger seat next to me would be empty. - “What are you thinking about?” Chris asked me and leaned forward slightly to put a lock of hair behind my ear.  He sat upright in our sofa, feet on the table while I laid beside him with my legs thrown over his lap. I had mindlessly watched a programme on TV, not really interested but didn’t want to move from my place and do anything else since the time we spent together, even if we didn’t talk, was becoming less and less frequent as university grew more and more intense for him. We lived in a small two room apartment, connected to the campus and the rent was small enough that we could live well with the money I earned when working full time plus the income Chris got from working short hours whenever they needed him, in the convenience store a few hundred meters from our home.  “Nothing” I mumbled, which was the only truth I wanted to admit. Honestly, I hadn’t been thinking about anything specifically. Just letting my thoughts drift from how sleepy I was to what we were going to eat for dinner, how bad my feet hurt from standing at the cashier all day and how Felix whole face scrunched up in a bright smile when I waved goodbye to him as I dropped him off outside his dormitory yesterday.  “Don’t lie. I know you babe; we’ve been together for that long” Chris sighed and gave me a small smile that spoke off how much he didn’t believe me. I looked away, pouted and played with a lock of my hair, purposely avoiding his gaze. He placed the stack of lyrics and half-finished composed music pieces on the table before scooting down between me and the backrest of the sofa. His touch was soft as he interlaced our fingers, our legs tangled together and he pressed my knuckles to his lips in a chaste kiss, following a pattern of coordinated moves that always happened when we were close.  “I love you” He whispered and brushed his nose against mine, “He’s a big boy now, and even though you’ve taken care of him through his whole life, it’s time to let him spread his wings” I closed my eyes and hoped that Chris couldn’t feel how my heart picked up speed when he spoke about the person I was thinking about.  I knew that a small hidden part of him was happy that Felix would go. That he would finally have me without any sort of competition. Even though they considered each other their second-best friend. Not that it was ever in the air that Felix and me would ever fall in love. People close to us only thought that it was cute that we were still best friends and I guessed that we always seemed like brother and sister to people outside our group of friends.  But the thought of that always made me cringe a little. To say that nothing has ever happened between us was a lie. Nothing physical at all though, because the boy just had his 19th birthday, and even though I’d seen the way he looked at me sometimes from underneath long lashes after turning sixteen, from across our dinner table or while sitting a few meters apart on the sofa while I went over his homework at our old apartment, I wouldn’t dream of touching him in the way I could sense that he wanted me to.  It was just subtle, sweet and almost lethal- like that one time on New Year’s when he was seventeen and nervously stuttered out a “can you be my first kiss, noona?” over a glass of wine to many and I, obviously, flat out refused to. Or to that first time when I truly realized that he was an actual adult and nearly walked in on him fucking a, very, loud girl in his dorm room shortly after Christmas. My hand up and ready to knock and all but I thankfully stopped myself just as I heard the noises. Or that one time, this summer, when he jumped into the lake we’d been camping next to because he couldn’t take the heat and flies anymore and I couldn’t help but stare when he broke through the surface again, standing on the shallow bottom, wet hair combed back and the white shirt he wore helplessly clung to the abs that covered his stomach, clenching as he breathed hard from the sudden coldness that enveloped his body. Dark hard nipples dented the thin fabric and I swallowed hard, suddenly happy that Chris decided to stay at home and study for extra points that would be helpful once the next semester started, because it felt like everyone could see the way I quickly tore my gaze away again before throwing him a towel.  That’s all that it has ever been for me, a few butterflies in the stomach, a thankfulness that he still wanted to spend time with me, even though his popularity immediately shot through the roof  when he got back from summer break and started university last year and his appearance had changed. His jawline sharper, eyes more intense, and even though his face was still rounded and soft at his cheeks, there was just something about him and I- I promised myself that I didn’t want it to be anything else. I was happy with the life I was living, with Chris in our apartment. With Felix as my best friend and nothing else. The butterflies that fluttered happily whenever he touched me could fly up and clog in my throat, to suffocate me completely for all I cared, I wasn’t going to destroy either of the precious relationships I had.  “Babe, you sure you’re ok? You’re drifting away again” Chris leaned over me with pursed lips, just looking at me with that wrinkle between his brows that I hated, because it only appeared when he was really worried. “I’m fine… I just… I think I’m a bit tired” I answered, closed my eyes and buried my nose against his collarbone. “You’re not getting a fever, are you?” He placed a big, warm hand against my forehead, and I leaned into his touch, humming something incoherent as an answer, the familiar smell of his cologne made me sleepy and I used that familiarity, the love and trust he radiated as an eraser. Started at the top of the mental image I had of my best friend and swiped with large motions until the only thing that was left was his smile and the mental image of myself swallowed hard as it hesitated before it reached out and erased that too.  - “I feel like this is an unnecessary long hug”  “Don’t complain, I’m not the sweaty one at the moment”  Felix chuckled softly against me, a twinkle in his eyes from the words he uttered, voice breaking a little and he cleared his throat as I let him go, reached for the water bottle I handled to him and emptied almost half of it in one go. I opened my mouth and he rolled his eyes before I even said anything, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “I know, dehydration is bad, yada yada”  I smiled back, couldn’t help myself as I watched him, cheeks flushed and chest still heaving. Sweat in the roots of the baby hairs in his forehead, dripping down his template and collecting on his cupids bow and chin. It was afternoon, sometime after 4 and I’d just gotten off work when I decided to surprise him at dance practise. Knew his daily schedule as well as my own, where he was and what he was doing and stifled a giggle behind my mouth earlier, when he saw me come through the door to the arena they trained in, almost missed the beat and send me a dirty look when he did so. His familiar sweet smile still breaking through just seconds later though when I stuck out my tongue at him.  “Did you have anything in mind, or did you just want to see me?” He asked and combed back his hair from his forehead, and I know I zoned out for a second too much, watching him with awkward admiration, when he looked away,  “I’m gonna shower first, don’t worry. I know I look gross”  I opened my mouth to protest but quickly closed it again. Didn’t want to add fuel to the fire that burned bright in my heart when the freckles on his face came through even brighter as the flush from his face slowly disappeared.  Twenty minutes later and we’re walking out the door of the school arena. The weather was nice and warm for the season, enough to wear jeans and a sweater, but still almost chilly enough to have a jacket as well and I was thankful that I decided to bring one with me. Felix combed back his hair again as we walked towards the parking lot, still a bit wet from the shower, while he closed his eyes momentarily to enjoy the soft, cool breeze. My hand itched to hold his, to get as close as I possibly could within the limitations of our friendship. I gripped the jacket I had thrown over my arm tighter instead while digging through the pockets to find my car key. He threw his bag in the back seat and like he usually did, seemed to have read my mind, because he interlaced our hands the moment, I’d driven out of the school zone. A soft smile on his lips when I glanced over at him. He opened his mouth, a wrinkle between his brows and I answered before he asked, “I missed you, and I know that you’ve been busy, coming up with the choreography and then learning it but-” “It’s been empty without you too” He finished and squeezed my hand, “So you decided-” “To go out and get dinner. Nothing fancy-” “Or else you wouldn’t have picked me up just after practise” I nodded and focused back on the road, needing to pay full attention to the busy afternoon. A few minutes passed in silence as he looked out the window and I fought my way through the traffic. Some kind of indie pop music played on the radio and he hummed along with some songs he was familiar with before suddenly speaking up again, “Noona?”  I hummed to signal that I listed as he continued, and even though I couldn’t look at him at the moment, I could still hear how he talked with a pout on his lips, “Thank you, I have been-” “Working hard, and don’t you dare say anything else” I finished off and Felix just nodded, and didn’t say anything else, even though I felt how much he wanted to protest. I parked at our favourite restaurant with a soft sigh. It was a diamond in the rough, open 24/7, that we kept hidden from our friends and family. Just to have a secret place to ourselves that we could go to at any time of the day, without accidentally running into someone. The main chef and owner greeted us at the door, confirmed that we wanted the usual and we sat down at our regular place at the window while we waited. Felix fiddled with a napkin and I pursed my lips in thought, watched how his fingers folded the same paper plane over and over until I got tired of his restlessness and decided to just break the ice. “What’s wrong?” He paused for a second, didn’t look up and the furrow that rested on his brow send them deeper in thought over his eyes, before he continued with the same plane model and I sighed deep while leaning forward, placed my hand on his to stop his fiddling and he looked up to meet my eyes, “What if I’m not good enough?” There was pain hidden in the brown of them and I winced on the inside. Hated to see my overall happy best friend in such a bad mood. Hated that I understood exactly how he felt that he didn’t have to say another word when he slumped against the backrest, slipped down on the chair slightly and rubbed his face with a tired motion.  “You are, though. Even if you don’t think so yourself. You received the opportunity for a reason. It’s all paid for, a whole six months to train with the best in the industry. Do you really think that such an opportunity would be handled out to just about anyone?”  He looked out the window, crossed his arms over his chest and I wanted to reach out again. To hold him for hours and tell him over and over again that he was amazing. That he was more than enough.  “No but-” He mumbled under his breath. “No buts. I know that it’s easy to say, since I can’t dance to save my life, but you are perfect. Best in your school and probably in the district. No one can deny that. It’s your choreography everyone’s dancing to. You’re the one in lead. Didn’t you hear the applause from the gallery when you were finished? People were screaming” “I heard your applause from the gallery” He muttered, ears slightly reddened from my reassurance and I tugged on his arm to undo the crossing across his chest. He pursed his lips, inhaled deeply before letting go and let me place my hand in his to give him a small squeeze.  My heart hammered in my chest from the heavy but bright feeling that simmered in my stomach when he looked back at me from underneath his fringe. A silent exchange of- not words but what only could resemble that, between us. Seconds passed and he gave me a small smile. Of appreciation, of the love between two close friends and I smiled back, while his thumb stroked down over the knuckles on my hand. 

I missed Lisbon by nearly eleven years.

My parents weren’t even in their teens when the greatest club side this island has ever produced went to Portugal as ambassadors and came back as icons. It was a victory that belonged more to my grandparents than my folks, and had they still been here I know they would have loved these days.

I know that because Lisbon looms large in our family and it always has.

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I will hazard a guess and say that it’s not the only family where that’s the case.

I come from a die-hard “Celtic household”, where everyone gets it.

When my niece was born my sister was adamant that she wouldn’t be getting involved in “the family business” but what do you know? She wasn’t even three before she had her first Hoops top. This is how it works. This is how it’s meant to be. You pass this stuff on. Forever.

Lisbon enhances everything we know about our club. I grew up hearing about it. My folks shared many a memory of it over the years. My father ended up in casualty that night after a neighbour decided to christen the close where they stayed with a bottle of champagne, which swung wildly and smacked him on the head instead. My mother remembers going to Celtic Park with her sisters to watch the big cup coming home.

When Celtic played Benfica in 2006, my father travelled over there to stand on the turf where the most famous game in our history was played. That had to be an emotional moment. He’s not a big writer, but he did a piece about that experience for Issue 5 of CQN Magazine. The game was not memorable for any good reason – we lost 3-0 – but he and many others fans already had their highlight to savour, by visiting Lisbon and the place the magic happened.

Everyone has their story about Lisbon, even those of us who weren’t there. They don’t even have to be true stories. For me, one of the first fictional pieces I ever wrote in my life – when I was about twelve – was one of those “make a wish” pieces they give you to do in English class. I wrote one about a kid (me) who wakes up in Lisbon on the day of the match. I got to imagine the whole experience from the perspective of someone who was there.

Why not? What better wish could you make?

Years later I revisited Lisbon in a story called Killing Mr Hitler, where a Rangers fan saves a guy in a brawl; said guy turns out to be a “celestial tourist” – basically, an archangel, on his holidays, down to catch the Scottish Cup Final – and he gets a wish.

After a lengthy discourse on parallel universes and changing history (none of which he listens to) – “In some realities, killing Mr Hitler wasn’t such a good idea, you know …” – he goes back to Lisbon and greases the wall the Celtic players famously climbed over the night before the game, and a couple of them fall and break various bones, and we don’t win the game … but his changing history doesn’t work out quite the way he intended. When he nips back through the time-tunnel (don’t ask) he finds that the shock of the experience motivated big Stein and the team to even greater accomplishments and in the world he’s in we’re actually six times Champions of Europe instead.

It’s one of the few events that shaped the course of my life that I do wish I could back and experience for myself.

I know what it meant to me, and how it made me the person I am. It’s weird being able to connect your entire being to an event you weren’t even alive for, which happened eleven years before you were in the world. It doesn’t seem possible, somehow, for a distant event which, after all, was related to what a football team did, to have profoundly shaped the world for you, but there’s just no doubt at all that it did.

The world we live in, as Celtic fans, was shaped by those guys and what they did over there. Our entire lives have been affected by it in some way. My old man’s life-long love of our club might never have been so pronounced but for Lisbon, so his version of the romantic opening where he offered my mother his Celtic scarf at a taxi rank on a rainy night after he’d come back from a game, might never have happened and then I wouldn’t be here at all.

And it’s that, and little moments like it, which I’m sure we can all trace back through the threads of time, which tell you what the experience meant and what it was about.

All the way through my childhood and upbringing every conversation at a social function would be steered towards Celtic and Lisbon would come up over and over again.

Sometimes, as with my gran on my mum’s side it would be used as a stick to mercilessly beat the heathens amongst the company who followed another Glasgow side. “You’ll never beat the Lisbon Lions,” she would taunt them, without mercy, until they scuttled off and conceded the point. At other times it would be invoked as something future Celtic players would have to aspire to even if there was no hope of them ever meeting the standard.

This is a generational thing. My generation will tell our grandkids about this and what it means. I hope they have the same sense of pride in it, and in the club, that we do. Certainly that triumph in Lisbon warmed our hearts during a lot of dark years, it’s the one thing that our rivals could never live up to, could never quite reach, and watching them try and fail (usually spectacularly) was a tonic at a time when they were outspending us by a factor of 4-1.

It was the ceiling they never got near to touching, and that somehow made the bad times easier.

It also enhances the way our club feels right now, in this history making campaign. It would have been special anyway, but the timing of it makes it almost mythic, makes it almost like something pre-ordained. The symmetry of it is poetic.

Today a group of guys who, like me, were probably not even born when the Lions secured that victory are putting cut-outs of Billy McNeil all over the city and sharing the pictures on social media; this is fantastic, and a great way to keep the flame burning.

People forget that this was seen by many, at the time, as a Glasgow triumph as much as one revolving around our very own club. Needless to say, it’s no longer viewed in that light, but that’s a minor matter. What everyone will need to accept is that this changed the city, and the way both its major clubs saw the world around them.

Lisbon 67 hangs over Ibrox as much as Celtic Park.

But more than anything, this is about us, all of us, those in the Celtic Family, whether we experienced that day as it happened or whether we’ve lived it since through various media and medium. It’s one of those days I’ve often tried to re-imagine through the prism of social media; how would the internet have responded in the days and weeks before kick-off?

How would we have handled the night itself?

I’m going to try and explore that with an article later on.

The audience which watched the game on TV is a fraction compared to that which would be able to enjoy it now, in various ways, from instant text updates to illegal streams.

It is an inter-generational experience, encompassing those who were there, who watched it unfold on the telly, those not born yet and those who weren’t even born in the 80’s far less the 60’s and to whom this still has the ability to inspire awe.

Tonight at the Hydro generations will come together to pay tribute to those men, in a series of events that will keep the fires burning for the next generation. For days to come this will be the focus of many across the world. Families. Friends. And some of it will be about passing the torch on to those who came after us.

That’s a noble ideal, and one I am glad I can play some small part in.

What these guys did 50 years ago today, it can’t be oversold. How many lives did it shape? How many did it change? Trying to imagine our world without it. It’s like trying to imagine it without the invention of television. It is impossible.

In a way, so was what they did over there, those eleven local boys who got to take the field against one of the best club sides of that, or any, era. People from neighbourhoods likes ours. From lives like ours. Who walked the same streets as some of us did. They were from us. They were just like us. So perhaps what we see when we look at them is a little bit of ourselves. Perhaps they taught us what we could achieve if we did more, believed more, worked harder, got better in our own little ways. They showed us what was possible.

And the debt we owe them, for all of it, is enormous.

They will live forever, as long as the next generation gets it like we do.

Those men shaped their lives too, and it is important that they understand it.

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My Puppy chapter 2- kai x Reader

A/N : This is my first fanfic and I’m still new to writing, but I hope you guys enjoy this storyline just as much as me! I know you guys might be thinking that the “childhood friends” theme is too unoriginal and already done, but I’ll definitely be throwing in some other stuff to make the story more unique and unexpected!! Ps: ANY feedback/comments would be strongly appreciated!!😊

Description What happens when your childhood best friend jongin moves back to the neighbourhood and becomes part of your class?

Jongin x Reader Genre : fluff, highschool, light smut later Word Count : 2k

Prologue Chapter 1

🌸ignore these links. I'm still trying to figure out how to link the rest of the chapters. If you want to find the prologue and chapter one, go to my profile and scroll down, you should be able to find it😅🌸

Being homework free is awesome, except for the fact that your mind draws a complete blank when thinking of what to fill your time doing. The sun still sits fairly high in the sky, so you decide to relax on one of the lawn chairs in your backyard. As you soak in the replenishing sun, your eyes begin closing and your ears become filled with music from your earbuds as you drift off into a relaxing nap.

When you wake up, the sun has already began setting. You must have been sleeping for at least 30 minutes. Strokes of pink, purple and blue scatter the sky creating what looks like a painting. As you sit up in your chair your eyes gaze beyond the fence of your backyard. Behind your house on the left is a field filled with tall grass, to the right a basketball court , and inbetween sits a children’s park.

As you continue taking in the afternoon sky, a figure on the swingset catches your eyes. You squint and steady your gaze trying to make the person out, and as a few seconds pass you realize who it is. You hop out of your chair and quickly run towards your back gate, unbuckling the lock, taking off towards the swings. With every step you take, your heart fills with more and more excitement.

“Jongin!” You yell excitedly.

Now only a few meters away from him, you can see what he’s wearing. Black basketball shorts sit sulking on his thighs, a large blue hoodie hangs from his broad shoulders , completing the look with white and grey nikes. He rests his head in his hands and rubs his eyes before turning around to face you.

“Hey y/n, didn’t expect to see you here. D’you still live in your old house?”

You sit in the swing beside him. His eyes are damp and puffy and he isn’t wearing his glasses. Maybe he found his contacts? It looks like he’s been crying.

“Yah, I do…. Are you okay, you look kinda…. puffy?” puffy at the least.

“Yah, I’m fine. It’s just allergies.” he says wiping the remaining moisture from his eyes.

“Are you sure, you don’t look-”

“I’m fine.” He says cutting your sentence off a little too forcefully.

You can tell he is lying and that he doesn’t want to talk about it, it was so obvious that he had been crying. He had never been good at lying to you. Seeing him like this makes you want to cheer him up. What can you do to make him feel better?

“I know something that will turn that frown upside down!!”

“What?” He says sitting up, his interest now intrigued.

“Let’s walk to the 7-11 a few blocks away just like we used to! Come on…… we can buy ring pops! We can even play video games at my house after!” You say through a huge smile. Your heart pounding with excitement at the idea of spending time with him.

He chuckles as a matching smile spread across his face.

“Sounds like a plan to me!”

The two of you leave the swings and make your way to the sidewalk that separates you house and his. When he told you his parents were getting back together,he must’ve also meant that him and his mom moved back into his dad’s house. Thats strange, you don’t remember seeing a moving truck.

“Let me grab some money from inside” You say as you gesture your finger towards your house.

“it’s fine, I have some change in my pocket, so I can pay.”

“Oooh, I didn’t know you were Mr.money-bags now.” You said teasingly.

Being with jongin after such a long time feels amazing. Even though you have a great group of friends at school, it still feels like something is missing. When jongin is with you, it feels like everything is complete. You feel protected and safe.

7-11 is only a 15 minute walk from your house, but for some reason it feels a lot shorter than usual. As the two of you approach 7-11 shoulder-to-shoulder, jongin leaves your side and jogs ahead of you. He opens the door with his left hand and crosses his right hand over his body.

“lady’s first.” He gestures with a small giggle.

“Thank you sir.” You say playing along.

As you enter the store your mission becomes clear as you scavenge the ills looking for your childhood candy, ring pops. you skim through several ills with jongin following closely behind. Do they even still sell them?

“yess, I found them!” You exclaim picking two out. “what else do you wanna get?” moving your gaze upwards towards jongin.

“Hmmmmm.” Jongin hums through scrunched eyebrows deciding what else to get. You stare up at him again realizing just how handsome he is. The jongin you saw at school earlier was just a glimpse of the man he grew up to be.

His hair is smooth and messy from him running his hands through it, so smooth that you almost reach up to touch it. He has double eyelids, long eyelashes, a puppy nose and plump pink lips. As your eyes make their way back up to his chocolate eyes, your lock gazes for the third time today and a blush tints your cheeks

“You do realize that this is the third time our eyes have locked today. Am I so handsome that you can’t keep your eyes off me?” Jongin teases as a smirk spreads across his face.

“no!” You say blushing even though what he just said is true.

“let’s get slurpees.” Jongin decides as he steps ahead of you making his way towards the slurpees station. You both grab cups and begin picking flavors. Jongin opts for ⅔’s of coke and ⅓ of blue bubblegum, while you on the other hand have something a little more creative in mind. You run your cup along all eight flavors making sure it’s 100% full. Satisfied you stick a straw through the hole completing your masterpiece!

“Gross, you still do that! This is something kindergarteners do! I guess somethings never change.” Jongin says as he breaks into laughter.

“Yes I still do this, I do it because it’s delicious!! Don’t insult my masterpiece!” You yell while punching him in the arm.

The two of you make your way towards the counter and pay with Jongin’s pocket money. As jongin opens the door in front of you, a cold breeze washes over you and you can tell that the temperature has dropped quite a bit. You must have been in the store longer than you thought because the sun is now absent from the sky, and the only light source is coming from streetlamps. Suddenly you’re very aware of your bare legs and arms as a shiver runs up your spine. You feel something warm brush up against your arm and you look up to see jongin holding his sweater.

“Here,you can use it for now.”

“what about you?”

“I was getting warm anyways.” He lies as he faces forward and continues drinking his slurpee.

His sweater is warm and soft. It looks a few sizes too big but it doesn’t matter, oversized is in style right now anyways. Ecstatic he was thinking of you, you know just how to repay him. You rummage through the 711 bag and pulled out the two ring pops! Unwrapping them, you place the first one on your finger and reach out to place the 2nd one on Jongin’s finger. Touching his hand you surprise him.

“what are you doing?”

You slide the plastic ring around his slender finger and as your fingers brush against his, you blush bright red, luckily it’s dark out. You spread out your hand next to his.

“There…. Just like when we were kids” A identical smile spreading across both of your faces as you make your way to your house.

“Are you sure you still wanna play video games? It’s getting kinda late and don’t you have homework to do or something….”

“What do you mean late?! It’s only 8:30! You’re just scared that I’ll beat you! And I don’t have homework so it’s fine. Don’t youhave any homework?”

You open your front door and step inside taking your shoes off. Your mom is working a late shift at the hospital tonight so only your dad is home. You look behind and find jongin still on your front step. What was he waiting for? Was he nervous that your dad wouldn’t remember him?

“what are you waiting for?” You say, forcing him to come in as you close the door. You make your way to the living room where your dad is plunked on the couch watching soccer.

“Hey dad, you remember jongin right? Is it ok if we go upstairs and play some video games?”

“Hey jongin! I heard you were moving back in with your dad. Hopefully everything’s going well. Sounds good, just leave the door open.” your dad replies his usual cheery manner. How did your dad know about jongin moving back before you? Why hadn’t he told you?

“OK dad.” You said slightly embarrassed from his last comment. The both of you make your way up to your room.

“it’s so different! I seem to remember your room being covered in Hannah Montana and Sweet Life on Deck posters the last time I was here!”

“It would be weird if my room hadn’t changed, dummy!”

Sitting down criss-cross leaning your back against your bed, you begin turning on your TV and the Wii. Jongin follows after you and makes a nest beside you. His knee overlaps yours and you wonder how he’s so calm with all this. Is being in a girls room a regular occurrence for him? You spread the video games across your floor.

“Which one do you wanna play first?”

“Let’s go with Mario kart! I remember beeting you quite a few times on this game!”

You pass him a controller, your competitiveness raging inside, and away the two of you went. You were having so much fun that you didn’t notice as 2 hours flew by. Your game comes to an end and you find your eyelids feeling heavier by the second. I’ll just close my eyes for a second you think to yourself. Instead you find yourself drifting off into a deep sleep. _______________________________

◇ Jongin’s perspective ◇

Something tickled your shoulder and as you look to your right, you realized y/n had fallen asleep. She felt light as she leaned her head against your shoulder. Was she always this small?

Her unfamiliar straight brown hair is messy and bits and strands lie on her smooth skin. Her eyelashes are long and her lips full and rosy. Her skin is pale except for a little bit of redness. It must be from her allergies. You loved seeing her in your hoodie and the fact that it is way too big on her is adorable. As you stare at her, with every passing moment the desire to kiss her becomes stronger.

You turn off the TV and pull back the covers on her bed. You pick her up and set her gently on the mattress being careful not to wake her. Her eyelids flutter as she falls deeper asleep. It’s dark and the only sound you can hear is her softly purring, her face lightly illuminated by the streetlights outside. You sit down on the edge of the bed and gently move her hair off her face.

She is even more beautiful than you remembered. It’s hard resisting waking her up right then and there, and telling her you love her. Pain and guilt spreads through your chest because you know you can never allow her to hear those words. I mean, how could you? The people you love the most always ended up being unhappy. After what happened with your mother, you promised yourself that you would never let yourself love someone again.

Looking at y/n, you decided you would never hurt her again. You would distance yourself from her and hope that she finds someone better than you. It looked like she had enough friends at school. She wouldn’t miss you. You reached down kissing her forehead silently saying goodbye.

World Refugee Day: Goal Click and UNHCR on football's global impact

  Goal Click tells stories about football around the world, using photography. In the lead-up to World Refugee Day, Goal Click and UNHCR sent disposable cameras to refugees and asylum seekers around the world to document their personal tales. This is Bahram Mia. "I was born in Peshawar, Pakistan, the son of Afghan refugees as a result of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. I came to Australia with my parents and three brothers when I was seven years old, and grew up here in Sydney, where I have graduated from university and work as a community development worker with migrant and refugee communities. The photo shows Team Congo during their quarter-final of the African Cup tournament in 2018. The tournament sees Sydney and Australia's African diaspora participate. I tried to convey the pride, passion and intensity which these young African men hold not only towards the African Cup tournament but also representing their homelands."

Shegofa Hassani: "I came to Australia as a nine-year-old. We fled Afghanistan because of the conflict as we did not see a safe future there. I started playing football in the park with my brothers and dad. I am currently a player and coach with Football United. Now I manage an Afghan team called Sydney United Girls. The photo shows Shogofa Rahimi at a training session. Shogofa was also raised in a family full of sporty boys. Her passion for football started as a child when she played with her brothers. However, she hesitated to pursue it further because of cultural barriers and her family. After years of giving up hope of playing football, she finally got the opportunity to play with Sydney United Girls, when her brother introduced her to the team."

Sofia Wais, at the Homeless World Cup, Cardiff: "I'm Sofia. I am 19 years old, from Afghanistan, and I was raised in Iran. I have been living with my family in Austria for four years and have six older brothers. I was not allowed to play football as a girl in Iran. I am very happy that I am allowed to live in Austria. There are many opportunities for women here. I love football and my food is just a ball - it gives me energy. I've also had tough days because of football, but for me, life is like a carousel and it always turns."

"My name is Khadija Ahmadi. I am 20 and originally from Afghanistan. I came to Austria at the end of 2015. A year later, I heard from a supervisor in the youth accommodation where I was staying that there was an opportunity here for women to play football. This is how I came to the Kicken Ohne Grenzen team. The photo shows my first day as a referee. I wanted to remember this moment. Through football and my new friends, I’ve been able to find myself again. When I say that, people may think that it’s an easy thing to say. But in my case it was different. I didn’t know the language; I didn't know anyone."

"My name is Saleha Kashfi and I’m 17 years old. I come from Afghanistan. I wanted to play football before I came to Austria, but I didn’t have a chance to play for security reasons. When I play football, I forget about my problems. I think about winning and fun and feel no pain or troubles."

Yvan Bikambo, coach with Red Deporte in East Cameroon: "These photos reflect the activity of the Public School of Bindia in East Cameroon, a school supported and built by Red Deporte in 2012. Red Deporte is an NGO, using football to promote performance in school. These kids belong to the community and many of them are refugees from Central African Republic because Cameroon and Central African Republic are neighbours. Most of the children know how to play football because they used to play in their home country."

Yvan Bikambo: "We work to bring them joy, peace and hope through our programme. Every Cameroonian boy dreams to be Samuel Eto’o, but even if they won't be that, they enjoy the dreaming and the process of personal improvement, and the friendship that is built on the way to this dream."

Daniele: "I am a 24-year-old student. I'm currently living in Koblenz, Germany. I was introduced to football in Syria by a school friend when I was in the first class (aged six) in 2002. These photos were taken at the training of TuS International in the German city of Koblenz. The majority of the players are refugees who are living in a camp for asylum seekers - they are Syrian, Iranian, Afghani, Somalian and Eritrean. The local team TuS Koblenz, which is playing in the fifth division in Germany, decided to form a team for the refugees who are living in Koblenz - to give them the chance to integrate into German society and establish a new life in Koblenz."

Reval: "I left Aleppo in Syria because of the war when I was 12 years old with my father and brother - it was too dangerous for us. We had to leave my mother and two small sisters behind. The photos were taken in Skaramagas refugee camp in Athens, Greece. They are girls participating in a football programme. These girls had suffered enough in their countries and on their way to Europe and they were still living under extremely difficult situations in a refugee camp in Greece. Many times they were facing danger during the night, many times there were a lot of fights in the camp. But, despite what they had to deal with, they didn't give up on football. Everything around them was so hard but through football, they were still happy."

Sadio Malang: "I come from Senegal. I left Senegal because there was a bad situation in my region Casamance - there was an ongoing war. I play for Senza Frontiere Football Club (Without Borders) in Italy. Most of the photos show the refugees’ football team of Balon Mundial, Senza Frontiere Football Club (it used to be called Hearts of Eagle). This is a football team formed by refugees and asylum seekers that practises all year and during the summer participates in Balon Mundial -the World Cup of Migrant Communities."

"My name is Maram. I am from Syria, I am 14 and I live with my family that consists of nine people, and now we live in Zaatari camp, near the Syrian border, Jordan."

Maram: "The photos were taken of our girls' football team in a Makani centre in Zaatari camp. I wanted to show our skills in football, the game that I find hope in for my future. When I play football it raises my spirits and it reinforces my self-confidence. Because I am a girl, I can be the person that changes how the community perceives girls’ football and breaks the wall of shame."

Maram: "My wish is to strengthen my skills in football so I can achieve my dream and become a famous footballer, and to travel with my family and play football outside the camp."

"My name is Abdelrahman Hasan al-Attar. These are photos of kids from different families playing street football in my neighbourhood of Hashem Shemali in East Amman. It's historically a refugee area and has more poverty than West Amman. Many have Palestinian heritage. Some of them are my cousins. Even without proper football pitches and regardless of the environment we can adapt and our love of football prevails."

Ismail M Abdalla, Kakuma: "I am 29 and originally from Kalemie in Tanganyika province in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). I am currently volunteering as a program manager with Faulu Production, a community-based organisation supporting refugees, disadvantaged youth and women, and vulnerable children. Refugees are real people who can enjoy the same full rights as others regardless of their status. Football brings people together and thus creates coexistence and social interaction; it serves as the way for community mobilisation and participation. I play football with Kenyans. Kenyans are good people with a good cultural background. They welcome everyone into their community."

David Philip: "I am from the Nuba Mountains in Sudan. Sudan has never been at peace since I was born, especially in the Nuba region. When I left my home with my family in 2006, Sudan and South Sudan were still one country. We went to Kakuma refugee camp in Kenya where we got support from UNHCR. I spent my childhood as a refugee in Kenya, like many other Sudanese who fled the country. The photos show children and the volunteers of Green Kordofan in Yida refugee camp in South Sudan."

David Philip: "About 60,000 people displaced from their homes by the war live in Yida. Football allowed me to have many friends from different tribes and around the world. It brought me peace and unity with people."

Jacob Viera: "In Liverpool, I play with asylum seekers and refugees from Syria, Sudan, Eritrea and Afghanistan. They fled because of war and conflicts in their countries. Listening to the challenges they have faced and gone through is so painful. Football is important because it is a universal language. I was a professional footballer and played in the Kenyan Premier League for Muhoroni Youth FC. My dream is to become an international Fifa referee. I am part of the FA CORE (Centre of Refereeing Excellence) program. In two or three years I could be a Football League referee. I think I would be one of the first professional referees in the UK from a refugee background."

Mehdi Rakhshandeh: "I was born in Rasht, a city in the north of Iran. I played football regularly as a goalkeeper in Iran - not at a high level or anything, just games with my friends from the local town. I was a sports photographer and reporter in Iran for 15 years. This is a little girl watching football. I think it shows her passion for football. She is in such an awkward position holding herself up against the metal fence but is just excited and wants to watch the football no matter what. It was a football tournament in Middlesbrough during Refugee Week called the Justice First Football Tournament."

Mehdi Rakhshandeh: "Football played a big role in my life as I got accustomed to my new surroundings of the UK and Middlesbrough in particular. I played each week with MFC Foundation and it helped me to meet new people, learn about my new surroundings and improve my English. The football club really made me feel welcome and part of the community."

Samuel Gedeon: "I'm from Haiti, where I discovered one of my biggest passions, which is soccer. I used to play soccer in the streets - futsal - and I had joined some clubs and played real soccer a few times with my friends. In 2015 I moved to NYC with the hopes of finding a good soccer team, but when I came everyone played basketball. With determination in 2017, I found Rooklyn, a Brooklyn-based organisation using soccer to work with refugee, asylee and immigrant youth and provide a space for connection with their peers in a safe and supportive environment."

Fawzi: "I am a football coach. I was playing back in Syria and I was a professional player. I started playing football with al-Shul'a football team in Syria in 2009. I left Daraa in Syria because of the war. The photos are of Blumont students in the playgrounds of District 5, Zaatari, Jordan. Blumont runs the UNHCR community centres. The students are refugees who attend the community's activities. I tried to demonstrate the children’s suffering and represent their story."

Gharam: "The photos show my friends in the Uefa playground in District 9, Zaatari, Jordan. I wanted to show that football can be played by everyone. The photos were during a football tournament in the camp. I did not play before I came to Jordan because of the war. In the beginning, I couldn’t develop my skills, but now I have. I dream of being a famous footballer."

Mahmoud: "I started to love sports when I was a child in Daraa in Syria, and now a day of sports helps me to heal from the depression and sadness in the camp. I played football in my country Syria with my school team but left because of the war. My ambition is to play with a European football team. The photos show children and people inside the Zaatari camp playing football on the playground and streets, and a football field on the edge of the camp."

Source: BBC

source: https://footballghana.com/

Life Lessons With One of Canada’s Most Prominent Fashion Philanthropists, Sylvia Mantella

Utter the name ‘Sylvia Mantella’ and it’s almost like a dog whistle, perking up the ears of any Canadian fashion designer within a 50-mile radius. As the Chief Marketing Officer of the Mantella Corporation, the blonde-haired beauty is one of the biggest philanthropists in the country and one of her main causes is fashion; she considers her extensive wardrobe to be an investment in the future of Canadian fashion.

Though her jet-setting lifestyle may be far from average – on a recent trip to Milan she was treated to a private viewing of Leonardo Da Vinci’s Last Supper by Dolce & Gabbana – Mantella wasn’t always a profligate patron of fashion. Before marrying real estate development scion Robert Mantella in 2008, she was a marketing director at a telecom company and perhaps more importantly, a girl with a dream. These are life lessons, as told by Sylvia Mantella.

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Such a privilege to stand on the steps in the legendary Valle Dei Templi in Sicily with Alta Moda This incredibly iconic structure has stood here for 3000 years. . .photocred @germanlarkin . . . . . . . . . . #DolceGabbana #Altamoda #sicily #Agrigento #italylove #valledeitempli

A post shared by Sylvia Mantella (@sylviamantella) on Jul 7, 2019 at 4:33am PDT

On her childhood

“I was an only child up until I was 16, so I really grew up alone, with a lot of animals. I didn’t have a lot of friends in my neighbourhood because I went to a school far away from where I lived, and so my animals were my friends, and my dolls.”

  On her lifelong love of fashion

“I didn’t wake up with this kind of life. I mean, you build it. [In my youth] I was shopping at Le Chateau or Stitches or wherever I had to go. I was putting things together…They may not be thousand-dollar outfits, but they looked really good. I mean, if I had a hundred bucks I was gonna make that hundred dollars go really far.

  On attending private school

“My parents sent me a private school that was far away. There were maybe ten people in my grade 8 class, it was really intimate. My kids are now in their early 20’s, but my husband and I chose to send them to The Country Day School [in King City] because it was up north again in that intimate setting. Also, they couldn’t skip class to go anywhere up there. The gas station isn’t worth skipping class for, so yeah.”

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Earth Day… Im feeling it! Today is an event observed annually on April 22. Earth Day, 2019 is celebrated in more than 193 countries. It is a day held to demonstrate and promote environmental awareness and calls for the protection of our planet. . . .photocred @sachaspex . . . . . . . . #earthday #giraffemanor #giraffelove #bekind

A post shared by Sylvia Mantella (@sylviamantella) on Apr 22, 2019 at 6:10pm PDT

On her career, pre-Mantella Corp

“After high school, I worked at Stitches. I was a merchandising manager. I worked there for about three years. Square One was one of my windows, and the Dufferin Mall. I loved the job, dressing up the windows and putting things on the walls. After stitches, my dad had an audio company, catering to audiophiles, so I worked there. I worked with my dad for a bit, three years. Then I moved to Bell Mobility. I applied for a job as a salesperson and within three months, they moved me into the marketing manager position. I was really successful with hitting my targets. I had a team of 30 people and every month we were just slamming our quotas. I stayed there for seven years.”

  On putting her husband in the friend zone

“Robert and I met through mutual friends, and we were friends first. We were friends for three or four years, we’ve been together 17 years, and we’ve been married for 11. Shortly after we were married, he told me,  “I had a crush you from the day I met you” But he was in the friend zone, you know? But as we started spending more time together, we  realized we have so many interests; the love of animals was tremendous. We also have great respect for each other. We’re both tremendously busy, and have a lot of responsibilities. So we don’t resent the other person for doing what they need to do.”

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Here at Ol Jogi with beautiful Alfie, a permanent resident at Ol Jogi in Kenya and she’s under 24 hour a day guard. . Please understand I am not here to preach my intent is to try to teach, if even just a little. . Alfie is blind therefore unable to fend for or protect herself. . . Without this level of protection her fate and that of the East African Balck Rhino is not looking positive. . . Rhino poaching is at crisis level. Due to decades of poaching for rhino horn, their population has declined nearly 98 percent since 1960’s At this rate there is little chance of our children ever seeing a rhino. . . The illegal rhino horn trade is run by organized crime syndicates throughout Vietnam and China. . The actual poachers are usually locals who are given a few hundred dollars in order to feed their families by killing these animals for their horn. . . The top levels in China sell the horn for up to $65,000 a kilogram. Rhino horn has become status symbol, a symbol of wealth. . Furthermore, Chinese medicine has given it multiple uses, such as cure to hangovers impotence or cancer, all scientifically proven to be false. . Rhino horn is chemically identical to your fingernails and hair. It is made up of keratin. The current situation we find ourselves in as humans is complex. . Last year the Chinese Government overturned their own 25 year ban on rhino horn and have now legalized domestic trade in rhino horn and tiger bone. . I don’t have the answers how to stop this, the only solace I can find is to support the efforts of incredible organizations such as the Grumeti Fund @grumetifund in Tanzania and Ol Jogi @oljogi in Kenya 🙏 . . . 📸 @sachaspex . . . . . . . . . #rhino #stoprhinopoaching #rhinopoachingawareness #kenya #tanzania #africa #grumetifund #wildlifeconservation #oljogi #oljogirhinos

A post shared by Sylvia Mantella (@sylviamantella) on Feb 28, 2019 at 6:44am PST

On having a blended family 

“Our youngest, Conrad, is 21, our middle, Sarah, is 24, and then our oldest, Conrad, will be 27 in four months. We’re a blended family. Robert and I were both married before we came together, and we blended our family really beautifully. We don’t use words like stepson or stepdaughter. It’s mom, it’s dad, it’s brother, it’s sister.  So yeah, that’s my family in a nutshell.”

  On the advice she’d give to anyone who wants to emulate her life 

“Number one, never judge your life on a bad day, because nothing will seem right. My other piece of advice is say yes to everything that’s not illegal or immoral. I’ve done that in the past 4-5 years and my life has just gone from a five to a ten, in the best possible way.”

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