#and it seems like to my group mates the only level of a poem that exists is the surface level

[typederror]

wanna feel deeply and hideously conceited? get misunderstood at a poetry workshop

[scotiaeire]

SHAPESHIFTING

“Out of the numerous terms associated with shape-shifting in Old Norse-Icelandic literature, the most common one must be hamr, a rather obscure and multi-faceted concept that needs to be presented and explained before going further. On a practical level, the word hamrhas been defined by Finnicist Clive Tolley as referring to the pelt of an animal or a bird (Tolley, 2009: I, 193). However, it differs from the word serkr(“animal pelt”) in that it is most common used to describe much more than a simple animal skin. As shown by Icelandic scholar Aðalheiður Guðmundsdóttir, there are numerous instances where the word hamrrefers not strictly to such pelts but also to the shape, the appearance and form of someone who is able to change shape (Guðmundsdóttir, 2007: 280). Within the Norse-Icelandic corpus, the word is found both in narratives set in historical, legendary, mythical and even fictional times, ranging from 10th-century skaldic poetry to late-Medieval rímurpoems. In these tales, the hamris most-often described as a physical garment that can be worn and removed and which in and of itself can be a cause for transformation. A good example of the physicality of the hamrcan be found in the prose introduction of the Eddic poem Vǫlundarkviðain which human-looking women are in possession of swan-pelts (álptarhamir) and later leave the narrative’s protagonists by flying in the air (Vǫlundarkviða, 2014: 428).4This narrative is, as will be demonstrated later on, only one of many in which saga characters assume the appearance of an animal or a monster by donning a supernatural pelt.”

SOURCE: “SHAPESHIFTING IN OLD NORSE -ICELANDIC LITERATURE” BY LYONEL PERABO.

THIS IMMEDIATELY BROUGHT TO MIND THE SELKIE OF CELTIC MYTH. IF YOU GROW UP IN SCOTLAND OR IRELAND, THE ORKNEY OR SHETLAND ISLES, YOU’RE SURROUNDED BY THE SEAS AND THE MYTHS THAT ACCOMPANY THEM.

ONE OF THESE IS SELKIES, OR SEAL-FOLK. TRADITIONALLY WOMEN (BUT SOMETIMES ALSO MEN) THEY ARE SEALWIVES. THEY WILL COME TO LAND, HAVING FALLEN FOR A HUMAN MALE, SOME OF THEM TRUSTING ENOUGH TO HAND OVER THEIR SEALSKIN TO THEIR NEW LOVE TO KEEP SAFE FOR THEM (WITHOUT WHICH THEY CAN’T SHIFT BACK INTO SEALFORM). USUALLY THE STORY ENDS WITH TRAGEDY, BECAUSE THE HUMAN, WANTING TO KEEP HIS BEAUTIFUL WIFE, WILL HIDE THE SEALSKIN FROM HER. IN MOST TALES, SHE FINDS AND OR RECOVERS IT WITH HELP AND ALWAYS LEAVES HER LOVE TO RETURN TO THE SEA, SOMETIMES TAKING ANY OFFSPRING WITH HER.

A GOOD INTRO TO SELKIE FOLKS IS HERE: http://www.orkneyjar.com/folklore/selkiefolk/

THE ORIGINAL SHAPESHIFTING ARTICLE ALSO BROUGHT TO MIND THE OLD CELTIC RITUAL OF YOUNG MEN BEING SEWN INTO BULLHIDES, TO BIDE THERE FOR A SPECIFIED LENGTH OF TIME. THIS ALSO REMINDS ME OF THE MORE MODERN SENSORY DEPRIVATION TANKS. IN THOSE, PEOPLE REPORT ACUTE SHIFTS IN AWARENESS, LOSS OF THE PASSING OF TIME, AND A SHARPENING OF OTHER SENSES THAN THE ORDINARY SIGHT AND SOUND, TASTE AND TOUCH. IN OTHER WORDS, BY DEPRIVING THE HUMAN OF THE MUNDANE SENSES, THEIR MINDS ARE FREED TO WANDER. AND WANDER THEY DO...

WELL, A FEW DAYS INSIDE THAT BULLHIDE...DARK, QUIET, WARM, THE SCENT OF THE BEAST IN YOUR NOSTRILS...THE RELEVENCE OF CATTLE TO THE CELTS IS WELL KNOWN. BUT OTHER CULTURES SUCH AS SOME STEPPE TRIBES HAVE USED HORSEHIDES FOR SIMILAR RITES.

SO, WE HAVE SACRED BEASTS BEING USED.

WHEN IT CAME TO THE OLD ARGUMENT ABOUT WHETHER VIKINGS WORE HORNED HELMETS OR NOT (I *THINK* ONLY ONE HAS EVER ACTUALLY BEEN FOUND, BUT CAN’T FIND THE SOURCE FOR IT SO PLEASE DON’T QUOTE ME ON THAT...GENERALLY THEY HAD NO HORNED HELMETS) THERE IS A FAMED STONE ENGRAVING OF WHAT’S CONSIDERED TO BE AN IMAGE OF ODIN. SIMILAR TO THE GUNDESTRUPP CAULDRON, HE WEARS A HELMET WITH HORNED APPENDAGES..I SAY THAT BECAUSE THE TIPS ARE BLUNTED, ALMOST ROUNDED OR WITH SOMETHING ROUNDED ATTACHED.

IS IT POSSIBLE THIS WAS PART OF AN OUTFIT OF A SACRED BEAST WORN BY THE GOD ODIN WHO WAS HIMSELF A KNOWN SHAPESHIFTER?

EVEN TODAY, FOLKS NEW TO PAGANISM AND HEATHENRY ARE DRAWN TO IMAGES OF “HUMAN-BEASTS”...AND DECORATE THEMSELVES WITH STAG ANTLERS, FURS, NECKLACES OF BONES, TEETH, ETC. I POSTED RECENTLY THE MUSIC VIDEO BY THE GROUP FAUN, “WALPURGISNACHT” AND YES, IT’S A MUSIC VID. BUT...THE IMAGES OF THE CLOVEN HOOFED, RAM HORNED MEN, THE OBVIOUS MATING OF THE MOON GODDESS WITH THE STAG GOD OF THE FOREST..WELL, POINT IS, PAGANS AND HEATHENS *DO* GENERALLY FIND THESE IMAGES APPEALLING. EVEN THE BIG BRAWNY VIKING BERSERKER TYPES WANT TO DRAPE THEMSELVES IN BEARHIDES OR WOLF PELTS.

I’VE DONE IT MYSELF...THERE’S A PIC OF A COUPLE OF DECADES AGO OF ME SOMEWHERE ON MY HARD DRIVE, A HELMET I’D MADE OF SADDLE LEATHER, WOOD AND RAM’S HORNS, WEARING A FUR CORSET (YES, IT *WAS* BONED,) AND LEATHER BREEKS AND BOOTS. I CAN FISH IT OUT BUT HEL, I WAS TWENTY YEARS YOUNGER AND A GOOD DEAL SKINNIER BACK THEN. CAN’T FIT INTO THAT NOW. (THAT IS “REAL” SHAPESHIFTING FOR YE...AS WE AGE, OUR BODIES BROADEN. IT’S A BUGGER.) I STILL OWN MY WILD BOAR’S TEETH NECKLACE, SEAL TOOTH NECKLACES AND RABBIT BONE HAIRPINS.

ANYWAY, IN ALL MY STUDIES HITTING ON SHAPESHIFTING, ONE COMMON THREAD RUNS THROUGH IT. THE SHAPESHIFTER MUST RELINQUISH HIS OR HER HUMANITY.

SEE, MANY FOLKS HUMANISE ANIMALS. “CUTE” THEM UP. APPLY HUMAN QUALITIES TO THEM THAT SIMPLY DON’T EXIST. LIKE THOSE PHOTOSHOPPED IMAGES OF HUGGING CATS AND DOGS, OR GRINNING PUPPIES ETC. OR THE HORRIBLE ONES OF DANCING CATS (WHAT IS SEEN CAN NEVER BE UNSEEN..SHUDDER...)

AND YOU SEE IT IN THE LITTLE HANDBAG DOGS, BRED SMALLER AND SMALLER TO SUIT THE NEED FOR EASE OF CARE, SAT IN HANDBAGS OR CARRIED OVER A CROOKED ARM, BEDECKED IN JEWELLED COLLARS OR, GODS FORBID, TUTUS AND OTHER EQUALLY RIDICULOUS OUTFITS.

THE SHAPESHIFTER MUST TRULY, GENUINELY, *KNOW* THE BEAST, TO IT’S CORE, THAT THEY’LL CHANGE INTO, THAT THEY’LL EMULATE TO THE POINT THAT THEIR AUDIENCE WILL *BELIEVE* WHAT THEY’RE MEANT TO SEE.

AND THAT TAKES TRAINING OR A SENSE OF KNOWLEDGE OF ANIMALS ABOVE AND BEYOND THE NORM.

IT TAKES A KENNING OF THEM, IN THE OLD SENSE OF THE WORD. AN INTIMATE KNOWING OF HOW THEIR MINDS WORK, OF WHAT IT’S LIKE TO *BE* ONE OF THEM, AND AN ABSOLUTE DETACHMENT FROM THEIR OWN HUMANITY WHICH HAS A HABIT OF “TAINTING” EVERYTHING IT SEES, HEARS AND EXPERIENCES BY DEFAULT.

SHAPESHIFTERS, I BELIEVE, HAVEN’T GONE AWAY. BUT WE LIVE IN A WORLD IN WHICH WE ARE INCREASINGLY DENIED ACCESS TO THE CULTURE OF OUR ANCESTORS IN MEANINGFUL WAYS.

MY DAD USED TO TELL ME (HE WAS A POACHER BTW, FOR THE DINNER TABLE, NOT FOR PROFIT) THAT EVERY MAN SHOULD HAVE THE *RIGHT* TO FEED HIS FAMILY FROM THE LAND OF HIS BIRTH.

HOW MANY OF US ARE PERMITTED TO HUNT FOR OUR DINNERS THESE DAYS? UNLESS YOU PAY EXHORBITANT FEES FOR GUN LICENSES, UNDERGO INTENSIVE POLICE SCRUTINY AND IN MANY CASES, OBLIGATORY TRAINING, IN PLACES BOW HUNTING IS FORBIDDEN, AND SO WHERE I USED TO SEE MANY AN AULD FELLA WALKING ALONG WITH A BRACE OF PHEASANT UNDER HIS JACKET OR A BUNDLE OF RABBITS SLUNG OVER ONE SHOULDER, YOU NEVER SEE IT NOW.

AND THEN THERE’S THE ECO LOT, WHO, IF YOU SO MUCH AS DON A LEATHER SHOE, WANT YOU SHOT.....

WELL, I WAS LUCKY TO BE TAUGHT MY TRADE IN LIFE, AN ANIMAL HIDE TANNER. I STILL HAVE A SMALL STASH OF DEER AND SHEEP HIDES, CALF HIDES AND RABBIT PELTS. ANTLERS AND HORNS.

AND I CAN CONFIRM THAT THE APPEAL OF THEM IS STILL AS STRONG AS EVER.

WHATEVER THE REASONING BEHIND THE ORIGINAL SHAPESHIFTERS, TO HAVE THE ABILITY TO “GET UNDER THE SKIN” OF ANOTHER SPECIES AND TRULY UNDERSTAND THE CREATURE, TO COMMUNICATE THROUGH IT TO OTHERS OF YOUR KIND, MUST BE A PARTICULARLY SPECIAL ABILITY AND SKILL.

FROM SHAPESHIFTING SWANS IN NORSE AND IRISH MYTHOLOGY TO THE SELKIES OF THE NORTHERN ISLES AND NORTHERN SCOTLAND, TO THE BULLS, BOARS AND STEPPE HORSES OF OTHER PLACES, WE SEEM TO HAVE AN INHERENT DESIRE TO BECOME THOSE CREATURES AND KNOW AND RETAIN THEIR QUALITIES OR AT THE LEAST, TO CREATE A BOND WITH THEM THAT CAN BE USED IN RITUAL TO HEAL AND CURE, CURSE AND KILL OR SIMPLY BEGUILE. IT HASN’T LEFT US.

BUT WE’RE ALLOWING IT TO BE TAKEN FROM US.

INDIGENOUS PEOPLES STRUGGLE TO KEEP THEIR CULTURE AND HERITAGE ALIVE TODAY.

SAY THE WORD “INDIGENOUS” AND MOST THINK NATIVE AMERICAN, AFRICAN, ANYWHERE EXCEPT EUROPEAN. YET OUR CELTIC, NORSE, AND GERMANIC ANCESTORS WERE PAGANS TOO, HAD THEIR RITUALS AND PRACTICES TOO.

AND THOUGH I’M NOT ADVOCATING A RETURN TO THE DAYS OF THE HEAD HUNTING CELTS (THOUGH, IF ANYONE’S UP FOR THAT I’VE A LIST BEGINNING WITH THE ENGLISH GOVERNMENT, JUST SAYIN’...) WE TOO DESERVE THE RIGHT TO RE-DISCOVER OUR ANCIENT ROOTS, AND TO KEEP ALIVE THOSE FEW PRACTICES THAT STILL REMAIN.

WHEREVER YOU’RE FROM, LEARN YOUR HISTORY. NOT JUST THE RECENT HISTORY BUT THE ANCIENT. KNOW THE LANDSCAPE YOU BELONG TO THROUGH IT’S ARCHAEOLOGY AND IN THIS WAY, COME TO KNOW A LITTLE MORE ABOUT WHO THE PEOPLE THAT TROD THE GROUND BEFORE YOU WERE, HOW THEY LIVED, WORKED AND COMMUNICATED WITH THEIR NATURAL WORLD, THE SEEN AND THE HIDDEN. AND KEEP IT ALIVE. THEY SAYING GOES, “WALK IN ANOTHER’S SHOES FOR A WHILE”. MAYBE THE SHAPESHIFTER WOULD SAY “DON ANOTHER’S SKIN FOR A WHILE”.

[skippingismagnificent]

last night i played D&D with my mates via the internet, and it was lovely. i’m not the most natural at D&D, and tbh i only play with it to hang out with my friends. and for some reason i spent tonight reflecting on last night & i guess my relationship with my friends, and it ended in the form of a (subpar) poem. i call it “sorry, i don’t play video games”

sorry, i don’t play video games, i don’t watch anime either. i’ve dabbled in D&D, but I’m not the best at role-playing.

it can be a bit isolating & exhausting, not gonna lie.

there’s only so much revision one can do over a topic you don’t really care about.

but I know my friends do the same for me, with my own interests, and the such.

i don’t know what it is that leads me into these groups, having friends that, on surface, seem like we have nothing in common.

maybe it’s who we are in deeper levels, our social difficulties that bring me back to my years in Special Education, but supposedly not that pathological for them.

often, i wish i had more in common with my friends.

i wish i could create and build like they do.

maybe i find myself feeling isolated because i’m jealous of their passion.

i’m sure they have their thing that they’re jealous of about me. but I don’t think i wanna know that.

i want to get better at appreciating my friends for who they are, not what I want them to be.

i wish that one “friend” that really hurt me had never done that.

his actions have become my self-sabotage.

i just don’t want being a friend to be so exhausting, so terrifying.

i want me and my friends’ differences to be our strengths, to know that we can love each other in its true form: as individuals.

i want to share experiences and new memories, cos god knows we keep talking about the same damn ones.

i want my friends to remain, i want them by my side, i want them to love me, and i want to keep loving them.

i want to see their faces, i want to hug them, i want to hold their hands, i want to love them.

i don’t play video games, but I do when I’m with my friends.

i don’t watch anime either, but i have retained the stories my friends tell me.

i’ve dabbled in D&D, because i want to be with my friends.

i frequently think i’m a bad friend. i’m not the best at messaging. but I try my best, i swear.

the best thing i feel i can do, for now, is love them. because, regardless, that’s what I do.

[itsnotresilience]

How I Feel About My Mind and Body

A Reflection on poems and journal entries from 1994-2002, 2005-2009 and one single one from 2017.

In 1994, I wrote, “I know something you don’t know. Be glad you don’t know it. I hate my mind for knowing it. I hate my body for feeling it.” I was 16 years old when I wrote that. Anyone that believes children don’t have emotional experience or dismiss it as a youthful dramatic exercise has likely forgotten they were children. Yes, a 16 year-old is still a child! I had just changed schools and felt, again the new girl, again so different. I couldn’t bear to see and be around the people at my local high school. My parents, to their immense credit, saw that I needed a smaller and more structured environment. Looking back, I’m not sure a Catholic school was the next best choice but it was better. Maybe it’s just my observation but my new high school class seemed a combo of catholic school “lifers” who’d been in school with each other since Montessori, troublemakers who couldn’t be in their local school and then- kids like me, there because they are hopeful for an education devoid of so much drama.

In my youth, I knew I was smart. I knew school came easily for me. I was always focused and always driven to do better. As a young women, as I progressed through school and experienced the social anxiety of peer groups, I started hiding my success or doing things that countered that. It didn’t feel cool to be the smart girl unless you were also an amazing athlete ( I wasn’t) or you were the picture of pretty ( I wasn’t that either). To me, what I could do in school, starting in middle school, seemed more like an ugliness, something that only mattered when some kid I needed approval from wanted to cheat off me or have me on their team project so I could do all the work. Those weren’t the only two experiences. I had teachers that were very supportive and pushed me to be more confident. I had some friends, friends like me, that loved learning and hated school. At least that’s how it all was before my Freshman year of high school.

I’m not ready, in this essay, to talk about my freshman year. Maybe soon. Most of you reading this know I’m a sexual assault survivor and know either all or parts to that story but there’s people who I was friends with that year, and the year after, that didn’t know what happened to me until recently. I can’t explain that today. What’s important for this essay is to know that happened and whatever girl that existed before that is gone. I remember her in bits and pieces. Parts of her personality exist in me-lifelong habits (liking structure, propensity to anxiety, loving to learn) are still there but there’s large gaps of who I was missing. She exists in the memories of friends, save 1 or 2, who I no longer really know. That might be true of a lot of us, that we are different people than we were then but what I’m saying is a much starker contrast. All that I cared about stopped existing in the same way.

Anyway, back to my brain. I was good at expressing myself, in written form, almost always. In person, I could clearly express an opinion or recite a fact and not feel ashamed. I have an endless amount of useless trivia and cool facts in my brain. I became more brash, almost to a rebellious level, at my new school. I kinda felt the whole religion thing was a joke (more on that in a future essay). I walked around, nearly all the time, with that chip on my shoulder- I know this horrific, inexpressible thing that you don’t know. I hate you for not having to know it. That seems grossly unfair of me now. It wasn’t a feeling of superiority, but envy. Envious of their naivety. Envious that their minds could be filled with soccer, boys, girls and secret parties that I was never invited to. Those things were in my mind, but there was always a rather large part of my brain involved in emotional conflict. I learned to fake a lot of things. I joined more activities then I had before. There’s a part of me now, that realizes, I made people uncomfortable. I know I still do. My brashness. My this is how it is way. That person didn’t exist before 1992. I don’t recall being that way before.

Earlier this week, I from memory, thought my high school love and I broke up in 1994, but I see the journal entry now. It was January 1995. I see that now because my dad gave me a silly card on Valentine’s Day to help me feel better. I wrote it down. I was devastated by that break up. I wrote about that rejection nearly every day. I was convinced this was a rejection of my damaged body and mind, that my ugly truth was visible and disgusting. I wrote in March, “no one will ever love this person.” That seems weird now. This person? Why didn’t I say- me? That breakup started a pattern that sent me off the rails for the next 5 years. A pattern that didn’t care what happened to my mind, my body, or consequences.

I’ll tell you one secret I don’t share. The one thing I learned but didn’t really understand until 1995. Men liked me and I knew it. I didn’t think it was because I was pretty. I didn’t think it was I was smart or funny or interesting. After 1992 I knew they just liked me for my body. The body I hated. I’m pretty sure that’s a distorted and broken view, but I wrote about it often. “Why are men obsessed with my chest? Why do I have to be ashamed of it? My breasts are all that seem to matter and the indicator that I’m easy or showing off.” I don’t remember dressing provocatively in high school. My body seemed obvious no matter what I wore.

There was another group of men and a seemingly endless group of women, who hated me. Men who teased me, made fun of me, didn’t appreciate my opinions. Women who I made uncomfortable or just wasn’t cool enough for. Now I see we all probably felt some measure of not fitting in but at the time, the rejection fueled my desire to out accomplish them. I was editor of the school paper and used that to “poke the bear”. I wrote things that would create controversy, purposely to create discomfort and then I’d ironically muse later, why doesn’t anyone like me? I had friends for sure, and some good ones, but I know we didn’t really talk about those things.

In my senior year, my English teacher assigned us this essay. I can’t remember what the theme was supposed to be but it was meant to be personal story, I think. The evening I wrote that paper, I wrote this, “ I will show you all your ignorance.” My rage was definitely at a peak. I was particularly isolated given some girl friendships that were broken for reasons that I can’t even recall now. One I was thoughtless to. The other abandoned me for her boyfriend. I was really really hurting and escaping into terrible behavior that I made their fault. All of these people, now my perceived enemies, had further damaged me. I hate this Meghan, so much. Her reflection is abominable to me. She seems so incredibly unlikeable and making choices that don’t increase her chances for winning friends and influencing people. All I cared about was college and my chance to escape this Meghan and be someone else.

In that essay, I revealed to my entire class that I was a sexual assault survivor. I castigated them for treating me like shit. I took them to task for their judgment, arrogance, and naivety. I used their religion against them to say, this is not Christian, your rejection of me. I don’t know what I expected to happen. This wasn’t “ The Breakfast Club”. We weren’t all suddenly going to relate each other and frankly, I was being unfair and aggressive. I feel sad now that I didn’t see some of the things I should have. I wasn’t all that smart after all.

.....................................................................................

In November of 1995 I write, “here my soul is free but I still box myself in by the lies I tell. I’m abusing my body while growing my mind. This seems to end in my mind just knowing that I’m shitty”. My first year of college is kind of a blur of partying, classes and endless social drama. I wasn’t as good at being a woman as my social circle. They all seemed like they could be themselves ( they were probably faking it too because this is just my perspective). I pretended to be someone I wasn’t and was uncomfortable and anxious all the time and didn’t make the connection I was creating that problem until later. I felt like if I was someone different, people would like me. The problem was my created persona was not someone I liked. In January of 1996 I was found out, exposed by a high school classmate who I know didn’t know they were playing into my super manipulative suite-mates hands. She turned it into a long term high school bullying session, complete with ostracizing, prank calling and other forms of harassment. One night I wrote, “I can’t be myself, or someone else. I am no one. I’m just this body, I continue to abuse and this mind who yearns for an exit”. I finally worked it out to move to a different building and enough women experienced my suite-mate to know, even if I am a liar, no one deserves that shit. I found friendship and community with a new set of friends, some of them old high school classmates who I never really knew in high school or at least, didn’t seem to like me.

Toward the end of my Freshman year, I felt increasingly disillusioned with college and college life. I was partying too much. The person I was still didn’t sit right. During the summer, I decided to take a year off and make sure college was what I wanted. That wasn’t the best decision I ever made. Being in school provided a structure and confidence I hadn’t realized. I spent the next year partying even harder, abusing my body more, putting myself with terrible men. I now see I didn’t care what happened to me but there was always a later- the later “accounting” my brain would take of my body. That face the music moment where the escape faded and all that was left was broken reality.

I returned to school with some new friends, a new boyfriend, a new purpose. I had a very fun year that I explored different passions I locked away. I became involved with the campus radio station and it was like my heart exploded. Thinking, talking and listening to music became an obsession. But there was another person, still there. I was still pretending. I was still lying. I still didn’t believe anyone wanted to know me, that I was ugly. Stupid never came into it. My intelligence always felt like a burden rather than an attribute. I had some brilliant friends and still felt like it wasn’t enough to be smart even though they were enough for me ( they weren’t just smart either but I loved them for their smarts). I hated my body. It just felt like this thing that existed for men and getting love. I didn’t feel loved by my boyfriend. I felt like his property, like I owed him and he felt I owed him, my body. My body didn’t care about sex. It didn’t see sex as pleasurable. My brain didn’t participate. It was just a vehicle to get what I wanted, love.

My boyfriend and I increasingly fought over sex. We were together two years but didn’t really get along too well. We both had a lot of emotional baggage we were too young to deal with especially fueled by drinking and partying. My relationship was a constant drama. My boyfriend was not nice to me. He was controlling, manipulative and emotionally abusive. I was volunteering in a women’s shelter while being in a relationship where I had sex with someone to avoid fights. I couldn’t even see my own fucked up shit. I was extremely thin because my boyfriend was very focused on my body. I will say, and want to say, I know he was broken too- by different things- and while I wouldn’t want to go hang out with him for hours, I forgive him and have seen him since and feel like he’s still a good person.

At the time though, the messy end of that relationship, one filled with fear, fueled another few years of rash decisions and escape from dealing. That’s not his fault though, how I chose or not chose to deal with what happened in our relationship. I walked away a more broken woman, grasping for love and acceptance. In 1999 I wrote, “I’m just here, going from person to person, seeing if any of them ever really like me. My brain wants to run from this body. My body just got used by another man, one I loved long ago”. I got back together briefly, with my high school boyfriend. It was intoxicating to be around this person, the first person, I trusted to love me. He was harmless and so fun but our realities were different. I was essentially his Navy port girl and he was the person I was going to convince to love only me, forever. It was a fantasy that didn’t really have an end so much that we both moved on without saying it.

......................................................................................

In 2000 I wrote, “my brain is my enemy and my friend. my body belongs to another man who seems to care nothing about my mind". That was a lie i told myself. That man was my first husband. i did feel pressured to have sex. we never fought about it, i just felt like it was a duty to do for him to love me. He encouraged my academic pursuits, always said i was smarter than him, so he did in-fact value my mind but i experienced only the constant feeling that my body was not mine. My body had been stolen from me, long ago.

......................................................................................

In 2005, I have a poem, its barely readable to anyone who has seen my upset chicken scratch.

"i wore lingerie for you today

you laughed at me

i was a cruel joke

you think its funny i want to be seen

you think its funny i want to have a say"

i married that man too.

i was coming into my own, feeling empowered by my education and career growth but i was still this broken person who didn't feel seen or loved for who she was. My mind became my worst enemy starting at this time and still today i feel that way. My body belonged to another man, one who didn't even really appreciate it or care what it looked like. There wasn't pressure. there wasn't anything! instead of understanding that i wasn't a walking sex doll to my second husband, i understood it as rejection. i didn't know how to be with someone who didn't want me for sex. that kind of situation hadn't existed for me. i also felt though, and still do, that it wasn't a normal evolution of a long term relationship. it felt too early to be deciding we were best friends that weren't lovers. we loved each other but physical expressions weren't part of that. even before my marriage ended epically i felt he wasn't the right person. i had chosen him and we had started failing because he didn't want me for sex.

..........................................................................................

in 2017, 4 weeks before my 40th person i wrote in my first journal entry in five years, "i hate my body. its now fat and my face is ugly. i cant remember ever liking my physical appearance while also acknowledging that I've used it to get what i wanted in romantic relationships. my mind is a cage, of argument, criticism, doubt, fear, anger battling another side that argues reality, ration, logic, and also criticizes knowing its smarter than the other side."

that night, i wrote a letter to my friends and family, saying goodbye. i had a plan. i would take too much of my anti-anxiety medication with booze. i would drive somewhere and do it, on a weekday, when my absence wouldn't be noticed. i wrote out my plan, in excruciating detail, in my goodbye letter. i wanted everyone to know id thought this out. i was tired of my internal battle, my external battle, my inability to just be in this world without strife, self hatred and conflict. i felt i should be somewhere better at 40 than where i was. i got to the section where i was addressing my stepson, specifically, and couldn't write it. i picked up the phone and called my sister. she saved my life that night.

i haven't journaled since that night. i write my blogs. i. write for work. i don't stick pen to paper. this is the most I've written in a long long time. i didn't trust myself to write again. since 2017 I've been on a journey to build that life i think i should have, to be that one body, one mind or at least love whats there and stop fighting myself. i have some amazing loving friends who continue to support my journey and love messy me.

I'm not so different from other women. plenty of us hate our bodies. I'm not so different from other women. plenty of us aren't rewarded for our smarts. I'm a feminist because i see so much opportunity in womanhood. so many things the world could learn from all women, even the Karens. but i also hate my womanhood, my experience of being a woman. i hate that there's still things that happen more to women and even more to women of color. i hate that people think it doesn't exist. i still struggle everyday, to look in the mirror. I'm notorious for despising photos of myself and now, my face is a reminder that I'm not safe. There’s no big finding in this essay. i don't have hope for closure. I'm still just going, in this path, hoping i can find healing.

[nightlynamjoon]

The Stars Between Us. Part 2.

Pairing: BTS Kim Namjoon x Reader

Summary: When ever you get hurt your soulmate feels the same pain, and with y/n being abused by her father what is Namjoon meant to do when he doesn’t know who his soulmate is, all he wants to is to save her.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, soulmate AU

Length:1349 words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

A/N: I would just like to say a massive thank you to those who have read this, I was completely overwhelmed by the support that I got off part 1, I was not expecting that at all and it made me so happy to see it, you guys are truly incredible. <3

Two weeks, that’s how long you had been in your new school for. Two weeks, and nothing had changed, you still hadn’t made any new friends at the school yet, you were too scared of allowing people into your messed up life. Though everyday Namjoon always asked you to join lunch with him and his friends, you always declined, instead you went and ate your lunch in the toilets to avoid having to see everyone’s glances towards you. And then there was your father, due to the promotion he had a lot more work, and that meant a lot more stress and his favourite stress reliever had always been you. Which meant you always had new bruises to cover up and Namjoon always felt despondent towards never being able to help his soulmate that he thought he didn’t know anything of.

           It was Monday, and school was looming over you and all the other kids; the upcoming exams made everybody anxious and restless. Everywhere you looked you would find kids slaving over textbooks and handwritten notes trying to cram information into their already filled brain. Very little people wanted to be the ones at the bottom, most people were fighting to get the number one spot in school and get into the best universities, people would sabotage other people, and some would make themselves so ill that in the end they wouldn’t be able to take the test anyway. School was just a test run as to what the real world was like, everything and everybody is divided into sections, people are judged down to the tiniest detail; That, you learnt a long time ago.

           Walking into school you hung you head low with your hair creating a curtain over your face to cover the nasty split lip your father had given you the night before after he found out you had forgot to do the dishes from dinner, he didn’t realise you were tired from doing all nighters with your now well used revision books. You made it to your classroom with a few minutes to spare so you placed you head on your desk and basked in the almost silence of the classroom. It wasn’t until a large group of loud class mates came in that you gave up on trying to find some peace. You looked over to the door to find out who the group of people were, it was Namjoon & Co. You had heard rumours around school as to who they were, they were quite popular from your understanding after hearing so many people talk about them, a lot of the girls who talked about them called them BTS, which you thought was a bit weird as you had no idea what that stood for.

Whilst glancing at the boys you somehow once again caught locking eyes with Namjoon and feeling that familiar sense that you seemed to always get when looking at him returned, it confused you as to why this was happening. You finally were able to break eye contact with Namjoon when the teacher walked in, and everyone sat in their regular seats and patiently waited for the day to begin.

           Around half way through the first lesson your teacher had announced that even thought there were exams coming up that you were going to be doing a group project, it was going to be a big impact on your grades with this project so it was going to have to be done well and to high level of standard, you inwardly sighed dreading having to find a partner among people who all seemed very close. You were silently pitying yourself until the teachers next few words were a sign of a god.

“Now stop looking around the classroom students, you will be happy to know that you can’t choose your partners. Those who are sitting next to you will be your group project partners” You decided if there was a god he definitely was not looking out for you. You were partnered with a guy you could barely talk to, never mind do a whole project with. It was official you were cursed. “So I bet what you are all wondering what your task is for your project, You will have to get to know you partner and be able to give a poem about them to me and a quick presentation to the class. Now I don’t want something bland like favourite colour or number, I want something that will stand out, ask them crazy questions that no one else will think of. Now that’s enough of me talking, you have the rest of today and two weeks to really get to know your partner, good luck”

           You were officially screwed. How were you meant to hide your family life away from a guy who has to know everything about you? You breath started to slowly but surely start to increase as thoughts flittered around your mind, you started to pinch your thigh as a way to bring you back to the present, completely unaware of the dejected look on Namjoon’s face as he wonders what has got his soulmate hurting again, on his soulmates thigh as well. He sighed and faced you, when he tapped your shoulder he saw the tiniest of flinches when his gentle hand landed, but he decided that it was just a reflex on your behalf.

“So this project will be big thing, so I was wondering if you would like to meet up after school some days to complete it?” He said to you as you turned to look at him, completely forgetting about your cut lip, only realising after you saw Namjoon’s eyes widen, cursing inwardly to yourself, you covered your lips with your hand. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your face?”

“oh, erm, I tripped and hit the table last night” You lied, you could see how your lie was not convincing Namjoon, but hey what else could you say ‘Oh yeah most nights that I go home my father beats me for anything he can think off, but how is your day going?’ Because that would go down well. So you just did as you always did, you lied some more. “I’m a very clumsy person, always finding a way to somehow injure myself even in some of the safest places. Anyway, I don’t know about after school…”

“That is funny because I am also too very clumsy, my parents used to say I should get wrapped in bubble wrap when I was younger due to the amount of times I scraped my knee as a kid” He said with a chuckle and a gleam in his eye. “And with the after school thing it is just I have practise a lot so I don’t get a lot of spare time, so after school would be a great time to go if you can, we can go to this coffee shop that I go to quite a lot, they have the best coffee and hot chocolates there.”

“Well I guess we could go after school today, but I can’t go every night after school. And I can’t stay out too late either.” Your mind was finding a hundred ways this could go wrong, like if your father came home early and noticed that you weren’t there, you would be in a lot of trouble if that was the case.

“Well great then, so if we meet after school by the front gates and then go there?”

“y-yeah sounds good” You stuttered with nerves after realised who you were going to get coffee with, Kim Namjoon.

           The rest of the day was spent as you two going over basic facts about yourselves and coming up with a schedule to get this project done. You had a few extra lessons that day to go through, but most the time you spent trying to find ways to cover up your home life truth, why couldn’t your life be normal? When you meet your soulmate will you become normal? Will he help you? Will he want you? Will ever even meet him? God, you hoped so.

People are always so blind to what is right in front of them.

[yuki-d-raizel-blog]

Number 1333

Chapter 4/??

Summit: What happens if a mysterious prisoner joins the chaotic Cell 13? He is perfect for the Nanba Prison, his name is synonym of terror and cruelty; each time he was sent to a new prison, he broke out in less than an hour. Will the Nanba Prison succeed to keep him jailed or not…?

---

Since the teams are chosen, the others go back to the bleachers and sit, meanwhile, Ayu successfully escaped from that hell for a few minutes. He just needs silence, too much sounds and loud people, that's not the right place for him.

"I need something to drink and some silence. My head hurts, I was never used to noisy places, not even when I went in missions." he walks calmly down the corridors looking for a store or something where he can have some water, "I'm getting used to my cell mates, but a crowd of people so huge so suddenly, it's too much for me."

<<Number 33, you punk!!>> Hajime's voice rings inside the corridors, <<Stop sneaking away, you bastard!>> when he tries to grab his cloak, the prisoner dodges it easily.

<<First of all, there's no need to scream like that.>> says Ayu annoyed, <<Second of all, I just want some cold water, I would be back as always, you know?>>

<<Yeah, yeah, sure.>>

"Eh?!" Number 33 finds himself handcuffed in a mere second, <<Then can you escort me to take a bottle of water or something? I'm thirsty and my head hurts.>>

<<Let's go back->> the supervisor feels the chain too loosen, so he looks behind and sees Ayu waving his hands to him, <<You’re even worse than Number 15!>>

<<I want water, first.>> says Ayu, <<You can't catch a shadow.>> he adds with a grin.

<<Fine!>>

---

When they come back, Yamato and Rock won and everyone is cheering for them. Maybe Ayu should’ve walk slower...

[The Building 13 has taken the lead by winning two events so far!] Mitsuru is loud as always, [You guys better turn up the heat in the next event!]

"Ugh, I want to kill him, give me at least a pair of headphones!" that place is really the hell for Number 33.

[Let's get going on the third event! Next is.... Hyakunin Isshu!]

Staring at the flag with the name of the event, the Cell 13 is deciding who's gonna participate. Everyone moves their gaze to Hajime, who annoyed sends Seitarou. The poor guard is bullied again from the members of the Cell 13, and he starts to cry because of them.

"This is easy, maybe I participate too. The fastest we finish, the fastest we can go back." thinks Ayu drinking from his bottle, "But if I go alone, I will attire too many attentions, and my friends might be in danger, so... I need to do a support work, just to distract the opponent, and win easily."

[The rules of Hyakunin Isshu, also known as competitive karuta, are very easy! This match requires mental strength and concentration! Three members are allowed to participate, including one guard!]

<<Why three?>> questions Rock to Hajime.

<<The third member is a replacement.>> replies the officer, <<This game consumes a great deal of mental power, to the point that participants will collapse. This is the countermeasure.>>

<<Is that extreme?>> Rock chats with Sugoroku and Seitaro, while Jyugo hopes that they wouldn't choose him just because he is Japanese. Number 1333 sees that insecurity, so he steps forward.

<<I have a plan, can I participate?>> he says, <<I and Uno will play.>>

<<Why Number 11-kun too?>> asks Seitarou confused.

<<Hyakunin Isshu is basically a card game, and he’s very good at them.>> Ayu grabs Uno's shirt and pulls him nearer, <<However, I’ll be a decoy to distract the opponents. I trust Uno and his skills, he will not need my help anyway, it's just strategy.>>

<<He, I like how you think. I'm in!>> the blondie shouts excited, <<Let's go pal!>>

[Yo @#*!s! The next match is Building 3 supervising officer, Kiji Mitsuba, versus Building 13 guard, Seitaro Tanabata!] while the guards complement each other, Mitsuru continues his speech, [And Building 3, Cell 6, inmates Number 3 and 82! A very colorful duo!]

The entire arena is blinded by Trois and Honey, their handsome aura is just too bright, making Uno jealous. He doesn't have any aura, why?!

[From Building 13, Cell 13, inmates Number 11 and 33! The opposite combo!]

<<I can produce that aura too! Watch me!>>

"Good grief, why I accepted this stupid challenge?" Ayu just crosses his arms and waits that his teammate gives up on that handsomeness thing. "How old is he? 4?"

Since his handsomeness level isn't high enough, Uno collapses on the ground tired already. He’s blinded by that group that is chatting so happily... In front of him there are those sparkling idiots who compliments and laughs with each other and...

<<C'mon Uno, get yourself together.>> sighs Ayu.

Behind him there's someone that doesn't look attractive now, but he saw how handsome he is...

<<Fucking die, pretty boys!>> he roars frustrated, making his teammate sighs again.

[Die! All right, let's begin this third event! Ready...?]

<<No way I'm gonna lose.>> roars whispering Number 11, <<Hell no.>>

[First poem! While autumn leaves-]

The arena falls silent and everyone stares shocked at the light blue hair little guy. He picked the right card in a second... Even Ayu wasn't expecting it. Well, he scolds himself saying that Seitarou is a Nanba Prison's guard after all, he must excel in something, right?

[As friends and- Fell sorrow- Impass- A-] Mitsuru can't even finish the poem that Seitarou smashes the card out of the square and collects it, [Guest- Let me say at least half of this crap!]

"He excels in memory, huh?" Number 33 starts to study each person on the field, "Overwhelming victory for the guards' side, now... Let's see how this ridiculous combo can entertain me. Would you be able to mislead the eyes of an expert assassin?"

After a while, Uno hasn't picked a single card. Ayu doesn't seem worried, he doesn't say a word to Uno or ask him to change position.

<<I'll take your place, Honey-kun.>> Trois pats the shoulder of his teammate and smiles amused, <<They might be making their move soon.>> once he sits and looks at the cards, he talks with a very annoyed Uno, <<I can read you like a book. You're looking for your opportunity to cheat.>>

[For you, I-]

<<Got it!>> Number 11 smashed his hand on the tatami confidently, but the card is already gone, <<What?>>

"That's interesting, but his techniques are so loutish and uncompleted." after that move, Ayu lays down and pulls his hood forward to cover the light of the sun, "These people are full of vices, like planned, he doesn't need my help."

<<Close, but no cigar.>> Trois holds the card with a satisfied expression.

"There was... no sound or anything..." thinks Uno frustrated, "Is he like Ayu? Freaking pretty boy, I'm going to punch your face!"

<<Mph, your little boy has no chance against mine.>> says Kiji approaching Hajime, <<The famous killer gave up too, fufufu, we're are gonna win!>>

<<You surely talk much when a few moments ago, my subordinate crushed you completely.>> talks back the supervisor, <<And aren't you underestimate my prisoners too much?>>

<<If Number 11 can't cheat, he can't win anyway.>> comments amused Mitsuba, <<And Number 33 played just to scare my inmates.>>

<<Hahaha.>> Jyugo's laugh irritated the superior of the Building 3, <<If you believe that cheating is the only thing that Uno can do, you're gonna be floored really bad. Beating him isn't that easy.>>

---Continue...

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

[awkwardlyamusing-blog]

Marilyn Heins: Things to consider when deciding on getting a dog | Parenting

New Post has been published on http://doggietrainingclasses.com/marilyn-heins-things-to-consider-when-deciding-on-getting-a-dog-parenting/

Marilyn Heins: Things to consider when deciding on getting a dog | Parenting

“Should we get a dog?” I have received and answered many questions like this from parents wondering about the pros and cons of dog ownership for their children.

It’s a big decision. You are inviting a living creature to live with you for the next 15 years or so if you choose a puppy. Issues to consider are safety for both the family and dog, work (who will care for Fido?) and expense.

Safety? Most diseases are species-specific (we have our viruses and dogs have theirs) but dogs can transmit certain skin conditions like ringworm and scabies. Regular checkups at the veterinarian keep both dog and human safe. Choosing the right dog in terms of size and breed and training the dog to behave can prevent bites.

More work? You betcha! Someone has to buy the food, feed the dog, clean up messes, train the dog, walk the dog, take the creature to the vet, etc. The pet will definitely add items to the expense side of your budget: food, toys, collars, licenses, pet door or cat box, veterinarian bills, neutering.

But there are many special gifts a dog can bring. People get a very special type of unconditional love and affection from a dog. A canine creature makes eye contact, wags its tail, and is always ready to play. That’s what distinguishes them from wolves and why we have been feeding dogs for so many millennia!

Many dogs seem almost human in their ability to sense what a person is feeling. Years ago, I had just learned of the death of a dear one living far away and started crying. My dog came over to me, put her head on my knee, and then reached up to lick the tears off my face.

A dog is great to talk to. Some children tell their pet their sad or lonely thoughts while others “rehearse” speeches they later will make to friends. A pet dog can be a non-stressful part of a child’s life in a stressful world.

Pets can help young children deal with fears. Our dog always joined the children in crawling in our bed when a thunderstorm started. My son would tell the dog not to be scared … it was only thunder. By telling this to the dog he began to master his own fears.

Pets can help children separate reality from fantasy and can be important pretend figures. My daughter stuffed our remarkably cooperative cat into doll clothes and wheeled her around in the buggy. Pets are not inert like a doll. They tell you when you have gone too far, or they have had enough. They can help children learn about being gentle and develop respect for living creatures of another species.

Research confirms that the presence of a pet has a positive effect on children. Those who live with pets have higher morale and better health status than those without pets.

These days I am asked about the pros and cons of dogs for the elderly.

My answers are pretty similar in many respects to those above. But there are some differences.

In our age group, roughly 65 to 105, dogs can be a positive and healthful addition to our lives. They can bring us friendship, purpose, and joy. They can serve as canine “therapists” for those of us who are feeling lazy or blue.

Are they good therapists? According to Dr. Marwan Sabbagh of the Cleveland Clinic Center for Brain Health, “Simply petting an animal can decrease the level of the stress hormone cortisol and boost release of the neurotransmitter serotonin, resulting in lowered blood pressure and heart rate and, possibly, in elevated mood.”

We are a herd mammal. The older we get the harder it is to herd. By circumstance or by choice, we find it harder to get out and socialize. Those of us who are caregivers of a loved one can also be overwhelmed and isolated by their duties. Both can be cheered by the presence of a dog who exudes unconditional love.

Other pluses? I know from personal experience that a dog is the best “alarm clock” for a grieving or lazy oldie. Walking a dog may be the best exercise of all for us. It exercises both you and Fido. It almost guarantees social interaction both from fellow dog walkers and solo neighbors. The late Mindy, my adorable King Charles Cavalier spaniel, greeted every dog and person in the neighborhood.

She even wrote a poem that I saved for posterity:

“I’m the king of the castle, and at the top of the hill, I drop my royal pooplets to give my subjects a thrill.

The lady I live with who walks me, always pick them up, lest the people think I’m just a common pup.

But I feel like a Royal Canine, and always look the part, and love keeps overflowing from my royal heart!”

As the Cleveland Clinic suggests, “Get your six legs out there!” Walking a dog not only provides you with exercise but can even help your brain keep healthy.

Therapy and Service dogs can also be of great help those of us in Geriatrica with specific needs.

It is essential that you pick your dog carefully. An orthopedic surgeon I know points out that big dogs and exuberant poorly leash-trained small dogs can cause us to fall and fracture a bone. Bad for the elderly. Getting an older dog with a good temperament from an animal shelter can be perfect. It benefits two species, human and canine, at the same time!

Thinking realistically, it is important to protect your dog from ending up in an animal shelter when you are no longer able to care for it or not around anymore. I arranged with my daughter, also my executor and a dog owner and dog lover, to care for Mindy if it became necessary.

For spouses and children of an elderly person, beware. My veterinarian husband pointed out that using a dog as a Christmas present is not always a good idea. It’s like an arranged marriage in a tribe of humans that picks their own mates. Be sure your gift will be appropriate and appreciated.

My late husband had made it clear that he did not want another dog after his beloved Brittany spaniel died. As he became sicker, I felt I needed a dog. My niece arranged for Mindy to be shipped to me from Texas as Mindy was perfect for me. She had been living with the breeder who had hoped to show her but she did not weigh enough to be shown. She was 6 months old and trained.

I had concocted a fib that the dog was for my niece if objections were raised. When I brought Mindy into the house, my husband asked, “Whose dog is this?” as Mindy gently jumped into his lap and kissed him. “Ours if you like her.” “Like her? I love her!”

The feeling was mutual. When my husband was on home hospice care and became bedridden, she jumped onto his bed and kept a canine vigil. When he died, she licked my tears. I whispered RIP to each one when they left me.

Source link Train Your Dog

[jesscreason]

Red Fire: Growing Up During the Chinese Cultural Revolution by Wei Yang Chao

In August 1966, a 14-year-old boy in Beijing is thrust into violence and chaos as the Cultural Revolution begins to blaze across China. Fifty years later, Red Fire, Growing up During the Chinese Cultural Revolution, offers the first intimate account from someone who lived through these events and survived. 

What was the Cultural Revolution like as seen through the eyes of a child? How do people surrender themselves to ideological frenzy? How does one break free? Wei Yang Chao tells a riveting story: how rebels attached and publicly humiliated his family, upended his education, and sent him out into a country rendered unrecognizable by violence and radical ideology. At heart a gentle boy, when he is swept up by the Red Guards, he finds himself at the center of a bloody revolution. The unflinchingly observant narrator or Red Fire reveals his families' struggles in an increasingly isolated and hostile culture. 

Sent to boarding school in Beijing, young Wei Yang finds that beyond the gates enclosing that peculiar, closed world, conflict roils in Chinese society. After mass rallies at Tiananmen Square, he witnesses attacks on teachers and professors, and the disintegration of his partents' lives as tolerance and freedom begin to crumble and he himself is cast into exile. Red Fire chronicles social upheaval through the keen yet naive eyes of a teenager, giving readers a fascinating and unprecedented glimpse into the Chinese Cultural Revolution. This is a rare and mesmerizing account, told with real force and heartbreaking honesty. 

Review

I wasn't sure what to expect when I started reading this book. Truthfully, I didn't know much about the Chinese Cultural Revolution (CCR), going into it. I had definately heard the name Chairman Mao, but my knowledge from past history lessons failed me, and I didn't know much more than he was a bad guy (I know, that's sad).

The first chapter of the book, in which the author starts to explain the violence and humiliation that his family experienced started to give me an idea of what to expect, though. I do know alot about traditional Asian culture and how important family honor is, so I understood the significance of the public humiliation they suffered and how devestating it must have been. 

To give a little background, in case you are as clueless as I was before I read this book about the CCR: The CCR started in May of 1966. It was a political movement inaugurated by Mao Zedong, also known as Chairman Mao. Mao grew up a peasant and "organized other peasants to eventually bring revolution to all of China, forcing his great rival Chiang Kai-shek to flee to Taiwan." 

Chairman Mao was worried that China would fall victim to what then President, Nixon, called a "peaceful evolution from socialism back to capitalism," something he believed the Soviet Union had already fallen victim to and he would not allow China to follow suit. However, Liu Shaoqi, the country's president, had very different ideas from Mao, who believed that China should "transform itself into a powerful nation state," which would require a cultural revolution. 

Mao made his conflict with Liu Shaoqi known publicly in 1966, writing and publishing a public notice, denouncing the Party and referring to Shaoqi as "people like Nikita Khrushchev, referring to Stalins successor and leader of the Soviet Union. Even though The May Sixteenth notice became the framework for the CCR, it was met with resistance at first and most high-level officials remained loyal to Li Shaoqi, which made Mao furious. For the first time since becoming the Communist Party's leader, his "authority seemed less than absolute." In 1959, Mao had given temporary leadership to Liu Shaoqi and by 1966, many officials backed Shaoqi, and he "had become powerful enough to challenge Mao's authority." 

Although Mao never actually feared a power struggle, he knew that the situation must be remedied. The author explains:

From earliest childhood, I was taught that the West - America especially - was on the verge of extinction. America was dying. No, it was already dead, destroyed by greed and decadence.

The author also explains how in school, at the beginning of the CCR, they were asked to list things that were "Yes" (good for the State) and "No" (Bourgeois inclinations). Under the "No" category, they listed things like nylon stockings, stylish hairstyles, and for some reason, a pork dish that one of his class mates enjoyed, so his mother packed it for him to bring to school. The author described that classmate as the most innocent victim of exercise. 

During the CCR, Mao was equivalent to a god and a billion copies of a book of his quotes was published, making it one of the most widely printed books ever, and during the CCR, it was almost illegal not to own and carry a copy. One of the first pages of this book shows a picture of the author and his two siblings, each holding a copy of the little red book. 

I also was not aware of the existence of the Red Guards and was shocked at how young they were. The author was present a the same site, the day they first met and were officially established. The Red Guard started as a group of middle schoolers, ready to fight to the death to defend Mao and "Mao thought," and anyone "threatening the revolution." 

I also knew nothing about the Big-Character-Posters (BCP) that were so prevalent during this time. Even though paper was so scarce that even obtaining toilet paper was rare in some places ,the BCPs were plastered EVERYWHERE - on the outside and inside of every building, including government offices, businesses, schools, and even outside of the city, in the country. The author explains that they were everywhere inside his school, in classes, in the hallways, in the bathrooms, etc. There were so many what when there was no more space, people simply posted new ones on top of previously posted BCPs. These BCPs ruined lives and caused tradgedy in the 20 odd years the phenomena lasted (the CCR  lasted a decade). The author explains:

In some respects, BCPs constituted the first real opportunity for free expression within the country's legal system. They were considered 'the best route to a people's democracy' and 'a very effective weapon of a new generation.'

They were anywhere and everywhere, all different colors and sizes, and could consist of anything the writer wanted to express. They could consist of slogans, poems, a passage from a book, an essay or even a cartoon, but even though the format varied widely, the content always aimed to shock. No one was spared; anyone's dignity and privacy could be violated. Taking a person's remarks out of context, grossly exaggerating their actions - even slander or libel didn't raise eyebrows so long as the writer claimed 'a revolutionary stance' or 'a revolutionary purpose.' The only risk, should you have engaged in this practice, was that someone would retaliate by writing a poster to take you down too. Here are a few pictures I found online (not from the book):

  The author actually saw the first widely publicized BCP, two days after it was posted, and witnessed its author, a woman in her 40's, arguing with a group of men in front of it at Peking University, during his first trip to the campus. Mao had the message from the BCP broadcasted everywhere, which brought about more BCPs, with people arguing over who was for Mao and the revolution and who was against it, which fed into Mao's strategy to create disorder and achieve "great order from great disorder under the heavens." This incited violence all over campuses in China, with Peking University being a "forerunner in many respects."

As the huge and almost uncontrolled political energy inspired by the BCPs grew, revolutionary fever spread through teh whole University campus. Students began to torture their instructors, which only spurred more violence at other campuses across the country. 

The author was unfortunately part of the first case. He didn't understand everything that was happening and he went to Peking University to see what was happening, to try to better understand but still didn't understand why professors were being called "monsters" and "devils," words he had only heard in stories and fairy tales. Even at his middle school, students created a BCP titled "Fight to the Death for the Proletarian Dictatporship - Mao Thought" and posted it in a large classroom. It targeted the school administration, which furthered the agenda of the Red Guards, whose oldest members were 19, and the youngest only 13 years old. I couldn't believe some of the things I read in this book, and I couldn't believe that I had never heard about any of this before! Children from every school, incited by Mao and his call for a cultural revolution, humiliated, beat and even killed many of their instructors and other school staff and faculty! It got so bad that many instructors committed suicide to avoid more violence. The one thing I kept thinking over and over throughout this book, was how these were children - just middle schoolers and some high school age - carrying out the "revolution." Children who dragged their teachers out of classrooms and dragged people out of their houses and businesses - beating and sometimes killing them, for sometimes something as small as the name of their restaurant, their family's background, even the clothes and shoes they wore, or the way they styled their hair! And more incredulous: the government and law enforcement ENCOURAGED this! I kept thinking about how I've been seeing/reading about kids today taunting people that don't look like them. We've all heard about the violence that has been happening all over the country, after the election, but what's going on in schools has been talked about less. Like the stories in this article: Kids Quoting Trump to Bully their Classmates and Teachers don't know what to do about it. After a school assembly at a school that is 1/3 Latino, in which dozens of students chanted "Build that wall!" the principal talked with some of the kids and found that most had no idea what it meant. They were simply joining in, because others next to them were. Similarly, the author explains that he initially wanted to and later felt pressure to participate in the CCR with his peers. There are tons of articles online, telling of the similar incidents all across the country, fueled by the so-called "president" and the things they hear from their parents. Although I don't foresee anyone plastering Trump's tweets up on the sides of buildings across the country, they might as well be, with all of the media coverage they get. Reading this book made me think long and hard about the similarities with the things that are happening on our country today, and what if all of the children who are chanting about building walls were to decide that their teachers are part of the problem. I have no doubt in my mind that Trump would support them. I can't fathom what the author and his family experienced. They were treated horribly for reasons that would have never occurred to them as being "bad" or "traitorous." This book, like many other autobiographies by people who have survived such trauma, strengthens my faith in humanity and the power of hope among even the most hopeless. I loved the ending! Although I was expecting... well, I don't exactly know what I was expecting, but it wasn't this ending! I love how the author's life was changed by such an unexpected turn of events. I am amazed at the things that happened during the CCR and am in awe of the author and his achievements, despite everything that his family went through. However, I cannot help relating things that I have been seeing/hearing/reading about what is happening today. While I know that the words/tweets of the so-called "president" would never be considered to be up there with the bible, there are too many people taking our not-so-great leader's words way too seriously. Just like the holocaust, the Japanese internment camps after Pearl Harbor, and other tragedies, I think it is more important, now more than ever, for people to learn about the tragedies of the past so that we don't relive them in the future. I really enjoyed this book. The author's writing was extraordinary, and the resilience and resolve he showed at such a young age is admirable. For most, it would have been easier to take the hand he was dealt and live the life that was forced upon him. Instead, he found a way to educate himself and lived to write this great book that taught me so much about Chinese history! I received this book for free from the publishers, via NetGalley, in exchange for an honest review. 

from Blogger http://ift.tt/2uwytx6 via IFTTT