#because i taught myself i never took formal art classes

[bill-gates-hate-blog]

definitely not my best work but i can forgive myself after being away from my drawing tablet for so long

[spicyboelives]

I love your art ! Did you learn the fundamentals / anatomy or anything in the beginning of your art journey?

No actually I was never formally taught, nor did I seek to learn!* I never really considered myself an artist till… I guess this year?

I like figuring stuff out by looking and then copying it down directly. I can draw pretty fast (I think) because I don’t normally sketch apart from legit one or 2 ‘guiding’ lines. I grew up thinking that’s how it was done, and didn’t have access to the internet to tell me otherwise till I was 15.

A lot of times I don’t understand what my fellow artists are saying when they talk about things, I do know what “hatching, line thickness & dynamic” mean because I’ve been given very kind compliments about them before.

These are the tips I do know off! The oven mit thing happens mainly in my head though I just jump to the last step and use my own hands as reference when the pose is more complicated.

*except my senior year I took up a freshman art class cus I had leaned all my other classes n tested out of a bunch of subjects so I had like 3 free periods & they hand to find ways to fill my schedule

[loregoddess]

Ok I'm curious, could you elaborate on art school education when you have the time?

Mainly because my friend went to art high school and feels she wasted all the years there while I've been self-teaching myself for a few months by just messing around, so I was wondering just how different the two approaches are :0

Oh, I have lots and lots of thoughts on art education. I do feel that I need to preface this with the whole "my experience is not universal", bc all my feelings about art and art education stem from my own experiences of being self-taught and then getting actual formal college degrees in art.

The shortest version of my long rant, under the cut, is that there isn't a superior way to learn art. With art education, you run the risk of getting bad teachers who don't teach the subject well, and you can also run into teachers who aren't open-minded about approaches to art that differ too much from their own--the flipside, of course, is that there are sometimes amazing teachers who can challenge you to try new things you'd never had thought of on your own, or who have already made a lot of mistakes that they can tell you about so you don't have to make them yourself. With being self-taught, you have to figure out everything on your own, and sifting through online tutorials or reading books can be difficult to find "actually useful and well-explained" advice, but you do also get the freedom of doing literally whatever you want and really focusing what you learn based on what you're actually interested in. Each has it's pros and cons, but neither is technically better or worse, per se, although education of any sort comes down a lot to each person's situation in life, as not everyone has access to education or even the tools for making art.

For the long, long expansion of my thoughts and some of my personal experiences with art education specifically...

In short, I'm technically entirely self-taught, despite holding two different art degrees. Aside from some feedback I got from my 8th grade art teacher (who had agreed to look at my hobby art in her own spare time outside of class), I basically taught myself to draw entirely on my own, using various "how to draw" books, online tutorials, and just a lot of general experimentation and continued drawing on my own. Which meant I made a lot of mistakes, or didn't try out certain things, or got frustrated bc I couldn't figure out how to do something, but overall I had a lot of fun. The actual art classes I took in middle and high school? Well, I took a life drawing class in high school that taught me how to draw from life, a skill I never would have acquired on my own bc the process for learning that skill requires a lot of patience, and personally, I find life drawing to be extremely boring. My high school art teacher was also allowing blatant copyright infringements to occur in her class, which was something I learned years later when taking a media law class in college to learn about copyright law specifically, so I guess I learned what to not do as a teacher if I manage to become one, but I didn't learn a whole lot of actual art skills or even really improve my art in any significant way. I never actually learned anything like the elements of art and how to use them, or color theory, or any of that, in class or even on my own, but because I was constantly looking at lots of art online, and making art on my own and experimenting with new things, I ended up learning all of the "essentials of art" intuitively, sort of like how children learn the grammar of whichever language(s) they grow up speaking without learning the actual formal grammar of the language. Which I think a lot of artists actually do as they continue to make art, even if they don't realize it.

Anyhow, moving on. I personally really enjoyed my undergrad illustration degree. Now, to be fair, if someone was willing to pay me to attend college for the rest of my life as my actual career, that is what I would do bc I love learning, and I love the challenge presented by college courses. But do I feel like I learned anything new about art in those classes? Yes and no. I took a lot of art history classes bc I had never had any art history before college, and found I loved the topic a lot. The life drawing classes I was required to take felt like a waste of time bc I already had that skill from the one high school class, and I spent most of those classes fighting the teachers about why we should have less nude models (bc nudes are super easy to draw from life, but clothing is very, very difficult, and I wanted to learn how to draw clothing as a challenge bc I was bored in those classes). I spent one class teaching the entire class how to use Photoshop bc the teacher's method was absolute BS and I could do everything faster and easier than what we were being taught bc I had been using the program for years (the teacher even joked about how I had hijacked the class, to which I'm still not sure was meant to be friendly or malicious). The "Anatomy for the Artist" class I took was one of the most useful classes I've ever taken, and really helped me with drawing not only humans, but anything with a skeleton and muscles, since the teacher's approach made it so I learned the skill of using actual real-life anatomy as a means of creating art from the knowledge of anatomy (and I lucked out for this class bc I had an adjunct who was there to cover the actual teacher who was on sabbatical, and from what I heard from classmates I would have learned nothing from the usual teacher's approach to the class; I hope the teacher I did have found a good stable job bc she was amazing). Most of the actual core illustration classes helped me improve my art a great deal, but not bc they taught me anything--more so, it was that I had to create a lot of art for them, and find creative solutions to the challenges the projects would present (there were lots of "illustrate this abstract concept without using x, y, or z imagery" or "create an illustration within these specific parameters" which really required me to think about how to plan and go about completing the final project). Somehow, the actual "foundations classes" that I took--where I was supposed to learn things like design theory, the elements and principles of art, color theory, etc.--well, let's just say the teacher was on his way to retirement, and didn't teach any of that really well, so I still ended up going through my undergrad more or less on intuition and the art skills I had cultivated on my own. Mostly, college art classes were useful in helping me to improve my art, not because I learned new things (although I did learn some new things), but rather because I needed to make lots and lots of art in a relatively short time, and making art constantly is the fastest way to improve.

That all said, I still never really got the point of things that I kept seeing or hearing as common art advice. For example: "Use references." Okay? What does that mean? What does that look like? How do I do that? I was never taught that once, and it was only partway through college that I figured out that people meant "look at a photo of a real person to figure out a pose or something" and not "learn about the subject you're trying to draw so you have an understanding of that subject that allows you to draw it from your imagination how you want". And honestly the former advice is useful but...only useful to a point, so I'm kinda glad I never learned it bc it would have stunted my development and presented a roadblock. In either case, I was never taught how to use a ref or what "use a ref" meant in my formal art education, and by the time I figured it out on my own, my repertoire of art skills made the advice moot.

So what's all the long and short of this? Is art education a sham and useless? Well, not entirely, but maybe sort of. It really comes down to which teachers are teaching the subject, and how they do it. I only had a handful of art teachers who were really able to get me to think about art differently and push me to learn more and improve. But I also had a friend in my undergrad class who had never drawn in his life and he found most of the classes super useful bc he wasn't coming in being self-taught and already drawing. We were at different places in our art journeys, and so we got different things out of the college classes.

I do feel overall that the focus of my college classes was more productive than the lack of focus from my high school classes. Would I tell everyone who wants to get better at art to go to art school? Hell no. I got a degree in art because I love it, and because I had hoped to work as a video game concept artist (for which one does need at least a BFA to get hired by most companies). Of course, by the end of my degree I had figured out the video game industry in America was absolutely not a place I wanted to be working for my own health, but my frustrations with how my art education had been structured, paired with the fact that I spent a few classes actually teaching my classmates things, made me think I might make an okay art teacher. But even my wanting to be an art teacher still comes from a place of deep love for art. For those who just want to take up art as a hobby, self-taught is fine, and sometimes it will be better than getting stuck with a bad teacher who'll crush the enjoyment of art. Yes, I think a well-structured art course could help someone learn art and become confident in their art, which is part of the reason I want to try teaching it (esp. bc it took me years to learn some things that a good teacher would have just like, covered in a core class), but like...self-taught or school-taught, there isn't a superior way to learn art. They're both just very different approaches.

[zuperarse]

FASHION ME

Hello, I am not your typical 18-year-old who lives a life full of adrenaline and hormones; what you expect from a normal 18-year-old is everything that I am resilient to as far as my upbringing was concerned, we had a lot of creative juices flowing here and there in our home, my dad used to paint a lot (he still does, but now only once in a blue moon), and he used to take these free art classes every weekend, but he never taught me how to draw or paint, and here we go on a journey to become the best artist in the world, yes yes the competitive spirit was always there.,  It has been since I was a little boy. I used to go to the railway station every weekend and just sit there for hours because for some reason trains were attractive to me. And on the way back home, we always purchased these magazines called champak and chacha chaudhary. Later, when I came back home from those trips, I would try desperately to recreate everything that had caught my eye on paper. These sketches were creative, as there were sheep shaped trains flying in the sky - but yeh this is how my journey started and now here we are at a very prestigious institute, but the only part which is troublesome, fashion is the main highlight here, i mean of course I read the admission form and it spelled fashion in loud letters but guess who's dumb enough, of course it has to be the guy who roam around in shorts and black t-shirts talking software, games and music everywhere he goes.

"All good things take time"

The imagination

THE CLASS OF FASHION BASICS

On the very first day of our fashion basics class, I was not very excited about attending because the word fashion itself made me want to run away. The class began with a brief introduction to the subject followed by a self-introduction by each student. In the beginning, I had a negative attitude towards the subject, thinking that this was not my thing and there would be no things to learn and absorb.

Just because I didn't like the subject I skipped a few classes after our first class (trust me, I barely knew anyone from the class)

The very first thing I did as my fb Assignment !

As the classes went on the MID term assignment came up which was to give a presentation about something that revolutionized the fashion world. PRESENTATION - the last thing I would do as my assignment, But there was no alternative to this. It was the D-Day, the classmates started presenting and some of them were flawless, which made me super anxious about the “super minimal” presentation I came up with, but somehow I convinced myself that it's just a presentation, “ez pz lemon squeezy” . It was my turn, with all my fortitude I went in the front, calmed myself down, no expressions of fear or agitation on the face, dimmed the lights, set the mood, and started with my “AGLET” presentation, it went so smooth that half of the class never got to know when it started and ended, but then came the “AGLET SONG” from phineas and ferb, that stirred the whole mood and it ended on a super good note (though the wifi was terrible). Now there were two things I learnt, first: I need to improve my speech delivery and make the things a “lil” bit more formal, second: YES, I can present anything from an aglet to an airplane. The class which I thought to be boring and tiresome, somehow boosted my confidence like crazy. I started attending the classes more regularly after this experience and with a positive attitude to learn and absorb as much as I can. ( I used to doodle most of the time, though I used to listen and contemplate everything that the professor was instructing and teaching ).

The aglet presentation !

NEW DAY, NEW ME !

During the first few months, it was like being on an emotional and mental rollercoaster. Although it took me a very short time to absorb and work on it, eventually I got the hang of it. It was difficult to make friends, interact with people, and complete group assignments. As time passed, everything became easier to handle, with each passing day after class, my confidence meter went up by a point. The change in attitude introduced me to Become a new and better self that is bolder, unafraid, and eager to learn.

Fashion sinking in !

THE FINAL ASSIGNMENT

It was an ordinary day, but it was about to get terrifying, the professor started Introducing the End-Term Module, it began with a presentation, and here I am After all those presentations and group activities, I was super happy and relaxed In the previous classes, we completed assignments, but there was a catch: The presentation will be given while wearing something that has been worn in our native regions". Things leveled up too fast for me. It was really hard for me to believe that this was happening in real life. As someone who has no clothes of any color, it was extremely difficult to come up with a good outfit. And I thought the dhoti and pagdi would only help me break my comfort zone. That's when I realized that I had never worn them in my 18 years of existence! We were trying to tie that monstrous piece of cloth together, but we managed and I walked into the room boldly wearing an adidas jersey and a dhoti-pagdi combination (modern tribe indeed because the kurta I tried on didn't fit me). It was scary at first because I felt like the whole group was ignoring me until the end of my presentation. But after all, this experience helped me out a lot by getting me out of my comfort zone. Now I felt like an outsider who could wear anything - even if you have nothing but a dhoti and pagdi - to save the world with confidence (though at the time I had no superpower except for my dhoti-pagdi). The whole experience really opened up possibilities for myself, and it helped me find new things about myself.

The Final call !

SUMMERZING THE PAST FEW MONTHS

Now that I have taken all those classes, I truly understand the basics of fashion, enough to carry me throughout the industry without getting bullied on basic fashion awareness, and with a highly confident attitude, ready to speak and present wherever and whatever comes my way, as well as an increased ability to identify and analyze fashion and general trends, despite the limited hours, but the knowledge it provided will help me break the barriers and do things the fashion way!

[pinkskies4]

8/11/2024

This is the art piece that took me 4 and a 1/2 days to finish, i did it in a rush we had 3 months but I procrastinate a lot and have trouble finishing work. The only reason I finished this was because our art class was supposed to present our work to children,parents of the children and artist. Showcasing what our art teacher taught us, and I didn't want to embarrass him, he's actually a really good teacher and he listens to our gossip. This was last year I'm no longer in art because I suck at time management I do however go to art after school whenever I don't have Soccer training. You might be wondering why, well first most of my grademates(The students in my school which are in the same grade as me which are 12 people we're a small school) go there often just to study even though most of us, aren't in his class anymore. He also doesn't have a life and that's not me being rude, that's what he says so he stays back until 5 well it's actually 6 because he never actually goes at 5, it's mostly our fault but it's his fault sometimes. Except during the day our school has faculty meeting,unlike most of my grademates I don't really care because I have soccer training that day, our preseason started when school started because our captain wants to win the championship. That being said I'm writing this at the library because the art teacher has a wedding to attend supposedly, I heard from a friend, but he's usually sarcastic and makes up white lies so I'll probably ask the art teacher myself. Speaking of teachers and classes, my ap lit class is currently looking at sonnets(English,Shakespearean,Petrarchan etc.) and literary analysis lenses (New criticism,New historicism,formalism,biographical approach etc.), for practice my Ap lit teacher told us to write a sonnet, and said that it could be any kind of sonnet me being me, the overachiever, I wrote my sonnet in both english and Petrarchan rhyme scheme and style, I did use a poem I wrote before that was written in prose poem form.

English Sonnet

I never thought my heart would know defeat,

Nor dreamed I’d lose you through confessed despair.

Each memory replays in slow repeat,

A foolish love I nursed on empty air.

What if I’d not misread your silent state,

Mistaking quiet as a love unvoiced?

Your emptiness became my dreams’ cruel fate,

For in your quiet heart, I held no choice.

What if I’d not drawn futures bold and bright,

With laughter, stolen moments as the theme?

Or stayed up through the dark of countless nights,

To find in words a hollow, futile gleam?

What if I’d seen your coldness as it was,

And spared my heart from love’s unkind applause?

Petrarchan Sonnet

I never dreamed my heart would bear such loss,

Nor thought that love could end with silent pain,

Where unreturned affection leaves a stain,

And bonds are severed in that final toss.

I trace our moments, bearing now the cross

Of memories—each one, a tender chain

That held my hopes, now withered, faint, and slain,

Where once I saw acceptance, peace’s gloss.

What if I’d seen the silence as a shroud,

Not quiet trust, but void where dreams decay?

Or sensed your cold indifference that day,

The fragile hopes I’d painted, disallowed?

If nights were spared of meaning I’d imbued,

My heart would rest, no echoes left to rue.

Speaking of sonnets does anyone if anyone does end up seeing this, know how to scan a poem for meter, to notice where the stressed and unstressed syllables fall in a line of poetry.  My Ap lit teacher said that even though AP lit has stopped giving those type of questions often there's usually still one or two so it'll be good to be prepared. Speaking of the Ap lit test, I'm worried about the frqs my teacher says I need to rely more on the text instead of relating it to the other knowledge I know, I've been practicing it and I guess I am getting better if the 90 on my last in class writing is anything to go about.

The last in class writing was about 1984(frq 3 style which meant we couldn't refer to the book, but he said we wouldn't need to cite specific evidence), the prompt was to analyze the complex ways which the party maintains control over citizens, and consider the questions: what makes their techniques so effective?What are the party's motivations and goals, and can they be achieved?Why or why not? I split it into 2 parts control over the proles and control over the normal citizens (lower level party members) for the proles I guess I went the normal route of analyzing and compared them to farm animals but for the normal citizens my AP lit teacher said he didn't think anyone in our class would compare the act of using big brother and Goldstein to God and Satan. Not because our class is full of christians(there's only 7 students and none of us are christian) but because he thought we would compare it to cults which actually makes more sense. Anyways I'm getting kicked out of the library cause it's really late and I should be going home cause it's a friday. So I'll just stop here. If anyone does read this and have thoughts about any of this especially the 1984 essay feel free to share it, or about my sonnets it was my first time writing one, i usually write prose poems or contemporary ones, I have started reading a book called "She walks in beauty" A woman's journey through poems, selected and introduced by caroline kennedy, the poems there are really good, and the poem "I do not love thee" by The Honorable Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton, in the falling in love section reminded me of a poem I wrote. I really have to go now.

I'm writting this for journalism class by the way kind of

-Pinkskies4(A highschool student)

[sab3rto0thed]

they live in a house―two houses, actually, in los angeles. they are supposed to be actors, their skin a monument to the gods above, a holier-than-thou exhibit that they get away with better than the formally religious people in my life.

i simmered all summer before they left, picking the legs off of spiders and talking about kissing. this was before i wore my tall socks, and after i stopped asking for money―the belt was my best feature. it narrowed my waist and made me helpless. i floundered like a girl at sea.

all of the boys i have kissed, at least, are starkly transparent with me. they say shit like "no one has ever looked at me the way you do when i touch you―" i am stretched across my bedroom floor, various pieces of flesh tapered to the wall. it is a fucking crime scene in here. it's awful, he says. my eyes are so wide and i am always trying to push him away―stop it, stop it. i am fifteen. i want you to leave.

i tell everyone that will listen about this. i show them the nails i stitched underneath the skin in my wrists, an arts-and-crafts projects that took nearly two decades to finish. it was decided before i was born what i was going to be: resolutely, absolutely fucked. in return, you tell them all about my mom―how we shove each other in the hallway, how i steal her hard liquor and drink until i black out in my bed instead of going to class, how she wishes i was dead. there are no secrets with me.

and the second one, who kept trying to press his knuckles up against my thighs, with the waist that was thinner than mine―he bought me a baja blast before he abandoned me at my doorstep, which was probably the kindest thing a boy has ever done for me. i never let him see my tits and he never made me touch his cock, so we called it even. i mocked him as my boyfriend and he bought me mcdonald's and lied to my face―he loved lying, up until the very end. he taught me everything i know. that was how i knew it was over. in two years, it was the first truth he had ever told me. it was also the last.

his girlfriend takes my starbucks applications. she fucking hates my guts in very apathetic means―she doesn't want me dead in any particular way, but if she saw my face on the news, she wouldn't even blink. she would think: that bitch had it coming. i am a meddler, a mockery. i bludgeon myself in my bedroom until my gums bleed.

her mother makes her cocktails when she pleads. at parties, she finds a corner to get high in at all times, like she is scouting out the area. (we do this differently. after the first time, i always need an escape route.) whenever she has sex with the boys i love, they don't make her plead like they do me. i am a master at comforting her leftovers, wiping their tears, trembling when i unzip their jeans. when i sat alone in grade school, her mother sat with me and told me that her daughter struggles with being lonely, too. we have been tethered since day one. i tell her about a song and she tells me to rot in hell.

i see her in most of the women i find comforting―a smile, a sly word, a lock of hair, a nose ring. that expression, holier-than-thou, her skin flecked with paint. jesus died on the cross for girls like her, and i am incomparable. even if i wasn't fundamentally fucked up, a liar and a thief, i still would be nothing compared to her. i set my head on fire and burn at the stake. i am never going to be anything. i will never have my own car or a decent bleach job, or a list of boys volunteering to fuck me in the backs of their cars. i can't be her.

the third was the best in his own polite way―he took me on three dates first, at least, and he tried to pay for everything. i think the way his mother raised him wouldn't allow him not to―he gave me forty dollars every time we kissed, because if he didn't, his guilt would eat him alive.

guilt is stupid. guilt is reckless. i don't feel guilty for a single thing i do. my cat has cancer, and although i could scrounge up the three thousand dollars he needs to survive another year, i will not. i blinked back tears the entire way home―"if i don't do it," i told my grandma, "then i'll have killed the one thing in the world that trusts me the most."

i have grown out of having most of those fits. i carry no guilt, which sobered him up really quick. the first few times i left him hanging he could pass―and i did try to warn him about me. it's not my fault that he didn't listen. i told him very plainly, in the best english i could manage. i can't have sex. i get all shaky, my head fucks up. my arms bend the wrong way. i can't do it, baby.

he found someone else to fuck. my friends say she has the face of a frog and my family all thinks she's a whore, but i actually liked her quite a bit. it was a learning curve, because she thought i was untouchable―you know, scouting for spots to smoke weed, a good bleach job, my own car. and i never begged. i couldn't help but pity her, because she was just like me before i had become what i am now.

i have never been untouchable, although i think part of the key to being untouchable is to do things with your entire chest―lie, laugh, linger. worship no one, and make sure no girl is grabbing the crystals on your neck. don't let them into your bedroom. don't let them push you over. lie about the significance of others, including them.

he tried really hard. i am an expert in the art of coercion―it's not something i practice, but i applaud the art. when it's well-done, it's a really lovely thing. it'll stop your breathing for at least six months. he was awful at it. he tried to guilt me―i am guiltless. it is hard to be invincible―pretend-invincible, whatever―when you are afraid. so i said, alright, whatever. we fucked. i bled all over the sheets, and i made him ache all over again. he hated me―in the end, they all do.

i told you, i said softly, when i was pulling my clothes back on. this is how i am. this is how it is. i am irreversibly fucked up. you owe me more gas money. a month later, he broke up with me―he didn't tell me that he was fucking that other girl, but he didn't have to. i knew exactly where my cunning charm stopped. he had passed the line a while ago.

his ex-girlfriend was the one point of kindness in my life. before all of this, she had been the only decent person in the world to me―the one who sat me down at parks, who noticed when i was quiet in a group. this was the girl who held me in doorways and steadied my legs, the girl who didn't let me eat alone at lunch even though she didn't know my last name. we were barely friends, and i hated her smile, because it was the loveliest thing i had ever seen―i was never lovely.

i am sorry, because i know he pushed her the same way he pushed me. he is awful at coercion―we both knew it. we both gave in anyway. there are not many things that are the same about her and i, but we do share this. the closed throats, the fumbling while friends are in the room, the shaded eyes. i think the biggest thing is, she learned to say no. i was always a little more pathetic.

and this is what i do―i lie, i linger. i broke the crystal necklace she made for my birthday. i ruin things, a natural gift. i wander the street at night until my throat is too heavy to hold it in anymore. i used to lay on my floor and scream into the carpet, because there was just something so wrong about me. i was twisted inside.

intimacy is not a love language, not to me. i try my best to stay away. i do things perfectly, in a structural pattern. cargo pants and the shirt a girl i loved gave me. i wash my hair, i simmer in the summer, i lay in only a bra by my open window in the evening. i write love letters to girls whose names i don't dare speak anymore.

there is a small thing called redemption. i grew out of los angeles. i try not to think too hard about my face on the news. one of my best friend always wants to see me when she comes home from college―i am one of the first faces she thinks of, she tells me. we talk about books in her bed―time loops and lovers and butterflies. she tells me that all boys push. if anyone ever pushed her, i would knock all of their teeth out.

it's not that she protects me, exactly. it's just that she lets me sleep in her bed―she talks on the phone with me for an hour whenever i get bad news. she thinks better of me than just a girl with a pair of scissors and a vengeance―she was one of the first people to make me a person. when she leaves, she leaves me alone in her bedroom. i study the snow outside of her window, the passport carefully laid by her mattress. it's not that she protects me, but she does give me room to breathe.

this is how it is now―room to breathe. i have all of those things now, time loops and butterflies and lovers. my friends take pictures of the moths on my hands. they trace the lines of my new tattoo and they beam at me when they see my car, the one i never thought i would get to buy. (i did.) in may, i will drive it to utah and my aunt will give me a good bleach job, and then we will get cherry-cinnamon cokes.

i have been lonely for so long. i don't do anything slowly, and my tests are more like battles. i was telling a boy about the placement of my tattoo―how i used to crush jagged pieces of glass in my bedroom at night, hoping so hard to bleed out. he told me he would never have guessed, but he is glad i am still breathing. sometimes, it is hard to believe that not everyone sees the same suicidal teenage girl with the hollows underneath her eyes. sometimes i still see her in the mirror, and i am sick in her memory. no one is protecting her.

someone once told me―if it is an emergency, call. this man does not want to see my face on the news. and it is not as if he is exactly protecting me, either. but he reads everything i write, no matter how awful i think it is. he lets me hug him in the middle of winter, because we couldn't do this last year―he was gone last year, and i was awful. he helps me with scholarships and college applications. i know he would drop everything if i asked him to, if i needed him to. i told him about my dying cat, because if anyone knew the right thing to say, he would. it is so hard for me to have faith in others―when it comes to him, i hold fast. we are writers, english majors, a little reckless. i'm afraid i might love him until the day he dies. infinity has never been an option for me.

a friend was driving me home a few weeks ago. i was giving him all of these truths about me―i am trying to be more honest, you know. he told me he doesn't want to sleep with me―i told him i don't want to sleep with him, either. i just act like i do. we exchanged very soft looks, like the beginning of understanding. he sees when i am tired. very rarely has anyone ever been good at that without months of hard work―i am not a very easy person to love, i don't think. i lie a lot.

when this all started, four years before, it was my cat who i was staying alive for. he would hear me crying in my room in the middle of the night and meow at my door until i let him in. we would sit on my floor and i would hold him, wrap my arms around him and sob into his fur. he hated being held like that, but he let me―we've been best friends for a long time. and i know infinity has never been an option for me. but if anything were to be infinity, it would be those nights with the closest thing i have ever had to a home. we would lay in the dark, watching the sun rise from my bed. he would head butt my chin. i would kiss him right between the eyes.

he cries whenever i'm at work. i've never had a love like that. i know life will go on. but sometimes i still simmer in the summer, and i don't know what i am going to do this summer, when there is no one for me to hold at five in the morning. it is hard to grasp sometimes, but everything changes. growing pains are not unique to me, but i don't think they will ever stop hurting.

i will never go to los angeles. i will never be a great actor, holier-than-thou. and i am trying―every day, i am trying―to be more of a person. sometimes, the truth of that simply has to be enough.

[easily-infatuated23]

The Parent and the Professor

a/n: i love the idea of reader being a professor! let me know if you want a part two :) letters are in italics

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Professor!Reader

word count: 4k

warning: mentions of war and not feeling worthy

summary: Will a broken friendship be rekindled when Scorpius’s favorite teacher writes a letter to his father?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have always had a passion for teaching and inspiring young minds. So, it wasn’t surprising that I was ecstatic to start my fourth year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at my alma mater, Hogwarts. When I first started working there, I was haunted by the memories of the war. Everywhere I looked I could remember a different face of a friend or teacher laying dead. Seeing the students happy faces made the memories easier to bear. Just the knowledge that they could safely live out their childhoods in such a magical and special place softened the lingering pain.

One of my favorite parts of teaching at Hogwarts was teaching the children of the people I had grown up with. For some, I knew so much about their parents from those early silly childhood days that simply seeing their faces made me laugh and reminisce. Of all the children of friends I had taught thus far, the most gifted was Scorpius Malfoy. It wasn’t such a shock that he was so clever, his father had been a very gifted student when he applied himself. I had been apprehensive when I first read Scoripus’s name on the attendance sheet. His father Draco and I had actually been very close friends for the first 6 years of schooling. We were both in Slytherin and he was one of the few people who didn’t tease or berate me for not being a typical Slytherin. Yes he would get annoyed when I stood up for Hermione when he called her a ‘mudblood’ or when I would challenge his pure-blood views but he always was kind to me.

That all changed in the beginning of our sixth year. He started pushing everyone away and yelling at me almost any time he saw me. I tried to continue to be kind to him but my attempts were swatted away like flies. Once the war began, I understood why he had become distant. He was given an impossible task with no choice as to whether or not to complete it. The worst moment came when he walked to the side of the Death Eaters and The Dark Lord. I was one of the few people that knew he did this for the sake of his parents and not for the Dark Lord. He redeemed this action when Harry Potter was revealed to be alive. He threw him his wand and ran back to the side of good. We locked eyes for a moment before he ran through the castle to safety. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. He did make a sort of “apology and amends” tour going to almost every individual in the Wizarding World and showing he was a changed man and that he no longer held his past ideals. The one person he left out on that tour was me.

I never understood why. I figured he either thought our friendship was beyond fixing or maybe because he knew I would forgive him and understand. More likely, I guessed he couldn’t stand to face me. But none of that mattered now. It was all just a slight pain in my heart whenever I saw Scorpius. As the school year began, Scorpius Malfoy excelled in my class. He was always the first to raise his hand to ask or answer a question, always the most engaged and eager to learn. One day after class I noticed he was lingering by the door. “Can I help you Mr. Malfoy?” I asked. He nodded and approached my desk. “I was wondering if you could assign me as Athena’s tutor. I know she asked you for one and I want to volunteer”. He looked down at his shoes, trying to hide a blush I figured stemmed from a small crush on the student called Athena. “I was going to assign it to you any way but because you asked I will also add ten points to Slytherin for taking the initiative”. He looked up and smiled. “Thank you Professor!”. He ran out of the room so giddy, calling to his best friend Albus to tell him the news. “What a sweet kid” I thought. Later that night I took a break from grading tests and thought about my old friend Draco Malfoy. Perhaps I should write him. But just to tell him what a gifted student his son was. His wife had passed away four years ago and I figured it must be lonely being all alone in the large estate he occupied known as Malfoy Manor. Maybe this would re-open a line of communication between the two of us. It had been a long time since I had seen him and frankly, I missed him. He probably didn’t think of me though. Sighing, I picked up my quill and penned a formal letter to my former friend.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

-I couldn’t bring myself to write Draco-

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to inform you that your son has done exceedingly well in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class and has quickly become my prized pupil. He has even volunteered to take on extra tutoring responsibilities. He is a sweet young man and it is a privilege to have him in my class.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

I examined the letter for a long time, constantly frowning at it and wondering if I should just ball it up and forget about it. At last I found the nerve to seal the letter and before I could stop myself Harvey, my owl, was flying away from my cottage. “Too late now” I murmured. My letter went unanswered for nearly two weeks. I spent the entire first week feeling anxious and most of the second week resigned to the idea that Draco had truly decided I was unworthy of a response. After all, it had been many years. On the Friday of the second week, I stayed up late grading some last minute essay submissions when I heard a tapping at my window. I turned to find an unfamiliar owl outside. I opened the window and took the letter. After a sufficient amount of pats and snacks were given to the owl, I settled in to see if the letter was what I had been waiting for. It was the first thing I saw, the green snake seal on the back confirmed it. Draco had responded to my letter. I flipped it over to see my name scrawled on the front in handwriting I used to be more familiar with. I stared at the letter for a long time before finally opening it. I gently removed the seal and unfolded the letter, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would leave my chest.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

I appreciate your kind words about my son. He has spoken fondly of you and of your class, he says it is his favorite. Congratulations on being the longest serving Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in twenty years. It is quite a feat. I hope you are well.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

My heart skipped a beat. He matched my formality but he still slipped in something to make me blush. I sighed. I hadn’t been expecting some long rambling dramatic letter explaining why he never came back to me, despite my efforts, but a small clue or hint would have been something. I thought writing the letter might give me more closure but I was horribly mistaken. Now, all I wanted to do was write him back and find some way to see him. I had done my best after the war but he pushed me away more. That night was a sleepless night for me. I felt like a sixteen year old again, debating if I should write him back or not. If I did decide to write him back, how long should I wait? Ultimately, I decided it was best to leave it there.

Two months later, Quidditch season was in full swing as Slytherin was playing Hufflepuff in a match leading up to the finals. I was never one thrilled by the idea of Quidditch, but Scorpius had begged me to come so I attended. He had followed in his father’s foot steps and was the Seeker for the Slytherin team. When I got to the parent and faculty section I was stunned to see none other than Draco Malfoy. I quickly looked away and tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him. I jogged up the bleacher stairs and sat next to the Divinations teacher. For most of the game I pretended to be watching the match but in reality, I kept glancing at Draco’s platinum blonde hair, half hoping he would turn and see me and half hoping he would leave without knowing I was there. Eventually, I was able to relax and enjoy the game. Scorpius lead the team to a win and the Slytherin student section went wild. I could have sworn I saw Athena blow him a kiss. I guess those tutoring sessions had helped him as much as they had helped her grades! I couldn’t help but look down and chuckle to myself, this little bit of childhood romance warmed my heart. When I looked back up my gaze was meant by the piercing blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was that of shock or fear but before I could give a slight smile he looked away. Now this truly felt like we were sixteen again.

Everyone started to rise and leave the section talking and making merry. I rose from my seat and before I could begin to descend, Draco rose suddenly and turned to me, walking in my direction. I froze. “Hello Professor Y/L/N” he said, not meeting my gaze for long. “Mr. Malfoy” was all I could manage to croak. “I was so pleased to receive your letter about Scorpius, he doesn’t always tell me what’s going on when he’s here”. “Yes,” I smiled “he is a wonderful student. You must be very proud of him”. Draco gave a small but sincere smile. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here” I said. “I was able to get a few weeks off from work so I decided to come down and watch the match. It has been nice to see the place so..” he paused. “Free” I finished for him. He smiled and met my gaze again. “Yes thats exactly what I was thinking.” There was a few moments of silence. It wasn’t as awkward or terrifying as I had anticipated. “I should go find my son” he said finally. “Yes of course it was good to see you again”. I meant this whole heartedly. “Perhaps I can see you again soon and we can talk while there is less noise” he said. A little surprised but happy I replied yes. Before turning to leave he squeezed my hand and gave me his signature smirk before turning and descending down the bleachers. Was my friendship with Draco Malfoy finally going to be rekindled? I hoped so. Before turning and walking out of sight he called back to me, “I’ll write you”. I nodded. I would never have expected this to happen and I had no idea what to expect next.

Another week went by before I heard from him. His owl found me in the middle of a lesson, I opened the window and thanked the owl. I tucked the letter into my robe pocket. As I shifted my attention back to the class I saw Scorpius’s face twist with confusion then look at Albus Potter. Shit. He clearly recognized the owl. I decided I would talk to him after class. Once the lesson was over I called Scorpius to my desk. “I saw you looked confused when your father’s owl delivered me a letter so I thought I owed you an explanation”. He said nothing but simply looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. “Your father and I actually used to be very close friends in the early years at Hogwarts,” I began. He looked up at me puzzled. It was clear his father had never mentioned that detail to him. “I wrote to your father telling him what an exceptional student you were and then we ran into each other at the last Quidditch match, congratulations by the way, and we discussed possibly meeting to catch up. I didn’t want you to simply see the owl and then have your brain spin in circles thinking of possible reasons for the letter”. He nodded and finally spoke. “Yeah I was really confused at first. I must admit I am a bit more confused now though. He has never spoken about you before. When I told him you were my favorite professor he seemed to not know who you were”. Ouch. “Well we were going through a hard time back then, I don’t blame him for forgetting” I managed, trying to keep my composure. “You may go” I finished. He jogged out of the room glancing back one more time before finally leaving. Maybe he thought I died. Rationalizing wasn’t helping. I climbed the small staircase in my classroom and entered my office, locking the door behind me. I opened the letter and read its contents.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

It was pleasant running into you at the Quidditch match last week. If you are able, perhaps you would be kind enough to meet at Malfoy Manor for lunch on Saturday at 11:30. I fear we have much to discuss and would prefer to do so in private.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

Saturday, at the Manor. It would be a difficult place to be. Although I was a Slytherin, I had befriended Harry Potter and the rest of his trouble-making trio. I enjoyed their company. It provided a break from the constant berating from the rest of my house. However, due to this friendship I had been taken and held hostage along with Luna Lovegood in Malfoy Manor for a few weeks before the final battle. I had been hit with every curse short of killing me. Draco had been forced to witness but did nothing to help me. I understood why he couldn’t but just once it would have been nice to see him stand up for me. But, alas, I figured I wasn’t worthy of any help. Returning to the Manor was something I never thought I would do but his letter let on to a promise of answers to questions I had been harboring for so long now.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I accept.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

Short and sweet. Now came the long wait for Saturday. Once the day arrived I was more nervous than I had previously anticipated. I pulled on a pair of black slacks and a fitted white long sleeve shirt. Over the top I chose to wear my brown striped blazer. I put on my favorite silver earrings and necklace with an ’S’ charm. When we had been young, Draco gave me a silver ring for my birthday that was shaped like a snake. I had worn it everyday since then without thought. When I went to reach for it today, I paused. Wearing it had become part of my daily routine but he didn’t know that. Would he think I wore it just for him? I shook the thought out of my head and wore it anyway. If I didn’t wear it I was worried I wouldn’t feel complete which would make me more nervous than I already was. I pulled my light brown hair into a half-up-half-down look and applied some light mascara. I was never one to wear makeup but I hadn’t slept much on Friday night so adding some definition to my face and leading the attention to my green eyes became a necessity to attract attention away from my dark circles.

At 11:29 I gathered all the courage I could and apparated to Malfoy Manor. I knocked timidly on the front door. Even the frigid fall wind couldn’t cool my skin as I blushed in anticipation of the meeting. When he opened the door I was overwhelmed by the scent of apples and cologne that had once held a permanent residence in my nose. “Professor, please come in” he said cordially. I nodded and entered into the place that had housed my nightmares for so long. But somehow it was different. The decor wasn’t as sterile as it once was. It actually looked more lived in and closer to a home than a prison. He noticed my slight surprise. “We’ve redone the place a bit so it probably looks much different compared to……last time” he mumbled. I put on my bravest smile and turned to him. “Yes it is quite lovely Mr. Malfoy”. “Please, you can call me Draco. ‘Mr. Malfoy’ is awfully formal don’t you think?”. I looked at him, a slight smirk waved across his face. “Alright, as long as you call me Y/N” I replied. He led me to the kitchen where a small round table was set and had sandwiches on the plates. “I figured since it was just the two of us there was no need to use the dinning room. Can I take your jacket?” he asked. I nodded and unbuttoned my blazer, handing it to him. As he took it from me, I saw him glance at my right hand and saw the serpent ring coiled around my middle finger. He quickly took the blazer from me and said nothing.

As we sat down to eat there was a few minutes of uncomfortable silence before I finally broke and turned to him. “I am sorry but I have a lot of questions and I won’t leave without answers”. He sighed. Nodding, he turned toward me and I began. “Why didn’t you find me after the war? I wrote to you and tried to reach out but you ignored me. When I told Scorpius we had been old friends he looked at me as if I was lying. Why? Did you completely erase me from your life? If thats the case its your decision but I would like to know why.” I paused, waiting for him to speak. “After the war, I was so ashamed that I never stood up for you and how badly I had hurt you when I shut you out, I didn’t feel worthy of your forgiveness. I ignored your letters because I thought you would be better off not ever having to be reminded of the pain that I caused you.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. I exhaled sharply and buried my face in my hands before I finally replied. “Then I guess you never knew me at all”. He looked up, a stunned expression on his face. “Of all the people in the world you should’ve known that I would be the one to forgive you the most. I understood why you did what you did and why you couldn’t help me. You as much as the rest of us were fighting for the lives of us and our families. Had it really been your choice, I don’t think you would have complied.” He stood up and walked away from the table. “I know” he finally said. “I realized all of that a few years ago but at that point I thought it was too late.” He leaned on the kitchen counter with his back to me. His head was dropped and his shoulders were shaking softly. “Its one of my biggest regrets.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Well, we’re here now. If you have anything else you want to say, nows the time.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never helped you, I’m sorry I didn’t find you after the fighting was over, I’m sorry I didn’t defend you better at school, I’m sorry for all of it.” His words sounded desperate but genuine. It was like he couldn’t find the breath to properly support his list of apologies. “Stop” I said suddenly. I walked in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, lowering my head until he was forced to meet my gaze. “I forgive you. Completely and totally. I just want my friend back.” He chuckled through a cry before pulling me into a tight hug. His hands were around my waist and mine around his neck. I moved my right hand to the back of his neck and stroked his hair, like I had when we were kids whenever he was upset. He chuckled again softly and held me tighter. “Ok as nice as this is I think you are gonna squeeze all the life out of me!” I joked. “Oh I’m sorry” he breathed as he let me go and pushed me away slightly.

After this first meeting, I saw him almost every weekend. We would meet and reminisce and catch up on our lives. At our third meeting he asked me about the ring. “I see you still wear the ring I gave you. I thought you would have gotten rid of it”. He held my right hand and looked at the ring. “Draco, truthfully, I was worn this ring every single day of my life since you gave it to me. It’s a part of me”. This seemed to please him as his cheeks flushed a light pink. By our sixth meeting me we were sharing a bottle of wine after dinner when he decided to play an old record of songs played at the Yule Ball. “Oh my goodness I can’t believe you actually have this!” I laughed as he purposefully did his worst dance moves. “This was one of my favorite nights at school, how could I not!” Before I knew it, he scooped me up and we were dancing the awful and silly choreographed dance we all had to learn. He spun me around in his living room as the music played. Our shadows were dancing on the walls from the light of the fire. “I don’t think I have laughed this hard in years!” I remarked. “Me too” he replied with a chuckle. Just then all of the sudden the laughter stopped and I realized this was the closest I had been to him since we were in school. This only lasted a few moments before Scorpius appeared at the door. We quickly broke apart and Draco took a step froward. “Yes son?”. “Uh, I just wanted to let you know I was going to Albus’s house to spend the night..” he stared at me with a look of confusion on his face. “Oh yes thats fine, have fun and be safe”. He quickly left the room and hurried out the front door before either of us could offer an explanation. “Oh gosh that was so embarrassing” I said, sitting on the couch and hiding my face in my hands. “He probably thinks that we kissed or were about to” I said, the sound muffled through my hands. Draco sat down next to me. “Weren’t we?” he asked timidly. I sat up and looked at him. “I don’t know, my mind kinda went blank” I chuckled. “Mine too” he smiled. “Can I kiss you?” he asked finally. I smiled and nodded. He smiled back and reached his hand out until he touched my face. He brushed his thumb over my cheek as it made its way to brush over my lips. With his other fingers positioned under my chin, he gently pulled my face closer to his, tilting it slightly upwards and to the right. He kissed me gently moving his hand back to my cheek. I hadn’t expected him to be so gentle but I was so happy I sunk into it easily. Scorpius would get an explanation later, right now, I just wanted to live in the moment I never realized I wanted.

[lackingspace]

Okay so I have a few questions, if it’s okay to ask (apologies if it spills over to two asks) My biggest question is: How are you? The world is crazy at the moment and I think it’s important to check in with people :) My next question: Do you edit your own writing? Would you ever consider letting someone edit your own writing? Next question: Where do you get your inspiration to write from? Have you taken classes? Next question: Do you have any tips for beginner writers?

Thanks for the ask! (and if you want to send in more feel free 🖤) 

I’m putting a read longer bc I wrote way too much @...@

First: Thanks for asking! I’m doing ok, life is still crazy, but its definitely getting better! I hope it's going well and good for everyone reading this too! 

Second: Yup! I edit my writing myself which is why I have so many typos lol! I reread it over and over, but I can only catch so many. I wouldn’t mind someone editing my writing, in fact, I’ve had @bisexual-horror-fan​ proofread for me before! (Also, small shout out to her, 🖤 love her lots and her writing is just as wonderful as she is!) Tbh I think it’d be fun to one day form a small writing group where we throw ideas out/suggest scenarios, edit, proofread, read together, just whatever!

Third: I find inspiration in pretty much anything. At my core, I’d describe myself as an artist, regardless of medium. So inspiration can be from the environment, dreams, other writing, videos, arts, a picture, or just an emotion- pretty much anything. I simp for and can wax poetic nothings all the time tbh. However, the only caveat to my writing style is I need to have a clear image of what I want to write before I write it. Being able to clearly visualize everything I’m writing is key for me. It has to be picturesque in my head so I can write it picturesquely if that makes sense?

I’ve never taken a writing class formally. Just your standard English 1 and 2, but I do read frequently, my major requires reading, but I do it for enjoyment mainly- everything from fanfiction to research journals. I’ve never really creatively written before my homecoming series, nothing I took seriously anyways. I typically only write research papers which is why I’m not confident in saying I’m a good writer or even calling myself one. I don't really know techniques or terms, so I can't offer too much advice that’d hold up academically or professionally. I’d say there's a ton of free content on the web so google, youtube, skillshare writing classes or techniques. 

But the best advice I could ever give someone for anything in life is, and it will sound extremely cliche, but its practice. If someone ever tells you they've never practiced something they’re considered a master at then run away because they’re a liar. Natural aptitude for something exists, but even then practice is really what will get you from point A to point B. In my painting classes, I was taught to study master artists, paint their works, study it, deconstruct it, or reinvent it. Repainting masterworks is extremely common, so I apply that to writing too. 

When I find something I enjoy reading I try to analyze how the writer crafted the story or information. How they’ve disseminated the plot, the language used, word choice, the emotions invoked, and what I can learn from it. Don’t get me wrong, absolutely do not plagiarize, but trying to emulate a style of writing could be a good exercise. It might push you as a writer and as the quote goes, “Immature poets imitate; mature poets steal; bad poets deface what they take, and good poets make it into something better, or at least something different. The good poet welds his theft into a whole of feeling which is unique, utterly different than that from which it is torn.” T.S. Elliot btw. Emulation is good practice, but always try to make it something unique to you, and don’t worry if its “good”! Practice doesn’t make perfect, but it can help get you closer to it.

Ok, I hope that kinda answered your ask! Uhhh, I wrote so much.... @.@ 

[purplesurveys]

907

Are you one of those lucky people to own a walk-in closet? lol lucky people. No I don’t have one of those. Is there a random object you own that has a huge personal significance? Well it’s more significant today because we had our virtual graduation this morning... so I’ll go with my graduation sash. Ever since I started university I’ve always wanted to wear my own sash in a physical ceremony so again, it sucks that our batch got affected by the pandemic. Do you use Google? For just about everything, yeah. Would you like to go swimming right now? That would be soooooo so nice. I’ve been going through old vacation photos and I really miss the beach. Can you play electric guitar? Nope.

Do you have an HDTV? My parents do. When was the last time you drank something through a straw? Around a month ago when my dad bought milk teas for me and my sister. Have you ever tried to teach yourself a different language? I didn’t teach myself per se, but I have tried my hand learning Spanish on Duolingo several times. It always comes in phases – I get passionate about learning and use the app for weeks, then it kinda burns out after a while. Right now I haven’t used it since I got sick in May. How long was your last phone call? A little longer than an hour, I think. It was pure silence though; we just wanted to hear each other’s surroundings. Do you need to repaint your nails? No, I never get it painted. Has there ever been a horoscope that came true for you? Psh. Are you a fan of industrial metal? Holy shit I feel so stupid right now. I thought this was referring to a literal kind of metal and I thought, that is such an odd thing to be a fan of...Google quickly taught me that it is in fact NOT a material for building infrastructure jdsskfjskf. Anyway, no I am not a fan. Are you one of those people who chew two pieces of gum, not one? Yeah, occasionally. I don’t like how one piece loses flavor all too quickly so I go ahead and pop two in. Do you have a wall calendar? Not since 2008. We only had a wall calendar in our old house; when we moved here we started to rely on digital clocks and our phones to tell the time. Have you ever taken the pictures from a calendar and used them as posters? I haven’t had a calendar like that, so no. I’ve done this with magazines though. Can you handle the cold? Hahaha no, I can’t. I was already in so much pain in 20ºC weather in Sagada, and I fared much worse in 12ºC Japan weather. I would still pick living in a colder climate in a heartbeat over a tropical one, though. Have you ever been to Canada? Nope.  Do you believe in superstitions? Just one superstition involving my university that doubles as an inside joke, so it’s not like I take it 100% seriously. It’s a generations-old joke that’s impossible to ignore if you’re a student, so I just jumped in. When was the last time you took a taxi somewhere? It was from the airport to back home, but I forgot where we landed from. Bohol I think? Palawan? I don’t even know anymore. It was so inconvenient I begged my dad that we stop using taxis as transportation for our future trips. Would you ever join the army, airforce or navy? No. How old is the person you last kissed? 22. Is there a friend that you can always rely on to get you out of a jam? I don’t think so. When it comes down to it they all have their own different things going on and I can’t just call them whenever and expect them to come to me, and that’s okay. Generally though, I think my most reliable friends are probably Andrew and Angela. What was the most embarassing thing you've had to buy? I’ve never felt embarrassed by anything I had to buy, but it can get a little uncomfortable trying to buy napkins when my dress or pants are already soaked. I get over it quickly though, since menstruations are normal lol. Have you ever tried to balance the light switch between off and on? When I was a kid. I haven’t tried it in a while. Do you believe in ghosts / supernatural occurences? They’re fun to think about, sure, and I do enjoy watching the supernatural episodes of Buzzfeed Unsolved where they go ghost-hunting. I like to think that they somehow exist, but I still also very much maintain my skepticism at all times. Have you ever mistaken a person's gender? I’ve used the wrong pronouns accidentally but I always correct myself and apologize once I’ve noticed my blunder. What was the most expensive thing you've broken? My old iPhones. I’ve also sported a few dents on my car, but I wouldn’t say I broke the car. Has anyone texted you yet today? Not text, but online chat. We had our virtual graduation this morning so my inbox was swamped with congratulatory messages and such. Did you stay calm during the whole swine flu scare? I did, but I mean I was 11 and had no clue how serious it was supposed to be. I remember cheering when they suspended classes for a week because of a local swine flu case, so yep – still ignorant back then. Is there a light on in the room you're currently in? There is, but it isn’t turned on. Are your feet touching the floor? Nope, they’re on the bed. Have you ever been in a car accident? Mild ones, nothing too life-threatening. Do you usually make back-up plans? Yeah man I’m so anxious I always have at least plans A-C lined up in my head and ready to go whenever necessary. Can you focus well in high-stress situations? Usually. Without the aid of mascara, do you have long eyelashes? I do. I get compliments on it all the time too. I didn’t realize it was apparently a nice feature to have until more and more people pointed it out haha. Is there a kind of music you listen to that helps you release your anger? Yeah I have a playlist that’s lined up with all of my favorite loud, angry punk rock music specifically for when I’m pissed off. Are you one of those people who keep their feelings bottled up? I can, particularly whenever I feel like it’s not worth it to blow up. Is one of your friends extremely odd but you love them regardless? Not really. Aya’s pretty weird but I wouldn’t call her extremely odd. Is there anyone you dread going into public with? My mom when she’s mad. Are you a victim of writing run-on sentences? For the most part, I wouldn’t say so. If I write a run-on sentence it’s almost always in an informal setting where I’m more loose with punctuation, like if I’m chatting on IM or writing an answer on here. Still, I try to avoid them and I never do it in a formal situation. Graffiti: an art or an act of vandalism? They can be both. Some people who genuinely just want to fuck around vandalize, like how I’ve seen “Mark <3 Erica” in spray paint on public walls or some similar shit lol. But a lot of graffiti are art as well; many have important messages or symbolisms to say. Do you buy things online? I’ve done it a few times. Not regularly. I like being able to see and touch something before buying it. Are you easily frightened? I definitely am but at the same time I’m really into horror movies and serial killers and a ghost-hunting series? Hahaha it’s weird. I guess I enjoy the thrill that comes with having those interests. Do you have a favorite model? Over the years I’ve loved Elizabeth Jane Bishop, Kiko Mizuhara, Taylor Marie Hill, Gigi Hadid, Bella Hadid, and (controversial pick!) Kendall Jenner. Have you ever watched Titanic? So many times. Honestly, one of my favorites. What's your current facebook display picture of? It’s my official graduation photo wearing my graduation sash! :) I finally changed it last Friday after I got the email saying I’m on the list of graduates. How about your IM display picture? My main IM is my Messenger, which also uses my Facebook photo. Is there anyone whose hair you envy? Gabie’s for one. Hers is really smooth and silky and wavy. Would you act in a movie if it offered a role? If I was going to be a mostly unseen extra in a blockbuster film and still be paid like $600 for it, then I don’t see why I wouldn’t take it. Does speaking in front of people make you nervous? Only if there’s going to be an unscripted aspect to it that’ll make me have to come up with answers on the spot, like miting de avances or thesis defense. If I have a script or even just a general gist of what I want to say, I have no problem improvising and speaking in front of a crowd. Can you read in a moving vehicle or does it make you sick? It makes me sick but it hasn’t stopped me before. Have you ever dated someone who was extremely shy? I’m the extremely shy person... Or have you dated someone who took things too fast? I felt that way with Gab at first when she wanted to have sex like two months after we started dating, though I was scared mainly because it was going to be my first time and I wanted to make sure I was comfortable. Now that I’m a little older, two months seems like a healthy amount of time. Does the idea of driving 220 mph sound exciting to you? Sounds terrifying. It could be fun, but only if we’re in the middle of nowhere where there’s loads of space to go that fast and no chance of crashing. Everyone has a weakness, what's yours? Food. Do you or anyone you know have an account on Deviantart? I had classmates in high school who had accounts but I’m not sure if they still have it, or if Deviantart is even still as active as I knew it to be. Thoughts on the Dunkin Donut commercial that says "America runs on Dunkin'"?  It’s a creative slogan but if I was American I wouldn’t want a doughnut place claiming to represent my country. It cute though. Do you bother buying movies on DVD anymore or do you just download them? I watch them on Netflix, which is still technically like buying them since we pay for the subscription anyway. Do you listen to Daughtry? No. Do you get your eyebrows waxed? I don’t. Waxing looks so painful to me. How do you take your coffee? Lots of creamer or milk, a little sugar. I like trying out different coffees, but when I’m simply relaxing I do want my coffee as least bitter as possible.  If you have a dog, what breed is it? I have an aspin mix, though we never figured out what Kimi’s other half is. And I also have a beagle. Have you found someone who makes you unconditionally happy? I don’t know if 'unconditionally’ is possible but yes, I do have people who make me very happy. Do you have a friend who always seems to be dying their hair? Not anymore. Jo used to dye her hair like every month though and she must have been able to go through the entire rainbow. She looked sooo good in each of the colors. Would you swap names with a friend? I love all their names but I don’t see why that would be necessary. Do you plan on going to university? I did. I graduated today. Guys who wear muscle shirts, yes or no? Idk man, they can wear whatever they want. Are you a fan of Carrie Underwood? No. I liked some of her singles when I was younger, but I’m not a fan in that I have her albums and know her lesser-known songs. Do you make playlists on iTunes? I used to, when I still used iTunes. I make playlists on Spotify now. Have you ever forgotten someone's birthday? I don’t think so. Are you scared of being left behind? Yessir. I’m super competitive, so I hate the feeling. Do you remember your last dream? No. I’m really bad at remembering them unless they’re nightmares or insanely strange. I do know that I dreamt while we were watching mass earlier on the television though, hahaha. Do you know someone who is an obsessed Star Wars fan? So many people in my circle are. Is politics something you don't care about? No. If there’s anything I give tons of fucks about, it’s that. What's a movie/tvshow/book/series that is way overrated? I’ll go with the first things I thought of...in that order: To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before; Stranger Things (it’s good, but not as good as people hyped it to be); I don’t really read anymore; and what do you mean by series? Just realized I only gave 2 out of 4 answers lol oh well. Do you think Barbie presents an unhealthy image to young girls? I don’t like how its physical features are still unrealistic; but I appreciate their attempts at diversity. I can’t say it was upsetting seeing a Filipino-themed Barbie :) Is there a pet that you desperately want? All I ever wanted were dogs, and now I’ve got two of them. Would you ever get your bellybutton pierced? Nope. Are you musically talented? Hahahahaha Have you ever shot a gun? Not a real one, so no. Athenna’s dad had this practice gun he used for target practice (duh) and I messed with that a few times. Do you have a friend that always changes their mind last second? That’s Gabie. She’s lucky she’s my girlfriend and that I love her, because it’s actually a big pet peeve of mine. Are you not afraid to voice your opinion? Yup. The only time I don’t say it out loud is if it’s unnecessary and if it’s going to be simply disrespectful. An example would be when my uncle offered to make me a carrot cake for my grad gift, and I just said yes because it was already generous enough for him to offer me a free cake when he runs a food business. In reality it’s not my favorite cake at all; it wouldn’t even be in my top 20. Are you one of those people who are always pushing their limits? Yes, I definitely overwork myself to the point of exhaustion and burnout. But I honestly prefer doing things and being busy than sitting around. Is there a word that you will always find humorous? Bubbling. Because Drake and Josh.

Do you frown upon immature people? Typically. Have you ever slipped on ice and hurt yourself? This may have happened to me once or twice when I was still regularly visiting the ice skating rink at the mall. People were always super nice and helped me get up, though. Do you try to have an intimidating impression? I don’t try. Apparently it’s naturally the vibe I give off. Living in the big city or chilling in the country? BIG CITY. Always the big city. I’ve gone to the country/province so many times; I already know what it’s like there. I’ll always prefer a noisy city. No one seems to obey the legal drinking age, do they? Hahahaha a lot seem not to. I know so many high school kids who’ve had a drink before turning 18. Do you like your country's flag? Sure. I like that we can switch up the colors depending on if we’re at war or not. Have you ever made a totally amazing snow fort? I’ve never even seen snow before. Do you use Bounty Paper Towels? No. Are you the one usually behind the camera or the one in the picture? BEHIND If you get married, will you have a traditional wedding? Traditional, yes. Religious, no. Do you feel you’re slowly losing one of your friends? No. But now that I’m no longer in school, I really hope I’ll continue to be friends with my orgmates. I’ll certainly keep in touch as much as I can. If you draw, what's one thing you always have trouble with? Everything about it. Is there someone you know moving away any time soon? No. I do know my friend’s sister had already moved and started her new job in California, but when the pandemic started she had to go back here. This virus is just ruining so many great things for everyone, man... Allergic to anything? Nope. How many cars have you owned? Zero. I drive one; can’t say I own it because my parents bought it. What are you going to do after this? Maybe take another survey.

[persona-rrau]

An art/fic collab between myself (@straylize) and Polux (@hyakunana)!  All of the art by Polux, but below you can read the fic that accompanies it! We wanted to give this pair some love, and the watercolor work is fantastic. The fic was a ton of fun to write too. We hope everyone enjoys this!

Art:  @hyakunana

Fic:  @straylize

Title: “Axe”ident

Word Count: 5003

AO3 Link: here!

Preview:

Some forces in the world were truly impossible to fight against—the rolling waves of a stormy sea, the beating sun in the desert, the rocky terrain of the mountains—and Haru Okumura.

Ryuji Sakamoto had learned that many years ago—she was a strong-willed woman, one who would never change her mind once it became set on something. It was truly fortunate, though, that she was generally the sort to use that will power in order to bring about good for herself and those around her. Even the greatest of obstacles were not meant to stand in her way, and if they threatened to, then Haru would find a way to tear them down herself.  It was simply her way, after all. Despite being generally soft-spoken and seen as demure by many, Ryuji was also aware that she could be firm and assertive; her ability to know exactly how to balance those aspects of her personality were exactly what made her so effective.

It was something he learned when he only barely knew her, as he had experienced firsthand how her sheer strength of will could get her exactly what she wanted once she had set her mind to it.  They were only teenagers when Ryuji first met Haru; they were only teenagers when a fateful moments led him to find her in a dangerous situation in a back alley one night. They were only teenagers when he took a stand against her attacker, and only teenagers when he sustained a serious injury to protect her. In turn, they were only teenagers when Haru decided that this brave young man was the one worthy of serving as her retainer.

She had never cared for the man tasked with being her protector; though she was taught to do as her father said, it certainly hadn’t meant she enjoyed it. Kunikazu Okumura was a man of great power, leading both the Okumura region and its capital, the city of Astarte, to great prosperity. His control over things around him was unmatched, and though he abided by the laws of Arisatia and respected the King’s rule, anything purely under his jurisdiction was handled in a manner that couldn’t be denied as uniquely his. But strict as he may have been, there were times when he knew how to compromise—and very often, that compromise had been with his very own daughter. He had not been keen on the idea of Ryuji serving as her retainer, and with good reason. He was a commoner, practically a peasant by Astarte’s standards. He was crass and crude, even when on his best behavior, and it was made clear that he had a short fuse.

To further that, the boy had been injured. Haru’s attacker, a man Kunikazu had once put a measure of trust in, had broken Ryuji’s leg and left him potentially unable to fully recover. He had believed that at most, paying for the boy’s medical care would suffice well enough, but Haru refused that notion. She wanted for Ryuji to be her retainer at any cost. That person was the only one she felt suitable, far more than who Kunikazu himself had tasked, and certainly well beyond that of the suitors he had chosen for her.

It was clear to him that her reasons stretched beyond being enamored by his brave façade. Kunikazu Okumura was a man who knew his daughter well, bold and soft-spoken, but a romantic at heart. She was interested in Ryuji as a suitor, regardless of class and circumstance. And that reason had been precisely why Kunikazu agreed only on the conditions that when his leg recovered, he would have to work twice as hard to prove he was capable of being a protector. Kunikazu needed to ensure this boy would be up to the task, that everything Haru wanted him to be would, in fact, be met.

Her fierce determination was truly a force to be reckoned with, because it hadn’t only been her father that she had won over with her stubborn demeanor. It had been Ryuji as well. She had made it clear to him in those days that she didn’t intend to take no for an answer. Haru stood by his side each day as he recovered and rehabilitated; she had been the one to support his weight when he took his first steps, and the one to cheer him on as he trained his body to meet the standards that Kunikazu had set in place all those months before.

The journey had been a long one, to be sure, but just as Ryuji had inspired Haru with his brave and chivalrous nature, with his boldness and his crass mouth, Haru was just as inspiring. She was a young woman who never gave up, even when things looked grim. She somehow always found a way to smile even through her struggles, and her determination was something that Ryuji himself never wanted to deny. It was why he had given in to being her retainer to begin with…

And why in the years that followed, he found himself unable to say no to her whims. It took them years to find that balance, but it was one that suited them perfectly. A noble and her retainer, but also the closest and dearest of friends—and a myriad of feelings that existed between them unspoken. They owed their lives to one another in a sense—Haru’s very literally, while Ryuji’s was centered solely on how a peasant would not have made a life for himself that was sustainable without her help.

It had been nearly a decade from that fateful day when Haru, the immovable force she was, had begged sweetly for Ryuji to accompany her somewhere new.

“I dunno, Haru. Could be dangerous with so many people in town,” His words came out easily, casually; though it was uncommon to hear a retainer speak their lord’s name with no formality, it was preferred between them. Haru disliked the stuffy formalities. Being called ‘my lady,’ felt impersonal; they were friends, first and foremost, after all.

“That is why you should accompany me though, isn’t it?” Haru’s response, in turn, had been almost sickeningly sweet. Her looped her arm around Ryuji’s and gave it a gentle squeeze against her as she offered him a knowing smile.

Ryuji’s cheeks flushed slightly, he allowed his gaze to avert as his brows knit together. “That circus thing’s in town, ain’t it? Who knows what kind of weirdos are wandering around.”

“I believe they’re a troupe of traveling entertainers rather than a circus. But they’re famous! Mako said her sister has heard of them, even all the way from Eigaon!”

Her tone was airy and delighted; Haru always managed to emanate warmth at even the smallest of details. Careful to press again Ryuji in a half-hug, she elected to reiterate her point. “It’s barely off the manor’s grounds, anyway. If the city weren’t so bustling today, I’d have gone alone like I usually do.”

Ryuji’s expression shifted into a frown.

“Your old ma—Governor Okumura… he’s really gonna kill my ass one of these days if you keep runnin' off to some secret hideout without tellin’ me…” He paused, and it was followed by a brief, but exasperated sigh. “Guess I’m gonna have to go with… you’ll just go without me anyway, won’t ya…”

It was almost immediate how Haru pulled away from Ryuji and clapped her hands together, equal parts enthralled and victorious. She let out a giggle before she turned in the opposite direction. “I’ll meet you at the back entrance, Ryuji!”

With another sigh, Ryuji took off in the direction of his own room; if he was going to accompany her beyond the manor’s gates, then he would have to be prepared for all threats while remaining inconspicuous. That meant wrapping the weaker part of his leg with a bandage for a little extra support, his light armor, and a small but blunt concealed weapon. These were just the basics, as he didn’t anticipate a proper threat in the way he did when they ventured in toward the city center or the harbor—but it was his duty to protect Haru, and he would take all the precautions necessary to be able to carry out his duties as needed.

Getting ready always took a bit of time for Ryuji for that reason; a retainer still had protocols to follow in order to be effective. As he did so, he wondered quietly just what it was Haru was up to. It wasn’t uncommon for her to go off on her own for a bit, particularly after having an argument with Kunikazu or anyone else. No matter how calm she remained, Ryuji had learned that she did have her own fire of rebellion within her. The first time they’d had a major disagreement, she had, with a smile, contemplated getting an axe.

It was something he played off as a joke and then quickly apologized for his insolence, but over the years, that threat had come out a few times. Naturally, Ryuji had never actually seen her wield an axe, or perhaps he would have taken it seriously.

In any case, that day had seemed a bit different to Ryuji. Haru was in good spirits, and yet still wanted to venture off to her secret place. That place she went off on her own to and demanded Ryuji not follow—which, on those days, was advisable. He still followed her a certain distance so that he would be able to come to her aid if needed, but never followed through the whole way, nor did he peek in on what she had been doing. Unlike all of those times in the past, though, she had requested his presence. It was hard for him to not wonder, though he guessed that she would be revealing her intentions soon enough.

By the time he had prepared fully for their small outing, Haru had been waiting in their agreed upon meeting spot.

“Sorry,” Ryuji offered the apology lightly, bringing a hand up to his head to ruffle a bit as his short, disheveled hair. “Wrapping my leg took a little longer than planned.”

It was only a half-truth, and though Haru knew it, she responded by shaking her head and offering him a smile. “We aren’t under any time limits. I wouldn’t just go on my own after you promised me that you’d come.”

That much was at least a truth. Haru certainly would have left without him if he refused to go or tried to stop her. But Ryuji said he’d go—so she had no reason to try an escape a cage that presently didn’t exist. He wished to keep her safe, he was tasked with the same, but he didn’t seek to limit her freedoms—he only sought to keep safe from harm as she chased those very freedoms she wanted for.

“Let’s get goin’ then,” He bowed slightly to her, an offer of gentlemanly politeness that seemed unfitting for someone as rough around the edges as Ryuji always was. Even after so many years, he hadn’t become stiff like many other nobles and retainers they knew. Yet still, despite those frayed edges, he did his duty well, following the nature he had been raised with—polite and only disrespecting those who didn’t show compassion or respect for others. Those types were the opposite of Haru, after all. With a smile, he moved towards the door, pulling it open and gesturing for her to exit the manor.

There was a brief silence that lingered as they made their way outside. The sun shone brightly above them, with few clouds in the sky to offer them shade.  The air was warmer than most would expect for late spring—Astarte’s climate was well suited for being a beachside port city, with only the ocean breeze shifting their direction to cool them. It was nothing short of an ideal day to be outside, though even still, Ryuji had no idea what was on their agenda.

“So… where are we headed, anyway? I mean… I know it’s your secret spot, and I know the path’s this way, but…” He trailed off, in need of a brief pause to find the words he needed. Words weren’t exactly Ryuji’s strong suit, though, so he came up short. “Guess I’m just curious. Ain’t like you’ve given me any hints.”

“It wouldn’t be as fun without a little suspense, right?”

Haru giggled, and Ryuji’s cheeks flushed in response. Her answer was so typically like her; Haru was definitely the type to seek even the smallest of thrills if it meant keeping things a little more exciting.

"Haru speak for ‘I’m not telling, so just wait and see,’ huh.”

She responded with only a hum before she elected to take one step ahead of Ryuji. She would lead the way fearlessly, with little reason to hesitate. Her enthusiasm showed in her steps; they bounced in such a way that the curls of her hair seemed to have a life all their own, and Ryuji’s eyes seemed to focus easily on their movement. Her hair seemed to have a life of its own, somehow. When she was feeling glum, her curls seemed to deflate entirely, when angry, it seemed to stand straight on its ends. And then there were the days like this one, where her elation caused that bounce that seemed to been even more vibrant than her smile and more energetic than her steps. Ryuji had no idea how such a thing was even possible, and yet every day, he managed to see it with his own eyes.

There was a silence that fell after Haru hummed, warm and comfortable. It was something familiar between them, that they didn’t always need to converse in each other’s presence. Ryuji trusted where she would guide him; in turn, she trusted that he would keep her safe.

The path they walked wasn’t at all populated, though. Despite the hustle and bustle through Astarte’s streets, they stayed away from the main roads. They walked on one side of a stone wall, through a path of dirt and sand that was lined by trees and overgrowth. The other side of that wall was a populated city street, which left the two able to overhear the conversation of residents and tourists alike. Some spoke about their vacation plans to visit the beach, other spoke of merchant’s business, and further were the ones who spoke of that traveling troupe of entertainers that had made their way to the regional capital—the name ‘Seven Sisters’ came up quite frequently as they progressed along the path. Silence remained between the two of them, though, with Haru and Ryuji both content to let the idle chatter in the distance fill the air instead. For Haru, it was a good means of anticipation—which worked well on Ryuji’s ever-present curiosity.

The silence remained and anticipation built until they came across a small clearing in the path. It was hardly a sight to behold; the clearing was little more than dirt, sand and tree stumps. The stone wall remained on one side of them, while the path ahead narrowed just as it had behind them.  Near the further narrowing path sat some large sections of wood, presumably from one of the trees that had been chopped down already, Ryuji concluded. Next to the wood was an axe, which seemed to be where Haru was headed.

She let out a pleased giggle as she bounced towards the axe, it seemed almost like a monumental effort for her to pick it up. She heaved a groan before she turned to look at Ryuji, who had been momentarily stunned into utter silence.

“Wa-wait—!” He barely managed to sputter out before an incredulous sound escaped. It took a long moment before he managed to form another sentence—which had somehow managed to sound even more incredulous than the incoherent sound that preceded it. “You were for real about that axe thing!? What the hell, Haru, that’s dangerous! You can barely hold it without topplin’ over!”

Haru didn’t falter even for a moment, though. It was as if she had completely anticipated the way Ryuji’s would react, and had a response telegraphed for that express purpose. “Did you really think I just took a walk to release all of that stress, Ryu? ”

Ryuji sputtered again; the sweet way she spoke betrayed the hardened edge of how she said his nickname specifically. Most would have thought it cute that she had one at all, but Ryuji knew that with the emphasis on his name that way, he probably needed to avoid pressing his luck too hard. “Lo-look. All I’m sayin’ is… you shoulda told me way earlier. Axes ain’t my thing, but I could’ve given you some form tips or somethin’ so you don’t get hurt.”

His jaw clenched, his brows drew together—Ryuji’s face was contorted in such a way that he was hoping he was cooling off the hot water he’d quickly found himself in. It wasn’t a lie , after all. He would have done all of those things had he known far earlier what she’d been up to… he just also would have perhaps preferred she chose to wield an axe that was more suited to her small frame.

“I think my form’s improved greatly since I picked this hobby up,” Seemingly satisfied with Ryuji’s backpedaling, she offered him a much less deadly smile. “That’s why I wanted to show you.”

“Why you wanted… to show… me?’

He was undoubtedly puzzled by her reasoning, which she also seemed to anticipate.

“You may be my retainer, but that doesn’t mean I want to rely on you for everything. I need to be able to defend myself better… but truthfully, I wanted to learn for myself how to do it,” She began to explain, and though Haru paused, she didn’t give Ryuji enough time to get a word in edgewise. “If I asked Father, he would likely set me up with a fencing instructor. But I don’t feel that suits me, and such… pristine lessons, they won’t lend well to truly being able to fight for myself. So that’s when  I decided I would learn with a weapon of my choosing, and when the time was right, I would show you what I’ve learned.”

“Haru…” It took a long moment before Ryuji managed to utter even her name. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but she always managed to find new ways to surprise him. Really, her reasoning hadn’t been at all surprising. She had always rebelled against following strict tradition, and always desired to do things on her own terms. This had been no different.

It was difficult not to just admire her tenacity, and so Ryuji dipped his head as a smile tugged as the corner of his mouth.

“You win, like always,” It wasn’t as if Ryuji would really say no to her anyway—it was merely an acknowledgement that her reasoning resonated with him, and Ryuji was not one to stop her. She was, after all, an unstoppable force in his eyes.  A cyclonic beauty that couldn’t be matched in any sense of the word. “So… you just want me to watch what you can do, then?”

“If you could just move that piece of wood onto the stump for me…” She was capable of doing so for herself, but Haru knew she’d have to set the axe down in order to—and once she had it in hand, she didn’t want to have to pick it up again.

Ryuji’s eyes shifted warily to the axe before he nodded and moved towards the pile of unchopped wood. “Just watch where you’re swingin’ that thing.”

He meant it to say ‘ don’t swing it in my direction and take off a limb, ’ but even Ryuji had enough self-control to not let those words slip from his lips. The smile never left Haru’s lips, and though in that moment, it was difficult to read whether or not she harbored any annoyance that warranted a release of stress… there was at the very least, an aura of pride. Rather than push his luck any further, he did what she had requested from him—and then immediately pushed some distance between them by way of stepping back toward the wall.

“Watch closely, Ryuji!” Haru’s words were brief, but bright; that aura of pride in what she had taught herself seem to pour out of her. She stood in front of the tree stump, her hands tightly gripped around the haft of the axe. There was no form or finesse to it at all; the weapon was large and unwieldy for someone of her size and build. Yet still, Haru drew upward before she slammed the tool down towards the wood that sat upon the tree stump. It was with absolutely no skill at all that she’d somehow lucked out, splitting it down the middle. Her aim was good, to be sure… but she lacked technique.

Despite that, she looked at Ryuji proudly. “I know my form needs improvement, but when I first tried, I could hardly lift the axe…”

A stunned silence filled the air; Ryuji’s eyes were wide, but it was impossible for her to tell what he was thinking. Was he impressed? Surprised? Completely abhorred? She wouldn’t know, not until he spoke.

“Ho… ly… shit… ” stunned was certainly one way to describe his state at that moment. “Haru…”

Immediately, she began to backpedal. Her shoulders slumped slightly, and Ryuji responded in kind by leaping forward. “Oh… um. Did... Did I do poorly?”

“N-no. Nonono, it’s not that! I mean, yeah. Your form kinda sucks, but that shit ain’t easy. That axe is fuckin’ huge and you still split that thing right down the middle!” Abhorred definitely would not describe Ryuji—awed would, however. Haru brightened instantly; though Ryuji was crass and blunt, not hesitating at all to tell her that she still had a long way to go before improving—he was honest. She could see that even if he agreed she had much to learn, he had no intention of being discouraging toward her. Ryuji had never been good at holding back, after all—he was the sort who wore his heart on his sleeve and his emotions plainly showed in his expression. It drew a sense of relief from Haru; even if Ryuji still appeared to be keeping a safe distance to avoid her wild swings, it was plainly obvious that he wasn’t displeased.

“Perhaps now that I have the basics, I could seek out someone to train me,” She mused quietly, more to herself than to Ryuji. It wasn’t as if she expected him to know where she’d even be able to find such a person—but Haru felt encouraged by Ryuji’s awed reaction.

“Keep it up and you’re gonna put me out a job…” His response came with a bit of an awkward laugh. He wasn’t really concerned that she would use that sort of training as a means of firing him, not after all she’d done to ensure he would be her retainer. He couldn’t deny though, that he felt a sense of joy and purpose in being able to be a pillar of strength for her, though. Even still, he believed in her ability to stand strong on her own Maybe it would mean that in the future, he would simply have to watch her back instead of guarding her on all sides. And really, would that be so bad? Ryuji didn’t think so. “Can’t deny that I kinda wanna see you do it again. Think you can go two-for-two?”

“I’d be happy to try, if you’d do the honor of placing down another piece of wood for me.”

That was a request that was easy for Ryuji to comply with; he wanted to see Haru try again. He didn’t actually harbor a single doubt about her capability to do so, he simply wanted to watch her a little more closely. He’d been (and still was) so awed that he couldn’t commit the action to memory as he’d wanted to. Besides that, Haru seemed so thrilled with herself that he could hardly resist indulging her once more. So he did as requested, offering her a playful bow at the formality of her request, and once he retrieved another piece of wood from the pile, he placed it upon the stump.

“All right, let’s see it!”

He encouraged, and Haru readied herself. It all looked just about the same to start, but as she began to swing the axe downward, the weight of the tool got the better of her. Her wrist twisted, her face contorted, and she let out a cry of distress. The axe dropped from her hands, and she managed only barely to evade another injury with a quick step back.

Ryuji left absolutely no room for hesitation.

“Haru!” He leapt forward, no time wasted as he made his way to her side. The axe was all but forgotten, as was his request to see any more of her new resolve. All that mattered was tending to her; it was his duty. But more importantly, he didn’t wish to see her in pain. Haru held her wrist and bit her lip in an attempt to hold back the tears that had formed in her eyes, but hadn’t fallen.  “C’mere… let me get a look at it.”

His words were gentle, but still carried that sense of duty and urgency that made it clear why Haru harbored so much trust for him. She nodded, wincing just a little as she held her arm out. His touch was just as gentle as his words; for all that he seemed rough around the edges, he never seemed to let that carry through when it came to his touch. He poked and prodded gently, which she responded to with small hisses of pain.

“Looks like it’s just a sprain. We’ll have the doc look at it tomorrow, since he’s probably off-duty by now. Still…” Ryuji didn’t want to just leave her injury untended to. “Let’s sit for a sec.”

“Sit? But…” She spoke quietly, her gaze shifting to the space around them. The tree trunk was the only spot that could double as a seat, or else one of them would have to sit in the dirt and sand.

“I’ll give you a boost,” Ryuji took the thought in another direction. He motioned toward the stone wall that lined the path. Even if other civilians were walking along the road on the other side, they would blend in just fine. Plenty of people sat atop the walls to rest through the day—the only difference would be what side of the wall they came from, something hardly anyone was likely to notice.

Haru offered him a nod of trust in return, and within moments, with her good hand clasping her injured arm, Ryuji lifted her by the waist. He used all the strength his arms and legs could muster, especially at that angle, and with his overcompensation for his own weak leg, to set her atop the wall. After a moment, and with a deep breath, he hauled himself to the spot next to her on the wall. Haru held back the displays of pain, though a few whimpers managed to escape her throat as he settled himself in.

“It’s a bit of a walk back,” Ryuji pointed out—that and the later hour in the day, with twilight looming—meant he couldn’t just leave things be. He began to roll up the fabric of his pants until he could find the cloth wrapping that he’d used earlier to keep his leg secure. He continued to speak as he began to unwrap it. Though he knew he would put himself at risk that way, Haru’s well-being came first. “We gotta secure that thing so you don’t aggravate it.

“Ryu, your leg…” She was worried, and it wasn’t as if Ryuji didn’t know exactly why that was. She looked at him with that soft, concerned gaze, but all Ryuji did was shake his head.

“No biggie. I’ll be fine. Besides, that’s my job, y’know? Gimme your wrist again.”

He wasn’t going to take no for an answer; Ryuji was just as stubborn as Haru herself. As he tended to her arm, he held it steady. Ryuji wrapped the bandage with care—his expertise in doing so for himself lent well to their current predicament. “Just lemme know if it’s too tight.”

“No… it’s perfect, Ryu…” As Ryuji finished wrapping the injury, she used the hand now stabilizes to reach for his. She didn’t allow him to pull his hand back. Instead, she clasped it tightly, careful to not bend her wrist the wrong way. It still hurt, but the stabilized positioning kept her tears at bay. Instead, a soft and grateful smile tugged as the corners of her mouth. She scooted closer and rested her shoulder against Ryuji’s arm, cheeks flushed. His flushed in turn, before she even finished her thought. “Thank you for being so thoughtful, and for taking care of me.”

                                                  ***

A short distance away from atop the wall sat another. He was quiet, observant. With little more than a pencil in hand and a sketchbook settle in his lap, he smiled at the sight of the future Governess and her retainer sharing a sweet, intimate moment.

“Yes… you are both truly… inspiring in every sense of the word.” He laughed quietly to himself; though he would not interrupt them now, there was little denying that they would soon prove to be precious muses to him. He turned the page of his sketchbook and began to draw—a moment like that was meant to be captured and never forgotten, after all.

[fly-with-no-hope-no-fear]

In concluding my #HilltopHideawaysAGR photoseries, I realized that while those pictures gave a glimpse of what my life at Saint Anselm looked like spatially, the project didn’t even begin to tell what Saint Anselm gave me in my four years there. And so I return to what has always been my best form of expression: pen and paper (which now I’m typing to share with all of you). Let’s see if I can do the Hilltop justice this time around.

Saint Anselm gave me a Benedictine liberal arts education that I now use every day. Because even though taking classes that had nothing to do with my majors was sometimes frustrating and difficult (*coughcough*@Formal Logic*coughcough*), I still enjoyed the things discussed in those classes, and my mind grew in so many ways that I didn’t expect. I’ve always been reflective in nature, but to receive an education that stressed the importance of a philosophical perspective, I can only count as an amazing gift. The influence that the Benedictines had on my education, showed me that while philosophy could help us ponder many questions of existence and purpose, it has gaps that only theological musings can fill…and vice versa. Logic and faith go hand in hand. For one to exist without the other, always leads the human mind into a trap of extremism, regardless of which end it may fall to.

Saint Anselm gave me relationships that have absolutely blessed me and helped me grow as a person. There are the monks, several of whom were mentors to me in various aspects of my life, who were professors, friends, and sometimes like overprotective brothers who helped me with papers, gave me helpful resources, poked fun of me, were always available to chat, and interrupted quite a few dates. Their presence on campus and in my life only further convinced me that although human, monks are super-heroes who wear habits instead of capes. The amount of respect I have for these men is immense.

I had professors who were engaging, helpful, inspiring, and cared about my success. Not just my academic success, but also my personal success. They pushed my limits, but were there every step of the way. There are a few I wish I could take just one more class with. There’s one I will always look up to, and I owe him a lot for catching what others missed when I struggled to sort through all the information I was receiving. I’m thankful for our life chats, his support, and the book he gave me that opened my eyes and helped me come up with new answers to old questions. He was great to bounce ideas off of, and he made it clear he’s proud of the direction I’m headed. I know he’s just an email away.

I made so many smart, talented, incredible friends who amaze me every day. We have been there for each other through thick and thin, and overcome so much together. From talking out disagreements, keeping each other awake so homework and papers got finished, movies, late night drives, Red Arrow Diner/Dunkin’/Wendy’s/Chick-Fil-A runs, meals together in Dav, cshop, and pub, walks around campus all hours of the day and night, photoshoots, classes together, life talks, sleepovers on dorm rugs, interventions, and dance or music parties…not to mention the group chats, shenanigans, and paper cranes, of which there were many. And the hugs. Wow. When it comes to my friends, there is always something interesting happening. I am incredibly grateful to each and every one of them, for their friendship and the things they have taught me.

When I committed to Saint Anselm and arrived on campus in August of 2015, I was not expecting to encounter the kind of communities that I did, in the ways that I did. The monastic community. The academic community. The people who work in Dav, cshop, and the pub. Denise in Bradley House. The student body. It was impossible to not run into someone I knew whenever I made my way across campus, whether friends, staff, professors, or monks. Saint Anselm truly is a community.

Saint Anselm gave me experiences. Obviously, that started with moving to school…everyone experienced that. For me, college also meant being in a classroom for the first time since 2nd grade. But it was perhaps the lessons and experiences I had outside the classroom that taught me the most. I learned about many other faiths and political perspectives, and in doing so, transformed and strengthened my own. I learned the power of dialogue. I learned how to listen, be compassionate, and stand my ground. I realized the kind of person I wanted to be. I began fighting back against anxiety, and putting myself out there instead of holding myself back. I went to concerts, I spent quality tie with friends, both in groups and individually. I got on a plane for the first time and flew to Indy for the 2019 SEEK conference. I spent 8 days on a SBA service trip in Mississippi. I applied for a scholarship that would have allowed me to pursue an ambitious and terrifying, but much needed service project post-grad, had I won it. In short, I took risks that pre-college me never would have dreamed of taking…and not only did I grow immensely from doing so, but I enjoyed it. The windows that they have opened my mind to, keep me dreaming every day.

Saint Anselm gave me the realization that I am a creator. High school Alexis was a writer, sure, but she was also a sports kid first and foremost. While I started Just Shine On at 15 years old, college helped me realize that creative writing is much more my forte. I wrote over one hundred poems. And I started getting into iPhone photography. But creation also gave me two more communities: poetry club and open mic. Between the two of them, I got in a lot of performance and writing experience. When I went to SEEK I submitted a poem to their contest and was chosen as a finalist. My poem was displayed for everyone there to see. Besides poetry and photography, I dabbled in music, spontaneously buying a ukulele I named Gavin, and teaching myself how to play. I also took guitar lessons as a class. That didn’t go quite as well, but I plan to pick it up again at some point. (The guitar’s name is Gabe.) The appreciation I have for artistic ventures, and the passion I have to create, I may very well have found on my own eventually. But my gut tells me college and the people I met helped me find it so much sooner. And it provided the perfect environment to practice in. Having professors who encouraged and supported me and many others in our extracurricular passions, is something I’m grateful for too.

Lastly, college gave me…well, me. I have grown a lot. I have found my voice, new passions and interests. I learned that it’s okay to be overwhelmed, stressed, anxious, scared, and sad sometimes. What matters is whether or not I let it overtake me. I learned the difference between what it means to be in love, and to love. I developed a life philosophy that’s still growing and starting to spread to all areas of my life, and a belief that if I’m striving to be faithful to God always, then He will be faithful to me even when I fail. I learned so much about who I am, who I want to be, and who I don’t want to be. Most of all, I learned that I will never be done learning who I am, because who I am is a lifelong journey of development. Saint Anselm gave me so much more than just an education; it truly was the best of times and the worst of times. And I’m forever grateful.

[mrmeriwether]

I love seeing posts like this, because they're a perfect example of people's personal experiences shaping the way they make sense of the world around them. I grew up with a very different view of it, and different still than all the snarky people in the replies pointing out that it IS faster to write in cursive if you just

Git gud.

I was taught cursive in 3rd grade (like 20 yrs ago lol), and it was presented to us as a rite of passage -- this is how grown-ups write, and from then on we would be required to write all our assignments in cursive rather than print. So for me, reading cursive has never been a huge issue unless it's total chickenscratch.

But I was terrible at writing in cursive.

It slowed me down severely, for years. I never liked how it looked compared to handwritten print, and I more or less stopped taking notes in class because I would fall behind and then miss the next parts of the lesson. That caused other problems later on, because now I didn't have good note-taking habits going into college, where I suddenly couldn't just remember everything and float by.

I never felt like I could explore a "personal style" with it either, since the rules for each letter felt so rigid. For me, cursive was hostile, limiting, and downright dreadful.

By late high school, I had totally abandoned it in favor of print because who cares, right? And it was great, I was more confident in my handwriting, I actually enjoyed looking at it, I was still pretty slow but not nearly as slow as before... And then I took the SAT. During the intro portion, where we bubbled in our names and did all the little clerical tasks before starting the test proper, I was completely blindsided by an unassuming paragraph nobody had told me about: we had to hand-copy a statement that boiled down to "I will not cheat."

...and we had to write it in cursive.

I spent several minutes trying to find muscle memory that was long gone. I remember staring at a capital G in frustration as I completely blanked on the shape of its cursive counterpart. The proctor told us to begin the actual exam, and I just sat there stewing in white-hot embarrassment because I wasn't even halfway done writing this stupid little paragraph. I couldn't bring myself to ask for more time, to imagine making all those other kids wait for me. In the end, I wound up rushing through sections of the ACTUAL test I'd been told would determine my entire future, just so I could go back and chip away at that paragraph before the next segment began. It felt unintentionally cruel. The whole time, all I could think was "Why did they specify that this needed to be in cursive?" It was arbitrary, and as casual a formality as making sure you used blue or black ink, or a #2 pencil.

All this to say, I personally would never find joy in scrawling out a grocery list with some fancy extra loops. But I don't know that artistic expression is being whittled away by a decline of cursive in schools. For me, the most joy I found in my writing was during a 2-week summer class about comics. Hand-lettering little speech bubbles gave me an excuse to be deliberate, to play with my letters and try writing them in different ways. Those two weeks changed my natural handwriting forever, and I love seeing my own personality in the letters. Hand-writing notes on a fresh-wrapped gift is a love language. Drawing out a title on a piece of art instead of choosing a digital font for it makes it feel like it's mine.

It's just never in cursive. And that's okay.

On one hand I understand not teaching cursive in school anymore, because it actually is slower than regular handwriting and almost everything is typed on a keyboard now anyways.

On the other hand, so much of our (even recent!) history was written in cursive, and having a whole generation of kids who can't read letters written by their grandparents, momentos saved by their great-grandparents, or even photo albums from theur immediate family seems like a dangerously quick way to detach us from previous generations.

And on the third, related but slightly malformed hand, I feel bad that yet another form of small, everyday art that brings joy in the middle of mundane tasks, which celebrates personality and individual style and self-expression, is about to fade into obscurity because it wasn't efficient enough for today's world to put up with.

Like... if we continue to whittle away the small arts out of every day life, what's going to be left except stark, ruthless pragmatism?

Maybe writing a grocery list is less mundane when you get to feel elegant for a moment. Maybe you're a little more proud of what you write when you see it flow together like a painting

[uclavapae]

Emmanuel Galvez Machuca | Teaching Artist of April 2019

Hometown: Mexico City

Major: Fine Arts and Minor in Arts Education  

Q: How did you discover your interest in the arts and how did you know that it was something that you wanted to pursue professionally, as an artist or as a teaching artist?

A:  I started skateboarding in middle school and came to understand that to learn how to do a trick, I had to keep trying. That if I fell on the ground, I had to get up and try again. Eventually, I was able to land a trick. And, if I continued to work, I could perfect my style. When I began to draw cartoons, I naturally fell back on the lessons learned while skateboarding. My first drawings were clumsy, but eventually, through sheer determination and work, I became rather good at drawing cartoons. So, I learned that working on a skill, despite a failure, could lead to expertise.

I used this same process in art making. When I first start an art project I may not be successful, but if I spend time working, it improves. And the more I work, the better it gets. Generating new concepts also comes after much soul searching and mining memories. From 2010 to 2015 I have been involved in creating a series of paintings on the concept of “Pan Dulce.” The concept came to me as I thought of the days when I lived in Mexico City as a child and I walked with my Mom to the bakery where I could smell the fresh aromas of bread and see a beautiful spread of pan dulce. Those memories touched me so personally that I decided to set up a still life of these breads. As a result of these works, I now have gallery representation and have had two solo shows. Searching through my past experiences solidified what I wanted to do: to connect more closely with my childhood memories.

My success pushes me to work harder and make better art. I plan to become the first person in my family to receive a college degree. My motivation and hunger for knowledge inspires me to explore who I am as an artist, a teacher, and a student. I remember my mother’s words, “Echale ganas, mijo!” which means to [work hard, son!]. Her words allow me to push forward, to keep going, to perfect my greatest talent: art.

Q: Describe what the student artists in your VAPAE Afterschool or Arts Enrichment Program are working on and the process they’re using.

A:   Before I transferred to UCLA, I was working with two nonprofits. One of them was Heart of Los Angeles (HOLA), a nonprofit organization dedicated to K-12 underrepresented students interested in sports, music, and the arts. As the artist in residence at HOLA, I assisted in teaching art classes from teaching drawing, mix-medium and mentoring individual students. In 2010, Dan McCleary started Art Division, a nonprofit organization dedicated to training and supporting underserved artistically inclined youth in the Rampart district where I have been an active participant since its inception. HOLA and Art Division have given me the tools and practice to give back to the community.

Because of my experience working with these nonprofits, I was offered the opportunity to work with one of the VAPAE Afterschool programs where I worked with another nonprofit. Latino Producers Action Network (LPAN) is a program that provides art workshops by Fabian Debora that brings youth from various communities together with their parents to collaborate in art projects. It was my pleasure working with the East Los Angeles community. In this VAPAE Program, I worked as a teaching artist assistant with Fabian Debora and I was able to learn several skills how to work with this is specific community intergenerational families. While in my participation at the program, I had the chance to assist every person and see them grow in their process and skills. I was really impressed with the mothers and daughters and how well they work with each other. I thought that the daughters would end up helping the mothers more but both of them created an equal balance.

Q: Why is an enrichment opportunity like this important for those participating? What do they gain?

A:  If I had not had Heart of Los Angeles (HOLA) program when I was younger and Art Division as a young adult, I probably would not have followed my dream as an artist. Today, as a result of these opportunities, I have confidence in my art skills and in my capacity as a student of the arts.

Since I participated similar programs, I understand the value and the impact that it can provide to a student's lives. I think students can gain so much knowledge, critical thinking, and work collaboratively. Understanding these basic elements can help students discover the different possibilities of creating art pieces. Therefore, applying similar process outside of the arts into different environment allows students to navigate their own personal experiences. At a very personal level, art has always been there for me. The role of art can definitely play a huge role in students’ lives.

Q: Did you have an opportunity like this when you were a younger artist? If yes, how did it help shape your love of art? If no, in what ways could a program like this have helped you?

A: In middle school, I found my voice by drawing cartoons. I would often lose myself in my drawings, especially during English classes. “You’re going to be good, but without reading and writing you’re never going to be successful,” my English teacher would say. I knew I should have listened, but I chose not to. Instead, I continued with the pattern of doodling and daydreaming and kept wishing of one day being an artist. The possibility of becoming an artist became more real when at 14 years old I found Heart of Los Angeles (HOLA). HOLA had tutors, classes, and other support systems to help usher us to college. Through college prep programming I discovered the possibility of the arts as a potential career with social benefits.   

Q: What do you personally gain as a teaching artist, arts facilitator?

A:  Even though I already have some experience teaching, I don't have words to describe the amount of knowledge that I gained from completing the Arts Education Teaching Sequence in VAPAE. It has reinforced my teaching philosophy and enriched my practice as artist. Personally, I have gained more structure of how to create lesson plans. And also I had the opportunity to work with a public school. When I came to this country I went to public school. Having this opportunity to teach at a public school, it was very rich experience. Many of the students whom I taught were their first time having art lessons. Another reason why I want to continue to teaching because I understand that not every community has access to the arts. Therefore, I do see myself working with marginalized communities. The VAPAE minor would reinforce my practice as an educator and artist. I hope my discipline in the arts and my educational pursuits serve as a model and that we can all continue to make our community a better place.

Q: What are the benefits to you as a student/graduate in the UCLA VAPAE program? Was this program a good choice for you? If so, why?

A: Even though I already have some experience teaching, I don't have words to describe the amount of knowledge that I gained from working with Fabian Debora through the VAPAE Program. I know for sure that everything that I learned will be reinforced and enrich my practice as both an educator and artist. When I started teaching I never took a formal class about art education. Through my previous history of volunteering for the arts as a teacher assistant, I was able to learn a lot of knowledge from both the classroom and the teacher. When I was offered a position of teaching art, of course, I said yes. Even though I did not have the proper training I still wanted to do it. It was not easy from the beginning. The more I communicated with other teachers and also with my supervisor, I was able to understand and get little more training about art education.

Once I transferred to UCLA, I was interested in taking classes in art education, and also became interested in completing the Visual and Performing Arts Education program. When I came to this country, I was part of the after school program, HOLA. I learned a lot from their academic education, especially when taking their art classes. Art has its own language, and not having been able to speak English, the arts allowed me to express and share my ideas with my classmates without language interfering. From my personal experience I want to complete the VAPAE program because I do see myself teaching art to kids and adults while still being able to continue with practice in the studio.

Q: Are there any anecdotes from your time as a VAPAE Teaching Artist at an Afterschool or Arts Enrichment Programs that stand out to you? Perhaps you had a breakthrough with a student or saw some particularly noticeable growth in that student through this program, collaboration etc. Maybe something surprised you or made you think about art or teaching in a new way.

A: Since I already have some experience working with nonprofits, I was able to adopt Fabian's style of teaching. Basically, he would give me instructions of what would the class be working before the class would start. For the most part, a lot of his lessons are very straightforward. Having my own artistic practice definitely helps me to follow him with his approach of having a responsive style of teaching that feels really community-based instead of a student vs. teacher approach. Within the two classes that I have taken at UCLA through art education, the way we approach art is so different than Fabian’s style of teaching. It was really interesting to see both styles of teaching. But as a teaching assistant, I have to recognize that one is working with the community and the other one it focuses on the education system. And also with various philosophies of teaching. As educators, we have to recognize the circumstances of this community such as understanding and learning how we help these communities. During my sessions, I was just starting to understand the difference between these teaching styles working both with Fabian and the community.

Q: What are your short-term and long‐term career goals?

A: One of my short-term goal is completing the Visual and Performing Art Education program. I would love to continue teaching with VAPAE after school programs. Another long-term goal is getting ready to apply graduate school. My dream would to one day go back to Mexico City and teach arts in communities that do not have access to the arts.

[artofdigression]

I’m 23 years old.  The 2 years leading up to now have been a complete whirlwind, but somehow, in this time, an actual music career has begun.   I’m a composer, a producer, a singer, a songwriter, a visual artist - among many labels.

I sit in front of my piano.  I know how to play all of 2 pieces - Gnossiennes 1 & 2 by Erik Satie.  I learned them by ear 4 years ago while working the reception desk of an art gallery that had two baby grand pianos hidden underneath the stairs.  I would get bored when no one else was in the gallery and venture down.

In my studio, I have piles of introductory music books, minuets and ballads laying around - some given to me at a young age, some passed down by dead relatives who knew I had a ‘good ear’  - or were maybe too dead to give a shit about where their old sheet music went by the time I got my hands on it.

I decide, for what feels like the 100th time, that I will learn how to read music.  

I had my first piano lesson when I was 10 years old.  My piano teacher was nice - a young, lanky, 20-something music student who wore beanie hats and played electric guitar in a rock band.  I thought he was pretty much the coolest and wanted to be him.  Unfortunately, I don’t think he was particularly ‘stoked’ in the same capacity to work with me.  I had very little enthusiasm for any of the mind-numbingly boring rudimentary theory curriculum, the limited repertoire I had to choose from (away in a manger or… the other version of away in a manger) made me want to rip my hair out, and reading sheet music would send my mind into kaleidoscope-vision.

I would also have kaleidoscope-vision in school. I struggled with school.   I was a rambunctious little human.  My attention span was uncontrollable (unless we were reading or drawing, then I absolutely paid attention). Looking over old report cards, there was a lot of ‘needs to stay on task’  and ‘could use help with organization’  - anecdotal pieces of advice I heard so much, I think the meanings eventually became hollow to me (or maybe the meanings were just hollow to begin with).  

Getting me to sit still for 30 minutes was an excruciating feat for any adult in my life, so 2 hours? 3 hours? 6 hours? Good god, I wanted to climb the walls.  When the teacher would start talking, I would look past their gaze - into Lala Land as adults disdainfully called it.  (I still deeply hate calling it Lala Land, but, for continuity purposes, we’re going to reclaim the name in neon lights.)

Lala Land was great.  Real life?  Not so much.  In real life, from third grade until high school graduation, my teachers (with the exception of 3 gems) were blatantly judgemental of me.  They’d think nothing of admonishing me in front of my peers if I fidgeted or looked out a window.  

Because the amount of physical energy I had was not conducive to a classroom environment, I learned to dissociate from my body.  Because looking out a window meant I was not looking at a chalkboard, I learned to look past the chalkboard to find Lala Land, its neon letters burning behind my absent gaze. Past the letters, there would be a window. I could look out the window and its glass panes could evaporate and autumn’s leafy gusts of wind could sweep me away and I’d never have to worry about a messy desk or a missed assignment or classroom of judgemental eyes looking at me again.  The next day’s fantasy would be the same, but different.

Children’s imaginations are often playful and fantastical.  Take a kid with a traumatized brain, however - and imagination can give them a seemingly supernatural ability to create, in their mind, what they need for emotional survival.  That was me.

There were parts of my childhood that were truly blissful, gorgeous, hilarious and nurturing.  But I’d be denying you, dear reader, important context if I didn’t tell you that a significant part of my young formative years was steeped in grief, chaos and abandonment.  I assure you need not build castles in the air in understanding that I was a child with a traumatized brain.  And though I was surviving, trauma had created a faceless, nameless internal chaos for me that I didn’t truly even recognize until adulthood.  Trauma changes the way brains function. That’s a lot for a kid to be dealing with.

In piano lessons, my teacher would sit with me and we would go over the theory of a piece of sheet music - that was my brain’s cue to look past the kaleidoscope paper, nodding “yes, mhm, got it.” But then, when he’d clap the rhythm of the piece, my brain would engage and I’d clap the same rhythm back, no problem.  After that, he would play the piece for me as an example - this was where my brain would hyper-focus.  I would retain, retain, retain, and I would play the piece back, not reading a note, but looking past the page all the same. This wasn’t a ploy to dupe him. This was a system of which neither of us were consciously aware. I was just 10, and playing piano.

Outside of school, I was different.  I was encouraged to sing, I would go to my parents’ choir practices every week and sit in the pews of Saint Mary’s Church and listen to 30 voices reverberate through it.  I would shoot the shit with adults and carry around books about Roman mythology and Egyptian hieroglyphs and I would talk about how I wanted to travel the whole world and I would make 1-page comics and I would dress up my dog and I loved the ballet costumes from Stravinsky’s Firebird and… I digress.  

Outside of school, I was different. Music calmed my internal landscape enough for me to be myself.  No - actually, music calmed my immediate surroundings enough for me to make sense of my internal landscape… Actually, both.

On a borrowed piano, I would sit and endlessly ear out songs (Carmen, movie soundtracks I liked, songs my mom sang, etc).  I would walk into my Saturday lesson and proudly showcase the self-taught triumphs of Sunday through Friday for my teacher, only to be met with a brief pat on the back and the god-damn sheet music to 'away in a manger’ - which I still hated and still couldn’t read, but played anyway.  After 5 months, I eventually made it clear to all parties involved that I was done with piano, and my parents finally gave into my weekly protests.

When I was 7th grade, I started playing french horn in the school band and, for whatever reason, continued for 6 and a half years.  I still saw through a kaleidoscope when I got a piece of music, but there was one other french horn player in my class so I usually copied what she did - Unless we had different parts in which case I fumbled constantly through band practice until I finally figured out what I was playing.  Band, generally, had a negative impact on my relationship with music.  I think the only reason I stuck with it was because the feeling of playing music with such a large group of people triggered some kind of dopamine rush that my brain loved.  I would get ASMR - auto sensory meridian response - also known as “that fuzzy, warm, calm feeling in the centre of your brain” - some folks experience it and some folks don’t.

A lot of changes in my home life happened in that 6-and-a-half-year period.  After years of week-on, week-off pivots between my mother and father’s separate homes, my father permanently moved to Sweden when I was 13.  My mother became my primary parent while dealing with the loaded blows of bankruptcy and multiple reckonings around her own life challenges.  We moved into a home that had completely gutted walls and plywood floors (left unfinished by previous tenants with renovation goals too ambitious to finish).  The situation was chaotic.  So, so chaotic.  But, from that time up to now, my mother was (and continues to be) an incredible support to me.  She could see that I was struggling, and did everything in her power to advocate for me when I couldn’t advocate for myself.  I can only imagine the feeling of knowing something is not right with your child and being told by everyone around you that your child is fine.  Her support was integral.

When I was in 9th grade, she and my homeroom teacher (also a phenomenal support to me at the time) pulled some strings to have an initial psychological assessment performed on me - not technically “official” - as it was conducted by a student of psychology, I recall - nevertheless, it provided enough insight to validate that there was an underlying dissonance between what most of my teachers were saying about me (lazy, bad attitude, etc) and what was actually going on in my head, and that a formal assessment would be necessary to help me. My name was put on the waiting list for a psychologist that year.  But, the entire island had only 1 or 2 psychologists available (Totally appalling).  And so I waited... And waited... And waited...   And while I waited, I continued to find refuge in my visual art practice, as well as learning other instruments on my own terms.  

I refuse to say something cliche like “art  and music saved my life” because creativity isn’t a sustainable singular lifeline for anyone, and believing so feeds into the highly problematic mental health stigma as it pertains to those who create for a living...  But art and music did play key roles in tempering my inner storms.  Now, as a musician, I allow my craft to be a teacher, not a therapist.

When I was 16, I went to my first voice lesson.  I kept at it for a year, and… excelled? I totally excelled - personally and musically. This did wonders for my confidence (I attribute a lot of that to my voice teacher at the time, who had a really supportive and receptive approach to my weird energy levels and the idiosyncratic ways I learned). I did festivals, took a Royal Conservatory exam - and I was still excelling, which honestly shocked me at the time because I was so used to failing everything.  

Oh, also, I could still barely read the music.  Kaleidoscopic forever.  

Many classically trained musicians describe the experience of being overwhelmed when they get a new piece of music (especially if it has theory components they may not be familiar with or something) - totally normal. But then, they concentrate, deconstruct it from the page section-by-section and eventually learn to play it with neurotypical grace. Deconstructing written music on the page to understand what was happening became a little bit less nauseating as I was exposed to it more.  I WORKED at theory and understood parts of it, but only… theoretically.   Being able to transcribe that (limited) understanding into playing?  That never happened for me.  The page would remain kaleidoscopic until it felt like my brain was just going to short-circuit and cave in on itself.  It was weird, and trying to describe to anyone in band class (teachers and students alike) made me feel like I was on a different planet.  So, when the heat was on (whether that was in performance or in private lessons or “sight singing”) I kept relying on my ears and refined my ability to hold my own in band concerts, private voice lessons, choirs, musical theatre productions.  

Meanwhile, in high school, my academic life was still basically the worst.  I had adversarial relationships with nearly all of my teachers. I barely passed each year.  Emotionally, I also had a lot of anger seething below the surface of my consciousness.  I had internalized so much of what so many teachers had told me - that I was smart but lazy, that I had a bad attitude, that I was disruptive, distracted, manipulative etc.  - and having gone through some pretty drastic events that effectively destabilized my home life, this all had a profoundly negative impact on my self-worth.

One year later, I was 17, in 12th grade and school issues had not gotten any better (still muddling through - grades between 40% and 60%).   I had just given up at this point… Except now, instead of having the teachers before, who were mostly unhelpful, but at least straight-up about being judgemental of me based on my “laziness” diagnosis, I had a haul of teachers that were giving me these new weekly out-in-the-hall John Keating-wannabe-motivational speeches, telling me how much “potential I have” and how “I’m wasting it away” by “not trying” in class (every hollow pull-up-your-socks/nose-to-grindstone idiom in the book.  It was infuriating at the time).  I’m sure most of them just wanted to help.  But I needed someone to listen more than I needed someone to talk at me.  

A helpful thing that DID come out of 12th grade (4 years after my name had been put on the list… shoutout to our provincial government for still not caring about investing in public mental health) was that I finally got access to a provincial psychologist.  She came during the second semester of grade 12 and did extensive testing on me to find (surprise! but… not really) ADHD - which explained the colossal difficulties I was having in my academic life due to my chaotic brain not letting me get my shit together in the ways I was being told by neurotypical folks around me to get my shit together.

For those that aren’t informed about ADHD - it’s a form of neurodivergence that can manifest in too many ways to name here, but to fit an elephant in a minivan:  There’s that part of the brain that naturally helps you regulate your attention/concentration/sleep/energy levels/appetite/feelings/working memory/pretty much anything remotely involving executive functioning… That’s nice, right?  I wouldn’t know because apparently mine’s broken. There is also extensive research that directly links ADHD to childhood trauma, as well as biochemical imbalances in the brain.  

I could get all in-depth about ADHD science right here, but this is my story, not an essay,  and it would make for an even longer and more digressive tangent that would likely overshadow THE OTHER SIGNIFICANT THING the psychologist noted in my evaluation.

Amidst a bunch of my brain skills that were, statistically, above average for my age - like my working vocabulary and ability to retain auditory information - many of my visual processing skills - meaning, things like reading something and copying it down accurately or following written instructions without constantly needing to reference them - were shockingly below average for my age.  The tests showed that this was something my brain had immense difficulty doing.  

What’s an example of a visual processing issue in school? Well, I was always the last kid to finish copying text from the board (and I mean, like, multiple paragraphs behind my peers) before the teacher could move on to the next page.  

What’s an example of a visual processing issue in music?  Reading written notes and playing them on an instrument.  When I heard a piece of music, however, I could learn it very quickly.  

Knowing what was going on in my brain brought me a whole world of clarity and validation.  I knew that I was going to lead an unconventional life because of it (whatever “a conventional life” means these days).  I knew that most post-secondary education would be inaccessible to me as a result of my grades and probably be, at that point, more harmful than helpful.  

Knowing what was going on in my brain helped me to understand what I didn’t need anymore.  I didn’t need the validation of my teachers or my peers.  I didn’t need a number on any piece of paper to determine my competence or ‘work ethic.’  

Letting go of school was the best thing I’ve done for myself.

I graduated high school with nothing but a 64% average, and an ADHD diagnosis as my only tools in understanding how to get on a path to thriving as an adult human.  liberating. frustrating. terrifying - but not really. mostly liberating.

Then, my ADHD became manageable and my life got easy and I had no self-esteem issues ever again.  

… No.  That’s not how life works.  I’m 23 years old. I’ve been out of the school system for 6 years. I have deeply instilled productivity guilt (ie. I take on way more tasks than humanly possible to finish in ridiculously tight deadlines), I struggle with anxiety in thinking that friends and coworkers are saying negative things about my personality or quality of work behind my back (maybe my exes and high school math teachers are hanging out?? THE HORROR), my heart sinks into my stomach anytime any human watches me work over my shoulder (I’m a music producer, so if I’m working on songs with people, I become a blundering internal wreck when they understandably want to see what I’m editing). School did those things to me - which leads me into the accountability part of this long-winded ADHD realtalk.

I’d be withholding the truth from you if I didn’t say my teachers played key roles in aggravating my behavioural/emotional/learning difficulties by disputing them as personality flaws.  My frustration in learning would be met, at worst, with punishment and put-downs (I remember not having recess for nearly an entire week somewhere in the first half of 4th grade - which I think is a cruel thing to do to any child, let alone one with energy levels like mine).  I would be met, at best, with more hollow, invalidating advice - more ‘need to stay on task’ with a twist of ‘gotta give it yer all’ and ‘well, maybe if you actually tried…’

None of these messages sent to me were helpful.  I’m still working to unravel those knots.

This is not a dig at those teachers who saw me as the problem child (rather than seeing me as a kid who just needed support and a different work environment. There were about 3 teachers in 10 years who understood that, and did everything in their power to help.  They know who they are and I’m grateful for them.)  I understand how frustrating it is to be pushed to your limit - especially within the bounds of a job that requires you to keep your shit together in some capacity.  I understand that we that we all do our best with the tools we have at the time.  There are no hard feelings - But, I encourage self-reflection and future accountability for your impact on the way you treat any child in your life - because they are just that: a child.  Your impact can be profoundly helpful or harmful.  You will never know what a child is going through until they feel safe enough to tell you.  I didn’t feel safe with many adults - which is why most of my relationships with authority were adversarial ones.  I’m not offering a solution.  I’m just offering a glimpse into my experience.  That’s all this is.  Take it or leave it.

When a child is told again and again by the daily authoritative figures in their life that they have an attitude problem, that they are disruptive, lazy, manipulative, attention-seeking, a liar, a cheater (the list can go on but I won’t let it) - I guarantee you, the child will eventually believe it.  And I did.  I deeply internalized these labels to the point of identifying with them.  I’m still working hard as an adult to remind myself that while many of my teachers accused me of causing chaos in my learning environment, I was simply (and unknowingly) mirroring my own internal chaos.  The chaos I had created around me was a cry for help, not admonishment.  

To further the accountability segment of this experience I’m sharing with you, though I can’t offer a solution to “fix” the institution of public education (because institutions generally don’t function unless they’re flawed to begin with), I think a set of solutions may lie somewhere within trauma-informed and neurodivergence-informed teaching and the public school system being provided with the adequate resources to embrace neurodivergent students - to embrace traumatized students, not accommodate them.  I think a set of solutions may lie somewhere within mental health being taken seriously (with FUNDING, not lip service) by the Government of Prince Edward Island.   That’s all I’ll say for now.

I don’t think my experience is special - far from it.  In fact, I know that my experience is not, and never will be one-of-a-kind.  I started writing this when I sat in front of a piano and tried to do what my brain would never let me do.  I looked past the page and saw this part of my life staring back at me.  I’m not even a writer, but I felt like I had to write it down.   Looking back, I realize that I didn’t even begin to understand my own story until someone else told me theirs.

So - whether you’re a teacher or a student or both - if you’re struggling in the school system, this is dedicated to you.  If you have been turned away and invalidated by those supposed to help you, you need to know that the labels placed upon you only hold as much power over you as you allow.  Being pained by what you can’t control doesn’t make you weak, it makes you a survivor.  Surviving is hard. Surviving is so hard, but you will begin to heal.

I’m 23 years old.  I’m many things. I read music with my ears.  I’m mastering the art of looking past what’s in front of me.  

- Russell Louder

[queerasfolkmagic]

Introducing myself

Hello folks, 

Having been here a while, I thought it was about time to formally introduce myself to you guys. Plus I’ve spent most of the day drafting a letter of introduction to apply for an apprenticeship, so my thoughts on who I am in terms of magical practice and where I’ve come from feels a lot more organised than it has for years. 

So the basic stuff. I’m a queer cis man living in the UK, but I grew up working class in Georgia. I’ve got a brilliant boyfriend who is a dyed in the wool atheist & sceptic who nonetheless is extremely supportive of my practice. I work in the arts, and have been working professionally as a poet, performer and installation artist for the past 15 years or so. However, I’m taking some time off next year from both my company and my arts practice to focus on retraining as a psychotherapist. In its own way, this feels closely linked to my renewed interest in magic, but more on that later. 

So my journey into magic - When I was a freshman in high school, a way-cooler-than-me senior sat me down in a patch of grass near our school and asked me if I’d ever heard of Wicca. I’m not sure why she singled me out – I was a pretty nerdy and way into fantasy novels, but she was friends with my older brother. It was the first time I’d ever heard of Wicca, but she lent me a copy of Cunningham’s Wicca: A Guide For The Solitary Practitioner, patted my head, and sent me on my way. I read the book from cover to cover and shared it with my friends, and we formed (or at least formalised!) our first coven. 

The 90s was a pretty good time to be a teen witch. The Craft came out, and you could pick up Llewellyn books at Barnes and Noble (even if your heart was pounding the entire time you walked up to the register). It was good, even in the Bible Belt. There was a metaphysical shop in downtown Atlanta we’d all make the occasional pilgrimage to when we could convince an older sibling to drive us down, or later when we started getting our own licenses. We traded books and stayed up late. We burned candles in the woods – scrappy copses of undeveloped lands at the edges of our subdivisions, our public parks, our back yards. I started wearing a pentacle and drawing green men on my textbooks. It was the 90s and it was exciting. I read a lot of Cunningham and Caitlin and John Matthews. Later I found Starhawk, both her fiction and non fiction. 

However, I remember that even at the time I felt like I got more out of books like Brian Froud and Alan Lee’s Faeries or pretty much anything by Charles de Lint or Terri Windling, and the bits of folklore that got slipped into their stories. I felt more resonance with current writers grappling with and interpreting myth and folklore than I did with people writing about modern witchcraft. Partly, it was because I felt uneasy about some of the claims around unbroken lineage a lot of writers were making, rather than admitting and owning a reconstructionist approach. Also, the emphasis around fertility never felt like it fit for me. As a queer kid in a small southern town, the last thing I needed was another dogmatic approach to gender. When authors talked about the Wheel of the Year, it sounded like a beautiful myth but one that felt so removed from me. The Horned God felt like just another straight guy – unknowable and unrelatable, 

 I spent a lot of time walking through woods, and trying to be open to what they contained. Looing back, I think what resonated a lot more with me was a sense of animism – something that was discussed briefly in the books I read, but never given the same sense of importance as Deity worship. 

Then things fell apart. My dad committed suicide and my mom’s addictions started spiralling out of control. My own drug and alcohol use increased massively. I started spending a lot more time at raves than I did in nature. By the time I finished high school, my sense of connection with nature and interest in spirituality of any stripe pretty much disappeared. Occasionally it would resurface. I went to acting school, and the Goddess showed up in more than one visualisation exercise – which was both powerful and uncomfortable. After I got sober I discovered Quakerism and connected to a different kind of god – not quite the Christian one, not quite the Wiccan one – but someone who felt like a loving father and also mysterious and awesome. Still, nothing really stuck. I moved to the UK in 2004 and religion and spirituality is pretty much a no go here.  

So fast forward a couple of years – I promise I’m getting to the end! Two things happened. I took my partner back to the US to meet my family, and the newness of seeing my family through his eyes taught me a lot including the fact that my family is witchy AF. We talk openly about seeing ghosts, we talk with our dead and they speak to us in signs, we share stories about premonitions and intuition, and we create little altars all the time. I know it sounds stupid, but I’d genuinely never really thought about it before. It was just my family. I though magic came from wise women in the woods, not my Aunt Nancy in Chicago. For the first time, I thought about magic as being an inheritance, and as something that bonds me to family both living and dead. 

 The second incident happened while on holiday in Cornwall when for the first time in years I took a whole week off and sat by the sea. I didn’t do anything else. I turned off my phone and just sat in the sunshine, slept when I was tired, ate when I was hungry, watched the waves and the moon and the bees and just listened. And a message came through loud and clear (and terrifying in its clarity).  

And so with both those things in mind, I opened myself up. There were a lot of mistakes. The first witchy book I bought after 20 years was a beautiful book on natural healing – gorgeous pictures, but mostly recipes for homemade bath bombs and raw smoothies and nothing on spirituality. I bought some santo palo and realised I do not like the smell of santo palo. I bought way too many crystals and tarot packs, all of which looked beautiful and felt dead in my hands. I started a tumblr page and followed pretty much anyone who looked a bit witchy and got lost down some unfulfilling rabbit holes. 

 Then one day I pulled out a tiger’s eye my best friend had given me in high school and I felt something. Something profound – a tingle in my hand and up my arm, small but undeniable. I found a tarot pack that started giving me startlingly clear answers. – turns out it was a basic vanilla RWS pack I needed! I found some great witchy podcasts – New World Witchery, The Witch Wave, and Betwixt and Between – who were talking about things that made sense to me. 

The world of witchcraft has changed SO MUCH in the past twenty years I was away! Wicca is no longer the only flavour! No shade to Wiccans, but it feels so good to see other traditions be given more airtime. I’d never heard of Southern Conjure, hoodoo, and cunningfolk practices, and it has been so exciting to learn a bit about them. I’ve found Judika Illes and Byron Ballard. I’ve rediscovered Cunningham – not all of it is relevant to me, The Magical Household is one of the best books I’ve ever read. Most importantly, I’ve started thinking again about what bits of folklore and fairy tales feel ‘right’. So while The Green Witch and The Sorcerer’s Secrets are on my beside ‘to read’ book pile, so is The Book of English Magic, A Treasury of British Folklore, The Long Lost Friend, and A Deed Without a Name. So is Brewers Book of Phrase and Fable and Red Sky At Night and In The Pines and The Book of English Folk Tales and fairy tale collections from the Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Anderson.

So while I’m still finding my way,I’d like to be a modern-day cunning man. I’d like to use traditional and folkloric knowledge relating to my cultural and ancestral heritage (Irish, Welsh, Hungarian, Southern American, working class, queer) to help myself and the people around me deal with the challenges of being alive – finding security, dealing with grief, understanding their loved ones better. I’d like to be a repository for old ways and the creator of new ones. I’d like to be open and honest about my practices and my spiritual life. I’d like to be mostly kind and sometimes righteous when I need to be. I’d like to be on a first name basis with my ancestors and the land I live on. I’d like to spend time learning about little gods – house spirits, local faeries and land spirits, the birds who live in the local park, the spiders who make their homes in my garden – than building up big pantheons from other cultures. I’d like to celebrate the phases of the moon rather than the Wheel of the Year. I’d like to worship my mom and dad as the fierce, wonderful, loving, dangerous spirits they are. I’d like for casting a spell or talking to my ancestors to be as immediate an impulse as looking something up on Google. I’d like to be Sally Owen. Maybe Gilly Owen. One of the Owens, anyway. Definitely one of the Owens

[pbandjesse]

Today has been a steller day. Its raining outside and I just feel really cozy and good. And I get to go home tomorrow!! Im really happy.

I slept okay last night. I didnt want to get up. But James was up already and we both had to go to work. I went and got dressed. My hair was bad because of the humidity. But i still felt cute.

James left and I finished getting myself together. It was raining but only a little. I put on a rain coat and headed out. I went to mcdonalds and had breakfast. And got to work right on time.

I was mostly training today. I got to learn about game making and the group was really sweet. A Jewish school and the kids taught me some words in Hebrew. It was neat.

Half way through the class I got a phone call. I missed the call but he texted me right away. I called him back but he didn't pick up. So I texted him and then he called me again. And it was Marshall's manager from the actual teaching position. And he offered me the job. They got the funding. I'm so excited. It just like all feels like it's settled in side of me that everything is okay. Like this is what was supposed to happen. So I just got to be like wildly excited but very soft way if that makes sense. Like I don't feel jumping around the room excited. But I feel like yes this is what was going to happen.

I went back to the class and told to other girls I was teaching with and they were so excited for me. I emailed my manager there to let him know that my schedule will change again. And going forward I'm going to be working at the BMI Tuesday Wednesday and Thursday mornings. Feels nice to have and idea of where my schedule will be.

Today was also really good there because I got to see my embroideries in the shop for the first. And that was really cool to see. There are three of them there and I took some pictures of it so that James can put them on the Etsy Instagram. All of my coworkers are also really supportive about it.

The rest of the day there was good. I got to assist with the balloon powered car project. And then I got to lead one. I still have trouble getting the class to hear me in that big room. But all the kids were very sweet and we actually got more done in my class then we had in the one I shadowed. So that was nice.

Once the kids were gone I didn't really know what to do with myself. There wasn't really much supplies to be done. I had my salad. And then I cut some straws and then I left. So I actually had time to come home before my planned interview with the Walters today.

I got back here at like 2:15. And I made a hot dog. I was so overheated. So I fix my makeup and try to cool off. I'm really glad I ate. And then I walked over to the coffee shop.

I never been in the shop before because it looks really really fancy from the outside. But the prices are actually very reasonable and I think I'll definitely go back. They have lots of vegetarian food on their menu. I knew I was meeting with Annie but I didn't exactly remember if she was the blond woman I talked to you before. So I Googled her and I found her LinkedIn profile. Turns out yes she was exactly what I thought she was. And then she walked in the door not long after that.

I was straight up with her. I had got a job today. She bought me an iced tea. And we talked. We talked about art and my background. My passions. Things I love to do and the things I love to share with other people. We looked at some of my art. And I showed her the video of me firing the cannon. She asked me a million questions about working on historic ships. And honestly I would love working with her. But I'm just so busy. And now that I have this other job plus I've moved historic ships just to the weekend. She kind of was like let's just keep an open conversation about me possibly coming on at some point. And I felt good about that but then I asked what day of the week would be best for her. And she said Saturday or Sunday. And I said I can work with that. So right now if I do get an offer from them. Or a second more formal interview. I'm going to ask historic ships to add me scheduled Fridays and Saturdays. Including a Saturday overnight. And then I will work at the Walters a couple Sundays a month. I'm going to try my best to always have that one weekend a month off so that I don't die. Or just get burned out. But I really think it's important that I get into the Walters. And maybe at some point all transition more over to there. She said some really really nice things about my passion for programming. And she really thought that that was something I should do. That it's not as scary as I have built it up to be. And that She understands where I'm coming from with my insecurities about it. About being in charge. But she made me feel very confident.

I left an interview with really good feelings. I was so jazzed. And I came home and felt really really good. I talked to Dad for a while. And then I went and worked in my studio. I'm almost done my diorama for this week. I'm actually going to go down and paint a few more things that should be dry now. Cuz I really need to be done tonight. There isn't going to be a lot of time to do it tomorrow.

I vacuumed and hung out. James came to give me hugs and congratulations. He picked up his laundry in his bag. And he headed back home. And I've just been chilling since then. I took a shower and wash my hair. I've made sure that my bag was all the way packed. And it's really just been a really nice night.

I'm working historic ships tomorrow but it's a weird shift. I'm only working till 1. But I think that's fine. It actually works out really well for me because the new job wants me to come in to sign paperwork. He hasn't sent me an email yet to tell me when I'm supposed to come in. So I'm going to email him in the morning if I don't hear from him. He said around 2. But he also said somewhere between 2 and 4. So I'm not entirely sure which end of that Spectrum. But it'll be really good practice from getting downtown over there. And then around 6 me and James are heading to Philadelphia. Us. So that'll be good with me and not here alone for 4 days. I'm really excited for this whole weekend. I think it's going to be really nice. Even if James is very nervous about meeting my parents again.

I hope you all have a great night tonight. Sleep well. Stay dry out there. And have a nice day tomorrow