#cow mat formula

[laguera25]

An Open Letter to Richard Z. Kruspe on the Occasion of His 54th Birthday

When I was born, ten weeks prematurely and weighing a scant two-and-a-half pounds, the doctors told my parents not to bother naming me, as I would likely die very quickly, and even if I were to survive, I would likely be blind and helpless and profoundly retarded, unaware of, and unable to engage with, the world around me. Best to leave me be and let nature take its course. A few days of benign neglect, and it would all be over. If they were fortunate, there would be other, better children.

Fortunately for me, my parents gave the double-fingered salute to that bit of medical advice and took me home to do the best they could with very little money and no one to guide them through the strange and terrible country of life with a disabled child. I survived because my very country grandmother chucked out the baby formula that I wasn't digesting and fed me the cow's milk the doctors so solemnly swore would kill me.

There was so many milestones I missed, and of which my parents were deprived. I didn't sit up by myself until I was two. I never walked, never ran, though there are a few faded photos of me gamely pulling myself upright on chairs and the edges of coffee tables, trying to do what my brain said I ought, but my body too weak and miswired too obey. No play with other children, who were stronger and more rambunctious and would have bowled me over in all innocence. And as I grew older, no first dates or driving tests or prom dresses. No thought of an independent life.

What there was was endless rounds of physical and occupational therapy. Hours and hours on a brown vinyl mat, trying to lift my leg or raise my ass off the ground or make my hand write the words in my head. Hours and hours putting change into a slot or trying to tie shoelaces or forcing my hands into uncomfortable plastic splints for a chance at a fraction of more bodily control. While my school friends were out playing in the sun, I was inside beneath fluorescent lights, learning to button my shirt and comb my hair and brush my teeth. To hold a pencil. No time for joy, for peace, for figuring out who I was beyond this collection of aches and pains and deficiencies, just the endless tedium of learning to "be normal" and less of an imposition on the world around me.

And I did go to school. Despite the doctors' dire predictions, I was neither blind nor idiot. I was perfectly aware of the world around me, and smart. So much so that when I was nine, the school ordered an intelligence test. The score was so high that they thought it an error and made me take it again in front of witnesses. When the same score came back the second time, they wanted to move me two years ahead, but my mother, afraid it would both isolate me further and give me airs, refused. So, I stayed, face in the mat and hands in splints, learning advanced history and English, yet forced to put blocks into holes and put colored rings on a stick.

And so I lived this strange paradox for my entire childhood, the genius child that my mother crowed about to all her friends and anyone who would listen, and terrible burden who still had the coordination of a toddler, and who had ruined her dreams of ribbons and curls. When I was nine, she was convinced I could be made "normal"--or closer to it--any road, with a surgery. And so, the surgeons detached the muscles and ligaments in my legs from the bones and stretched them in an effort to relieve the spasticity. The surgeons were doing a kindness to relieve pain; by then, the muscles were so tight that when I was stood on my feet and held up, my feet rolled onto the instep and my knees pointed at each other. It was a measure of dignity.

To my mother, it was supposed to be a miracle, the cure that gave her the daughter she deserved.

I woke up screaming. The muscles and ligaments were unhappy with their new positions and weren't afraid to register their protest about this new state of affairs. They tried to administer morphine, but the levels needed to control the pain were dangerously high for a child, and so I was left to ride it out. I screamed and screamed and screamed. For thirteen hours.

My mother. who was so sure she had found her miracle, was taken into another room by an exhausted surgeon who had done the best he could, and told that at most, I might be able to walk across the room on a walker and take myself to the toilet. She screamed, too, then, at this man who had been on his feet for nine hours, trying to undo the mistakes of the hands that had formed me from the dust of the ground, and who would try to make me laugh every day when he came to check my progress. She called him a liar and a bastard and a son of a bitch, and family lore has it that she would have hit him had my father not intervened.

They tried to tell her. Kindly and patiently and incessantly, but she would not listen. God had told her I would be cured, and dammit, I would be. The day they cut my casts off and sent me home, they told her not to push me too hard, that my muscles needed time to adjust and build endurance. She said she understood, but when we got home, she ordered me to walk uphill to the house. I tried, I truly did, but it wasn't long before I hit muscle fatigue and started to cry. I want to stop, wanted my wheelchair.

And my mother, this woman who had once told the doctors who would have let me die to go fuck themselves, picked up a stick and started to beat me. "Be normal! Be normal!" Screaming and sobbing and flailing with this stick, and me screaming and begging and trying to stay upright. I don't know how long she would've kept going, but eventually, my stepfather appeared, wrested the stick away and threatened to beat her with it, and carried me into the house.

Here I must give my mother a sliver of credit even if I will carry the memory of that beating for the rest of my days. She was right, after a fashion. I did do more than walk across the room with a walker and take myself to the toilet. For a while, I even graduated to forearm crutches and quad canes, which might not sound like much, but when you were expected to do nothing, that's like climbing Everest in your underpants. My wheelchair gathered dust for years, but soon I had to choose between the demands of my education and the demands of my body. The latter simply lacked the energy to fuel both my mind and my muscles to the best of my their abilities, and since school was the only area of life in which I had ever excelled, there was no choice at all. Back into the chair I went. By the time I graduated high school, I could no longer use crutches, and by my third year at uni, even the walker was too much. These days, I cannot move myself without help, and arthritis has set in. I made my choice, and now I pay its price.

I tell you all of this to illustrate that whatever the fool doctors might have said as they clucked and tutted over my incubator, I was keenly aware of the world. Of everything I was missing while my mother insisted I just bootstrap myself out of my disability and be normal. Of her seething resentment of all that I was not. Of her wish that I was someone else.

There were two bands that got me through, kept me sane and kept me moving when all I wanted to do was just lie down and not get up. The first was Metallica, whom I discovered at thirteen, and who told me it was all right to be angry about my circumstances, to kick and scream and argue with God and call him a rotten bastard--as long as I kept living, kept getting up in the morning and trying to inch down the road. I didn't have to swallow my anger for fear of upsetting God and hurting my mother's chances of getting into heaven(my mother believes that I am a test she must pass in order to get into heaven; therefore, my suffering is irrelevant and should never be questioned, lest it anger Him. Don't ask; I don't get it.)

If Metallica was the band that gave me permission to be angry as long as I kept trying, it was Rammstein that told me it was okay to want more from life than an endless regimen of therapy and prayer and gratitude to a God that had, or so it seemed to me, sent me into the world with a ramshackle body and precious little armor or defense against the assholery of my fellow human beings and yet still expected me to praise His holy name allelu. To want joy and friends and human contact. To have a libido and ogle whatever flipped my switches. To, in short, be human, and more than just a symbol of all my mother's broken hopes.

I discovered the band through a book, believe it not. I found a copy of Tom Reynolds' <i>Touch Me, I'm Sick</i> in a Barnes and Noble I had gone into to browse and hide from a cataclysmic thunderstorm, and in it, he began to talk about a band called Rammstein and a song called "Heirate Mich." The more I read, the more gloriously improbable it all seemed, and the harder I laughed. By the time I got to the line, "As the music pounds like a collapsing factory...", there were tears streaming down my face, and I was having trouble breathing. The saleslady must've worried I was having a stroke.

And so it was that I found the key to everything that would come after. From the book to my creaking dial-up Internet(don't laugh, it was what I could afford as a broke-ass cripple on the government dole) to the CD shop, where I blew my food budget on Rammstein CDs and lived on Hamburger Helper for weeks. This is a terrible dietary choice, by the way, but at least I had Rammstein music in my ears all day, every day. A few weeks later, I put another dent in my food budget buying all the DVDs. Ah, the vigor and stupidity of youth. If I tried that foolery now, I'd be semiconscious on the floor in a day and a half. Back then, I had a more stalwart constitution.

I knew by the second song I heard that Rammstein was going to be special to me. My German, which consisted of a year of study in high school and a disastrous two years in college, was pretty poor, but thanks to snooping around Internet forums and squinting at grainy videos, I knew much of your catalogue dealt with taboo subjects. I didn't care. For all its dark subject matter, the music made me want to dance. It made me feel something other than apathy and a persistent wish for this whole mess to be over and my soul to be recycled into a body that didn't make me want to scream until I was too tired to do anything but sleep.

And I did dance. Constantly. Seldom in public because dancing in a wheelchair often looks like the Devil is trying to stick his finger up your ass, but often at home, just shimmying away until the chair developed some alarming creaks and the bolts needed adjustment. Rammstein made me happy. It made me curious. It made me want to see just how much was out there.

And, if I am honest, it made me want to see those silver MC Hammer pants for myself. The combination of those pants and the diaper rash cream in your hair was a striking look for you, if I may say so, though perhaps not so grand as the black spikes and the lion pants you wore with such swaggering panache on the Reise, Reise tour. Alas, this was not to be, as I suppose you had wearied of slathering ass cream for infants in your hair. I can't blame you, though I suppose it must've been a sad day, indeed, for the ointment companies. Still, those Hammer pants and their Reynolds Wrap, space-age splendor will always hold a special place in my heart.

Stymied in my hope to witness for myself the wonders of those Hammer pants--and those lion pants as well, as it turned out, oh, unhappy hour, long may they reign in the storage closet--I nonetheless wanted to see a Rammstein show. Not much chance of that, the morose American fans assured me. The band hadn't come here since they foolishly took the American commitment to freedom of expression at face value and Till and Flake landed in the Puritan pokey for playing Loose the Dachshund into the Badger Burrow in front of delighted fans. Besides, the band's management had scant interest in repeating that little experiment.

Even so, I held out hope. I hung out on message boards and kept me ear to the ground. You can imagine my delight when the MSG show was announced. I wasn't so foolish as to think I could attend, mind you; New York might as well have been the moon for someone who cannot safely fly, but it was fun to indulge in a bit of wistful what-if? What if I could find a way to get there that wouldn't give me a lethal clot? What if I could score tickets? What if I could afford a hotel in Manhattan where the rats and roaches wouldn't kill me in my sleep or carry me off to be devoured in the sewer system? These were all very big ifs for someone who lived in the boonies and was only supposed to spend money on medical expenses and basic bills. Besides, MSG was going to sell out before I could gimp my way to the phone.

Knowing all of this, I took to my blog to whine and moan and feel sorry for myself. It wasn't fair, I whinged to the ether. I had wanted to see Rammstein for so long, but it just wasn't possible. It was too expensive and too far and too haaaaard. And woe is me.

And then...

And then...

And then a bossy German lady dropped a punk alarm in my inbox.

I don't remember now how or why she came to my blog. Maybe she was drawn by an unconventional perspective on life and fandom and moving through the world, or maybe she just wanted to snortle at my friend and I's discussions of your sartorial splendor and the ridiculous dramas going on in the Rammstein fandom at the time. Either way, she'd been been watching my sulking and stropping for a few days, until she'd reached her limit and this woman, who had never said an unkind word to me in years, called me a coward. Just straight up said that I could either find my spine, stop pissing and moaning, and try my hardest to see Rammstein in New York, or I could keep being a coward and making excuses. But make my choice and stop sniveling because she was tired of hearing about it.

At first, I was stunned. Of all the things I had ever been called, a coward was not one of them. Then I was mad. How DARE she call me a coward when she had no idea how much pain I was in most of the time or how difficult it was to move around a world that had never been designed for me and been but grudgingly retrofitted by handymen who thought that grab bars fixed everything!

So I stewed and pouted for a few hours, but the longer I thought about it, the more I realized she was right. I hadn't tried very hard to research my options. I hadn't checked hotels or called the venue or gotten my finances in order. I had claimed Rammstein was so important and meaningful to me, but I hadn't shown it. I had assumed defeat before I'd even started the charge up the the hill and wallowed in self-pity. Sure, maybe I was right and I wouldn't be able to go, but I'd never know if I didn't square up and try.

Before I proceed, a word about the tried-and-true deutscher Fuss zum Arsch(not another aside in a letter full of them, I hear you cry as your eyes begin to glaze. I know, Mr. Kruspe, believe me, but if you speak to the world through your guitar strings, I speak through my keystrokes, and so I beg your patience. We're almost there.). If a German you have gotten to know puts their foot up your ass and calls you on your bullshit, they are not doing it to be a prick, and it's not done with the intent to create hard feelings or demolish your self-esteem. It's harsh, man, is it harsh when you're used to American doublespeak and soft-pedaling, but they're doing it because they see something in you and are trying to stop you from making a dumbass or a jackwagon of yourself. They're doing it because they want to keep being your friend.

So.

Punk alarm duly dropped and head dislodged from ass, I started making phone calls. To the banks do get my money in order. To bean counters to make sure I would have access to it. To Amtrak to discuss their booking options. I went to disability websites and forums to discuss precautions to take in case my health or my equipment gave out on the road. The best hospital for the broke-ass should I get mown down by a taxi while trying to cross the road. Emergency numbers and insurance forms and blah blah blah. A raft of bureaucracy and safeguards and double-checking, all for a concert I might not get tickets for.

But I did, because for once, my disability worked in my favor. MSG sold out in twenty-five minutes, but that venue, bless its heart, doesn't put disabled seating up for general sale. You have to call the disabled patron assistance line, and they don't release unsold disabled seats for general sale until three days before a show. So I called the magic line, and a very amiable fellow talked me through the process. Two weeks later, the tickets were in my mailbox.

I am not ashamed to tell you that when I opened the envelope and held the tickets in my hand, I screamed like a debutante that sat on an upturned spoon. It was really happening.

And yes, my German friend gave me a giant "I told you so!" But she was right, and she'd earned it. Besides, she was happy for me, too.

So I did it. I got on a train(where I soon learned that accessible or not, I couldn't use the toilet because the train swayed too much for me to keep my balance), and I went without eating, drinking, or urinating for twenty-two hours(I do not recommend this to anyone, by the by. It hurt, and it was dangerous)to get to New York. And when I got there, I stood in Penn Station and simply stared because I was somewhere I never thought I'd be. It was simultaneously everything I thought it would be and nothing like I'd expected.

There were still obstacles, of course. There always are when you have two hands and four wheels and see the world through asses and elbows. Clutching my luggage while my trusty and ever-present companion pushed me over the cracked sidewalk with one hand and dragged the rest of the luggage behind him. Finding out that the "accessible" hotel room was, in fact, not all that accessible and wrenching my knee every time I used the toilet. Being accosted by my first sidewalk screamer within ten minutes of being in the city. Meeting my first hustler.

Freezing my ass off outside the venue for four hours before the show and called not fan enough by other fans because I didn't do it for fourteen, because hey, if you were really a fan, you'd risk pneumonia to see the show, even if it would kill you. Being shunted and shuffled to four different doors by event staff because no one could agree on where the disabled fans were supposed to enter. Being let into the building to warm up by an MSG employee, only to be booted out by event staff three minutes later. Whee! Aren't the logistics of being disabled fun?

But Mr. Kruspe, it was all worth it. I've never felt an energy like that before. Whatever snitty elitism some of the fans might have been nursing outside, inside MSG, we were all fans, all people who had waited and wished for this for a very long time. The primal roar from the crowd when the band began to break through the wall raised the hairs on my nape, and you'd better believe that I joined them with all of my energy.

From the first note, I forgot my pain. It was still there, mind, waiting for me, black-toothed and patient as the grave, but I was beyond it, in a state of suspended euphoria. No pain, just joy. I watched everything as best I could despite my near-sightedmess and my rather distant seat. I soaked it all in--the music and the unapologetic bombast, and the pageantry of the fire. It was all so starkly, darkly beautiful, and according to my companion, who has all the sentimentality of pavement, when he looked over at me during "Ich Will", I was "radiant." He, who had known me for thirteen years by then, said he'd never seen me like that before, and that he would never forget it.

It was not without price. These things never are. There was another train journey and another twenty-two hours without access to a toilet, and by the time I got home, I was so strung out from lack of food, water, and sleep(because trufax, it is hard to sleep when your bladder is trying to pop out of your skin from the pressure)that I cried like a toddler on the drive home. And then I went home, peed forever, drank, ate, and collapsed for seventeen hours.

But it was worth it. It was so worth it that on the band's next go-round, I took a cross-country roadtrip to Vegas, during which I peed much more often, thank God, but I also fought ants and roaches in a hotel room in Texas and stayed in a room so gross I slept in my clothes and threw them out when I got home. But it, too, was worth it, just as it was worth it to get in the car and drive to Florida and Atlanta on the next tour after that.

I told you ALL of these things, Mr. Kruspe, to tell you this. I saw your interview in that documentary about depression in 2010. I heard you say you felt worthless unless you were creating.

I don't know what you're worth to anyone else, but to me, you are priceless, and always will be. Without you, there would be no Rammstein, and for me, there would have been no reason to try, to spread my wings and take a run at that hill. Without you, I might have given up, might have let my mother win, and maybe now, I'd be sitting in some care home, stewing in my own yellowing stink and getting a bath once a week and a monthly outing and rotting from the inside out. Without you, I might never have taken the chance, never pushed myself.

But you were, and are, and because of that, I did. Because of that, I saw New York, and moved, however briefly, among that anonymous throng. Because of that, I met the sidewalk doomsayer and the exasperated hustler. Because of that, I tried New York Pizza(and yes, I saw a rat, but he minded his business, and I minded mine). Because of you, I heard a Cajun patois in Louisiana and watched out the window of the car as the Texas plains unwound around us. Because of you, I saw the night sky on the outskirts of Vegas and was escorted back to the Strip after the show by two Native dudes who walked far out of their way and called me little sister. These are gifts I got from you because you were, and are, and they have sustained me ever since. They sustain me now that my world has been reduced to the four walls of my house as I ride out the pandemic in a country that believes people like me are an acceptable sacrifice.

I know this won't change things for you, won't quiet that awful voice in your head. Depression doesn't work like that, and even if it did, I am just a stranger you will never meet. But maybe it will give you something to hang on to, something to think about on the bad days. Christ knows you kept my head above the water when all I wanted to do was let it go under.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Kruspe. May it bring you joy and all that you need.

Guera

[hailqiqi]

Message Received and Misunderstood

Once a promising fighter pilot candidate with the best skin in the Garrison, Lance Serrano is now relegated to languishing in cargo training during the day and locking himself in the library at night, sacrificing his self-care for a pile of textbooks like the nerds he used to make fun of.

He doesn't even bother talking to the other late-night regulars -- the boy with the Rubik's Cube, the girl who chews her pens too loudly, or the Sadako-wannabe who's always the only other person in there at midnight.

Friends will only distract him, and he needs to study.

Rating: G

Chapter One: First Contact

4,622 words | Read on AO3

So here’s my contribution to the @planceminibang! Beta’d by the wonderful @sp4c3-0ddity and with art (Chapter 3!) from the fantastically-talented @artemisarya, here’s a little teenage sweetness that’s a bit different from my normal offerings.

Enjoy!

5TH JANUARY

 The rough calculations on the page had long since blurred together by the time his phone blinks for break time, and Lance slumps forward onto the table with a groan.

Twenty minutes. Another twenty minutes that he’s been at this stupid problem, and despite filling both sides of the page up with calculations, he’s still no closer to figuring out if a hafnium carbide vessel would survive the stress of a gravity assist off Saturn or not.

He lifts his head and glares at the paper. Two points were all that had stood between him and making fighter pilot; instead, he’s stuck in cargo training and desperately trying to pull up his grades at night because he needs an extra fifty to make it in off a retest. And despite the lack of sleep and him studying harder than he ever had in his life — even harder than he had for the entrance exams — it’s now half-way through the school year and he’s still staring down a failing grade.

All because of freaking materials science.

Maybe he should just give up. There’s no shame in being a cargo pilot, mijo, his mom had said. Cargo pilots make a steady wage — a good wage, enough to raise a family and have a lot left over. The job wasn’t as boring as it sounded, and there were still opportunities to leave the atmosphere (and while he’d been bottom of fighter, he was top of the cargo class so he’d definitely be given the space runs).

But cargo isn’t what he wants. Maybe he’s being immature, but he wants to swoop and soar and feel the world fall out from underneath him at mach speeds when he jiggles the stick. You can’t do a barrel roll in a cargo ship, even in space.

His phone flashes again and he leans back in his seat, hands over his eyes as he begins to recite the problem again.

“If the hafnium carbide heat shields are two inches thick and have a tensile strength of 14,000 psi at 2,000 degrees…”

It’s way too freaking late for this.

“And Saturn’s gravity is 10.44, and we’re travelling in a prograde direction during the assist and approach from…” This bit he can do. The miss distance, the outgoing velocity, the amount of fuel needed — he’d calculated it so many times now he can rattle the whole thing off by memory, but once he gets past the flight calculations he needs to check his notes to know what happens next. “And then…”

He glances at the paper, checks both sides, and groans again, one hand in his hair. “...And then some random amount of heat is generated and I guess the stupid shuttle explodes and everybody dies, ‘cause I’ll be a flying space cow if I know if it survives or not.”

A snort of laughter from behind makes him jump.

He whips around in his seat, heart in his throat because it’s eleven p.m., who the heck is in the library at this hour?, only to be met by a pair of laughing brown eyes half-hidden behind a curtain of equally brown hair.

Oh, yeah. Her. The only other person crazy enough to be in the library every night, even though he’s fairly sure she’s not studying for the resit since he doesn’t recognise her from any of his classes last year. In all the months they’ve shared a space they’ve barely exchanged a nod, but it looks like that’s about to change because she’s actually speaking to him.

“I’m sorry,” the girl is saying, mirth still flowing in her tone and not looking sorry in the slightest. “That was just really funny.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “I’m glad someone finds it funny.” He begins to turn away but then stops, desperation prodding him to use this opportunity. “You...wouldn’t happen to know the answer, would you?”

The girl looks surprised. “What’s the question? Whether or not the heat shields would survive the gravity assist?” Lance nods, and she blinks. “Well, yeah, of course they would.”

“Uh...Say what?”

“Yes, they’d survive. Zero material stress, actually,” she repeats steadily, her head tilted in confusion. 

“Oh… Thanks,” he manages, and she shrugs and turns back to her textbook.

Lance grabs his sheet of paper, fumbling it in his haste to turn it over and go over all the calculations again because she sounds so sure, like it’s an easy question when he’s been at it for almost a freaking hour now with no results.

What did he miss? He must have missed something. Something obvious? Where are his notes on Kepler’s laws?

With five minutes left on the study clock he gives in and turns back to the girl. The Library Sadako, he’d nicknamed her, since her hair is always covering her face and her pyjamas are as shapeless as a ghost’s robes. Plus she had a habit of appearing and disappearing from the library all but soundlessly. 

But right now she’s his last hope.

“So, uh… How do you prove it?”

She glances up at him, an irritated frown on her face at the interruption, and Lance realises there are bags under her eyes too. But her tone is neutral when she clarifies, “The material stress question?”

Lance nods, and she puts her pencil down and eyes him curiously. “You don’t need to prove it. Those are the specs for The Obol’s heat shields, and that flight path was the one for the return Saturn assist from the Kerberos mission last year. Remember?”

The ticking of the clock in the corner is suddenly much too loud, and all he can do is stare.

“You don’t need to prove it,” she repeats, exasperation creeping into her tone. “It’s already been proven. That’s one of the general knowledge questions.”

He spins back around, practically snarling in frustration as he digs through his papers to find the mock with the question on it.

When he finally finds it, it’s all he can do not to burn the damn thing. Stupid, stupid, stupid… She’s right, and there’s only two lines for an answer. Nowhere near enough space for the pages of vector diagrams and formulas covering his scrap paper.

And he’d wasted an hour on this. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

Maybe he should just go back to the farm. Veronica wouldn’t have been this dumb. Heck, Keith wouldn’t have been this dumb and the guy wasn’t exactly the brightest in the bunch. Still, Keith’s in fighter class while Lance is languishing in cargo, so if Keith’s stupid what does that make Lance?

Really stupid. Space-level stupid. The stupidest stupid to— 

The thud of books hitting the table next to him rips him from his thoughts, and he looks up in surprise to see the girl pulling out the chair next to him, a hesitant smile on her face.

“When I studied for the entrance tests, I always found it easier to focus at night when I had my brother with me, even if we didn’t talk,” she says, one hand on the back of her neck as she sits down. “So, uh, maybe some company will help?”

Without waiting for an answer, she arranges her books, flipping open a notebook and textbook with practiced ease and beginning work on what looks like a flight mechanics question. Lance watches her for a moment, unsure, then sighs and flips to the next question on the paper.

Maybe she’s right. He might as well give it a go, since his solo progress has been nothing to brag about.

It’s almost midnight, anyway.

 *****

10TH FEBRUARY

 As it turns out, Sadako’s name is Katie, and she’s studying for the same exam he is.

But not because she failed round one, like Lance. She’s two grades below him and looking to skip a year.

Lance can’t help but find it a little bit galling, especially when it’s 11 p.m. and she’s just finished walking him through a Critical Reasoning question for the third time like it’s nothing. The formulas — formulae — are all neatly laid out on the paper, but Lance still doesn’t get it.

“Why are you even here?!” he blurts out, his jaw aching from the frustration. Katie recoils, her mouth hanging open and hurt flashing across her face and — oh — he hadn’t meant for that to sound so harsh. 

Especially not when she’d put so much effort into helping him over the last month.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, taking the pencil from her hand gently and putting it down before running his hand through his hair. “It’s just...none of this seems even a little bit hard for you. Why are you bothering to stay up like this?”

It’s something he’s wondered for a while. Katie’s been the only other person in the library until closing almost every night since fall so he’d always assumed they were in similar places, but now they were actually studying together…

“Oh,” she says, the tension leaving her posture again. Apology accepted, Lance guesses, but her eyes linger on his material science textbook instead of him, and her fingers fiddle with the ends of her long hair as she speaks. “Um, well, mat-sci really isn’t that hard for me. My dad’s...uh, my dad works for the Garrison as an engineer, and he does a lot of R&D and he always talks about his work at home, so…”

Katie taps the book, looking distinctly uncomfortable for some reason. Lance raises an eyebrow. “So if you haven’t been studying this, what have you been studying all this time?”

“Flight manuals,” Katie replies, finally meeting his gaze again, and Lance is relieved to see a spark in her eyes again. “I’ve only flown the droids a few times, and some of the older planes in basic, but the practical is a big part of the class exams and since there’s no way I’m going to get any actual practice, if I at least memorise all the flight manuals and mechanics and everything then I should have a shot.”

“Memorise the flight manuals?!”

“Yeah!” Lance stares at her as she chatters on enthusiastically, seemingly oblivious to how absurd that suggestion is in the first place. “A strong foundation in the theory can never be a replacement for practical experience, but it can be the difference between a weak pass and a fail. Of course I’ve been brushing up on stuff like this as well”—she pats the textbook twice—“because the closer I get to a hundred percent on the other subjects, the less a poor practical score will matter. I’ve tried to code my own simulations too” —you’ve tried to what?!—“but obviously I can’t replicate the physical aspects of the hardware with my laptop. I mean, I’d try a set-up of books and stuff just to get the motions down but then my roommate would probably complain even m—”

Lance bursts out laughing, cutting her ramble off abruptly, and Katie narrows her eyes at him.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Laughter still threatens to bubble over, but he pushes it down as he explains, “Just...that’s a lot!” His gaze falls to the notes from their study session and the pile of books spread across the desk, and he suddenly realises how he can pay her back a little. “Hey, my prac scores were pretty high, so I can help you out with that stuff if you want?”

A warm, genuine smile spreads across Katie’s face as she looks at him, and Lance realises with a start it’s the first time he’s seen it. It transforms her, turning her from a tired teenager in pyjamas into something his exhausted brain vaguely recognises as the sun.

“Really?!” Her tone is way too vibrant for this hour of night, and her hair swings back and forth as she bobs in her seat. “That would be the best! Thank you!”

Lance beams.

 *****

20TH FEBRUARY

 Hunk is rambling nervously about his last sim class as students bustle through the hallways when Lance’s phone finally buzzes with a reply.

Mid-terms are in two weeks. Of course I’m coming tonight. Usual time?

He shoots off a thumbs-up and turns back to tune into Hunk’s chatter.

“—and then he broke the whole comms deck and Lance, what if he does that during our mid-terms? Keith already made Iverson angry — and I mean really angry —  and oh, if we get marked down on the pracs because of it then I’m really going to need to pull up my avionics and aero science scores if I want to stay in the top ten,” Hunk continues, breathless. “Oh man, I have no idea how I’m going to do that on top of all this other stuff we have to study! I don’t even want to leave the ground, why do I have to learn how to fly the stupid things?!”

Lance glances up from his phone, a smirk already on his lips. “Because you went to flight school, maybe?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me!” Hunk slumps back against the wall and groans. “Hands down the Biggest. Mistake. Of my life.”

Lance’s phone buzzes with a reply. He checks it quickly, excitement filling him when he sees the small thumbs up icon.

“Hey, if you’re worried about your exam scores, why don’t you study with us in the library sometimes?”

Hunk pauses, expression turning devious as he straightens up and turns to face him. “Us? You mean you and your study girlfriend?”

He waggles his eyebrows meaningfully, and Lance rolls his eyes, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“Katie. And you know she’s not my girlfriend. She’s good to study with, though, and she said you should come.”

“Hm.” Hunk’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, his smirk grows more irritating. “Okay, I’m in. It’s about time I met the elusive Katie, anyway.”

 *****

10TH MARCH

 The first time Lance sees Katie in daylight is at a diner near campus the week after mid-terms.

“Why don’t you just ask your brother, Pidge?” Hunk asks accusatorially, wielding a fry at the girl across the table rolling her eyes at them. “Can’t he like, just log in and tell me my scores? Given that he’s a famous astronaut and all.”

Katie — Pidge, he has to remember to call her Pidge now because she freaking deserves it after all the lies she told him in the library — grabs the fry from Hunk’s grasp and pops it into her mouth, chewing it deliberately slowly before swallowing and replying with a frown, “You know it doesn’t work like that. And stop calling me Pidge.”

“Aw, but Pidge is such a good nickname. Cute Pidgey-Widgey Pigeon.” Hunk pops another fry into his mouth as Pidge’s expression darkens. 

(For someone who spends most of his time worrying, he’s a heck of a lot braver facing certain death than Lance would be.)

“Oh my God, can’t you just drop it?”

“Nope,” he replies, smirk still firmly in place. “It’s your punishment for keeping secrets. Isn’t that right, Lance?”

Lance glances from Hunk to Pidge, then decides that self-preservation is for losers after all.

“Totally.” He quirks an eyebrow, inwardly delighting at how her eyes narrow as they focus on him. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who was all ‘oh, I’m just good at this because my dad’s an engineer’ and totally forgot to mention that he wrote the freaking textbook.”

“Ugh!” Katie slumps forward, all but slamming her forehead on the table. “Look, I’m sorry if I didn’t tell you guys, but people hear the name ‘Holt’ and get weird, okay?”

The last bit comes out as a mumble, and Lance feels a stab of sympathy. The weight of having successful siblings is something he understands well; he can only imagine the pressure of coming from an entire line of Garrison royalty.

Then again… “We’ve been friends for months, Katie,” he points out. “It just sucks that we had to find out because your famous astronaut brother appeared in the library and started calling you ‘Pidge’.”

Katie raises her head, lips pursed in annoyance. “So what, you guys are going to stop using my real name as my penance or something?”

“Exactly,” Hunk says decisively. “Like, I wouldn’t have cared if you’d told us — hey, Matt was pretty cool, and it’s so freaking amazing that your dad is like one of my engineering heroes — but finding it out like that sucked. You should’ve trusted us enough to tell us.” He pauses, then goes for the kill. “I thought we were friends.”

Her face falls, and Lance is vaguely aware that they might have overdone it.

 *****

25TH MARCH

 The post-Matt interrogation at the diner starts something. Soon, Pidge is joining them for lunch in the canteen every day, and then breakfast, and then before Lance has really processed it their duo has become a trio and it feels weird to think of a time when Pidge wasn’t in their group.

Moments like now, though, remind him.

“Why would he make a fool of himself?”

“Because that,” Hunk answers with a flourish, gesturing at Jenny’s retreating back, “was—”

And Lance suddenly realises that he doesn’t want Pidge to know about this.

He quickly slaps a hand over Hunk’s mouth, ignoring his muffled indignation to smile awkwardly at Pidge. “Y’know what? It doesn’t matter. You don’t need t— armmf!”

Less than two seconds later he’s struggling to breathe, strong muscles wrapped firmly around his head and torso and the pungent smell of Hunk’s armpit filling his nostrils.

“That,” Hunk continues, barely affected by Lance’s struggles for freedom, “was Jenny Shayburn.”

“Who’s Jenny Shayburn?” Pidge asks, and Lance can just imagine her expression: one eyebrow raised with that look that says why must you be like this? as she watches their tussle.

Or, well, Lance would like to call it a tussle. Hunk probably just sees it as an inconvenience.

“Oh, just the love of Lance’s life and his obsession for the last two years. No big deal.” 

Lance slumps against Hunk’s chest and groans. Both Pidge and Hunk latch onto gossip with the ferocity of his brother’s old terrier.

“Oh,” she says, her tone flat. “Weird.”

Lance pushes away from Hunk, who releases him without a fight, but he can’t find any relief in his reprieve. Pidge’s fingers grip her cup tightly as she sips, her gaze fixed on the students entering and leaving the canteen, and Lance feels an odd weight settle in his stomach.

What’s he supposed to say to that? A part of him wants to protest that he hasn’t thought about Jenny in ages, but it feels like... What’s that Shakespeare quote? The one about the lady protesting?

That.

Hunk glances between them, a calculating expression on his face as he takes in the tension at the table, then waves at Pidge to get her attention. “So,” he begins, tone sly, “is there anyone you like? Any special boy in our little Pigeon’s life?”

Lance rolls his eyes and tries to look as disinterested as possible, even though a part of him is on tenterhooks waiting for the answer. It’s not a topic they’ve ever broached in their hangouts. 

“Sorry, no,” Pidge answers quickly, but she’s avoiding their gaze and the lie is obvious, and Lance suddenly wonders who it is and if he could take him in a fight.

Though it’s not like he cares.

“Aw, c’mon, you can tell us,” Hunk cajoles, nudging Lance far too hard in the chest with his elbow. “Bet you loverboy Lance here can give you some tips for catching his eye.”

“Uh, yeah! Sure!” He runs a hand through his bangs, feigning a confidence he’s not feeling. “Advice. I can totally help ya out.”

He grins and shoots her some fingerguns, adding a wink for good measure. There. That was natural.

The deadpan expression on her face doesn’t change (maybe he’s lost his touch?).

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she replies at length, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “Look, it’s just a crush and he doesn’t like me back anyway. Can we change the topic now?”

For whatever reason, Hunk obliges, and the weird tension that had hung over the table dissipates fairly quickly as they move on to safer topics. The strange taste in Lance’s mouth lingers, though, and he’s not sure why.

 *****

3RD APRIL

 Everybody else in the diner is watching and chuckling and Pidge looks like she’s about to die, but really — she should know by now that they take that as encouragement.

“Haaapppy birthday dear Pigeon…” they bellow, Hunk adding an impressive vibrato on the low note. “Haaapppy birthday tooo—” Lance manages to take it up way-too-high there, grinning proudly when Pidge winces from behind her hands— “you!”

They finish with a poor attempt at harmonisation, bodies half-out of the booth with a flourish of jazz hands as the rest of the restaurant bursts into laughter, whoops and applause.

“Oh my God…” Pidge mutters, finally removing her hands from her face as the noise dies down. “Can I blow these stupid things out now?!”

Her tone is deadpan but her cheeks are a bright pink, but the sparkle in her eyes is what really gives her away. She’s pleased, she just thinks she’s too cool to show it.

(Or something. Sometimes Pidge really confuses him.)

After several unsuccessful attempts to blow them out, Pidge plucks the sparklers from her pile of pancakes and rapidly-melting ice cream and dunks them both in Lance’s water before he can stop her. Then she waves the dead sparklers in his direction with narrowed eyes and hisses, “I know the sparklers were your idea.”

“You wound me!!” Lance protests, his hand on his heart as he pretends to swoon. “You should know by now I only have your wellbeing at heart!”

“Nah, she’s not that dumb, buddy,” Hunk adds. Pidge snorts, turning into a full-blown laugh when Lance flops onto the table dramatically at Hunk’s betrayal, getting ice-cream in his hair in the process.

They dig into their pancakes with gusto, discussing their plans for when spring break starts the next day (Lance and Pidge are both heading home — Lance to Cuba to help with the calving and ploughing, Pidge to her family’s house just outside post — while Hunk is staying on at school for the fortnight) and debating the perfect topping combination and whether or not they’d be able to eat them when they finally made their way into space. It’s the most carefree meal Lance has had in a while — the perfect end to a busy term — and it’s enough to make him forget about the gift bag on the seat next to him.

But eventually the plates are cleared and the butterflies come back full-force when Hunk drops his gift on the table with a thud.

“Seriously?!” Pidge exclaims, beaming as she looks between them. “Guys, you didn’t need to!”

“Hey, this one’s just from me! Open it.” He pushes the box towards Pidge, winking surreptitiously at Lance as he adds, “Lance has his own present for you.”

Pidge tears into Hunk’s gift with gusto, her eyes lighting up as she removes what looks like a very small version of the throttle used in the fighter sims. Hunk starts rattling off its specs — he’d picked up an old one and basically reengineered the part with help from his whiz-kid pilot — and Pidge launches into a series of questions, almost all of which fly way over Lance’s head.

He tunes out of the conversation somewhere around the point where they start making plans for Hunk to visit her over the break to help install it, instead choosing to sit back and watch his friends interact. The hair in Katie’s ponytail is swinging all over the place as she does that excited bobbing thing she does, and he can’t help but think that it’s ridiculously cute.

A well-placed elbow rips Lance from his thoughts and he hurriedly grabs the bag and shoves it across the table, almost tipping it over in the process and wincing at how uncool he must look.

He quickly flashes a pose and follows it up with a wink and fingerguns (fingerguns can save any situation. Fact). “Mine’s the best, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Pidge drawls with a smile, but her brow furrows as she accepts the bag and looks inside. “Uh, did you forget your umbrella in here…?”

“Oh! No, no, that’s for you.” Hunk’s shoulders are shaking with laughter beside him, and Lance can feel his cheeks heating up. “Just like, you seem like a practical girl, and an umbrella’s a practical gift!”

The fingerguns come out again, and Pidge rolls her eyes with a laugh as she places the green-and-blue umbrella to the side (really he’d just picked it up so he wasn’t just giving her the other thing, but she didn’t need to know that). “Okay…”

The butterflies return in full force as she opens the bag again and pulls out the slim box, her expression shifting to one of surprise as she recognises it.

“Go on. Open it,” he says, answering the question in her eyes, and he can’t help his lips from pulling up into a smile when she does so and gasps.

“Lance…” She looks from him to the necklace in the box, eyes wide and lips parted, then shakes her head. “Lance, I can’t accept this! It must have cost you a fortune.”

But the way she’s looking at it — at him — lets him know that she really wants to, and that’s enough for the butterflies to finally settle into something warm and soft instead.

“Nah, it wasn’t that much.” Only his whole allowance for the month, but she didn’t need to know that, either. “I just saw it and thought it would suit you. And you only turn sixteen once, right?”

She flashes him a smile and looks back at the necklace, eyes soft as her fingertip traces over the intricate gold and green pendant. He’s telling the truth about thinking it would suit her — he saw it on a trip to the mall and immediately wanted to get it for Pidge, and that was before he’d known her birthday was coming up. 

Hunk is nudging him with his elbow, making weird noises that Lance knows translate to ‘See? See? I told you she’d like it’ and Lance feels an urge to laugh because he’d been so stupidly nervous about giving her his gift — even though it’s just a necklace! It’s not like it’s a ring or anything else with some weird hidden meaning.

“Could you help me put it on?”

He stares at Pidge, startled by the shy question. Her cheeks are a bright pink but she’s not looking away and he nods dumbly, rooted to the spot until Hunk all but shoves him out of the booth and towards Pidge’s side.

“I, uh… Sure.”

His fingers barely tremble as he removes the necklace from the proffered box, and then Pidge is leaning forward and flipping her ponytail out of the way and before he really knows what’s going on he’s fastened the clasp and is drawing away from the pale, freckled skin of her neck and back to his side of the booth (which suddenly feels so, so far away), fingertips burning as he takes his seat again.

“Thanks.” Pidge beams at him as she fiddles with the pendant displayed on her chest.

Lance nods dumbly, heart pounding. Her skin was so soft. Are all girls that soft?

He glances from Pidge’s smile to the pendant, finally breaking into a genuine smile himself as one thought crosses his mind. 

He was right. It does suit her.

[sarah-li1]

The difference between PU leather and faux leather

PU is polyurethane, and PU leather is the leather of the polyurethane component. The difference between PU leather and faux leather:

 1. Different production methods

(1) PU leather: also known as two-layer cowhide, also known as "faux leather with cowhide fiber", it is not the leather of cows, but the leftovers of cowhide are broken and then added with polyethylene material to re-fit, and then It is made by spraying chemical materials on the surface or covering it with PVC and PU films.

(2) faux leather: It is made by foaming or laminating of PVC and PU of various formulas on a textile cloth base or non-woven fabric base.

2. the characteristics are different

(1) PU leather: The folding fastness is comparable to that of natural leather. Bending at room temperature up to 200,000 times without cracks; bending at low temperature (-20°C) for 30,000 times without cracks (good temperature resistance and mechanical properties); moderate elongation (good leather feel); high tear strength and peel strength (resistant to High abrasion resistance, tearing force and tensile strength); excellent environmental protection performance.

(2) faux leather: It has the characteristics of a wide variety of colors, good waterproof performance, neat edges, high utilization rate and cheaper price than genuine leather.

 3. different applications

(1) PU leather: mainly used in the manufacture of luggage, clothing, shoes, vehicles, car cushions, car floor mats, furniture, sofas, leather back beds, etc.

(2) faux leather: a kind of material that has been very popular in the early days, and is widely used to make various leather products.

 The POTENT massage chair is made of high-quality PU leather, which is more environmentally friendly and healthy. For details, please consult:http://potentmassage.com/

[potent-massage-blog]

PU leather VS faux leather

PU is polyurethane, and PU leather is the leather of the polyurethane component. The difference between PU leather and faux leather:

 1. Different production methods

(1) PU leather: also known as two-layer cowhide, also known as "faux leather with cowhide fiber", it is not the leather of cows, but the leftovers of cowhide are broken and then added with polyethylene material to re-fit, and then It is made by spraying chemical materials on the surface or covering it with PVC and PU films.

(2) faux leather: It is made by foaming or laminating of PVC and PU of various formulas on a textile cloth base or non-woven fabric base.

 2. the characteristics are different

(1) PU leather: The folding fastness is comparable to that of natural leather. Bending at room temperature up to 200,000 times without cracks; bending at low temperature (-20°C) for 30,000 times without cracks (good temperature resistance and mechanical properties); moderate elongation (good leather feel); high tear strength and peel strength (resistant to High abrasion resistance, tearing force and tensile strength); excellent environmental protection performance.

(2) faux leather: It has the characteristics of a wide variety of colors, good waterproof performance, neat edges, high utilization rate and cheaper price than genuine leather.

 3. different applications

(1) PU leather: mainly used in the manufacture of luggage, clothing, shoes, vehicles, car cushions, car floor mats, furniture, sofas, leather back beds, etc.

(2) faux leather: a kind of material that has been very popular in the early days, and is widely used to make various leather products.

 The POTENT massage chair is made of high-quality PU leather, which is more environmentally friendly and healthy. For details, please consult:http://potentmassage.com/

[catsfoodz-blog]

What Should We Feed For Cats??

Feeding Associate Degree Adult Cat

As your cat reaches maturity at regarding twelve months, it’s time to settle into an everyday feeding routine.

The Diet Of Associate Degree Adult Cat

For a healthy pet, your cat’s diet has to embody the proper balance of the six major nutrient groups; proteins, fats and oils, minerals, vitamins, carbohydrates and water.

Any smart quality factory-made pet food ought to give your cat with this basic biological process balance. several also are designed to additional accurately suit your cat’s specific desires. for instance, if your cat is comparatively inactive and inside, you may contemplate feeding her a special ‘light’ formula to avoid weight gain.

Unless your cat’s circumstances amendment dramatically, you'll still follow a similar adult feeding routine till your cat reaches seniority.

What To Feed?

You can feed your cat wet or dry food, or a mix of each, counting on their preference. for instance, some cats prefer to be fed wet food within the morning however snack on dry food throughout the day.

If you select a dry food, expect your cat to chew it additional actively, eat it over a extended amount of your time and drink additional water. Dry food stays contemporary all day therefore leave it out for your cat to snack on. not like dogs, cats like better to crunch on their dry food and usually notice it less enticing once soaked.

Alternatively, if you feed your cat wet food, expect them to eat additional in one sitting and drink less. do not leave wet food out for extended than twenty four hours.

Serve all food at temperature to confirm your cat will style and smell it properly. you will ought to heat up any food hold on within the refrigerator for up to 2 hours. It’s potential to microwave foods for a brief time however use caution of hot spots. Generally, avoid serving food that's too hot or too cold.

Fresh Water – Not Milk

Fresh, clean drinkable should be offered for your cat during a giant metal or ceramic bowl. This helps to stay the kidneys healthy and cut back the danger of any tract infections.

Contrary to common belief, cow’s milk really isn’t smart for cats as most cats lose the flexibility to digest disaccharide shortly once exchange. make certain you simply feed specially developed 'cat milk’. Treat milk as a food and cut back the number of solid food you feed your cat consequently.

Meat-Eaters

Unlike dogs, which may live quite with happiness on a balanced eater diet, cats can go blind, suffer alternative enervating conditions and ultimately die if fed solely a eater diet. Cats square measure obligate carnivores – feeding meat is critical for survival!

Treats And Snacks

Despite the temptation to feed your cat scraps from the dining table, human foods square measure high in calories and lack several essential nutrients. Doing therefore risks feeding or disconcerting the balance of your pet’s diet.

Generally speaking, factory-made treats square measure a so much healthier different. fastidiously developed to style nice and complement main meals while not disconcerting the biological process balance, several even embody biological process ‘extras’ like improved attention. Remember, once you do treat, continuously cut back your cat’s main meal by a similar hot quantity.

How Much?

Follow the feeding orientate the rear of the pack, however bear in mind the guide is simply there to provide you a thought. each cat is a private and therefore the most significant issue is to stay your cat lean and healthy.

When And the Way To Feed

If cats had their method, you'd be feeding them 13-16 tiny meals daily, every one providing regarding a similar quantity of calories as a mouse!

Of course, this is often} can be a shade inconvenient. Cats square measure primarily creatures of habit, it’s best to stay to a feeding schedule – feed your cat at a similar place at a similar time a day.

Choose a fairly quiet space, off from the hustle and bustle of standard of living. it is usually an honest plan to go after a surface that's simply cleansed, sort of a covered floor or a mat. Place feeding bowls off from the litter receptacle and, if you've got 2 cats, keep the bowls an affordable distance apart to avoid confrontations or bullying.

Changing Diet

Cats have a awfully completely different digestion to ours, which may be simply upset once you amendment their food in any method.

Make the transition bit by bit, slowly increasing the number of the new food over a amount of a minimum of seven to 10 days, therefore your pet will modify. Don’t worry if your cat has associate degree upset tummy at the start as this can be traditional.

Overweight Cats

Adult cats have a natural tendency to place on weight. Overweight cats square measure additional doubtless to develop polygenic disease, heart and metabolic process issues, bladder stones and inflammatory disease.

[tniruban]

Organic Living Videos

Updates List of “Organic Living” Videos 1. சந்தனம் செம சூப்பர் | Sandalwood is very Healthy | Organic Living https://youtu.be/xEw4hpK5Fy0 2. கேடு தரும் வாசனை திரவியம் | Usage of Scent is dangerous | Organic Living https://youtu.be/Y2SZc0f2yZ0 3. பருத்தி ஆடையின் சிறப்பு | Benefits of Cotton Dress | Organic Living https://youtu.be/PGeJ07ZtbLc 4. வீட்டிலேயே ஆரோக்கியமான பற்பொடி இருக்குங்க | Healthy Tooth Paste in Home | Organic Living https://youtu.be/Ek63GA_3GWo 5. மூன்று வேலை சாப்பிடுவது அவசியமா | Is Three times Eating Neccessary|Organic Living https://youtu.be/kWM-7iTmbT8 6. நோய் வர இது தான் காரணம் | This Cause Disease | Organic Living https://youtu.be/DivMLnYJeUg 7. கருவறை முதல் வகுப்பறை | Mother's womb is the first School | Organic Living https://youtu.be/bEjpbuXe62o 8. இசை தெரபி | Music Therapy | Organic Living https://youtu.be/LVmcwjPsGic 9. ஆயில் புல்லிங் | Oil Pulling | Health Benefits of Oil Pulling | Organic Living https://youtu.be/KcPF8ucCg1s 10. நான் யார் | Who am I | Organic Living https://youtu.be/E4oFAvNgsyc 11. School of Enlightened | Paguth Chandruji | Organic Living https://youtu.be/NgTdBjQtZYU 12. புகை உயிரின் பகை | Pugai Uyirin Pagai | Smoking Kills | Organic Living https://youtu.be/944vsrDN0Ak 13. Simple way to see ration card details in online | ரேஷன் கார்ட் ஆன்லைனில் | Organic Living https://youtu.be/iZvdNMCJJbg 14. கோபம் என்னும் கொள்ளையன் | Anger is our enemy | Organic Living https://youtu.be/qy8hZUawoYc 15. சீரகம் உடல் எடையை சீராக்கும் | Weight Loss by cumin | Organic Living https://youtu.be/JT8nIjLSsZ4 16. முடிக்கொட்டுதளுக்கு நிரந்தர தீர்வு வீட்டுலயே இருக்கு | Home remedy for Hair Lose| Organic Living https://youtu.be/IoSOToECJJA 17. சளி சமந்தப்பட்டவை தீர | Home Remedy for Cold Cough| Organic Living https://youtu.be/B95S6iZdKUM 18. விக்கலுக்கும் கொட்டாவிக்கும் உடனடி ஆறுதல் | Instant remedy for Hiccups and Yawning | Organic Living https://youtu.be/cW4fkxGgrTU 19. வாயால் வரும் நோய் | Eating habit will decide the disease | Organic Living https://youtu.be/p3KOfV5eGpg 20. இடது கை அறிவியல் | பீச்சாங்கை அறிவியல் | Left handers are intelligence | Organic Living https://youtu.be/NprjfDKjGuE 21. துர்நாற்றம் நீங்கனுமா | Do you want to get rid of Bad Smell | Organic Living https://youtu.be/Wdj4YYjlYwg 22. 40 வகை கீரைகளும் அதன் பயன்களும் | 40 Kinds of Greens and its benefits | Organic Living https://youtu.be/YUvKkaApM3Y 23. வாசலால் வீடு செழிக்கும் | Threshold keeps House Energetic | Organic Living https://youtu.be/ICQsZrwepiM 24. கோடை காய்ச்சலை தடுக்கும் மூன்று வழிகள் | How to Prevent summer fever in three steps | Organic Living https://youtu.be/CWi2OhkvcRQ 25. உறவுகளை இழந்த மனிதன் | No Relatives No Life | Organic Living https://youtu.be/NK-1Rv0NHbc 26. சந்தோஷமா வாழ இத கடைபிடிங்க | Follow this to live life happily | Organic Living https://youtu.be/mYuKWRq61qI 27. அடுத்தது என்ன நடக்கும் | What Next | Organic Living https://youtu.be/ZWOOEdicX-8 28. தொல்லையாக மாறும் தொலைக்காட்சி | Stop Watching Television Make life Healthy | Organic Living https://youtu.be/bGYPeF9muRo 29. தியானத்தின் அடிப்படை | How to meditate for beginners | organic Living https://youtu.be/aoXXL1Kev_E 30. எது சிறந்த தருணங்கள் | which is the best moments | Organic Living https://youtu.be/GI2BK6uBzGk 31. மிதிவண்டி ஒண்ணு வாங்கணும் | Bicycle is a secret of fitness | Organic Living https://youtu.be/TMK9I9nbrgU 32. உங்களால் முடியும் தியானத்தின் சிறப்பை உணர | Importance of Meditation | Organic Living https://youtu.be/ZDEC_Ew1T24 33. இப்படியும் பிரச்சனையை தீர்க்கலாம் வாங்க | New Method to solve Problem | Organic Living https://youtu.be/8zHctdcUc90 34. மதுபானத்திற்கு ஆப்பு வைத்த Supreme Court | No Tasmac | Organic Living https://youtu.be/Hgp7EKICpDE 35. வெற்றியின் ரகசியம் | Success Formula | Its time to change | Organic Living https://youtu.be/6UxHlN6diUw 36. எதற்கு எப்படி இலவச சந்தாதாரர் ஆகவேண்டும்| How and Why to Subscribe Youtube Channel | Organic Living https://youtu.be/gmd4LKPOQ8k 37. பதில் தேவை | மூளைக்கு வேலை | Relaxation time | Solve the Puzzle | Organic Living https://youtu.be/blGYFe6K3ew 38. தியானம் தீய எண்ணங்களை அழிக்கும் | How Meditation delete negative thoughts| Organic Living https://youtu.be/TwQZSApIXUs 39. தியானம் விழித்துக்கொண்டே செய்வது எப்படி | How to Meditate by Opened Eye | Self Commanding | Organic Living https://youtu.be/9JMeSJDEN_0 40. கைபேசியால் கவலைக்கிடமான மனிதன் | What are the effects of Mobile radiation | organic Living https://youtu.be/kcwpJigO0HU 41. மறதி ஒரு மருந்து | Forgetfulness is a medicine | Organic Living https://youtu.be/HrLqF8PSAFA 42. அற்புதமான ஒருவன் உங்களுக்குள் | Wonderful Inner Journey | Find yourself | Organic Living https://youtu.be/VGpu-M2T_zs 43. மன பிரச்னையை எப்படி குறைப்பது | How to Dilute your Problem | Organic Living https://youtu.be/LK4UBCw-Lc8 44. தினமும் மழை மூன்று முறை பெய்ய இத பாருங்க | How to bring rain three times a day | Organic Living https://youtu.be/t5vr7-4M9vI 45. Namakkal Grand Book Festival | First time Live video from Organic Living https://youtu.be/LOH4yghG-MQ 46. அற்புதம் தரும் திருநீர் | Wonderful Thiruneer | Organic Living https://youtu.be/aJkKIR-IdFc 47. #Savefarmers #SaveWater #SaveThamirabarani தாமிரபரணி தமிழனின் வருங்காலம் | Save Thamirabharani | Organic Living https://youtu.be/QvCxxEHn518 48. ஆபரணங்களின் ஆச்சரியம் | Woman ornaments has more power | Organic Living https://youtu.be/7i7I1jkY87U 49. பரோட்டா நமக்கு வேட்டா | Harmful effects of Parrota | Organic Living https://youtu.be/GUkDzhvwQmQ 50. நாமக்கலில் மாபெரும் புத்தக திருவிழா | A Grand Book Festival in Namakkal | புத்தகம் | Organic Living https://youtu.be/9nVmDgg9Tvg 51. நோய் போக பாயில் படுங்க | Sleeping Mat is very essential for human | Organic Living https://youtu.be/FUPPRq7JG6c 52. வெற்றிலை போட்டா நல்லதாம்ல | Vethalai Betel is really an amazing leaf | Organic Living https://youtu.be/xQHW1IG68M8 53. பெண்னை பெண்னாக காட்டும் மஞ்சள் | Beauty and Health Benefits of Turmeric | Organic Living https://youtu.be/etrWbvkq7CI 54. வெந்தயம் நல்ல வைத்தியம் | Health Benefits of Fenugreek | Organic Living https://youtu.be/QgvYtLjjKr4 55. இளநீரே கதாநாயகன் குளிர்பானம் வில்லன் | Benefits of Coconot | Effects of Cool drinks |Organic Living https://youtu.be/A5RplXrN2u4 56. உடல் எடையை குறைக்கும் செம்பு | Multiple Uses of Copper Vessels | Organic Living https://youtu.be/zdVAkcj2NPY 57. கண் தானம் மூலம் கடவுள் ஆகலாம் | Value of Eye Donation | Donate Eyes | Organic Living https://youtu.be/V3xzZxOba9I 58. ஒரு துளசி செடி பார்சல் | Wow thulasi benefits are amazing | Organic Living https://youtu.be/ouvgPN1mOYU 59. டெங்குக்கு சங்கு எப்படி ஊதலாம் | Symptoms Effects Prevention for Dengue | Organic Living https://youtu.be/MLVPQmNTjAg 60. ஆபத்தை கையில் வைத்திருக்கிறோம் | Effects of Cellphone | Organic Living https://youtu.be/TjcJGTIPIO8 61. கல்லாதது உடல் அளவு | interesting Facts about Human | Organic Living https://youtu.be/sl7v8iNdnH8 62. எழு தமிழா விழி தமிழா | Save Tamilnadu | Youngsters will solve |Organic Living https://youtu.be/RbjgR7R-cDY 63. பெண்மை ஏன் போற்றப்படும் சக்தி | Women are great Living Being | organic Living https://youtu.be/xV3HzwBafsg 64. தூக்கத்தை தள்ளி போடாதிங்க | Sleeping is good for health | Organic Living https://youtu.be/4C1fx2oPBGI 65. ஐஸ் தண்ணியா ஐயையோ வேண்டாம் பா | Ice water is Very Harmful | organic Living https://youtu.be/-Wb1eS4tiHA 66. எந்தெந்த நேரத்துல எந்தெந்த உணவுகள் சாப்பிட்டா ஆரோக்கியம் | Time Makes food Healthy | Organic Living https://youtu.be/4l1wcB6GiiU 67. மனம் பணம் சார்ந்த பிரச்சனைகள் தீரணுமா | You can Solve both Health and Wealth Problem | Organic Living https://youtu.be/PCsH9T_s_Go 68. வியர்வை ஆரோகியதிற்கு எப்படி உதவுது | How Sweat Makes us Healthy | Organic Living https://youtu.be/EA7_b9j5DxU 69. குளிர்சாதன பெட்டி ஒரு சவப்பெட்டியா | Harmful Effects of Refrigerator | Organic Living https://youtu.be/veT93YW1DxY 70. History and Benefits of Tea | தேனீரின் வரலாறும் பயன்களும் | Organic Living https://youtu.be/AUo5Bh0XY6g 71. புற்றுநோயை நாமே குணமாக்கலாம் | We Our self-Cure Cancer| Organic Living https://youtu.be/lAE-BMaNh9M 72. மண்பானை தண்ணீர் நல்லதா | Is Manpaanai water useful | Organic Living https://youtu.be/2elysl9Tbhw 73. Clapping hands gives more Benefits | கைகளை தட்டுங்க ஆரோக்கியமாக வாழுங்க | Organic Living https://youtu.be/z47SHz8cKqI 74. Alpha mind power Meditation| நாம் நினைப்பது நடக்கும் | ஆல்பா தியானம் | Organic Living https://youtu.be/a2AUe2uwY0w 75. Amazing Human Body | மனித உடலின் தெரியாத தகவல் | Organic Living https://youtu.be/1zjvsVbXWNc 76. Organic Living Official Teaser | Youtube Channel Teaser | Niruban Chakravarthi https://youtu.be/64iNgCuA9m0 77. Hydrocarbon@Methane Gas Project| ஹைட்ரோ கார்பன் எரிவாயு திட்டம் | மீதேன் திட்டம் | Organic Living https://youtu.be/asLpUadJlGU 78. #Yawning is contagious why Tamil | கொட்டாவி வருவது எதனால் | Organic Living https://youtu.be/7EDQVthJy-4 79. #belching a Sign of Digestion | ஏப்பம் செரிமானத்தின் அறிகுறியா| Organic Living https://youtu.be/wZgCtvGlmEw 80. Cesarean Overtaken the Normal Delivery | இன்று சுக பிரசவத்தின் வேதனையான நிலை | Organic Living https://youtu.be/IMDbFBqlcrs 81. True Meaning of a Famous Song | புகழ்பெற்ற பாடலின் அர்த்தமுள்ள விளக்கம் | Organic Living | Niruban https://youtu.be/n6sBchK8CkM 82. Sitting on Floor and Eat | சமணங்கால் போட்டு சாப்பிடவும் | Organic Living https://youtu.be/PDRgp4pwV_I 83. Scientific Reason behind Temple Worship | கோயில்களின் விஞ்ஞான ரகசியம் |Organic Living https://youtu.be/qYt0Qv7klxs 84. Seemakaruvela Maram history | Curse for Tamilnadu |சீமைகருவேலமரம் தமிழ்நாட்டின் சாபம்|Organic Living https://youtu.be/vB9gL_5eKsw 85. How Rain is formed Tamil | மழை வரும் மரம் நாடு| How planting tree helps Rain | Organic Living https://youtu.be/j7vhtNM8zos 86. Health Benefits of Amukkarai Kilangu and Kandan kaththiri | Tamil Mooligai | Usha | Organic Living https://youtu.be/qewFTTBBhVI 87. Cook and Eat | Organic Living | Usha | Niruban | Organic Living https://youtu.be/v1F_cg0NWQQ 88. Health benefits of Kasani Keerai | Chicory leaves| Organic Living https://youtu.be/ydkZtks-hnQ 89. Health benefits of Arugampul | Bermuda Grass | Organic Living https://youtu.be/novPf0F8JBA 90. Proverbs for Eating Habits | Niruban Chakravarthi | Organic Living https://youtu.be/wJ5AUFRXlDA 91. Home Remedies used to cure Major diseases | Organic Living https://youtu.be/Vq47uYsJLF8 92. Indian Country Cow in Tamil | Jallikkattu Information | Cattle Breed | Organic Living https://youtu.be/g_QFJl0K12I 93. Maadi Thottam | மாடித்தொட்டம்| Terrace Garden | Niruban | Organic Living https://youtu.be/zJaOZ-Wy-mM