#god i am so talented at procrastinating even when i actively want to do the thing i'm procrastinating to not do

[halfwit-halfblood]

started today with such high hopes towards getting loads of writing done but instead i've just been walking around new york via google maps, creating a rota pattern for a fictional bookstore that will never matter, and using the fancy timeline feature on canva to plot my loki fic to an unnecessary level of detail

[ineloqueent]

angel of lies | one

Brian x Fem!Reader / Roger x Fem!Reader

synopsis: welcome to the opera populaire. be careful what you wish for.

warnings: tw; mention of blood

word count: 5.3k

a/n: in honour of my birthday (i flatter myself), the much-procrastinated, long-awaited (?) saga begins! a massive thank you to jess ( @brianmays-hair​ ) and pearl ( @deacyblues​ ), the masterminds behind the premise of this fic. if you have not already guessed, this is most definitely a phantom of the opera au.

~⚘~

The stage was alive with sound.

With movement it crawled, such that from a distance it appeared to be shimmering, for the headdresses of the dancers sparkled like mirrorballs, casting flecks of light throughout the theatre like stars.

In the grand foyer, glittering crystals dripped from the ceiling, and shadows chased the balustrade statues that raised candelabras above their marble heads.

The place hummed with life, typical of the pre-show hustle and bustle, where every inch of floor was populated by activity, each person more frantic than the next, and the frenzy was only building by the minute.

The theatre became louder as the shouts grew more frequent, and the poor conductor was struggling to raise his voice over the clamour, the prima donna of the production now doing the most orchestration, in terms of chaos.

You sighed, and Meg rolled her eyes. This was going to be a long night.

Meg’s brother shot her a warning look.

We cannot afford to lose our leading lady, his look said.

“Yes, Monsieur Giry,” Meg mocked, but only when his back was turned.

“I heard that,” John hissed as he passed his sister.

But Meg only laughed.

You shook your head at her. “You really oughtn’t annoy your brother like that. He has the power to fire you from here, you know.”

“Oh, but it’s so funny when he gets like that,” Meg said. “His hair always bounces whenever he leaves in a huff.”

You stared after John, whose mound of hair really did bounce when he walked. You smiled.

Then, one of the owners of the opera, a man with dark hair and dark irises to match, made a grand gesture, and all eyes followed his hand. “Darlings, may I present the Vicomte de Chagny.”

Your heart caught in your throat, and you found that you couldn’t remember as to why Meg was giggling by your side.

It couldn’t be.

It couldn’t be him.

Could it?

In your disbelief, your mouth fell open, because there, at centre stage, being introduced as the new patron of the Opera Populaire, was Roger.

Golden-haired, blue-eyed Roger, sweet and silly, who, in your childhood, had been a companion closer to you than your own shadow. You had no fonder memories than those in which he made an appearance, laughing happily as the two of you traded stories of goblins and the rain lashed against the windows of the attic, as your father, long passed, played his violin by candlelight, as Roger shared with you the last of the chocolate.

There would never be a day when you did not think of him.

“Y/N?” Meg intoned.

“Roger,” you whispered, unable to do anything but watch him and his smiling eyes, as he shook hands with the opera personnel.

Meg frowned, standing on her tiptoes in an attempt to see above the gathering crowd, but she was unsuccessful. “The Vicomte? What of him?”

A smile flickered across your face as you murmured, “I guess we could say we were childhood sweethearts.”

Meg’s eyes widened in your peripheral vision. “Y/N, he’s so handsome,” she said.

“What,” you laughed, “do you think he’s too good for me?”

Meg pushed you lightly. “No, of course not. If anything, I’m just surprised that there are still attractive people left in the world. And god, you’re lucky to have had one of them.”

You flushed, “Meg! I have not had him, as you so indelicately put it. And he was never mine.”

“I believe I am keeping you for rehearsal, Signor,” Roger told the owner of the opera in his airy manner. He spoke rather like a prince, you thought, with his long vowels and sharp consonants, and the way his voice hummed with a cadence, as though his words were meant to be a song.

“Oh please, with the formalities,” the opera director waved a hand. “Freddie.”

“Freddie,” Roger nodded. “Well, I’ll be here this evening, to share in your great triumph!”

He shook hands with the company once more, and then departed through the wings on the opposite side of the stage.

Your heart sank a little as he left. But then again, it had been many years ago that you had seen him last, and so much had changed since then.

“Y/N?” Meg asked.

You shook your head. “He wouldn’t recognise me.”

“Of course he would,” Meg assured you, a hand on your sleeve. “He didn’t see you, that’s all.”

You weren’t so sure.

“I have a message, sir,” John was saying to the owners of the Opera Populaire. “From the Opera Ghost.”

“Oh god in heaven!” cried Freddie. “You’re all obsessed.”

John blinked, irritated at being interrupted, but deigning to continue nonetheless. “He welcomes you to his opera—”

Freddie snorted indignantly, “His opera?”

“And commands that you continue to leave Box Five empty for his use, and reminds you that his salary is due.”

The discussion continued, with an outrage on Freddie’s part, concerning the paying of a salary for someone who was not even real, and your thoughts wandered back to Roger.

He had scarcely returned to your life for a handful of minutes, and yet, your infatuation had already taken ahold once more. You wondered faintly if he had ever thought of you the way you still thought of him.

But then you were thrown from your reverie, as a cry erupted from the crowded stage.

“He’s here!”

“Who?” you said, alongside everyone else in the theatre.

Meg clutched at your arm as a hush fell over the room.

“The Phantom of the Opera,” another person shouted. “Up in the rafters!”

Gasps and whispers sparked all around, and you whirled in the same direction as your companions, each of you straining your eyes in an attempt to see past the darkness of the rigging.

One of the opera directors called for silence.

“There’s no one there,” he said, and the masses fell calmer again, turning away from the rear of the stage and grumbling about making a fuss over nothing.

But you didn’t turn away; you stared into the abyss.

And then a shadow swept across the scaffolding, like dark fabric tossed in a wind, like a cloak, or a cape, and you gave a shout.

“There!” you said, your heart thudding with adrenaline, and Meg whirled in the direction of your raised arm.

“Where, where?!” she cried, but the longer she looked, the more obvious it became that whatever had previously been there was no longer.

You lowered your arm, a little dejectedly.

“Never mind,” you murmured, a crease forming between your eyes. “I thought I saw something, but I suppose I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Meg frowned, looking as disappointed as you felt.

But even as she turned away, you couldn’t tear your eyes from what you’d seen.

Because you knew what you’d seen.

You’d seen eyes— hazel— staring right back at you.

~⚘~

The darkness came so easily these days. He did not even have to turn to the shadows for it to eclipse the light. It was there at the corner of his eye, a soft whisper at his ear, a constant presence that was as calming to him as it would have been unsettling to any other.

The darkness had never drawn back in fear at the countenance of his face. The darkness had never told him that he was unloved and would forever remain unloved. The darkness had never cast him from his home, and forced him to cower in the cold when the snow bit at his skin, exposed by the coat he could not afford to own.

The darkness had always been there.

And yet, it was darkness, and so by definition, it was never really there at all. It was the absence of all things, and nothing can come from nothing.

But she was not nothing.

The light she carried in her voice, in her shoes. She was as light on her feet as she was in her spirits, and it made him want to change.

But he knew naught of change, and so it would not come.

Not without her.

But with her… Perhaps.

~⚘~

The production had barely begun, and yet Roger was already leaning over the banister to bring himself closer to the stage, as close as he dared to go without tumbling into the audience on the lower level.

He had hardly been able to believe his eyes, his ears, when she had taken to the stage. For all he could tell, her shimmering gown might well have been made from the waters of a moonlit river, and her eyes bore the same gentle glow they had always borne, and her voice was as beautiful as ever. Roger wondered if she would deny her talent still, if he were to tell her of it again, this day.

He could not deny the warmth which spread through him at the sight of her, and nor did he wish to. He would bring her flowers after the performance and tell her again of her talent.

And maybe, he would tell his Little Lotte what he had never been able to tell her all those years ago.

Maybe he would tell her that he loved her.

The production had barely ended before Roger had left his place on the balcony, in favour of hurrying down the stairs to where he would not miss seeing her.

Her. The only one who mattered.

~⚘~

Their calls echoed, praise upon praise where none before had existed, where previously you had lived in an echo chamber of your own mind, where you had been forced to endure the clamour of every voice that hissed— not good enough, not good enough, you’ll never be good enough.

Where had they been when the desperation had settled into the hot blood that coursed through your veins, painted your toes in horrible hue when you had danced for too many nights without a penny to show for it? Where had they been when your father had died and you’d have given your voice itself to have him back, to feel once more the touch of hand upon your shoulder, assuring you that he was there, that you were there?

Where had they been?

Their affectations you would have wished to endure as little as you wished to endure the echo chamber inside your head, for they would have shouted if a man had ridden a horse across the wooden framework of the stage.

But there was another sound. There had always been another sound.

In the darkness there was a solace— a comfort, almost— and a low, steady hum.

A voice.

An angel. Your father had always promised you that there would be an angel.

And he had been right.

An angel of music, to light the quiet moments between your thoughts, when friends were few and the cold grew monstrous teeth.

There had always been music in your ears— a tune to be hummed, a dance to be danced— and you could not quell the urge to sing when it came to you. That was how you had found your way to the Opera. It had called to you, far stronger than anything you had felt since your father had passed, since Roger had left.

Roger.

He was here. And he was here tonight. What had he thought of the show? Of you? Or were your fears to be realised, that he had not recognised you at all?

The candle in your peripheral vision flickered, subject to the whims of a draft.

The wind does not whisper indoors.

A shiver ran down your back, as sure there had been fingers to skim down your spine, the softness of the action turned sinister by the anonymity of the hand.

And then— again— a voice.

It bristled on the air like electricity, like a live wire simply waiting for the right person to make contact and ignite a fire.

It prickled on the back of your neck.

You turned, your movements slowed by a strange sort of fear, and yet, you wanted to know whose voice it was. You intended to make that contact, for so long had you lived without any sort of fire at all, and you were tired of being burned out.

“Where in the world have you been hiding?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Meg’s call reached your ears, the sound of her dainty footsteps growing more distinct as she approached. The shadow at the corner of your eye was snuffed out as surely as any flame.

You felt your shoulders lower ever so slightly, half in relief, half in disappointment.

You had been so close to knowing that the lack of knowledge was now almost too much to bear.

“Really,” she went on, with a little huff. “You were perfect. I only wish I knew your secret.”

“Meg,” you said, and she tilted her head like a curious fawn. “When your brother brought me here to live… whenever I come down here alone to light a candle for my father, a voice from above and in my dreams…” You trailed off, thinking of the soft baritone you could call to mind at will, it was so frequently present. “He was always there,” you murmured. The memories lulled you, quieted your senses, as though you were walking in a dream. “You see, when my father lay dying, he told me I will be protected by an angel. An angel of music. I used to dream he’d appear…”

You were quite sure that Meg had made a response to your musings, but you were not well aware of what that response had been, and nor could you find it in you to care. There remained suddenly only a singular thought within your head, and that was who? Who was the voice? He was the darkness, you were sure of it. He was the comfort, the peace amidst the chaos of the world, but he was evasive, the unseen genius. You longed to know the face of such an angel. You did not know for how much longer you could go on not knowing.

You blinked, and became conscious of the fact that you were no longer in the chapel. Meg had led you from it, and the two of you now weaved behind the screen, in the space between the stage and its rigging, your friend leading you by the hand.

“Y/N, your hands are cold,” she whispered, and her own face was pale, a mask of terror.

You wriggled your fingers slightly in her grasp. She was right; you felt as though the warmth had left your very blood. But though your skin was cold, you were not. You burned brighter than ever, as bright as the candle you lit, night after night, in the memory of your father.

“I know,” you answered. “But I am not frightened.”

~⚘~

It was John whom you saw first, following the show.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, and when he smiled, you thought that perhaps he considered you family as much as he did Meg. It made you feel a little less alone in the world.

“You did well, Y/N,” he said.

Then, to your puzzlement, he handed you a single red rose, upon the stem of which was tied a silk ribbon, in a pretty bow which shimmered onyx black in the dimly lit dressing room.

You had the strangest feeling, looking at that bow. An overwhelming sense of déjà vu, as though you’d somehow seen that exact shade of black before. In a dream, perhaps. Or in another life, if there were such things.

A shadow stirred at the corner of your eye, but when you turned to confront it, there was nothing but light bouncing off of the walls, and John nowhere to be found.

And Roger, standing in the doorway, with his familiar half-smile and eyes that glinted with mischief, a bouquet of flowers over one arm.

“Little Lotte thought,” he began, his smile growing as he made his way toward you, “am I fonder of dolls, or of goblins of shoes, or of riddles or frocks—”

“Those picnics in the attic,” you said, and your smile mirrored his.

“Or of chocolates,” Roger continued with a wink, setting down the flowers.

They surfaced in your mind, those memories. Bathed in golden light as though the sun shone upon them through stained glass windows, their images rendered divine in their innocence, their happiness. “Father playing the violin…”

“As we read to each other dark stories of the North,” Roger reached you and sank to his knees, his tone soft and playful and all those things you’d missed about him since before you’d known he’d be gone.

“No,” you whispered, and you thought that his eyes had never been as blue as this. Wider than the sky and bluer than the deepest of seas, cerulean and sapphire and everything in between. Every shoal and reef one could have imagined to exist shimmered in his irises, a whole other world, and it belonged to him.

And it belonged to you, when you looked at him.

“What I love best, Little Lotte said, is when I’m asleep in my bed…”

A tingle rushed down your spine as he drifted closer to you, so exquisite in his stillness, the prettiness of his being that suddenly assaulted your senses like the smell of roses.

Roses. A rose. With a black ribbon.

A gift—

“And the angel of music sings songs in my head.”

His smile grew until you thought it would take over his face entirely, and then he embraced you, tightly.

Oh, how you’d missed him and the feeling of being held in his arms, the way your chin fit perfectly on his shoulder and his cheek rested against your cheek.

“You sang like an angel tonight,” he murmured, and you sighed into the crook of his neck.

He pulled back again, and you relished the way his gaze lingered on your own, as though he could not look away, and even had he been able to, would have had no mind to do so either.

“Father said, when I'm in heaven, child, I will send the Angel of Music to you.” Roger blinked, as though resurfacing from the depths of a dream, and you perceived a change in him. “Well, father is dead, Roger, and I have been visited by the Angel of Music.”

He gave a little laugh, and there it was at once, that which had hurt you so much in the past, and still stung you now. You had thought you had grown, but really, you were still that little girl, no more grown than you had been when you were shorter than your father’s music stand, as sensitive as you’d always been.

He didn’t believe you.

He thought you were telling stories, as usual, and his skepticism was grating; it tore at your heart.

“Oh, no doubt,” he said, clearly in doubt. He stood up, brushed off the front of his coat. “And now we'll go to supper!”

You fought to make him believe you, anything to have that warmth return to his eyes once more, to turn away his disbelief. “Roger, no—”

“Change, sweetheart, and I’ll order my carriage,” he waved a hand as he strode toward the door.

“No, Roger, wait!”

The door had shut. And he had shut you out, again.

You were still those children, haunted by your losses and warned not to believe that which was strange, even if it was true.

But there was no magic in this form of youth, because it was not youth so much as the turning of a blind eye to that which one did not understand.

And Roger did not understand you. You couldn’t help but wonder if he has ever.

The lock of the door clicked, and you tensed.

The room felt suddenly cold, and you would not have been surprised if cobwebs had begun to spiral down from the ceiling, if ice had formed on the door handle and the mirror, if the flowers all around you had withered in an unbidden frost.

Then a rush of that strange wind that could not possibly exist within the walls of the Opera, and every candle in sight was extinguished. You imagined that it was not only the candles in this room, but all of the candles, everywhere, snuffed out in their prime, one by one, until the Opera turned shadowy and grey.

The frost settled on your skin as a voice rose from the shadows to greet you in the silence left in the wake of Roger’s departure.

A familiar voice.

“Ignorant fool,” came the whisper, quiet but condemning in manner, resolute in assessment.

It was close. He was close.

The angel, he was here.

“Angel,” you murmured, your eyes flitting between the shapes of the world in darkness, trying to discern the living from the inanimate, but entirely without luck. You whirled, anything to catch a glimpse, yet still there was nothing. “I hear you— speak, I listen…”

Your plea was met with silence, but his presence was not gone, so you began again. “Stay by my side... Guide me.”

You reached out your hands in the darkness, and there again was that rush of cool air, like someone moving past.

“You shall know me,” he answered. “See why in shadow I hide.” His voice lowered to that whisper again, and you felt the cold reach your very bones. “Look in the mirror.”

Toward the mirror you wandered, on some invisible path, like staring at something so horrible that one cannot look away, only this was not horror you felt, but a sort of gravitation in favour of the unknown.

Curiosity.

And there, in the looking glass, was a face, or part of one— high-cheeked and fine boned, severe in beauty, yet cold in the stare of those hazel eyes which should rightfully have been warm as a summer’s day.

But they were not.

Had the mirror been any less pristine, you would have thought it damaged, for you could see little cracks there, in his eyes. But the cracks were not part of the mirror. In fact, they were part of nothing at all, no more than a figment of your imagination. But you perceived in him a brokenness, and so that was how he appeared to you.

His skin shone like porcelain, almost blended with the half of his face covered by some fashion of mask.

And curls.

His hair was so curly that you thought there would have been curls for miles if they had all been uncoiled and the ends spun together.

Such beauty did not often hide behind a mask. You wondered why this one did.

You drew nearer to the mirror and it rippled like water. You imagined the figure reaching out his hand to you. Or maybe you were not imagining it. Maybe it was real.

And it was.

His fingertips skimmed the palm of your hand and you gasped at the touch.

There was a tremble in his hand, and you longed to still it. You curled your fingers around his wrist.

He pulled you closer to the mirror and sharply, the air left your lungs.

You felt his eyes skim down from your temples, to your jaw, until he lifted his gaze to meet your eyes. You could not breathe beneath that gaze.

“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.

And the darkness— it finally had a face.

“I am not afraid of you,” you whispered, feeling a heaviness like relief take over your senses, dousing you in drowsiness.

“Perhaps you should be,” he replied, and his exhale touched your lips. The blood in your veins which had been cold was now hot, and the pace of your heart made your head spin.

Then his grasp fell stronger upon your own, and he pulled you through the mirror.

Someone was calling your name, somewhere, but you found suddenly that you could not look away from the one who grasped your hand, the one whose eyes remained upon your own, even as he led you.

Where he was leading you, you did not know, but this mystery was one that had existed for far too long already, and you were desperate for answers, for a glimpse of truth in this world of shadows, where you had been blind for too long to remember what truth looked like.

So perhaps it was not the truth that you were chasing, but rather a dream, in which you would slip farther and farther from reality until the fantasy consumed you.

But what was there to miss from this place? You had no family to speak of, and the opera would surely go on as it always did. After all, the show must go on.

The walls seemed to bow inwards, and the candles mounted there danced in the hands that held them, because indeed, the candelabras were golden hands.

But you were not concerned by the swaying walls or the golden hands. All you could think of was the hand which rested lightly in yours, the eyes that gleamed softly, far more beautiful than any candle.

It soon became dark once more, as the candelabras became fewer and fewer in number, as you descended with the face of the darkness, until at last you found yourself within a small boat, which sailed swiftly across the waters of a river you had never known the existence of.

Perhaps it was the river Styx, of which you had always heard in stories. You did not spare the thought doubt, for nothing would surprise you anymore. It would seem there was an entire world beneath the Opera Populaire, and this was the first that you were seeing of it.

How many more hidden corners of the world had passed you by?

The thought struck in you a sadness, and awash with a heady loneliness, you glanced over your shoulder.

But of course, he was still there— the tall, dark shadow that had always been there, and you hoped he would always be there. The darkness still called to you, even now.

You felt a smile curve your mouth.

Then the boat crested a shore, and you turned back to the prow of the vessel, to find the walls of a spacious cavern decorated in swaths of red velvet, similar to that of the Grand Drape of the opera. All around were those candles, sparkling like supernovas in the darkness, the light glancing of off hundreds of odd trinkets, from mirrors to chandeliers, to more candelabras, and it impressed you as strange that there should be so many agents of light in a place of such darkness.

And then he was stepping from the boat and extending his hand to you again, though you could not remember letting go.

His gaze was sharp and it challenged you, dared you deny him your hand.

You did not deny him your hand.

Wordless still, he drew you forward, led you on a path amongst the candles, to the music of the night— of the river water lapping against the shore, of the sound of the velvet drapes which fluttered in that impossible wind which seemed to breathe life into every forgotten corner of the Opera Populaire, including this cavern.

You came to a stop where the ground was raised, and you at once lifted your eyes to that masked face.

“Who are you?” you murmured.

“The same as I have always been,” he replied, with a dip of his head.

“And who is that?”

“The angel, of course.” His voice was low, smooth as caramel, and enraptured by the sound, you gazed up at him. “Yours.”

“Mine?”

“Am I not your angel?” he asked, and you thought he drew closer. “Have you not always spoken to me amongst the whispers of the night? Have you not fallen asleep many a time with my name on your lips?” He was definitely closer now, for you were almost chest-to-chest, and he grasped your hands between the two of you, lifted them to his lips.

He ghosted your fingers with a kiss, and heat spread through you at the tender touch.

“I do not know your name,” you said.

He lowered your hands but did not release them, instead running one long forefinger over the underside of your wrist, a gesture behind which shivers followed.

“May, some used to call me.”

“May?” you whispered, and felt the intimacy of the name of your eternal protector hum across your lips. “An uncommon name.”

“I once had another. But none remember it.”

“Except you,” you said. “You remember.”

His eyes flickered. “I can hardly call it mine.”

This was dangerous ground. His jaw and his grip upon your hands had tightened, and though the change in demeanour was subtle, it was significant.

But you pushed back, because you had come here for answers.

“Tell me,” you said.

You took your hands from his grasp and raised them instead to either side of his face, to the cool porcelain of the mask, to the burning skin which told of fire beneath— a fire to his soul, as there was to your own.

His eyes fluttered closed at your touch and he leaned his cheek into your palm, his breath a caress across your skin.

“Brian May.”

He gifted the words to you with a shudder, and you knew in your heart that you were the first in a long time to hear them. His lips brushed your palm, and his fingers skimmed your hips, to which you leaned in closer, now almost in an embrace.

“Return my name to me,” he whispered.

To your toes you lifted yourself, and his name flooded your lips as ambrosia, everlasting, binding, but though your blood turned to fire, your bones did not become dust, unless by dust, stardust was meant.

“Brian May,” you said, and slipped your fingers beneath the mask.

With a cry, he pushed you away, roughly, and you fell to the ground as the mask fell from his face.

A tremor began in the surface beneath your feet, before it spread to the entirety of the floor and spiralled up the walls, shaking the cavern and everything within it with such force you feared the breaking apart of the very Earth.

Candles toppled from all around, and you gave a shout as one narrowly missed lighting your dress aflame, again when a mirror nearly crushed you, and hot tears of mortal fear pricked your eyes.

Until a hand pulled yours and a body shielded your own, as glass shattered and waves swelled within the winding river.

Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the earthquake receded, and your protector disentangled himself from you.

Sitting up, you wiped tears from your face, ashamed of the fear which had plagued you, and you found that the cavern was all but completely dark. Only a single candle had survived the shaking of the cavern, and its light now seemed almost garish.

Then eyes met your own in the dark, and your gaze fell upon the right side of his face, to find—

Nothing. Nothing at all. Nothing but the second half of a man’s face, equal in beauty to the first half, for but a slightly over-dilated pupil which obscured the hazel of its iris.

But then again, perhaps you did not see a man at all, but a boy.

Because for all the terror in his expression, you could not see past his youth.

When he spoke this time, his voice was gravel, and a coldness settled within you at the condemnation in his tone, for it was clear that he was no protector here.

“What have you done?”

~⚘~

[your-brilliant-lady-m]

South Korean music industry at a glance: an outsider perspective

I watched one particular AMV last week. The song used for the video was “I’m afraid” by Korean rock band DAY6. I was pleasantly surprised as someone who values lyrics in song first and foremost. The music itself was great. I’ll listen to their songs again. It’s a nice fit for my music taste. Naturally, YouTube’s algorithm decided that I’m a fan of everything Korean after 1 video and started spamming my recommendations with k-pop songs, documentaries and everything in-between. 

I watched a couple of videos, listened to some songs and discovered fascinating patterns. So, I went down to the comment section. And it was rather interesting experience, should I say? The concept of entertainment industry in South Korea simply begged to be explored more after this. I dug deeper and visited Tumblr k-pop tags and briefly glanced upon Instagram and Twitter. And, oh...

I am a big picture person and I enjoy both studying and creating systems. This one was particularly fun to explore. I discovered a lot of new things for myself. Perhaps, you can discover something new for yourself too or take a step back and look at this from a new angle. 

Disclaimer: it’s impossible not to offend someone on Tumblr, so keep that in mind. That being said, I do NOT intend to insult of offend anyone. It’s just a little research done for fun, because I love research with a purpose. This post is NOT A HATE post. No hate intended for fans, artists or other people involved. It’s meant to be a discussion, nothing more and nothing less. If it sounds like hate, it’s just my sarcastic sense of humour.

Content Warning: I mention suicide, death, depression, rape in a couple of sentences. There’s nothing major or graphic, but it’s there. 

In this long post I decided to share with you my opinion, a so-called outsider perspective, on the world of music entertainment industry in South Korea and people involved in it on different levels. I use the word “outsider” mainly because, that’s exactly what I am in this case, as someone who is in no way involved in k-pop community. I can’t name you a single band or their members. I don’t know any solo artist and can’t neither sing nor name you any song. 

And to be completely honest, I don’t think I will set my foot into k-pop fan-circles ever again after everything I saw. 

Think of this as “In this essay I will...” meme, except there’s an actual essay.

As far as I know, in South Korea “k-pop” refers to all music produced in SK, including solo artists, various bands, singers-songwriters. It doesn’t even have to be pop music. Koreans include in this definition all genres of music. However, around the world “k-pop” means primarily music made by idol groups and bands marketed for children, teenagers and younger people. In this post I use the latter definition, because that’s how most people understand “k-pop” in other countries. Therefore, my statements, opinions and conclusions here would concern only idol music. 

The music industry in South Korea is heavily influenced by culture and traditions of the country, just like all things are. And there’s nothing wrong with that. After all, different backgrounds are what makes people so interesting and unique. However, when combined with consumer mindset, desire to generate profit at any cost and fast-paced nature of modern life these neutral cultural elements could produce something concerning, and it can lead to disastrous consequences. 

1. Idol

These people are called artists, musicians, singers, bands, groups, performers. In South Korea and in Japan, however, people call them Idols or Stars. I’ve also seen Muses, Princes and Queens. Interesting, isn’t it? The terminology used to describe these musicians in South Korea is one of the key elements in this whole entertainment system. You’ll see why.

But who or what is an idol exactly? Let’s take a basic definition from Wikipedia.

“In the practice of religion, a cult image or devotional image is a human-made object that is venerated or worshipped for the deity, person, spirit or daemon ... that it embodies or represents. In several traditions, including the ancient religions of Egypt, Greece and Rome, and modern Hinduism, cult images in a temple may undergo a daily routine of being washed, dressed, and having food left for them. Processions outside the temple on special feast days are often a feature. Religious images cover a wider range of all types of images made with a religious purpose, subject, or connection. In many contexts "cult image" specifically means the most important image in a temple, kept in an inner space, as opposed to what may be many other images decorating the temple.

The term idol is often synonymous with worship cult image. In cultures where idolatry is not viewed negatively, the word idol is not generally seen as pejorative, such as in Indian English.”

Cambridge Dictionary defines idol as follows:

And here’s the definition from Oxford Dictionary: 

This is a centrepiece of this tapestry. Surely, you have noticed by now what these definitions have in common. 

Idol = a cult image of a god, a deity 

By calling these musicians “idols” industry makes society and audience treat them in certain way, namely as gods. What characteristics do gods possess? They are beautiful, talented, funny, confident and graceful, blessed by eternal youth of immortality. Gods have no flaws, they do not bleed, they are above human concerns. They are an embodiment of perfection. They are stars, you could not reach. 

But real people are not like that. They can be sad and angry, insecure. People don’t have perfectly symmetrical faces. They can’t dance in sync without preparation. They can’t sing like angels at any given moment throughout the day.

What happens when idols accidentally reveal their humanity? What happens when people see, that they make mistakes and do stupid things, that they need to train hard to appear graceful on stage? 

I will tell you. And it’s not pretty. But, first, let’s look at other elements of this system. 

2. Y/N and Self-insert fantasy

Aside from the music, K-pop sells the self-insert fantasy to the audience. It’s carefully arranged to appear real, where the cracks are masked and every word is scripted. The reality is so vivid that one doesn’t even have to use imagination all that much, because all scenarios and decorations already exist. Countless interviews for TV and magazines, fan meetings, talk shows, reality shows made sure people are privy to all juicy details of personal lives and opinions of musicians. And also one word - merchandise. Some of that merch made me question my life choices. Some of it is, ah, creepy or has weird vibes. All of this provides plenty of material for people to work with. Fans can effortlessly imagine themselves beside their idols or even in their place. 

In a highly competitive society, where people throw themselves into studying and work since young age, forming deep and lasting connections with others is very hard, sometimes impossible. As a result, people long to have a group of close friends with similar interests, a loving partner who would cherish them endlessly. People want to be rewarded for their backbreaking efforts to succeed by the carefree life of fame and music, everlasting friendships and love. And in a way you can’t really blame them for his. 

Does this dream life sound familiar? We are looking at K-pop bands here. It doesn’t really matter if their members don’t always get along or that they can live in debt, that fame is fickle and adoring fans can tear your self-confidence to shreds. Audience wants the glamour of fantasy and the industry is more than happy to cater to these desires. 

Perhaps, knowing that even for idols this fantasy is sometimes unattainable makes the whole set up feel just a little cruel. 

3. Fans, stans and fandom culture

We’ve already established earlier that idols are gods in the eyes of people and listed traits they must possess. So, what else do gods need to exist? Worshippers. Because a cult is worth nothing without its followers. Gods need a group of people to worship them and spread their beliefs. The role of worshippers is performed by a fans in this case. 

Apparently, there is a running joke that girl groups need to win a general public popularity and boy bands need a big passionate fandom. It seems to be true according to my observations. 

In k-pop fandom people use the word “stan” to state that they like or support particular group. Now, I am sure everyone here knows that in other fandoms, dedicated to movies, shows, books and games there’s an important distinction between being a “fan” and a “stan”. What is it? 

A fan is someone who likes a ship or character, creates and/or consumes fandom content, supports certain ideas, discusses things they enjoyed and disliked, criticises canon. Stans, however, are a different breed. They engage in all typical fandom activities, but their support and enjoyment becomes obsession. Stans believe their favourite characters and ships are immune to criticism, that they are superior no matter what others say. Stans start shipping wars, send anon hate, death threats over fictional characters and hurt real people. Stans are considered toxic fans. And majority of normal civilised people don’t like them and try their best to let stans hang out in their echo chamber by themselves. 

In other fandoms and communities, to be a fan means to love, support and enjoy something, while to stan means to obsess over and hyperfixate on these same things. Words “I stan” rarely mean “I support” for most people, and if they do mean that, it’s only used in a joking manner (”We stan procrastination legend!”, “I stan our miscommunication kings”).

Everywhere else “stan” has only negative connotations, except in k-pop. But what has changed? What’s the difference? Why do international fans scoff at “shipper stans” and then turn around calling themselves “stans of X k-pop group” at the same time? Does it make you wonder? 

And this is another core theme of k-pop, in my opinion. In fandom where stan = obsession = support, you can see interesting patterns. 

Fandom loves their flawless gods. But watching them from afar is not enough for some people, because unlike deities in different religions, these gods live among us. People are very much aware of that. Industry has created a cult and laid the groundwork for worshippers to express their adoration in every way including personal contact. And who wouldn’t want to meet their god? Who wouldn’t want to know more about them or tell them how much you love them? In talk shows and fan meetings there is only so much one can do after all.

People desire to know more, to have more so much that their obsession transforms into concerning stalker tendencies. These crazy individuals follow idols, stalk them on social media, in hotels, research flight numbers, bribe security. Musicians were attacked and poisoned. I strongly suspect there were cases of rape that no one knows about. There is even a special term for these fans - “sasaeng”. 

Is there a definition for stalkers of actors or musicians in western world? No, I’m pretty sure there isn’t. They are just called “invasive/obsessive fans” or “stalkers”.

Also, there are sasaeng memes. Yeah, you heard that right. I enjoy some classy dark humour as much as the next person, but there is a fine line between normal and questionable. 

Back to the topic of stalkers. Do you realise how disturbing that is? Such behaviour is so common that there is a term for it. You create a fandom-cult, encourage people to worship k-pop idols as gods and then act surprised when members of said cult become fanatics and their adoration becomes obsession.

And it’s so easy to step on this slippery road. The system makes it ridiculously easy. Lines begin to blur. How much is too much? Where do you draw the line? 

While sasaeng fans engage in extreme real-life obsession, people online aren’t that far off, to be honest. I’ve seen it all: imagines, headcanons, fanfiction, real-person shipping, reactions. Real person shipping is a controversial topic. Some people support it, others don’t. I suppose I’m among those who don’t get it. I’m not exactly against it, but I find it strange. Mainly because it’s based on assumptions made by fans about personalities and behaviour of real people. 

Assumptions. Dear me! K-pop fandom has this thing with video compilations. I’ve never seen this phenomenon being so widespread in any other community or fandom. Basically people edit together a collection of short clips from talk-shows, interviews, Instagram stories, some YouTube videos, etc and then proceed to analyse every gesture, word, facial expression of idols and provide both audio and on-screen commentary. These videos and many other forms of similar analysis allow people to imagine what kind of personalities idols have, what kind of life do they live. It’s the source material for fanfiction, imagines and headcanons. 

But it’s not real. It’ll never be real. It’s an illusion, an image, a stage persona. They fall in love with a face and made up personality. And I think that when people create this content they can forget this. Fans can develop certain emotional dependence and unhealthy attitudes in the long run. In some YouTube comments even supportive and encouraging words sound whiny and obsessive. And semantics of being a “stan” of certain group or individual doesn’t help. 

4. Industry, companies and liars 

At last we arrive at the most important aspect of music entertainment industry - its creators.

Have you seen “The Road to El Dorado”? It’s one of my all time favourites. It has iconic characters, adult jokes that I didn’t get as a child and iconic soundtrack. I’ll quote “It’s Tough To Be A God” a lot here. 

In South Korea music industry is a factory, the production line to be exact. This kind of set up affects everything in the grand scheme of things. Companies and agencies play the role of training centres and record labels. And there are so many of them that a whole new scamming system developed based around fake idol agencies. It implies that there are people who fall for offers of these agencies and continue to do so. I suspect that victims must pay a fortune upfront before they realise their mistake. Are there any kind of legal protection against such scams? How can people verify the authenticity? Because a well masked scam can exist for a long time before someone discovers it and calls them out on their nonsense. 

As far as I understand legal companies work like this. After high school, which is often focused on performing arts (and private schools can get away with using talents of students for personal gain, which is totally not surprising), young people can audition for an agency and become an idol in training or idol-trainee. And passing audition is hard. But good recommendations can help, connections too. 

During training you don’t get paid. Only a few companies pay aspiring musicians. People can spend years in training and don’t debut. But rent, necessities, clothing and food (not that you need much of it, but more on that later) cost a lot. Where do you get the money to live then? Support from parents, one or two part time jobs at most and bank loans. Surprise! We found an unexpected (just kidding, it’s very obvious) party, who reaps benefits from the system. 

You need skill to be an idol. Natural talent helps too. The more skills you have, the cheaper and faster your training is. To level up your game you attend classes every month offered by your agency, which are not cheap (dance classes range from 400$ to 1000$ per month, sometimes more). There are four main categories in evaluation process: vocals, rapping, dancing and visuals. Idols are multitaskers, to have a chance on stage one must be perfect at everything. And people are ready to invest thousands of dollars into their kids training so that they could have a chance in entertainment industry. South Korea thrives on revenue k-pop industry generates every day.

Let’s pause here for a second and think about what kind of people come to these agencies. The answer is easy. People who have a dream, a desire, a real goal. You don’t wake up one day and decide to become a k-pop idol. Sometimes people get invited by agencies (after prior acting, modelling career or any other form of exposure). These people are usually very young. Some start straight after high school, some after university, but 25 years old is considered a late start. Compare that to western musicians who start singing at any age and still become famous. 

But why this age limit? Because idols are eternally young. So that in public eye musicians are remembered as 20 year old gods. People would listen to their music and imagine a young attractive face. Career in k-pop is short, it lasts 5-7 years, rarely longer than that. It’s even less than modelling or acting can offer. And professional sportsmen retire in their late 30′s. Some play longer, but usually, that’s it.

If you live in Los Angeles and say that you want to be an actor or performer, no one would bat an eye. It’s like saying that you want to be an engineer or accountant. Similarly, in South Korea becoming an k-pop musician is a real career. Because part of the self insert fantasy that the industry sells is the idea that anyone can be an idol. It’s easy after all. Anyone can pass auditions and become a trainee. A trainee with no guarantee of debut. But one should never underestimate the power of idol-dream. After all, idea is the most resilient parasite.   

“My friends started training in kindergarten. They have wanted to become idols since young”

“A lot of young kids get interested in Korean music” 

A 6-year old child sees the performance of k-pop group for the first time on TV. Let’s say it’s a girl. She is enraptured and decides that she will be like that too someday. She grows up, while being part of the fandom, just like all idols are in one way or another and whose fan-obsession transforms into desire to succeed. Her parents spend time and money to find her tutors, to fund dancing and singing classes. Perhaps in high school this girl decides to fix the shape of her eyes and make nose straighter. She trains hard and passes the auditions in her dream agency. And during training this girl faces the reality of behind the scenes life in music industry.

“Why are you crying? I’m not even pushing you”

“How many times have I told you? The rest are doing it perfectly”

“She is dancing like an elementary school student“

“I watched your performance as a spectator who bought a ticket to your concert. I want a refund“

“You make my ears hurt. I don’t want to listen at all”

“Listening to you was tiring”

“I’ll kick you out instead. You won’t debut”

“I thought I was going to die. That’s how determined I was” 

While I do understand that keeping a high quality standards in media industry is important, there are more productive and healthy ways to motivate someone to improve and be more passionate, you know? Constantly insulting people with sadistic glee and putting them down at every opportunity or calling them ugly to their face doesn’t do much. 

Do you think that children know about this? Do they know about soulless teachers and belittling managers? Do they know about friends who are really your competition, so you shouldn’t get attached? Do they know about living in debt? Do they know any of this? No, I don’t think they do. 

Children dream about the stage, about the sea of lights and crowds who chant your names. They want adoring fans and photoshoots. They want to appear on TV and magazine covers. Teenagers want the thrill of performance, they want to share their music and dancing with others. 

“I don’t know how many times I cried alone”

The truth is cruel. But they won’t give up easily even if it means sleeping 4-5 hours and consuming no more than 500 calories per day. Because giving up means that your whole life was a lie. One can’t afford not to be good enough. Giving up means admitting that all efforts and money your family invested into your dream were in vain. It means losing face before your family and friends - a fate worse than death. Imagine living this idol dream and building your whole future around it and then being told that you’ll never debut because of the circumstances outside of your control or something minor, like face shape or 1 kg of weight that your body refuses to lose. It can break you. Especially if you are like 18 or something. 

5. “And who am I to bridle if I'm forced to be an idol If they say that I'm a God, that's what I am”

“I don’t think there’s anything a tough as being a trainee in Korea”

Once you are a trainee at the agency your personal life does not belong to you anymore. You can’t go out without permission of the agency. You phone is taken away. Your diet and weight are monitored. Bad habits are not allowed (no smoking, drinking or drugs). Oh! I think I found the good thing in the system! Unfortunately, it won’t last. Trainees can’t date or meet with family without permission of agency. Dating is very taboo. Even established idols can’t openly date. 

Why is that? Because gods can’t belong to anyone. Their lives are property of the fandom. Because openly dating idols destroy the self-insert fantasy. There was a former idol girl who dated another musician. She was called a whore by her fans, her loving and adoring stans. You might know who I am talking about. Would you call an American actor or singer a prostitute for dating someone?

Trainees sign the contract. And how can a young person straight out of school or university know much about what makes a good contract in entertainment industry or what makes a good contract in general? Even if you do understand the terms fully you would still sign it because if you have come so far, you can’t let your dream slip this easily. There isn’t a choice. Not really. If you want to debut, you will agree to anything.

What about life after debut? You have to pay off your loans. And company takes 60-70% of your group’s earnings. Artists themselves get 30-40% and split it between themselves. K-pop groups have from 5 to 10 members or more than that. Each person gets less than 6%. Idols are not filthy rich. They are not. These earnings are practically nothing compared to the work you have put into this. 

Idols are musicians, who often don’t even write their own songs, music or create choreography. But if public doesn’t like the song and musical number the company created, they blame idols for the failure. Such an amazing logic we see right here. But people say that sharing music is the best part of idol life. But whose music? 

Models on catwalk are not there to demonstrate their physical beauty, they are blank canvas for works of clothing designers. Same with k-pop musicians. They act like puppets in a way, whose faces and voices are used to show audience someone’s music and songs. Some groups do write their own music and lyrics and it’s nice to know that. But those, who don’t are rather unfortunate. It’s a nice tool of psychological control and pressure for an agency. They can hold it over group and use the following rhetoric: “We gave you everything! Why can’t you follow the simple instructions” or “Where would you be without us? It’s not even your music!”

I called k-pop industry a factory. That’s true. Dozens of people become trainees every year. These talented young people are fully prepared to do anything to achieve their goal. They are ready to practice until they collapse, starve themselves and pour themselves into every song. Companies know that. Tell me why would they value their idols as individuals, as people, as human beings if they always have a replacement? Why bother with mental health of their artists if next year they could have a fresh set of people, who are younger and prettier? Why try to improve relationships inside groups if you could fire any member and replace them within a month or two?

In western countries famous bands have different stories. Some were friends since high school, who played in bars and during festivals and then they were noticed by some representative of label company, who offered them a contract. Some groups were formed by like-minded people who bonded and decided to share their music with the world. There are many stories, but ultimately the have one thing in common. Bands in the West often form themselves. These people had time to bond, connect, discover each other, solve some disagreements and learn to work around their differences. 

K-pop groups are formed by their agencies. They are their property in a way. Company selects the best and puts together these total strangers, appoints the leader with marketable face and personality and then expects them to work together like a well-oiled machine. No one has time to bond during training, because other people are you competition, not friends. And then you must learn to work as a team and be best friends on camera for the audience to support the self-insert fantasy. It’s no wonder that k-pop groups don’t get along sometimes. And every member knows that they are replaceable. It doesn’t help in forming connections. Groups can’t just terminate contract and go to work with another agency. I heard it happens sometimes, but it’s not a done thing. Unlike in other countries where bands just sign the deal with a different label and release their music under their name if they don’t like the old conditions. 

“It's tough to be a God But if you get the people's nod Count your blessings, keep them sweet, that's our advice Be a symbol of perfection Be a legend, be a cult Take their praise, take a collection As the multitudes exalt Don a supernatural habit We'd be crazy not to grab it So sign up two new Gods for paradise”

But is it really a paradise?

Idols are expected to act cute, to match personalities created for them by fans or media. They have to act according to the concept of their group. They have to be a symbol of perfection: skinny, single and with a face perfected by surgery. They are allowed to mess up, but only in a cute way. They can break down and cry, but only if it’s “aesthetic”.

Weight issues are a separate topic. Sometimes I wonder whether managers in companies understand how weight loss or human body in general works. To be honest, I think that scales in agencies are rigged. And only managers know that. I know it can be done from personal experience. Some beach resorts tweak their scales and make them show 4-6 kg less than actual weight, so people wouldn’t get upset if they gain some. There is no way a girl as tall as I am (173 cm) could weigh like 47-50 kg and be able to perform complex choreography on stage and sing without being out of breath, visit the gym on a regular basis and generally function as a normal human without fainting every other day.

“I developed a lot of eating disorders”

“I think I consumed about 300 calories today“

“Someone, please, trim the fat off her arms”

If you grow up thinking of idols as gods and then, when you become one of them you think that you must act as one too. But being an easily replaceable god is a heavy burden. The industry, companies and audience want you to be perfect, to always be on your best behaviour. And the thought of not being good enough or divine enough terrifies you, because stans have no mercy (black ocean concept is the most stupid thing ever by the way). This kind of pressure can destroy even the most resilient. And it does. 

Almost everyone knows that situation with mental health in South Korea is not the best to put it lightly. In many ways it’s a cultural thing. But in k-pop mental health issues are treated with even less care. Gods are not supposed to be depressed or suicidal. They are not supposed to have fears or insecurities, can’t be upset or angry. They try hard to be this deity, this image. So, even when they realise they need professional help or even a friend to talk to, they either won’t seek said help or reach out only to be met with silence. Some agencies disapprove or forbid therapy altogether. 

Sometimes fandom becomes self-aware.

“Don’t forget that idols are people too!”

“Your favourite idols are running out of breath just to keep you entertained“

“They are humans, who have feelings!”

Oh, but here’s the thing, my friend. The industry doesn’t want you to think of them as people. Companies and media repeatedly reinforce the idea that they are not people, they are your idols. And strangely enough, the audience supports this idea. People continue to call them idols, developing worshiping tendencies in the process, imitate them, scrutinise their flaws and triumphs. Because, you know, only “real and ordinary humans” can have flaws, not “idols”.

So people who say “they are human too” and people who say “wow, this concert was amazing, but vocals in the beginning were so off-key, I simply can’t” are one and the same.

This thought process would have been funny if it wasn’t so disappointing. But that’s just my observation.

And here’s another thing about sexualisation. I said before how appearances are everything, marketable face and body could drastically improve your chances to succeed. Companies know about this too and concepts and aesthetics of groups are designed accordingly. Girls are dressed in skimpy outfits, their dances are unnecessary suggestive, they wear heavy make up and try to have “mature” vibes. Boys don’t avoid such objectification either: suits, tight pants and dress shirts along with make up and hairstyle to give audience a promise of the things to come. Grown adults are not supposed to lust after 15-17 year olds. You can’t just create a sexy stage persona for teenagers. Do you remember my earlier words about creepy merch? Yeah. All of it neatly plays into the self-insert fantasy and encourages obsessive behaviour. 

This happens in western countries too. In some way that’s understandable. Beautiful and sexy image with a hint of innocence attracts more people and sells, because it caters to one of the base human instincts. But some things make your skin crawl. 

Sponsorships are another topic. Some k-pop bands seek out sponsors to provide financial aid and cover expenses, when earnings are not enough. Sometimes these sponsorships are fine, perfectly civil. But sometimes it’s a prostitution. Girl groups receive money and provide sexual favours to their patrons. It’s a way for the group to gain financial support and even find new opportunities in the industry. Companies can encourage such deals. Let that sink in for a moment. 

6. “Any advice to those who want to become a k-pop idol?”

A lot of former idols and trainees have similar responses to this question. 

“I don’t want to discourage anyone, but think twice”

“You only see the glamorous side, but don’t see all the hard work that goes into it”

“It’s not what you think”

“They think ‘Since I am good looking and can sing and dance really well, maybe I should become an idol?’, but there is much more to it“

“They think it’s something that is easy and will keep their family set for life financially”

And this implies that most people don’t know what kind of lifestyle k-pop stars truly have, despite the amount of information available online about “behind the scenes” proceedings.

7. Moving on

I am a practical person and every decision I make is subjected to scrutiny. And after seeing everything I can't help but wonder whether idols believe it's truly worth it. What keeps the industry alive is the idol-dream, the wilful ignorance of its reality and youthful idealism, the beautiful naïve belief that it'll get better, even if it never does in the end.

Sure no one would ever admit it out loud, because it's one of those things you never say on camera, no matter how sincere you have to be. It's the matter of professionalism after all, and idols have it spades. And also, because admitting this would equal admitting that you spent your best years doing something you both loved and hated, admitting that this was a mistake.

When you grow up in a society where appearances matter the most, where saving face and being polite is more important than staying true to yourself, where individuality is tolerated only to a certain point, it takes a lot of courage to admit that you need a break. I greatly respect those who decided that idol lifestyle is not for them and moved on.

8. Conclusion

To sum up, I hope you enjoyed my small research and this perspective, since you have read it all the way to the end.  

You have noticed that entertainment industry is an intricate system and its every component makes sure nothing changes. Companies have power over idols and audience, fandom has power over idols and their careers, and musicians themselves have fame and their music, but not always the promised fortune or happiness. 

It’s important to understand the big picture to draw your own conclusions and encourage positive and heathy attitudes in fandoms. Being open minded and allowing people to make mistakes and live their lives the way they want to is a part of being a decent person. People don’t owe anything to others. Art is about sharing your thoughts and feelings, promoting ideas and spreading beauty. It’s not always about money. And I think that this is what k-pop lacks as an industry. It turned dreams and human need for self-expression into business. Here everything is turned into a product. Everything idols touch can be sold, sometimes literally. Industry created problems, which can’t be solved anymore, because doing so would topple the system. And I find it tragic. Trapped in an endless chase after perfection creators of k-pop forgot that beauty lies in the eye of the beholder. 

If you take a look at comment sections and posts on different platforms, what will you see? What kind of things resonate with audience? What makes people laugh and cry? When people start to appreciate the substance?

“Everyone needs to hear this song in their darkest moments”

“Thank you for your music!”

“They always deliver! These guys can’t make a bad song!”

“It inspired me to write again!”

“Their songs brought me and my sister together once again”

“This is what happens when you let groups write their own music - they make incredible things”

“They really are legends of k-pop! I love that they are not afraid to show their inner strength”

“Stay strong! You rock!”

I believe that the answer is quite simple: when it’s real, sincere. It’s all about the message you choose to send to your audience, because only superficial things cause obsession. When you say that the sparkly façade is all that matters, then that’s the only thing people will ever care about. Your audience will never give a damn about the meaning behind dancing, music or lyrics, if you tell them that performance is more important. No one would praise WHAT k-pop idols sing, instead they would prefer wasting breath to criticize HOW they sing or look or move. 

I dare the k-pop industry to prove people that it’s not just about looks or perfection, or laser shows, or being a branding machine. Prove to your fans that k-pop artists are also passionate people with big dreams and talent, who love every moment of their job, who live and inspire, who are human just like us and whose humanity is real!

Do it, you cowards!

And now, I’m finished. I can hear the raging crowd of k-pop fandom in the distance, which means it’s time to hide. See you some other time! 

[myloveandlifeinlajolla]

I’m really bored so here you guys go!

1. selfie

I never do selfies sorry not sorry.  I don’t do them for a number of reasons.  Some of the reasons I hope are kinda obvious.  I have covered this before and it comes down to the fact that the relationship I am in can lead to trouble for my dad, my sisters, and myself.

2. what would you name your future kids?

I would love to keep the family tradition and either use Gaelic or old french names.

3. do you miss anyone?

Oh man I miss having alot of acquaintances.  I was very popular in high-school for alot of reasons; most not too good.  I miss my sorority sisters.  As you get older you find out everyone grows up at different rates.  I have friends that still party like they’re 21 and I have friends that just graduated and are married, 2nd child and are like mini-van mom life!  I miss always having the option to choose whom I wanted to be like that day.

I miss my sisters sometimes.  I have always seen myself as my sisters’ mom. They are on the other side of the country and they live together so I miss them.  They are getting so close and I miss being part of the stories, the inside jokes etc... it’s sometimes a little hard to be left out.  THEN, they come home and I end up being a driver, cook, maid, and I’m like okay it’s time for you to fly out...NOW! 

4. what are you looking forward to?

I’m at a point in my life where i’m content.  I’m looking forward to creating the house into a home.  I like decorating it.  I’m looking forward to getting the house covered in flowers.  I’m looking forward to working out.  I’m really looking forward to getting my body back.  

5. is there anyone who can always make you smile?

Without a doubt it’s Catie!  I love you missy.

6. is it hard for you to get over someone?

Interesting question and I guess I have a very interesting take on it.  I loved my dad forever but there was a time during counseling where we were working on re-aligning the relationship to be more inline with a traditional father/daughter role so we were engaged in alot of behavior modification for me.  It was really hard (and made me really depressed, and self destructive and failed) but or psych was still having me see my “crush” every day but I couldn’t do any of the things that my mom did and I was only supposed to do “age-appropriate” activities.  But the thing was I loved my mom and I loved doing the things she did.  So, life was just hard. Trying to pretend like feelings for someone don’t exist is a miserable experience.  

7. what was your life like last year?

Life has been interesting,  My dad and I are now living as a couple at the house so there were/are real growing pains associated with that.  it’s no longer just his room and my room and we don’t have to sneak around the house.  That stuff is amazing and I love that.  I miss my sisters.  I miss all my acquaintances.  Catie’s husband got transferred out of Coronado and they are moving to the Virginia. My dad’s grandfather died.  Still have no clue where my aunt is.  This is the longest that has happened.  My middle sister quit softball, my youngest sister is like a full woman and it’s scary.

8. have you ever cried because you were so annoyed?

I have cried for just about every reason under the sun.  

9. who did you last see in person?

Dad as he left this morning

10. are you good at hiding your feelings?

I am not good at it at all.  Mad, you’ll know, annoyed you’ll know. Sad, you will probably see drinking wine.

11. are you listening to music right now?

Nope, YouTube is on 

12. what is something you want right now?

Honestly I feel like sex, anal and giving a blowjob

13. how do you feel right now?

Mildly horny and procrastinating writing up three proposals

14. when was the last time someone of the opposite sex hugged you?

This morning, I’m a lucky girl!

15. personality description

According to my plum profile I am a marvelous manager, chief communicator, and a decision maker.

16. have you ever wanted to tell someone something but you didn’t?

That’s why I have Tumblr. I can tell everyone and it’s really cathartic.

17. opinion on insecurities

We all have them.  Own them but don’t let them run and ruin your life.

18. do you miss how thing were a year ago?

A little.  Everything seemed just a little bit easier.  

19. have you ever been to New York?

Oh my god yes I love it there!

20. what is your favorite song at the moment?

Memories by Maroon 5, Rebel Girl and  Kiss and Tell by Angels and Airwaves

21. age and birthday? 23 now, July 31st, 

22. description of crush.

Dad was about 6′4 225 he’s about 6′1″/2″ now I think he’s still around 230

23. fear(s)

I never talk about my fears.

24. height

I’m 5′9″

25. role model

It’s cheesy but my dad.

26. idol(s)

I don’t really have any

27. things i hate

I hate shitty people.  I hate mean and manipulative people.  There are nice to your face and shitty behind you.  If you don’t like me just be honest.  We can be polite we don’t have to be friends.

28. i’ll love you if…

I don’t like being cold so if you keep me warm that’s one way.  I like shopping so if you like to go shopping with me that’s a good way.  I love having good coffee and also tea.

29. favorite film(s)

Phantom of the Opera, Sleeping Beauty, Diamonds are a girls best friends, breakfast at Tiffany’s stuff like that.

30. favourite tv show(s)

West wing, how I met your mother, friends, sex and the city, the big bang theory, the office, scrubs.

31. 3 random facts

I was a triple jumper, I have so many bikini pieces I rarely ever wear matching parts, I suck at swimming and look like a dog swimming.

32. are your friends mainly girls or guys?

I have a ton of girl friends

33. something you want to learn

I want to learn programming

34. most embarrassing moment

The moment I hooked up with Catie’s crush in high-school and she was about to let everyone at the party know my “daddy issues” were alot more than that.  yeah that sucked.  But he was a giant dickhead so I guess it worked out.  

35. favorite subject 

Biology

36. 3 dreams you want to fulfill?

DREAMS... get married, have children, not be in a secret relationship

37. favorite actor/actress

Reese Witherspoon, and Audrey Hepburn

38. favorite comedian(s)

Ralphie May, Norm McDonald, Jimmy Fallon, 

39. favorite sport(s)

Track and Field, Sailing, Rowing, Dressage, and Surfing I was only okay at Track and Field

40. favorite memory

My prom night

41. relationship status

Taken, and like noone knows,..Sad face

42. favorite book(s)

An honorable Profession, the Great Gatsby, 

43. favorite song ever 

Still gives me chills,  Chi ll bel sogno di Doretta but you really have to be in the mood, 

LA MUSICA NOTTURNA DELLE STRADE DI MADRID. No. 6, Op.30

Pachelbel - Canon in d

More popular stuff is mashups

44. age you get mistaken for

18-20 I have a baby face

45. how you found out about your idol

I just want to be the best me I can be. no Idols.  

46. what my last text message says

To a coworker, “How’s it going?”

47. turn ons

Be nice and kind (especially to a poor/homeless)

Dapper not stylish but classic

Salt and pepper hair

In shape and clean!!!!

48. turn offs

Dirtiness, disheveld, rude, loud and crude.

49. where i want to be right now

I want to be in Manhattan looking out the window onto a city of snow, with dad

50. favorite picture of your idol

nope 51. starsign

I’m a zodiac but none of that means anything.  

52. something i’m talented at

blowjobs! No really I love them.  Also I’m great at meticulous lab work and business strategy.

53. 5 things that make me happy

1. 99% of the time Dad. 2. Being snooty and posh.  I love the opera, symphony, I love getting dressed up, and the whole ritual of it all. 3. coffee and cold misty beach air while im in a warm sweater out by the pool looking at the ocean.  4. shopping, 5. recognized for good work at work.

54. something thats worrying me at the moment

family and I really need to let things go.

55. tumblr friends

Yep got them but I don’t know if they want me to out them here. So you guys get to stay hidden!

56. favorite food(s)

Braised lamb shank is good

57. favorite animal(s)

I love big wrinkly dogs that slobber (WILL NEVER GET THEM) I can’t imagine trying to keep a clean house with fur and slobber!

58. description of my best friend.

What more can I say about Catie, she knows everything and has been my rock since I was 11!  She even planned prom for me which was why I am where I am really.  I mean It helped get us here alot faster.  She is my bestie.

59. why i joined tumblr

This iteration of tumblr has been to talk about what it’s like to be in a real relationship with my biological father NOT some cheesy porno or erotic story.  I try to talk about the real relationship struggles we have.  Answer questions etc... But I guess I am kinda boring because no one asks anymore.  

60. ask me anything you want

[whaleyoufeedmenuggets]

Im too lazy to look at the questions so DO ALL OF THEM. (if you dont wanna then go on a random number generator and get 5 random numbers)

ITS REALLY LONG BUT I DID IT KJSHADJS HERE GOES i love oversharing my lifealso im putting a read more line bc its hella long

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

water bottles

2. chocolate bars or lollipops?

ehhh depends on my mood. i’d say it’s (dark) chocolate most of the time (love that 70% dark chocolate mmMmMm)

3. bubblegum or cotton candy?

cotton candy!! except when it gets all over my face and hair o no

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you?

common report book comments included

- very active

- bright

- “the live wire of the class”

- usually distracted but still does well

- mischievous

- playful

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups?

bottles so that i can close it and save the rest for later and not have to chug it yeet

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear?

sportswear #sweatpantsalldayeveryday

7. earbuds or headphones?

def headphones but they’re inconvenient sometimes :/

8. movies or tv shows?

tv shows!! (also, my adhd ass can’t get through a movie without zoning out oops)

9. favorite smell in the summer?

i haven’t experienced /real/ summer (thank u singapore’s tropical climate) but i rly like the smell of rain :”)

10. game you were best at in p.e.?

making up excuses to skip pe

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day?

belvitas before morning practice

croissant sandwich and chocolate milk after practice

if there’s no practice, then scrambled eggs from the dining hall lolol

if i’m too lazy to go to the dining hall, then cereal

12. name of your favorite playlist?

it’s literally called jams and the description is “a clusterfuck of stuff i’ve jammed to at some point”

13. lanyard or key ring?

key ring

14. favorite non-chocolate candy?

gummy bears/sour patch kids

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

death of a salesman - arthur miller

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

with one foot up on the chair and the other leg sitting normally

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

a pair of asics sneakers

18. ideal weather?

15ºc/60ºf when its like cool but not too cold but also not ridiculously hot and also when theres no insane wind (a light breeze is fine)

19. sleeping position?

on my left side and hugging a pillow/bolster/soft toy

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

i like the feeling of pen and paper but im disorganized as hell so an apple pencil + ipad makes a good enough substitute

21. obsession from childhood?

frogs (i’ve loved them since i was 3 hehe)

22. role model?

a dude i used to train with for a while in 2014. he retired last year but he’s always looked out for me like an older brother since we trained together (he’s 8 years older than me lmao) and even thought i’m so far away rn he still checks in on me and stuff and idk he’s probably one of the swimmers i respect the most.

23. strange habits?

i cant fall asleep at night if im not hugging something.  like. it could be a pillow. or a soft toy. literally anything. once on a school trip i hugged a pair of sweatpants to sleep bc i legit cant fall asleep if im not hugging something.i have no problem falling asleep in class/on buses/cars/planes though.

24. favorite crystal?

idk i never really paid enough attention to crystals to actually have a favorite and know their names. they’re all rly pretty tho.

25. first song you remember hearing?

uhh h h i honestly can’t remember. probably some classical music bc i played the violin and that was my first experience of music that i was actually aware of????

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather?

switch on the aircon and take a nap / sit in bed on netflix/playing on my nintendo switch. and swimming outdoors i guess.

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather?

switch on the heater and take a nap / sit in bed on netflix/playing on my nintendo switch.

do u see a pattern here

28. five songs to describe you?

jet lag - simple plan (bc time zones suck and i miss my fam & friends)

avalanche - bring me the horizon (pretty much sums up how tf my brain feels)

high hopes - p!atd

astronaut - simple plan

the reckless and the brave - all time low

29. best way to bond with you?

doing dumb shit with me

also Quality Time™️ like idk even if we’re chilling and doing our own shit i like just spending time with people im comfortable enough with

30. places that you find sacred?

idk

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names?

a hoodie and sweatpants

for no reason other than that’s what i wear 90% of the time

32. top five favorite vines?

I AM CONFUSION!!! AMERICA EXPLAIN

this bitch empty. yeet.

im in my mom’s car VROOM VROOM

the one of that dad playing the saxophone (???) and the kid slamming the oven door open and shut

road works ahead “haha yea sure hope it does!”

33. most used phrase in your phone?

either lmao or lolol or LMFAO or yeet

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head?

gOD i had spotify ads stuck in my head all the time before i switched to premium and now i cant remember any of them (thank god)

35. average time you fall asleep?

i’d say 12:30-1ish

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

the tROLL FACE MEME LIKE those rage faces idk what they’re called but BASICALLY THOSE 2010-2012 era memes

37. suitcase or duffel bag?

suitcase!!! i like sitting on them and yeeting myself around on them or getting people to push me around and then falling off

38. lemonade or tea?

lemonade

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie?

ngl i havent had either of them before

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school?

so in jc2 (aka 12th grade), for some reason PEOPLE WERE PUTTING PRE-PACKAGED HARD BOILED EGGS ALL OVER THE SCHOOL. like they were still in their wrappers and all but u could open ur schoolbag and find like 5 eggs in there. and no one knew where they came from. i think at one point there were even eggs hanging from the pull-up bars. all i know is that they were everywhere and people in my batch still remember it as the egg invasion of acjc.

41. last person you texted?

my mom

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets?

def jacket!!! especially when they have zips hehe

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

hoodie

44. favorite scent for soap?

idk man depends on my mood

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

sci-fi bc im a fricken nerd

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in?

shirt and sweats

47. favorite type of cheese?

cheddarrr also i like mozzerrella sticks

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

a fineapple B)

lmao jk ummmm maybe a watermelon bc when u hit it it sounds hollow, just like how my skull would sound if someone hit it (h a)

49. what saying or quote do you live by?

here for a good time not for a long time

never give up without a fight

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have?

idk probably some dumb meme. i laugh at a lot of stuff like i laugh anything even mildly funny. some that i can think of off the top of my head are:

- i was tryna type ducky but typed fucky instead and sOmEOnE (could be the person who submitted this ask, idk tho) changed my facebook messenger nickname to fucky and the notification was like ”poopy butthole changed your nickname to fucky” and i think that’s still the funniest sentence i’ve read in my whole life

- one time we went to mcdonalds and a friend said mcfluffy instead of mcflurry and idk why but i laughed so hard at that

- once @doduo and i spent half a chinese lesson cutting out random faces from the chinese newspaper and sticking them randomly all over the classroom and idk. it was the funniest thing ever. until the teacher came over and confiscated my scissors rip.

51. current stresses?

- an essay draft (that i am procrastinating rn by doing this, oops)

- CANADIAN TRIALS (but thats a good kind of stress)

- submitting a proposal for a group project but none of my groupmates are freaking replying my texts ugh

52. favorite font?

avenir next!! i find san serif fonts way easier to read than serif lolol.i like helvetica neue too.

53. what is the current state of your hands?

dry af but also i just got my nails done so they pretty rn hehe

54. what did you learn from your first job?

i…havent had a real job yet

55. favorite fairy tale?

idk i was never rly one for fairy tales even as a kid.

56. favorite tradition?

chinese new year when we get CASH and we spend 3 days just eating junk yEET im rly sad im gonna be missing it the next few years tho

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome?

hh h h hh hhh hh hh they’re pretty personal i don’t /really/ wanna put it out here but i can text you the answer to this if you want (i’m perfectly fine with that!!)

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

- i think i’m pretty intuitive!!! i can guess anyone’s mbti if i’ve spent enough time with them/gotten a detailed enough description of them /winks/ and i can read people pretty well in general and i can draw links to themes/symbols in lit pretty well….???

- i’m somewhat decent at lettering…i think

- i’m good at pull-ups and also vertical jumps i’m secretly a froge

- i’m decent at photography…i guess….

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

yeet

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be?

pokemon !!

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

/sweats/ i’m not very good at remembering lines from books/movies/shows WELP

62. seven characters you relate to?

JAKE PERALTA - b99

rosa diaz - b99

linguine - ratatouille (he’s permanently confused and he let a ratto take over his job bc he had no idea what he was doing like damn what a big mood)

dory - finding nemo/finding dory (i relate to the forgetfulness)

percy jackson

kale bae /winks/

mitt (during bad phases) /winks again, but sadly/

63. five songs that would play in your club?

idek man i wouldnt even be at my own club i’d be at home taking a nap i’ll just ask someone else to handle my playlist

64. favorite website from your childhood?

club penguin !!!

65. any permanent scars?

yE one of them was from jumping onto a treadmill going at 13km/h 2 years ago bc i thought i was a good idea

66. favorite flower(s)?

i dont have any

67. good luck charms?

i eat pancakes for breakfast on meet days!!!! altho i think this is more of a habit than a good luck charm tbh lmao.

also i guess pip???? he’s my emotional support narwhal :’)

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried?

durian. i cant stand the stuff or anything flavored like it ugh.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned?

red food coloring is derived from beetles

70. left or right handed?

right

71. least favorite pattern?

overly-floral patterns i guessssss. also i hate wearing stripes.

72. worst subject?

chinese

besides that, math and physics

73. favorite weird flavor combo?

i rly like vanilla ice cream and fries

also i would eat ketchup with nearly anything

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen?

i usually just suck it up and go to sleep when it comes to pain but i guess an 8??? idk. i usually take advil/ibuprofen only for fevers

75. when did you lose your first tooth?

i got my first loose tooth on january 11 2005 and it fell out on january 18 2005 & it was a tuesday (pls don’t ask me how i remember this bc i dont know)

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)?

tater tots

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill?

cactus i guess. idk im not good at plants.

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store?

grocery store sushi (it was pretty decent in singapore so yeeeee lmao also i ate a lot of that as a kid)

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo?

its the same photo for both so yeAh

80. earth tones or jewel tones?

earth

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

idk i always called them fireflies

82. pc or console?

console I LOVE THE FEEL OF BUTTONS

83. writing or drawing?

drawing (more like doodlign for me bc i cant draw for shit)

84. podcasts or talk radio?

neither but if i rlllllly had to choose then podcasts i guessss s sss

84. barbie or polly pocket?

neither LMAO i gave all my barbies haircuts when i was a kid bc i didnt know what to do with them

85. fairy tales or mythology?

mythology for sure!! i love greek mythology (may or may not be bc of percy jackson lolol)

86. cookies or cupcakes?

cookies

87. your greatest fear?

losing those i love and care about (could be drifting or actual death it goes both ways)

88. your greatest wish?

rn, for my essay to write itself

for the short-term, to make the olympics (and WUGs…and worlds…and sea games…and asian games…and commonwealth games lmao)

for the long-term, uhhh idk. i just wanna live a life i’m satisfied with and to have a job i actually like and to be able to support my parents

89. who would you put before everyone else?

my mom

90. luckiest mistake?

i always say that i regret doing a year of college in singapore instead of coming here for freshman year but if i’d come in a year earlier like i was supposed to, i proba wouldn’t have made it past swim team tryouts and i made some pretty great friends in my first year of college soooo it all worked out i guessi cant think of any others rn

91. boxes or bags?

bags

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights?

fairy lights are rly pretty!!but i like natural light :”)

93. nicknames?

deb

debs

debo

debbo

alpha childuhh h h i think thats about it??? i cant remember any others

94. favorite season?

spring’s pretty great rni like fall too (before it gets cOLd)

95. favorite app on your phone?

insta/tumblr/telegram

96. desktop background?

a photo of me looking rly cool at the starting blocks before a race B)

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized?

4 - mine (singapore & US), my mom’s and my dad’s

98. favorite historical era?

uhh h h idk the ice age seemed pretty cool haha sike it was actually coldmedieval times seemed pretty cool too like damn i want a suit of armorWHEW I SPENT WAY TOO MUCH TIME ON THIS but i had fun so yeet

also if you read all the way down here ily and you’re cool

[catrectorauthor]

The Immersion Tactic: Because we can’t stop telling people how to write

The writing process. You know, that thing that people want to tell you how to do properly. I’ve got some opinions. 

First and foremost, I'm no gatekeeper. I'm not here to tell you what is or isn't allowed, or what disqualifies you from the title of "serious author". I don't believe in cookie-cutter methods or elitism. I do believe in offering up information to others to do as they please with it, in order to help other writers find their way out of the dark woods that can be the writing process.

So. Let’s begin. As indicated by the title, my process has been immersion. Now wait, I'm not talking moving to France to bury yourself in croissants and macaroons. I'm talking diving in so deep that you're living your work during the majority of your free time. I'm talking about absorbing ideas and information while you're not actively working on your project, whether by watching a movie to study dialogue or by listening to a deeply moving love song to get in touch with your MC’s feelings. Writing is exhausting. Sometimes you need a break. But you can also choose to use your downtime in ways that benefit the work. 

If this seems an interesting theory, read on. It's worked for me, but it won't work for everyone. Maybe you'll steal a single item and leave the rest where it lies. I'm not here to judge; I'm here to build you up. Let me know if anything works for you. Here we go:

Sit in windows, on balconies, in gardens, at cafes, and on buses, and just stare into the abyss: You know when you lie down to sleep and then an amazing idea comes to you, and it's such inconvenient timing? It's not coincidence. You've finally stopped moving and thinking long enough to let ideas flow. Actively make time for this type of creativity by being idle. Leverage the still moments in your day to daydream about your story, even if you've completely zoned out at lunch and your whole table thinks you’re dead. 

Make a playlist: I have two playlists. I have one without English lyrics, so that I can tune out the world and focus on my task, and one with English lyrics. The second is a tool I use to immerse myself in my scenes and characters. I listen to it in the shower, on the bus, and while I'm doing the dishes. It forces me to remember the scene or character it references, and usually drives my motivation to write. Use this to keep your characters sitting on your shoulders at all times. 

Play video games: Yeah you heard me. While working on this project, I played God of War 4, Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice, Northgard, Jotun, and a handful of other Norse/Viking themed games. They’ll never provide you with pure fact, but I learned to ask questions about the information they provided, to look up things they presented me with, and to study the contents for details I could use, like mood or setting. I didn't even know about Valravn until I play Hellblade, so I have no regrets. But don't be stupid. Horror games are perfect for brainstorming horror stories, dystopian  games for distopian worlds, etc. But I'm not dumb eh. You have no excuses to play Call of Duty if you're writing an Italian romance.

Watch TV: This depends on your subject matter. For me, I only watched Vikings. The takeaway is the same as playing games. Watch the thing, ask questions, look for facts. Study the content while you’re unwinding with ice cream and a bag of chips. Learn to identify tropes, try to guess where plots will twist and how, and then use those lessons to avoid being predictable. TV and movies are also the kings of dialogue, so pay attention. I learned a lot from watching Buffy on repeat, and recommend it to anyone.

Research with books: If you're not reading as research, you’ve missed a critical part of the reading books things. However, research isn't limited to looking up which era the T-Rex lived in. Read to study style, nuance, and flow. I started rereading the Kingkiller Chronicles because I wanted to learn from Rothfuss' writing style. No don’t argue with me. That man is a God.  

Make a Pinterest Board (or 20): How do you research ancient clothing, jewelry, and building types when your budget won't let you fly to Iceland for a month? Fucking Pinterest. Members of pagan communities who craft and wear period clothing have saved my life. Photo references of people, places, and things are key to any piece of research. Pin the shit out of things and then reference them for the rest of your days.  Go to a museum: Writing a book that takes place in ancient Egypt? Go get face to face with some mummies. Learn what you can while getting some air for once, and use the opportunity to talk out some of your ideas with your museum buddy. This applies to anything. Scout out cafes for scenes you're writing, go to fantasy festivals to drink mead and make offerings to Gods, check out a botanical garden and take notes, whatever floats your literary boat. Your body will thank you for leaving the house, and you won’t forget the experience. 

Go to writing meetings and don't actually write: Commiserating about the process might have been the only thing that kept me from crawling under a rock. Can't fix that plot hole? That's okay, these people know how you feel. Stuck on a section? They have some suggestions for you. Looking for research books? Somehow they have the perfect title for you. Sometimes you need a stiff drink and a chat to get back to work. (But for christ sake, don't be that guy who talks through work time. If everyone is feeling like chatting, fine. That's a group decision. Don’t be the asshat that distracts everyone else.)

Scribble down side stories: Sometimes something doesn’t fit the plot, but fits the world. It doesn't mean you shouldn't write it. It may help flesh out your current story. Keep a side folder for these and have fun writing them when you can't stand your story anymore. Cook and eat the food from your world: Good in the kitchen? Try making that exquisite meal you wrote into chapter 12. Remind yourself what sushi tastes like before you have to describe what it tastes like. Really want to go the extra mile? Learn to fish, make a fire and cook it yourself. IMMERSION. Sketch: If you have a talent for art, draw your characters. Draw their outfits, their jewelry, their pets. I did this a bit, but it turns out I'm out of practice and was more apt to throw the pencil through the window. Either way, it will help you visualize outfits, hairstyles, and will let you watch a fucking movie while you do it. Actually write the damn book: Naturally this is the most important part. You can’t get around it. You have to put in the time. I've done all of the above, but I've also stuck in hundreds and hundreds of hours of writing for this one story. And it can be hard to do the writing, I know that. But that’s what you’re here for, so when you’re done with the creative outlet, channel it into the writing. 

Now I hear the skeptics. These are all just distractions, you could just be writing! Listen, no one is saying don’t write. And you may be the type who can just sit and write, but not everyone is, and certainly not 24/7. All brains work differently. The conversation also conveniently ignores minds that function in other ways. Perhaps someone on the autism spectrum has another process than someone with synesthesia, or someone who’s neurotypical.  

Follow the path that takes you to the story. That path has more twists for some people than others. Put in the work, and do it how you need to do it. If you're worried about procrastinating because of all these side quests, give yourself guidelines and boundaries. Set yourself achievable goals that will bring you back to the work.

I’ve tried to have fun with my creative process, because that suits who I am, but it doesn’t make me less serious about the work I’m doing. Ask the people who haven’t seen me in a year if I’m committed to the work. The story will be written. It will be published come Hel or high water. I’m just doing it my way. 

TLDR; Don't let other people tell you how to be fucking creative.

[dreadhaus-literature]

{January Collection} #7

Hearth

Monday Theme: Multiples Monday

“Oh my god, not AGAIN!”

The frustrated yell could have come from anyone in the apartment building, but it originated from Apartment 4B. Monica’s head dropped back to rest against the arm of her couch, her tablet dead in her lap, dark like the rest of her apartment. Why? Because the storm raging outside had knocked out the power, again. And it wouldn’t be a huge issue, with the exception that she had a deadline to meet...that she may or may not have been procrastinating on working on, because the Sims is addicting and her publisher just didn’t understand!

“No, what you don’t understand is that demand for your series is through the roof and we need to release the next book in the series to fan the flames! Give your fans what they want!”

That had been the end of the conversation, with her publisher not hearing the tail end of her sentence--that she didn’t care what her fans wanted, the main hero was going to die at the end of the book anyway. He was getting too popular and she hated it. And do you know what else she hated?

Power outages, because it left her unable to work on her next book cover. Talented to a ridiculous degree, Monica was one of the few authors who was actually skilled enough to write and illustrate her own novels, which was partly why she was so successful. The other part was just pure, raw talent, for creating worlds readers wanted to crawl in and never leave. She was on top of the literary world right now, and her publisher was under the impression if she kept riding these waves there might be talks of movie deals in the future--

“But only if you can prove you can meet deadlines!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Monica all but growled out in the dark, as if her publisher was in the room with her. She might have wailed her dead tablet at her head if she had been, but noooo, Keli was across the city, likely with power. And heat. Goddamnit, the heat was out because of the power outage, and Monica became very aware of that the moment she threw her blanket off her legs to grab her cell phone. Her tablet was laid on the coffee table, and hopefully the auto-save would have captured her most recent additions to her sketches because honestly she couldn’t remember the last time she saved. Swiping to turn on her phone’s flashlight, Monica resisted the urge to shiver as the residual heat settled near the ceiling and left her legs chilled. The apartment building was eerily silent, with most of it’s occupants likely not noticing the power was out as they were asleep, but Monica did her best work at night...which would be fine, except there was no natural light to substitute the power being out.

Flashes of lightning tossed shadows carelessly around her dark home, and she fought to keep a damper on her over-active imagination while she tried to work out a strategy. What could she do? She could go to bed...but a single glance at her bed and then her phone’s time nipped that idea right in the bud. There was no way she was going to bed before 2AM, what a waste of a night, power or no power. But she couldn’t sit up and stare at the wall with her phone’s light, either. And it was just going to get colder the longer the power was out, with no heat. Monica stood in the center of the room with one hand on her hip, chewing the inside of her cheek as she turned the problem this way and that, trying to come to a decision that made some sort of sense. She couldn’t do anything about the power issue, or the heat...but there were common areas in the apartment building that had fireplaces! She could light a fire, and use the light to draw in one of her sketch pads! That way, she wouldn’t lose the spark of creativity, and she’d be warm in the process! And the best part was that the common areas would likely be empty, given it was so late. Granted, that was just a guess, because Monica kept to herself, but it was still an educated guess!

Ten minutes and two stubbed toes later, and Monica was pulling her dark apartment door closed, sketch pad, utensils, and water bottle in one hand, keys and blanket in the other. The hallway was thankfully lit by the emergency lights and Monica snuck a glance down the opposite end of the hallway toward the elevators, sending up a silent thanks that each floor had common areas so she wouldn’t have to go down four flights of stairs to execute her brilliant plan. Just down the hall and around the corner and she cleared her throat quietly, listening to the relative silence of an apartment building forced into the dark ages by an awful January storm. Monica started down the dim hall, eyes taking in the difference of a building that was normally extremely well lit; it was too bad she wasn’t working on a horror novel, because this would make for a perfect plot. A beautiful woman finds herself pursued by a tall, dark stranger through barely lit hallways--

“Oh, excuse me.”

Monica knew better, she fucking knew better, than to let her imagination run away with her when she should be paying attention and boy was she paying for it right now. She hadn’t been able to stop her squeal of surprise and wide green eyes snapped up, up, up to meet with the chiseled, distinguished features of a man filling out every inch of a red flannel shirt and blue jeans. He was impossibly tall and built like a statue carved from marble; Monica had honestly only seen physiques like this on famed superheroes, but she didn’t recognize this man. Beautifully kind blue eyes met her started green and already she could see a concerned apology clouding their depths; jet black hair was a little toussled as if he’d been running strong hands through it, and Monica was suddenly very aware she hadn’t brushed her hair before coming to sit out here.

She didn’t have any make-up on, either.

Son of a bitch.

“I am...so, so sorry, are you all right?” Clark Kent could not believe how insensitive he’d been! Startling this poor...absolutely gorgeous young woman in the dark like this...

Wow.

Holy wow. She was stunning.

“T-That’s...that’s okay,” Monica laughed a little breathlessly. “I should have been watching where I was going.”

Clark was left staring, wide-eyed behind his glasses, floundering for a moment or two before his brain realized he was supposed to be answering her! It was just...even her voice was enough to knock his socks off. Who was this woman?

“No, no, that was entirely my fault.” Clark recovered as smoothly as he could, his smile natural and returning immediately when her eyes met his. “Are you all right? I didn’t hurt you or anything, did I?”

It was completely inappropriate to touch her, of course it was--Clark hadn’t even bumped into her--but he couldn’t stop himself from gingerly brushing his fingers along her upper arms as if to steady her, but the touch lingered when he felt satin soft skin beneath his own calloused fingers. His throat ran dry, and Clark felt a little...out of his element. Hadn’t he adjusted to life on Earth? Learned what it was to at least mimic being human? Before this encounter he would have answered yes, but this was...new.

“I-I’m fine,” Monica tried hard not to focus on the way his touch felt, ghosting against the skin of her arms and inwardly she was really grateful she was still in a T-shirt. “I really don’t want you to worry about it! I wasn’t...really paying attention--”

“Everything okay, Clark?”

A second deep voice from behind the man Monica now knew was named Clark caught her attention--as well as Clark’s--and as Clark turned, Monica was met with another, equally impressive specimen of a man and where were they coming from? Was she sharing an apartment building with beautiful men this entire time and just didn’t know it because she didn’t socialize?

This other man was blond, and seemed to share the same height advantage Clark had--they also shared similar physiques, though this man was testing the limits of a T-shirt tucked ever so politely into the top of jeans that left nothing to Monica’s imagination. This man definitely did not skip leg day. The man offered her a smile, one that looked kind despite the hard, square cut to his jaw and a profile that could be on billboards. It took Monica a moment to notice that he was standing in front of an easel, a brush and palette in hand, a half-finished painting on the easel in front of him. The fireplace was lit, tossing heat and shadows down the hallway, and it appeared the blond was using the natural light of the fire to paint. This...gorgeous man was an artist? Monica was suddenly even more self-conscious, hugging her sketch pad to her chest as if to hide it.

“Yes, Steve, I just startled this poor girl.” Clark laughed a little sheepishly, and it was a laugh Steve mirrored.

“Is she okay?”

“I’m fine!” Monica interjected, not wanting Clark to feel bad or for this Steve to be worried. She cleared her throat, fidgeting on her toes. Now that she’d come around the corner...it was pretty apparent she was here for the common area, but it was one these two were obviously sharing. She didn’t want to intrude.

As if sensing her inner thoughts, Clark stepped a little to the side, opening up that broad posture as he gestured toward the common area. “Would you like to sit with us? With the power being out, Steve needed somewhere to paint and I needed somewhere to read.”

“Oh, no! That’s okay, I can go to the next floor.” Monica waved her free hand in front of her, shaking her head. “I don’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re not,” Steve couldn’t help wanting to throw his weight in with Clark’s offer. He really...didn’t want her to leave. “Company’s always nice.”

“The more the merrier!” Clark added, smiling wide enough to show perfectly white teeth.

Monica looked between the two, torn between her own shyness and her desire to share company with men she would consider so far out of her league...wholly unaware they felt exactly the same about her.

“W-Well, if you don’t mind...”

“Not at all!” Clark tried to keep the excitement out of his tone at her agreement, but he wasn’t sure how well he did. “I’m Clark, by the way.”

“Monica,” she offered, and shook Clark’s offered hand. Despite their size difference and the strength she could feel in those fingers, he shook her hand with the utmost care.

“Beautiful name.” The compliment slipped from his lips before he could censor himself, and Clark tried to cover the blunder by releasing Monica’s hand and gesturing to his friend. “Steve, this is Monica.”

Steve Rogers set his paintbrush and palette on the table, wiping his hands on his jeans just in case, before he closed the distance between himself and Monica in a few powerful strides.

“Hello, Monica. It’s nice to meet you.” Steve’s handshake was a little more firm than Clark’s, but Monica had no way of knowing it was because Steve was more nervous. He had...little to no experience around women--especially ones as beautiful as Monica.

Not that he thought there were any women as beautiful as Monica. She was a bombshell, an absolute knock-out and he...had been shaking her hand too long.

Steve released Monica’s hand with a smile that was tinged just a little with nerves but he recovered by stepping back and gesturing toward one of the open arm chairs in the seating area.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.”

The seating area was intimate and small, but that was because this floor housed larger apartments for the more elite of the building, so she didn’t have too many neighbors and Monica idly found herself wondering about Clark and Steve and what they did that afforded them the luxury of one of the upper floors. Were they models? Was that a silly thing to wonder? They certainly could be...

Steve and Clark exchanged a glance as Monica took the offered armchair, both wondering the exact same thing she was--was she a model? Were they in the presence of one of those aesthetic elites? It would make so much sense; she carried herself with a natural grace that both men noticed, and she had a physique they couldn’t ignore no matter how many times their “nice guy” mentality told them to stop staring at her. As the fire kissed her profile, Steve cleared his throat because he felt his heart was hammering a little too loudly; he could still feel her touch in the calloused center of his palm. Clark had to resist the urge to run his hand through his dark hair. Both men, capable of such incredible feats, were fighting the urge to drop to their knees in silly schoolboy confessions of a crush on the prettiest girl in their apartment complex.

Honestly, the prettiest girl either of them had ever seen.

“I was going to go make some coffee.” Clark spoke up to break the silence, eyes on Monica. “Would you like some?”

“I...Well I actually usually drink tea,” Monica admitted. “I’m getting over a cold, though, so maybe something hot would be good no matter what--”

“I can make you tea.” Clark hated to interrupt, but the moment he heard she was sick, he couldn’t resist wanting to offer what would make her feel better. “With a little honey and lemon for your cold?”

Monica’s smile was shy, but genuine. “That would be...honestly, great, Clark. Thank you so much.”

Clark nodded and spared a glance at Steve--who didn’t even notice, because he was still staring at Monica. Clark resisted the urge to chuckle, and he turned with a quiet courteous, “Be right back.”

Steve was thankfully jerked from his longing stare at Clark’s exit, and he moved back toward his easel, which thankfully was positioned to give him the best light from the roaring fire--it also afforded him the ability to see Monica from his peripheral without any issue. Steve hated to admit, even to himself, but it would have been an issue if he couldn’t see her.

“Are...Are you an artist?”

Monica’s timid question caught at Steve’s heart, transporting him back nearly a century to a scrawny kid from Brooklyn and he couldn’t resist meeting her curious gaze, a soft smile on his face. He may not be that boy anymore, but he was still Steve, and Steve was a man who took care of others. He didn’t want her to be nervous in his presence.

“Not professionally,” Steve supplied, glancing between Monica and his half-finished painting. “It’s more of a hobby, something that calms me, takes me out of the moment when I need an escape.”

It was a sentiment Monica could relate to, and that lowering of Steve’s guard also lowered hers, so that she felt comfortable resting her sketch pad on her lap--it caught Steve’s attention immediately.

“You draw.” It came out a statement, but an incredulous one.

“W-Well, y-yes, I mean,” Monica stammered through an explanation that wasn’t really one, too shy at the idea of Steve seeing her sketches or even finished pieces. “It’s nothing, r-really.”

But Steve was already across the small space, so excited by this connection between himself and Monica that he forgot his usual propriety, dropping down to his haunches in front of her.

“May I?” Steve gestured to her sketch pad, but her slight hesitation caught his attention and he withdrew his hand. “I don’t mean to pry, I’m sorry, that was too forward--”

“N-No! I don’t...mind,” Monica laughed, mostly at her own expense. “My artwork’s already on display, it shouldn’t be a problem to share it with you.”

“On display?” The incredulity was back in Steve’s tone, and Monica fought the urge to squirm at how in awe he sounded.

“I’m...Well I’m an author, and I illustrate my own covers and I’ve...released a few graphic style novels, too.”

Steve wasn’t entirely familiar with what a graphic novel was, but he knew talent when he saw it and for the second time tonight, Monica stole his breath by the sketches the pad revealed. As soon as he flipped open the cover, Steve was transfixed by the expression on these character’s faces, the gracefully drawn lines--even the frustrated erasing told a story of a passionate artist with stories to tell and worlds to create. Some were merely sketches done in pencil, but others were fully completely drawings, color and all, and Steve turned each page like an art dealer searching for just the right piece--when every single one was more perfect than the last.

“They’re a little rough, some of them aren’t even any good--”

“They’re incredible, Monica.” Steve glanced up from her pad, nailing her to the chair with the sincerity in his tone. “I’ve never seen anything like these, before.”

Monica was more or less at a loss for words, staring at the raw honesty in Steve’s eyes and in the baritone of his voice. He spoke with a ringing truth that was hard to ignore, and Monica idly had to wonder if this man had ever uttered a lie in his entire life. When he turned back to her sketch pad, Monica continue to stare, transfixed by him and that strong profile. He had jawline for days, and the fire seemed to set his blue eyes ablaze. His hair looked soft, as if he had no product in it at all. Even with her seated he was every bit as tall as she was on his haunches, and his shoulders all but blocked the fire behind him. How...was his man even real?

How was this woman even real? Steve had no answer for his unasked question, just more fuel to the embers smoldering in his belly. She lived here? Had Clark known she did? There was no jealousy in Steve’s question, only curiosity at whether or not his neighbor and friend was just as awestruck by this angelic newcomer as he was. Steve was torn between appreciating the talent on the pages in front of him...and the vision sitting before him. So close he could scent her perfume and Steve fought off a blush at how sweet it was. Monica was turning Steve’s world upside down and he wasn’t experienced enough to know what was happening, only that he was entirely grateful for the power outage. He couldn’t imagine living here and not having ever known Monica was not only in the same building, but on the same floor. Reaching the end of her sketches, Steve opened to a blank page but didn’t close it. He carefully folded the cover back and then handed it to Monica, giving her a handsome, encouraging smile.

“You came out here to draw by the fireplace?”

Monica laughed a little shyly, nodding. “Great minds think alike, I guess.”

Blue locked with green and Steve felt his heart stammer in his chest, his smile deepening to show teeth and give away how much that adorable little quip had affected him--and it had, very much.

“Here we are,” Clark returned just in time to see Steve giving Monica that heart-stopping smile, and the Super Soldier straightened to his full height a moment later. Strangely enough...Clark didn’t feel jealousy to see his friend had been so close to what Clark could...only rightfully consider a crush. The only other way to describe it was love at first sight but just the fleeting thought nearly tipped Clark’s tray too far one way. He had to take this one step at a time; he couldn’t risk ruining his chances with his pretty neighbor.

As Clark set the tray on the table, Monica took in three cups, and noticed one was the thoughtful tea Clark had promised. The other two were black coffee, and she noticed both Steve and Clark waited for her to take her tea before they took their coffee.

“Thank you so much, Clark, this is so sweet.” Monica gave him a genuine smile as she sat back with her cup.

“You’re very welcome, Monica.” Clark returned her beautiful smile with a handsome one of his own. “So, what did I miss?”

“Monica’s an artist,” Steve supplied immediately. “She’s a published author and illustrator, and she’s extremely talented. She was showing me her sketchbook.”

Clark sat up a little straighter, totally dwarfing the chair he was already towering in as he turned wide, excited eyes on Monica. “You’re an author?”

There it was again, that incredulity and awe in Clark’s tone, the same tone Steve had when he discovered Monica’s talent. Monica cleared her throat, distracting herself with a sip of tea, using the hot, soothing liquid like a balm over shaky nerves. These two men paying her attention was...a little more than she could handle.

“Y-Yes, I am.”

“I’m an avid reader, I would love to read something of yours sometime.” Clark didn’t even try to keep the excitement out of his tone, this time.

“I-It’s...I’m not s-sure it’s something you’d like?” Monica lowered her tea-cup to her lap. “Some of them are classified as Young Adult novels, and I’ve got graphic novels but I’m not sure that’s for you either--”

“I’ll happily read anything you’ve done.” Clark’s statement rang with such truth Monica’s eyes locked with his. His smile was a touch reserved, but his eyes weren’t in the slightest. He meant what he said. “Whatever it is. Please.”

“A-All right.” Monica couldn’t help but oblige; the request was just too sweet, too genuine. “After...the power comes back, or before we turn in, I could...give you a copy. I’ve got some in my apartment.”

“I’d like a copy, too.” Steve couldn’t resist adding. “Whatever you’re planning to give Clark, please.”

Monica looked between the two men, only able to nod helplessly. There seemed to be nothing but friendship between the two, and it was a solid friendship considering the smile they exchanged at her nod. This was all a little surreal to her, but she wasn’t going to complain either way.

“So were you two friends before you moved in?” Monica asked, taking another sip of her tea. It was soothing and delicious, and that may have had a little to do with the man who made it for her.

“Yes,” Clark nodded with a smile that reached his eyes. “Steve and I have known each other for a while, now.”

“We just decided living near one another would make the most sense.” Steve added, dabbing his brush onto the palette.

What they hadn’t, or couldn’t, in Clark’s case, told her was that they knew one another thanks to their line of work--being a superhero was a lot easier when you have friends, and it just happened to work out Clark and Steve got along famously. It was a lot more than what could be said about the grudge match turned friendship between Batman and Iron Man. Steve raised his brows; with such similar sounded names, who would have thought they’d have such a hard time getting along?

Although, Clark would add they got along better than they realized they did, and heaven help anyone who dared cross one in front of the other. They were in for a world of hurt, be it physically or being sarcastically sassed to death. Yes, Bruce and Tony’s friendship was coming along well...though no one could say for sure whether or not that was a good thing.

Maybe Monica would be able to be the judge of that, one day?

“Do you live alone?” Clark asked. Steve’s brush paused on the canvas, and both men were inwardly holding their breath, waiting for news of a boyfriend or even worse, a husband.

“I do,” Monica missed dual looks of relief in lieu of setting her teacup down. “I actually don’t know anyone who lives here. You two are the first people I’ve met.”

Steve had to admit he liked those odds, and it was a sentiment Clark shared. Clark had taken the arm chair across from Monica, which left her open to Steve’s view and was a perfect compliment for his, so he could smile clearly at her.

“I hope we’ve made a good impression.”

“More than,” Monica nodded, hoping the blanket hid her nervous fidgeting. Clark’s smile was handsome enough to make her heart skip, and she could feel Steve smiling at her, too.

Silence lapsed, but it was comfortable, familiar. Steve was working on his painting, inspired like he’d never been before, and Clark found renewed interest in his book so that he could finish it and begin reading Monica’s as soon as he could get his hands on it. They may have asked her about their impression, but if she’d asked about hers...she’d made quite the impact on the two unrevealed Supers. Steve couldn’t resist sneaking glances every time he picked up his coffee cup, and Clark used the excuse of turning his page to glance up at Monica, who was hard at work with her sketch pad.

Time passed, coffee and tea disappeared into satisfied tummies, and the warmth of the fire seemed to weave ember-warm thread between the trio so that the air of comfortable familiarity was settling between them. Monica’s posture became more and more relaxed, something that pleased both men immensely, and they noticed when she worked that she had these adorable little mannerisms; beneath the blanket they could see her socked toes curl, or the way her hair spilled over her shoulder as she was concentrating on getting the sketch just right. It made sense to Clark that Monica was an artist; she herself was like watching living art. She was...beautifully distracting, and Steve had to wonder how he’d ever get anything done without the image of her smile distracting him.

The fire in the hearth dwindled, died down to embers as minutes turned to hours, and the symbolism was not lost on the Soldier or the Man of Steel as another log was added and the fire roared to life.

Monica had done the same thing to them the moment she’d come around the corner, igniting both of them instantly, like a spark that would turn a slow burn into a firestorm of passion--three hearts, one soul.

[ironflowerbluebird]

Lemon in Sadulaeva

When you catch the eye in the media space of the statements of the writer German Sadulaev, you really want to throw a lemon at him. Why a lemon? Because I am a National Bolshevik , a member of the party "The Other Russia of Eduard Limonov." Why toss? Because the name of Limonov, as well as the National Bolsheviks themselves, Sadulayev too often mentions in vain.  https://medium.com/@com548510/lemon-in-saddle-ship-813402c7e24b

Moreover, once Sadulaev himself threw a lemon at the National Bolsheviks. So this can be considered a belated, but otvetka. In 2017, Sadulaev wrote an article in the Literary Gazette, which was called "Limonka in Limonovites" . It was a review of the biography book "Eduard Limonov", written in the ZhZL series. It was written by the National Bolshevik publicist Andrey Dmitriev (Balkansky).

Andrei wrote a magnificent, bright book. He did not procrastinate the already well-known stages of Limonov's life, which he himself described in detail in his books. In fact, hiding behind the name of the great writer, Dmitriev wrote his own political biography and the history of the St. Petersburg branch of the NBP (now banned in the Russian Federation), which he headed.

In his book, Dmitriev briefly mentioned Sadulaev, and it seemed to him that he was portrayed as a jerk. The excessively sensitive Sadulaev immediately became offended. In his review, he ran into the National Bolsheviks for the prefix "National" to their Bolshevism. Oh, he doesn’t like it, everything is “national” Sadulaev. Here, most likely, the well-known half-breed complex (as he calls himself), half Russian, half Chechen, affects. Although often half-breeds, due to their complex, become such fierce nationalists that oh-oh-oh. But here is the opposite case.

Sadulaev is an international communist. In his article, he blamed the National Bolsheviks for their dislike of the Chechen people and Zyuganov at the same time. And with regard to Dmitriev, he even made personal attacks.

– What are you, Herman, you and I seemed to be friends? - National Bolsheviks were surprised. No one even thought to show you for being half Chechen. Look, every second national Bolshevik Mutsuraev listens. Chechen Chechen strife.

Dmitriev himself answered  “Comrade Sadulaev” in detail  on the page of his Internet resource, I will not repeat myself here. “He thinks a lot about himself,” Limonov limited himself to such an opinion about Sadulaev during his lifetime. And it's hard to disagree with that.

Well, offended and offended, you think. On the offended, as they say in the Russian people, they carry water. The National Bolsheviks shrugged their shoulders and went on with their caravan.

After the National Bolsheviks, Sadulaev continued to actively fight Russian fascism. This time, Konstantin Kinchev's song "Sky of the Slavs" got it. “Where is mine then? ” Sadulaev asked the permanent leader of Alisa rhetorically.

If I were a friend of a communist writer, I would answer for “Alice”: “Yes, this is your sky, Herman! Take it, use it! The empire should not and cannot be nationally homogeneous! You may be a Chechen, but a Russian Chechen. You write and speak Russian. And with the Russians, let me remind you, God! And the sky of the Slavs in addition.

But, after all, German Sadulaev became not a friend of the National Bolsheviks. Not a friend, but a member of the Communist Party. Sadulaev respects Zyuganov and constantly extols his political talent. And the National Bolsheviks do not respect dad Zyu.

Well, why respect him?

Exploiting the nostalgia for the Soviet past, where everything was “good”, for many years Zyuganov successfully spuds the protest electorate, angrily depicting the opposition and letting off steam through the cap of a metaphorical Budenovka. Pink inside and red like Signor Tomato on the outside, the permanent leader of the Communist Party has long fit into the current political situation. And it feels great there. For ten years he has been hooting in vain as a disgruntled owl from the State Duma. By the way, his political experience is longer than that of Putin. This is where the irremovability of power, the inflexibility (not once or twice) of power, only the power of the "opposition"! Under the leadership of Zyuganov, the Communist Party of the Russian Federation has been a convenient sparring partner for the Kremlin for decades. And very reliable.

Yes, however, what kind of communists are they. Among them are full of "owners of factories, newspapers, steamships." There, the red oligarch Grudinin runs a successful business, grows and sells strawberries, hiding behind the name of Lenin. Communism is only imagining in his "Stalinist" mustache. Yes, and sometimes he shaves them. Many prominent functionaries of the Communist Party of the Russian Federation can not be distinguished from the nomenclature of the "United Russia". The same well-fed faces and gray biographies. Jacket heffalumps - as they say, find ten differences.

So that such "communists" won? God forbid.

Moreover, Zyuganov had already won the elections in 1996. And cowardly gave Yeltsin his victory. No need to make excuses for Gena, Herman. Gave Gena then the power, got scared. If Zyuganov called people to take to the streets, then we would now drink red Bavarian.

Although, of course, the National Bolsheviks have no complaints about the rank and file of the Communist Party, as well as about individual leading people who are sincere patriots. On the ground, Limonovites are actively cooperating with branches of the Communist Party. In some cases, in this or that person, the Communist Party helps the National Bolsheviks. There are a lot of decent people among the communists. And I must say that Sadulaev is not the worst of them. But very touchy.

And dogmatic. Which is amazing for a writer. After all, a good writer is always distinguished by a sharp and lively mind. A creative person does not think in obsolete dogmas. But Sadulaev looks at all processes in society through the rusty bars of Marxist theory. In his articles and publications, he clumsily juggles with such concepts of past centuries as "class consciousness", "class struggle", "class essence". The division into nations is unacceptable for Sadulaev, but into classes - please. By nationality, according to Sadulaev, it is impossible to breed discord. And by belonging to the class - it is possible and necessary.

All Sadulayev's nationalists are petty bourgeois. And the worker, what, the question arises, cannot be a nationalist? For a long time, probably, Sadulaev did not communicate with Russian workers. I would have heard a lot, humiliating for myself, from real proletarians who have not read Sadulaev, but I would have definitely discerned an alien nationality in him.

Of course, one can retort that not every worker now has a "class consciousness". True, not only now does not have. The proletarian revolution of 1917 was not made by the workers, but by the Bolsheviks. And among them, there was just no one there! Including people of a nation uncharacteristic of the working people. It was already after 1917 that class consciousness began to be massively instilled in the worker. They vaccinated, vaccinated, but only with the collapse of the USSR, it evaporated very quickly among all the proletarians. Apparently, not so much was needed.

Yes, Herman, “there are no classes, Marx has long been outdated, haven’t you heard? But Herman continues to play class solitaire, continues to pull Marx and Engels by the beard. By the way, these two assertive rhinos from the 19th century were themselves essentially bourgeois. One is small and the other is quite large. They liked to drink well, to eat well. And in this (let's not be hypocrites) it is difficult to reproach them. You can't forbid living beautifully. Marx still loved women and willingly gave them children. Engels even adopted one to hide his comrade's adultery.

Yes, God bless them, they lived almost 300 years ago. Now covid is in the yard. A new era has come, people are divided into vaccinated and unvaccinated. That's where the classes are, that's where the segregation is! The class division remained, of course, but as an atavism. Now peoples are rebelling against their elites for a variety of reasons. And in the protest crowd, class contradictions are removed according to Hegel. Here you can meet both the worker and the intellectual, and the petty bourgeois, so unloved by Sadulaev.

In addition to communist beliefs, Sadulaev positions himself as a Eurasian. However, in his article “Can fascists be Eurasians?”  Sadulaev trampled on the most famous preacher of Eurasianism, Alexander Gelievich Dugin. In his passage, Sadulaev primitively hung the cliché "fascist" on the Russian philosopher. Dugin, according to Sadulaev, is a racist, a right-wing conservative and a covert Nazi.

Although if you read, listen, see Dugin carefully (and you need to read him carefully, listen, see), then it is easy to see that Dugin, like Sadulaev, does not accept either racism, or Nazism, or nationalism. And these, as well as other phenomena, Dugin considers at a much higher intellectual level than Sadulaev's. So why did Dugin really displease Sadulayev?

Most likely, the fact is that Sadulaev is friends with the Eurasian schismatic Zarifullin. In the distant past, he was the National Bolshevik, and in the near future, he was the coordinator of the Dugin ESM. But Zarifullin “left his grandfather”, and now they, together with Sadulaev, want to snatch the world banner of Eurasianism from the philosopher. Yes, where is it! Dugin, no matter what narrow-minded people say, today is perhaps the only Russian philosopher with a worldwide reputation. Abroad, Dugin is more popular than Sadulaev, along with Zarifullin, you can’t even say how many times. Because you can't divide by zero. In addition to his enlightenment and educational activities as a philosopher, Dugin will forever remain in the political history of Russia as the ideologist of modern Eurasianism, and along with Eduard Limonov, as one of the founders of the now banned National Bolshevik Party.

“Zakhar Prilepin” is a sick and unhealthy topic for the National Bolsheviks, so I won’t talk about him. But the writer Sadulaev last summer, at a celebration on the occasion of his birthday, made a pathetic and unctuous speech in honor of the birthday man, where he called the writer Prilepin a “white khan” (what kind of racism-colonialism is this?), And added that Prilepin “has been infused with the spirit of Limonov » .

Let's leave the "White Khan" on the conscience of the congratulator, it's a matter of taste, whom to read. But about the “spirit of Limonov” it hurt me a lot. I seem to be one of his direct and numerous heirs, but here his spirit is so unceremoniously disposed of. Limonov is our everything, do not touch it with greasy hands from food!

As a person close to Edward, I will say that Grandfather hated all such gatherings. And he could not stand the members of any beau monde of everyone and everyone personally. "Let's get out of here, Dima, the bourgeoisie has gathered here!" the old man would have ordered me in a confident voice. So there is nowhere for the spirit of Limonov to appear.

Recently, right before the New Year, Sadulaev found it necessary to ride on the deceased Russian nationalist Yegor Prosvirnin. No sooner had the creator of Sputnik and Pogrom been buried, and Sadulayev had already handed over the article for typesetting. The article was called "The Corpse of Nationalism"   - Sadulaev cannot be denied a sense of tact.

Egor Pogrom, of course, can be treated differently. For all his beliefs and misconceptions, Yegor Prosvirnin was a creative and witty person who is rarely seen in the right environment (as, by the way, in the left). His "Sputnik and Pogrom" is a phenomenon of journalism, at one time this media made a real sensation.

Moreover, Yegor Prosvirnin is one of the few Russian nationalists who openly supported the “Russian spring” in the Donbass, while the good (or rather, evil) half of the zigzagging “white patriots” in Russia, seduced by swastikas on the other side, occupied side of the Bandera. And many people who call themselves Russian nationalists went to Ukraine to kill Russian people.

Sadulayev also supported the Russian spring, and in the context of this, he could have thrown a couple of kind words on the coffin with the deceased. But no. Prosvirnin is a nationalist, he is also a petty bourgeois... Oh, yes, by the way, is it Russian spring? Why did you, Herman, support the RUSSIAN spring?

Maybe, of course, German Sadulayev is a good writer. He is already a seasoned master of the pen, overgrown with a scab of premiums. But I can’t say anything about him as a writer - I haven’t read Sadulaev’s books. But I condemn.

[travelingtarot]

TAROT THE WEEK!!!

Weekly Psychic Forecasts Every Monday Morning To Help Guide You Through Your Week!

Week Of July 30th – Aug 5th 2018

Card: Ace of Wands (R)

Quick Analysis: When the Ace of Wands is in the reversed position it usually means something is holding us back from starting fresh, starting anew.  We have a goal in mind.  We see the starting line just ahead.  But for some reason we can’t seem to step up to the starting line.  Because of that our dreams, plans, goals and aspirations for ourselves keep getting pushed away.

And the most frustrating thing of all is the starting line has not moved at all.  It’s still right there where it’s always been.  It’s we who have moved away.  Through reasoning, some legitimate some not, we have slowly inched ourselves further and further away from what we want.

We’re busy.  I get it.  We must take care of our partners, our immediate families and sometimes our extended families.  We must get our kids to school and then to the million and one extracurricular activities they have before and after school.  Then we must make sure they’re doing their homework and try our best to help them with it and the various school projects they have going on.

Then we have to check in with our partners and make sure they’re still breathing.  If we’re wise, we take out quality time each week to spend just with them.  But then that requires planning and doing.  We have to make sure the passion for not just our families stays alive, but the passion between our partners and ourselves as well.

Our parents aren’t getting any younger.  And while they are perfectly capable of taking care of themselves, you see a day not too far away where they will be leaning on you more and more.  In fact, in small subtle ways that leaning in has already begun.

Then our friends, associates, colleagues, and communities all require our attention to a certain degree.

We swear we will make time for ourselves and our dreams.  We swear next week, next month, next year will be our time.  But next week, month and year never do come, do they?  We only have right now because right now is the only thing promised to us.  And even if there was a next week, month or year what are we doing now to carve out time for ourselves?  I’ve heard it said, “Luck is preparation meets opportunity.”  What are we doing to prepare ourselves for the opportunity at hand?  Like I said, the starting line has not moved one inch.  What are we doing to prepare ourselves right this minute for when we finally step up to that starting line?

It’s so important to not forget self amongst the million and one things we’re called to do in any given day.  We simply must take time for ourselves.  Even if it’s 20 minutes a day, we must force ourselves to put ourselves first for those precious 20 minutes.  Yes, for most of us that goes against our very nature to put ourselves first.  Even for 20 minutes.  But if we don’t, we’ll never be prepared once we finally make the choice to step up to the starting line.

In-Depth Analysis: Let’s talk about fear.  Specifically, the fear of success.  Yes, the fear of success is actually a real thing.  The fear of success can be a WAY harder concept for us to wrap our heads around because we’re always talking about the fear of failure.  But the fear of success affects people in as profound a way as any of our other fears, including failure.  So what is the fear of success?  Let’s get into it:

The straight forward answer to that question is when you are so afraid of success you’ll do anything not to attain it.  For most of us that seems incredibly counterintuitive.  Especially in the western world where it seems our whole identity is hinged upon how successful we are.  (And how young and beautiful we are, but that’s another story.)  In fact, how successful we are, at least in the Western world, is a rote topic of conversation.  Think about it.  The last time you were in a setting where you’re being introduced to brand new people, how often were you asked what you do for a living?  And once you said what you do, did it not lead to more easy conversation-like questioning about the specifics of what you do?  It happens all the time.  

(Side note: In my weird little mind I think it would be HILARIOUS if the next time someone asks “What do you do for a living?” to answer “I live off the tax-paying dollars of other hardworking people.” Or “I am PHENOMENAL in bed.  So much so my boyfriend/girlfriend pays my way through life.  I get to stay home, look pretty and fuck like a champion!”  Or “I’m a panhandler.  You can find me selling fruit every day on the exit 121 off-ramp.  Stop by!  I’ll give you a deal on half-rotten tomatoes!”  That would be SO FUNNY!!!  Of course, I don’t have the balls to pull that off in public, but I bet you do!  Enough with the shenanigans!  Back to this week’s lesson.)

And we are constantly bombarded with images of successful people in all media.  Rarely do you see people in television or print ads that are unsuccessful.  Rarely do you see people who are down on their luck and can’t catch a break.  And if you do, by the end of the commercial, tv show or movie, they’ve found the “secret sauce” to success and are wildly successful.  It seems we as Westerners are all about finding that “secret sauce” to success and then ball out of control for the rest of our lives.  To fear success seems out of the ordinary to us.

Therefore, if that’s true, if the fear of success is so foreign to the minds of most westerners, is it really all that commonplace?  Well in my research for this blog I found it to be MUCH more commonplace than I could have imagined.  Just a quick Google search on "fear of success" and article after article and page after page of information about it is at our fingertips.  Clearly, it's a problem that a lot of people have to contend with.

So what are the warning signs you may be experiencing the fear of success?  Well a few include:

 You don’t complete your projects (this could be at work or at home). 

 You talk about what you are going to do more than what you actually do. 

 You work furiously on several projects at once, not really focusing deeply on any one of them. 

 You still have exactly the same things on your vision board that were there five years ago. 

 You procrastinate.

 You second-guess yourself often. 

 Distraction is your middle name. 

 You don’t think your work is ever quite good enough. 

 You’re on the verge of ‘success’ and things start going really wrong.

Do any of these things apply to you?

In my research I found a man by the name of Professor Frank Manuel who studied the fear of success.  Professor Manuel suggested the term “Jonah complex” - named for the character Jonah from the Bible -  for people who have a fear of success.  If you don’t know the story of Jonah, you can find it in its entirety in the book of – wait for it! – Jonah.  At only 4 chapters long it’s one of the shorter books in the Bible.  If you’ve never read it, I encourage you to do so.  It’s a fascinating character study.  And if you have read it, reacquaint yourself with it.  It’s a really fascinating story.  Only a few Bible chapters long.  And it’s a good read.  So find it and read it and draw your own conclusions about it. 

Anyway, Professor Manuel’s colleague Abraham Maslow came up with the etymology of the word.  In short he stated: “The Jonah complex is the fear of success which prevents self-actualization, or the realization of one's potential.  It is the fear of one's own greatness, the evasion of one's destiny, or the avoidance of exercising one's talents.  Just as the fear of achieving a personal worst can motivate personal growth, the fear of achieving a personal best can also hinder achievement,”

There is another layer to the fear of success. Many of us have been conditioned to believe that the road to success involves risks such as "getting one's hopes up" - which threatens to lead to disappointment. And many of us-especially if we've been subject to verbal abuse-have been told we were losers our whole lives, in one way or another. We have internalized that feedback and feel that we don't deserve success.

There are probably a lot of deeper layers underneath the two I mentioned.  I encourage us all to look deep inside ourselves.  And if the fear of success is holding us back I encourage us to find out the underlying reasons why.  Because only in doing the work to figure out the core reasons behind that fear of success will we be able to then do the work necessary to fix the problem and move forward.  The Ace of Wands is waiting for us.  That starting line is right there where it’s always been.  I will leave you with this famous quote from the incomparable Marianne Williamson:

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.  We ask ourselves, “Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?”  Actually, who are you not to be?  You are a child of God.  Your playing small does not serve the world.  There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you.  We are all meant to shine, as children do.  We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.  It’s not just in some of us; it’s in everyone.  And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.  As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.” 

Bottom Line: Fear is a powerful emotion.  It was given us as a tool for action.  The misuse of fear is to become paralyzed by it.  I’ve often heard it said courage is being scared shitless but doing it anyway.  It’s tough to unpack the reasons why we are afraid.  It’s a hard journey to peel back the layers within our psyche to get to the root of our problems.  I’m not gonna lie, it’s hard work.  But we are SO worth the trouble!  We are worth the time and energy, blood sweat and tears we must expend to shed those things within us that are no longer serving us.  Imagine a life without fear that holds us back from the good stuff!  Imagine valuing ourselves and what we have to offer this world enough to be bold, be strong, to be scared shitless but having the self-worth that we do it anyway.  If we can imagine ourselves being that type of person, we can do it.  There’s nothing our mind can imagine that we can’t make happen.  I encourage us to take the steps necessary to rid ourselves of the fears that are holding us back.  You can thank me later.

Have a FANTASTIC week, everybody!

Be Blessed.

Song Of The Week: Zach Williams “Fear Is A Liar” 

For more information and to book a psychic reading with me, click HERE 

For more information on the card used for this week’s reading click HERE  

[beabanana]

originally written on a yellow paper last february this year

it was august of the year 2009 when i realized i’m not that kind of kid who can enjoy outdoors. i was diagnosed with pneumonia. for 3 years during the month of august, i got admitted at the same hospital, with no friends, spends half of my time in a rusty hospital bed, overdosed with a lot of medications and immune to the scent of hospital halls. it was nostalgic, but in a different way. every year, that was the problem. there are times that i just got used to the idea of it. that time of the year had left me scars on my small youthful hands because of needles and drug injections that is being inserted to me. i have to admit, it was hard, sad and of course, lonely. knowing that you cannot do things that other kids enjoy doing, like playing outdoors because my parents restricts me. they have a weak and vulnerable daughter who always needed some guidance and support in order to go on. if they didn’t do that, another huge amount of money will be wasted for my hospital bills that are exhausting to look at. 

i've learned to accept the fact that life of a kid isn’t all about rainbows and unicorns. there are also stormy and sad days. especially my life. throughout my childhood years, i have noticed that i got my introverted personality from my mom and dad. i enjoy keeping myself busy by reading books, watching television, doing board games ‘cause i don’t usually spend my time outdoors with kids near our neighborhood. sometimes, i play and make miniature foods from modeling clay. i want to sell my creations but i don’t have the guts to ask someone to buy clay miniatures from a 10 year old me. i have a wide and broad imagination as a child. sometimes i want to be a doctor, then the other day, i suddenly wanted to become a lawyer. sometimes i want to stop imagining impossible things, but i can’t really help myself thinking about it. 

i was enrolled in a private school during my primary school years, as my parents wanted to make sure i’m being exposed with a decent type of kids. well, they made a wrong decision with that 'cause my pessimistic side just got much worse. hahaha why? almost all of my classmates were very smart and they were my teacher’s favorite. i joined my first fieldtrip ever without a guardian and days later, i got a bad asthma attack and missed a lot of activities at school because of my recovery. i always resented my body, my health, my weird personality and the way i look. my 8 year old self believed that i don’t deserve this kind of life so i worked harder to change that. i was so surprised when the school's honor roll announced and i ranked first in my class. my heart raced, actually. for someone like me who hated my whole life finally received something that i can finally call as an "achievement". i made my parents proud and so do i, to myself. (i even got a store bought barbie doll for it, which made me so happy)

i carried my disease until the end of my primary school years. i have lost a lot of opportunities to be on the school's honors list because this sick body of mine is keeping me away to stay on track. i still remember the days when i had to keep up my studies while in the verge of dying. doing homeworks in hospital beds with a needle stuck on my swollen left hand sucks but i had to be strong because i have dreams and i want to see it fulfilled someday having my parents to live a luxurious life using the money i'll earn and of course, to use for their everyday expenses. i have such a high hopes as a kid.

because of the anxiety that i bear since birth, i had problems dealing with my classmates, teachers and the people around me at school. i don't even know how to speak in front of the class. i'm trying my very best to get my missed grades back by giving a huge effort doing written works, but it's still not enough. i knew all these years that i needed to make an exit to my shy and elusive stage of life. i tried actually. numerous times, it's also written on an apple scented notebook i own as a child, but i still go back to school without any progress.

i'm also a huge hater of procrastination, and also a fan of it at the same time. i keep cramming when the deadline is like, 3 hours away. that's why i ended up doing my projects ugly and passing it to my teachers with the pages sticking together because of the wet glue. i guess that's just one of the best talents i have. and i can say that i'm really good at it. cramming is my worst enemy 'cause when i cram, my mental breakdown button is automatically turning on. i cry, i don't eat, ending up not finishing all my works.

one of the hardest obstacle i have faced in my life is, as a family, we always move city by city, depending on my father's call of work. the people i consider as my "friends" are slowly being drifted away from me and i'm having a hard time making new ones. there was also a time where i locked myself up in a room because i can't accept the changes in the environment. i just cry and cry and cry until i fell asleep. i've dealt with that problem for 6 years and that's when i realized that my childhood was really messed up.

looking back at my childhood years was a lot because those years had been a roller coaster ride for me. but i'm still thankful 'cause i've learned a lot. being a pessimist has made me realize that staying this way will not help me in the future. so i set aside all the fears and little by little, i've noticed that it's now okay for me to have a bad days because it's normal if you're a human. i tried stepping out of my comfort zone and now, i can speak in front of many people without being shy and shaky because i kept accepting offers in terms of leading and speaking at school. and i know that this will further improve through the years. i guess i'll just trust time.

my family are very religious. they always have their trust in our lord god and since when i was a baby, they have prayed for the cure of my sickness. we didn't rely that much to the doctors prescriptions and medications and besides, we don't have that huge amount of money for my maintenance, but they have done everything just to make my disease go away. that's when i fully understand why they're locking me up indoors as a child. because they believed that i will be free from any sickness someday. they just don't want to make everything worse for the sake of my happy childhood, because they worry about my future. we prayed and prayed, we relied on what god can do, we praised him and used our time and effort to worship him. i was losing hope, but then he lift me up. who am i now? a very normal 18 year old teenager and a senior high school student, living a very normal and happy life, free from any disease.

what am i today is because of the work of our almighty god. i believe that all those struggles that i am facing today will soon come to an end when you have trust in him. that's why i always put god first before everything else. chooses worship services over school and leaving my class if there's a "tupad". all the prayers that i'm looking forward back then is in my hands now and i truly believe that all i am praying for today will be fulfilled in the near future. yes, i am not strong. i grew up as weak and vulnerable. but now that i am with god, no storms and sickness will stop me from worshipping him. i have learned how to put my whole trust to whatever happens in my life. he is the answer to all of my weaknesses, he is my life.

[balliversedu]

Chapter 16: Self Help Tools

From: Complex PTSD: From Surviving to Thriving by Pete Walker

This chapter is composed of six toolboxes, each with a set of tools to address different recovery issues. Nonetheless, I still value these lists as indispensable adjuncts to my own journey of recovering. I often hand out these lists to clients at appropriate times in their journey. I also give them to students who attend my classes. I have received a great deal of positive feedback about how helpful they have been to enhancing recovery.

My friends and clients whose recovery progresses at the greatest rate are those who supplement their therapy with self-help activities. Those who print out these lists, and carry them around or post them in a conspicuous place until they are deeply ingrained seem to take a quantum leap in their recovery.

I hope that you become immersed in these lists, and that they give you the healing support that I have seen so many others receive from them.

TOOLBOX 1 - SUGGESTED INTENTIONS FOR RECOVERY

Here are normal and safe wants and needs to wish and hope for . . . to cultivate with mental, spiritual, emotional and physical energy. As usual, focus on the ones that most appeal to you. Skip the ones that do not feel right for you or that you do not feel ready for.

I want to develop a more constantly loving and accepting relationship with myself. I want an increasing capacity for self acceptance.

I want to learn to become the best possible friend to myself.

I want to attract, into my life, relationships that are based on love, respect, fairness and mutual support.

I want to uncover a full, uninhibited self expression.

I want to attain the best possible physical health.

I want to cultivate a balance of vitality and peace.

I want to attract, to myself, loving friends and loving community.

I want increasing freedom from toxic shame.

I want increasing freedom from unnecessary fear.

I want rewarding and fulfilling work.

I want a fair amount of peace of mind, spirit, soul and body.

I want to increase my capacity to play and have fun.

I want to make plenty of room for beauty and nature in my life.

I want sufficient physical and monetary resources.

I want a fair amount of help (self, human, or divine) to get what I need.

I want God’s love, grace and blessing.

I want a balance of work, rest and play.

I want a balance of stability and change.

I want a balance of loving interaction and healthy self sufficiency.

I want full emotional expression with a balance of laughter and tears.

I want a sense of meaningfulness and fulfillment.

I want to find effective and non-abusive ways to deal with anger.

I want all this for each and every other being.

TOOLBOX 2 - HUMAN BILL OF RIGHTS

[GUIDELINES FOR FAIRNESS AND INTIMACY]

I have the right to be treated with respect.

I have the right to say no.

I have the right to make mistakes.

I have the right to reject unsolicited advice or feedback.

I have the right to negotiate for change.

I have the right to change my mind or my plans.

I have a right to change my circumstances or course of action.

I have the right to have my own feelings, beliefs, opinions, preferences, etc.

I have the right to protest sarcasm, destructive criticism, or unfair treatment.

I have a right to feel angry and to express it non-abusively.

I have a right to refuse to take responsibility for anyone else’s problems.

I have a right to refuse to take responsibility for anyone’s bad behavior.

I have a right to feel ambivalent and to occasionally be inconsistent.

I have a right to play, waste time and not always be productive.

I have a right to occasionally be childlike and immature.

I have a right to complain about life’s unfairness and injustices.

I have a right to occasionally be irrational in safe ways.

I have a right to seek healthy and mutually supportive relationships.

I have a right to ask friends for a modicum of help and emotional support.

I have a right to complain and verbally ventilate in moderation.

I have a right to grow, evolve and prosper.

TOOLBOX 3 - SUGGESTED INTERNAL RESPONSES TO COMMON CRITIC ATTACKS

The attacks of the critic often operate below the radar of self-awareness. Unless we can identify them, we are at their mercy and helpless to deconstruct them. Once we learn to recognize inner critic attacks, the simple techniques of Thought-Stopping and Thought-Substitution are powerful tools in short-circuiting the critic.

There are two categories of attacks. Perfectionism attacks, fueled by toxic shame, create chronic self-hate and self-flagellation.Endangerment attacks, fueled by fear, create chronic hypervigilance and anxiety.

PERFECTIONISM ATTACKS

1. Perfectionism. My perfectionism arose as an attempt to gain safety and support in my dangerous family. Perfection is a self-persecutory myth. I do not have to be perfect to be safe or loved in the present. I am letting go of relationships that require perfection. I have a right to make mistakes. Mistakes do not make me a mistake. Every mistake or mishap is an opportunity to practice loving myself in the places I have never been loved.

2. All-or-None & Black-and-White Thinking. I reject extreme or over generalized descriptions, judgments or criticisms. Statements that describe me as “always” or “never” this or that, are typically grossly inaccurate.

3. Self-Hate, Self-Disgust & Toxic Shame. I commit to myself. I am on my side. I am a good enough person. I refuse to trash myself. I turn shame back into blame and disgust and externalize it to anyone who shames my normal feelings and foibles. As long as I am not hurting anyone, I refuse to be shamed for normal emotional responses like anger, sadness, fear and depression. I especially refuse to attack myself for how hard it is to completely eliminate the self-hate habit.

4. Micromanagement/Worrying/Obsessing/Looping/ Over-Futurizing. I will not repetitively examine details over and over. I will not endlessly second-guess myself. I cannot change the past. I forgive all my past mistakes. I cannot make the future perfectly safe. I will stop hunting for what could go wrong. I will not try to control the uncontrollable. I will not micromanage myself or others. I work in a way that is “good enough”, and I accept the existential fact that my efforts sometimes bring desired results and sometimes they do not. “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

5. Unfair/Devaluing Comparisons to others or to your most perfect moments. I refuse to compare myself unfavorably to others. I will not compare “my insides to their outsides”. I will not judge myself for not being at peak performance all of the time. In a society that pressures us into acting happy all the time, I will not get down on myself for feeling bad.

6. Guilt. Feeling guilty does not mean I am guilty. I refuse to make my decisions and choices out of guilt; sometimes I need to feel the guilt and do it anyway. In the inevitable instance when I inadvertently hurt someone, I will apologize, make amends, and let go of my guilt. I will not apologize over and over. I am no longer a victim. I will not accept unfair blame. Guilt is sometimes camouflaged fear: “I am afraid, but I am not guilty or in danger”.

7. “Shoulding”. I will substitute the words “want to” for “should” and only follow this imperative if it feels like I want to, unless I am under legal, ethical or moral obligation.

8. Over-Productivity/Workaholism/Busyholism. I am a human being not a human doing. I will not choose to be perpetually productive. I am more productive in the long run, when I balance work with play and relaxation. I will not try to perform at 100% all the time. I subscribe to the normalcy of vacillating along a continuum of efficiency.

9. Harsh Judgments of Self & Others/ Name-Calling. I will not let the bullies and critics of my early life win by joining and agreeing with them. I refuse to attack myself or abuse others. I will not displace the criticism and blame that rightfully belongs to my original critics onto myself or current people in my life. “I care for myself. The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself”. - Jane Eyre

ENDANGERMENT ATTACKS

10. Drasticizing/Catastrophizing/Hypochondriasizing. I feel afraid but I am not in danger. I am not “in trouble” with my parents. I refuse to scare myself with thoughts and pictures of my life deteriorating. No more home-made horror movies and disaster flicks. No more turning tiny ailments into tales of dying.

11. Negative focus. I will stop anxiously looking for, over-noticing and dwelling on what might go wrong or what might be wrong with me or life around me. Right now, I will notice, visualize and enumerate my accomplishments, talents and qualities, as well as the many gifts life offers me, like music, film, food, beauty, color, books, nature, friends, etc.

12. Time Urgency. I am not in danger. I do not need to rush. I will not hurry unless it is a true emergency. I am learning to enjoy doing my daily activities at a relaxed pace.

13. Disabling Performance Anxiety. I am reducing procrastination by reminding myself not to accept unfair criticism or perfectionist expectations from anyone. Even when afraid, I will defend myself from unfair criticism. I won’t let fear make my decisions.

14. Perseverating About Being Attacked. Unless there are clear signs of danger, I will thought-stop my projection of past bullies/critics onto others. The majority of my fellow human beings are peaceful people. I have legal authorities to aid in my protection if threatened by the few who aren’t. I invoke thoughts and images of my friends’ love and support.

TOOLBOX 4 - TOOLS FOR LOVINGLY RESOLVING CONFLICT

This is a list of techniques and perspectives I’ve gathered over the years to help couples resolve conflict as lovingly as possible. When I give it to couples that I work with, I ask them to take time at home to read it aloud together and to discuss each one as much as necessary to see if they can agree to adopt it as a guideline for handling conflict.

When I first got together with my wife eleven years ago, we spent considerable time on a weekend trip discussing these guidelines one at a time. We aired our concerns, enthusiasms, caveats and reservations about using them. Over subsequent years, we refined our usage of them, and have evolved a communication style around our conflicts that has helped to keep our intimacy healthy and ever growing.

Normalize the inevitability of conflict & establish a safe forum for it. Discuss and agree to as many of these guidelines as seem useful.

The goal is to inform and negotiate for change, not punish. Punishment destroys trust. Love can open the “ears” of the other’s heart.

Imagine how it would be easiest to hear about your grievance from the other. Say it as it would be easiest for you to hear.

Preface complaints with acknowledgement of the good of the other and your mutual relationship.

No name-calling, sarcasm or character assassination.

No analyzing the other or mind reading.

No interrupting or filibustering

Be dialogical. Give short, concise statements that allow the other to reflect back and paraphrase key points to let you hear that you are accurately being heard.

No denial of the other’s rights as outlined in the Bill of Rights above.

Differences are often not a matter of right or wrong; both people can be right, and merely different. Be willing to sometimes agree to differ.

Avoid “you” statements. Use “I” statements that identify your feelings and your experience of what you perceive as unfair.

One specific issue, with accompanying identifiable behavior, at a time. Ask yourself what hurts the most to try to find your key complaint.

Stick to the issue until both persons feel fully heard. Take turns presenting issues.

No interrupting or filibustering.

Present a complaint as lovingly and calmly as possible.

Timeouts: If discussion becomes heated either person can call a timeout [one minute to 24 hours], as long as s/he nominates a time to resume. {See 1 below}

Discharge as much of any accumulated charge before hand as possible.

Own responsibility for any accumulated charge in the anger that might come from not talking about it soon enough.

Own responsibility for accumulated charge displaced from other hurts. {See 2 below}

Commit to grow in your understanding of how much of your charge comes from childhood abuse/neglect.

Commit to recovering from the losses of childhood by effectively identifying, grieving, and reclaiming them.

Apologize from an unashamed place. Make whatever amends are possible.

Include your intention to correct your behavior in the future. Explain your extenuating circumstances as evidence – not as an excuse - that you were not trying to be hurtful.

1. More on Timeouts, #16

Two of the most common reasons that relationships break up is irreconcilable differences and irreparable damages. The latter could have been prevented in many cases if couples knew how to use timeouts judiciously.

This is especially true for fight-type trauma survivors, who when flashing back, can easily lose control to the outer critic and say intimacy-destroying things. Survivors benefit greatly from learning to recognize the signs of being over-activated so that they can then take timeouts to stop the bleeding caused by a critic on the rampage.

Things said in the heat of a flashback can wound deeply and engrave themselves in the psyche of the other in ways that cripple trust. So much of this needless intimacy-destruction will be prevented if both members of the couple agree that either of them can call a timeout whenever they feel too triggered to be lovingly confrontive, or are experiencing the other as flashing back into being overly aggressive.

Timeouts can range from one minute to 24 hours depending on how long it takes either or both partners to achieve good enough flashback management.

Timeouts work best when the person calling them nominates a time to resume conflict resolution, so that timeouts do not become techniques for dodging issues.

Timeouts can be used individually as a time to release any accumulated charge. This can be done by using the safe “angering out” techniques I describe in chapter 5 of my book, The Tao of Fully Feeling.

2. More on Transference, #19 & #20

In using this list with couples, I notice that those who are most skilled in conflict resolution, have achieved significant skill with steps 19 through 21. These steps are about learning to handle transference.

For trauma survivors, transference is often a type of flashback whereby we unconsciously react to our significant others as though they were our childhood caretakers. When this occurs, we displace onto them a great deal of our unresolved childhood emotional pain.

One common example of this occurs when a partner’s fair and minor complaint triggers a torrent of rage, fear and/or shame that is left over from decades of a parent’s overwhelming and rejecting criticism.

Another instance of this occurs when her failure to say what he was hoping to hear stirs up the pain of decades of his aloof, detached mother or father’s neglect. All gender combinations can of course fall into this trap.

The composition of most conflicts that I witness in my office eventually seems to be approximately 90% re-experienced pain from the past and 10% actual current pain. Harville Hendrix’s

Getting The Love You Want, is a wonderful guide for working through this dynamic in a way that heals childhood wounds and enhances intimacy at the same time.

In my experience, the vast majority of conflicts between consenting adults involve a dynamic where both people play a part and have some responsibility for a disruption in their loving connection.

Truly healing resolutions to conflict typically occur when each partner owns their part and expresses an apology about their contribution to the conflict. For deep level resolution this usually includes an apologetic reference to your transference. A good apology sounds something like this of this: “I’m sorry for the amount of charge I had in expressing my disappointment. While I believe I have a fair complaint, the intensity with which I expressed it was too much. I’m sorry I responded to you as if you were my constantly withholding mother.”

TOOLBOX 5 - SELF-GRATITUDES 12X12

This chart is a self-esteem building exercise and is best approached as a work in progress. Try to think of twelve entries for each category. Resist the critic’s all-or-none dynamic, and list something if it is generally true of you a good deal of the time. Work on it when you are not in a flashback. Ask someone who you trust enough to help you with this exercise.

1. Accomplishments

2. Traits

3. Good deeds

4. Peak Experiences

5. Life Enjoyments

6. Intentions

7. Good Habits

8. Jobs

9. Subjects studied

10. Obstacles overcome

11. Grace Received

12. Nurturing memories

GRATITUDES ABOUT OTHERS 12X12

This chart is an exercise for deconstructing the outer critic’ program of generalizing that everyone is as dangerous as our traumatizing caregivers. Use the same guidelines as those of the last chart.

1. Friends [past and current]

2. Inspiring people

3. Inspiring authors

4. School friends [whether or not you are still in contact]

5. Circles of friends [past and current]

6. Childhood friends [you do not need to still be in touch with them]

7. Teachers

8. Kindness of strangers

9. Pets & Animals

10. Work friends [past and current]

11. Groups [past and current]

12. Nurturing memories

TOOLBOX 6

I am ending this book with a reiteration of the most essential principles of Cptsd recovering. Please reread these steps to help anchor them in your psyche. Notice also if they reverberate with you more significantly than when you first read them back in chapter 8.

13 STEPS FOR MANAGING FLASHBACKS

Say to yourself: “I am having a flashback”. Flashbacks take you into a timeless part of the psyche that feels as helpless, hopeless and surrounded by danger as you were in childhood. The feelings and sensations you are experiencing are past memories that cannot hurt you now.

Remind yourself: “I feel afraid but I am not in danger! I am safe now, here in the present.” Remember you are now in the safety of the present, far from the danger of the past.

Own your right/need to have boundaries. Remind yourself that you do not have to allow anyone to mistreat you; you are free to leave dangerous situations and protest unfair behavior.

Speak reassuringly to the Inner Child. The child needs to know that you love her/him unconditionally– that s/he can come to you for comfort and protection when s/he feels lost and scared.

Deconstruct eternity thinking. In childhood, fear and abandonment felt endless – a safer future was unimaginable. Remember this flashback will pass as it always has before.

Remind yourself that you are in an adult body with allies, skills and resources to protect you that you never had as a child. [Feeling small and fragile is a sign of a flashback.]

Ease back into your body. Fear launches you into “heady” worrying, or numbing and spacing out.

Resist the Inner Critic’s Drasticizing and Catastrophizing.

Allow yourself to grieve. Flashbacks are opportunities to release old, unexpressed feelings of fear, hurt, and abandonment. Validate and soothe your child’s past experience of helplessness and hopelessness. Healthy grieving can turn your tears into self-compassion and your anger into self-protection.

Cultivate safe relationships and seek support. Take time alone when you need it, but don’t let shame isolate you. Feeling shame doesn’t mean you are shameful. Educate your intimates about flashbacks and ask them to help you talk and feel your way through them.

Learn to identify the types of triggers that lead to flashbacks. Avoid unsafe people, places, activities and triggering mental processes. Practice preventive maintenance with these steps when triggering situations are unavoidable.

Figure out what you are flashing back to. Flashbacks are opportunities to discover, validate and heal your wounds from past abuse and abandonment. They also point to your still unmet developmental needs and can provide you with motivation to get them met.

Be patient with a slow recovery process. It takes time in the present to become de-adrenalized, and considerable time in the future to gradually decrease the intensity, duration and frequency of flashbacks. Real recovery is a gradually progressive process [often two steps forward, one step back], not an attained salvation fantasy. Don’t beat yourself up for having a flashback.

[a]Gently ask your body to Relax: feel each of your major muscle groups and softly encourage them to relax. [Tightened muscles send false danger signals to your brain.]

[b]Breathe deeply and slowly. [Holding your breath also signals danger.]

[c]Slow down: rushing presses your brain’s flight response button.

[d]Find a safe place to unwind and soothe yourself: wrap yourself in a blanket, hold a pillow or a stuffed animal, lie down on your bed or in a closet or in a bath; take a nap.

[e]Feel the fear in your body without reacting to it. Fear is just an energy in your body. It cannot hurt you if you do not run from it.

[a]Use thought-stopping to halt the critic’s endless exaggerations of danger, and its constant planning to control the uncontrollable. Refuse to shame, hate or abandon yourself. Channel the anger of self- attack into saying “NO” to your critic’s unfair self-criticism.

[b]Use Thought-substitution & Thought-correction to replace negative thinking with your memorized list of your qualities and accomplishments.

[rachelkulagodfrey-blog]

A [MUSIC] Review: My 10+1 Favorite Live Acts From the Last Six Months

Originally posted on January 17, 2019.

Some people procrastinate by online shopping, cleaning, or watching the first season of a Netflix show that truly isn’t worth it (Judd Apatow’s Love stole my time and I want it back).

Others make an Instagram post about how they “just can’t focus :/”, masturbate to a point where it’s almost violent, or complete every single task except for the most pressing one at hand.

I am all of these people. Baked to perfection.

As appealing as all of these options are, my favorite way to procrastinate is watching live musical performances. If I said this was my number one choice because I really love to see what each and every artist can do on their feet, I would be LYING; it’s because I’m broke. Imagining I’m in the actual audience sounds like a cute and affordable outing to me.

I was originally going to write a late post about my ten favorite live musical acts of 2018, but then The Holy Trinity™ a.k.a The Goat Trio (Noname, Smino, and Saba) decided to perform on The Late Night Show with Jimmy Fallon and fuck up my whole plan.

Fucked up my whole plan, but made my whole life.

Here are the 10+1 live acts that have rustled my big and bright feathers in the last 184 days, ordered by upload date:

1. Mac Miller: NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert

August 6, 2018

I was tabling at my school’s Student Activities Fair when one of my best friends approached me looking like tears were seconds from falling down her cheeks and flooding the fucking campus. Her “I have to tell you something” was followed by what most onlookers would probably describe as an unnecessarily loud processing of the Five Ws and One H of Malcolm McCormick’s death. It probably looked overdramatic, but it honestly didn’t feel that way.

Mac’s placement in my mind shifted in tandem with his style. In his “Knock, Knock” days, he was the weird white kid who Wiz Khalifa seemed to have taken under his wing. I started high school a week or two before “Smile Back” was released. And I was in attack mode after a girl had used up MY oxygen to talk about me not being a “real” Black girl. While 14-year-old-me did put a hex on her soon after, Mac’s anthem of the opposition not being worth my stress set my mind right. Did not reverse the hex, though. Sorry, sis.

His eventual Earl Sweatshirt, Ab-Soul, and Anderson .Paak collaborations reframed the way I thought of him as a creative. I realized how open he was, and how honored he was to share space and thought with a wide range of musical talents. You can hear it in the production of the songs. His NPR Tiny Desk was an elevation of this. His energy was right. Thundercat on bass was right. Watching this performance made me want to bop the shit out of my head but also call all my old niggas and let them know I was suing them for stealing energy I could have put toward studying a cool cat’s artistry. So much love to Mr. Malcolm.

Favorite Moment(s): When Mac laughs at Thundercat’s abrupt tone change during “What’s the Use?” @ 9:10.

2. Rex Orange County performing “Sunflower” live on KCRW

August 14, 2018

I know I’ll get heat for this. But Alex O’ Connor is worth the slack.

In this performance, Rex Orange County looks and sounds like the place where lo-fi, Big Mouth, and driven-over lilacs meet. Doesn’t seem like the most appealing thing that could come out of your speakers, but it’s honestly just one really sweet surprise. And romance may be a capitalist sham, but all I can say is ShamWow! After finding out that he wrote “Sunflower” for his girlfriend of 3+ years, the bridge started to make me feel like someone slipped me a “Would You Date Me?” note in detention. Uncomfortable, but definitely entertained.

Favorite Moment(s): The aforementioned bridge @ 3:02.

3. serpentwithfeet – mourning song (Live on KEXP)

September 11, 2018

Josiah Wise, better known as serpentwithfeet, is one of the greatest storytellers I have ever witnessed. His entire KEXP performance is worth watching to see an immersive experiment in chaos and control using lighting, backtracks, and his voice. Confidence is not something we often associate with grief. In this performance of “mourning song”, he lists all the ways he will allow himself to think and feel through the end of an intimate relationship. Every time I listen to this song, I feel like he actually rips the voices from my head that tell me I am a burden, or that I must hide any part of myself.

I’m not really a church-going girl anymore so I won’t say watching this took me there. But it definitely took me to the Pokémon Center. HP on 255, bitch.

Favorite Moment(s): When he plays around with distance from the mic @ 2:30.

4. 070 Shake – I Laugh When I’m Friends But Sad When I’m Alone

September 14, 2018

My dearest New Jersey babe. The shining star of the 070 Crew, Danielle Balbuena, used to be at the top of my “Anal Sounds Great!” list after the 2016 “Bass for my Thoughts” release. Trevante Rhodes has since stolen her spot.

Shake takes her time with COLORS to sing about her unadulterated thoughts about the negatives that come along with fame, as well as how the perceived positive of always being around people can be suffocating. No matter what life decisions we try to make, no matter what our intentions, we’ll always be criticized. 9/10 times the criticism will come from people who are too scared to live out their own dreams and have decided to try and put their hooks into the dreams of others. I love this performance because she manages to make the sentiment hit relying primarily on her flow, with the beat not coming in until more than halfway through the video.

Favorite Moment(s): The belting at the end. She sounds like Roy Woods and it makes me want a collab.

5. Noname Performs A Three-Song Medley From Her Album ‘Room 25’

October 18, 2018

I am a walking Noname stan account.

I saw her perform during my sophomore year of college, soon after Telefone‘s release. I had never felt so represented in my existential absurdity. She was as wishful as she was uncertain; the last time I had felt that seen was when I heard Paramore’s “For A Pessimist, I’m Pretty Optimistic” for the first time. But you know angsty white people are always doing something, so it didn’t really click the same. I sobbed in the first row while Noname rapped about the effects poverty has on the Black imagination, battling with addiction, and finding the will to fight our own apathy.

In this performance, she gifts us with a three-song medley, featuring “Blaxploitation”, “Prayer Song”, and “Don’t Forget About Me”, three singles from Room 25. Together, the musical collage tells a story about trying to create in a culture that values what we make more than our livelihood.

Favorite Moment(s): The GIGGLE when the music ends before she does.

6. dvsn: NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert

November 28, 2018

Roy Woods and Majid Jordan were my favorite OVO acts for the longest time. I had heard of dvsn and didn’t really care for the duo at first. I didn’t even know they were a duo until like a week ago.

One night I was at a party that I didn’t want to be at, and I really wasn’t feeling the music. While I waited to sober up so I could walk home, I put on my headphones and started playing my own music. When the beat in “Mood” dropped and Daniel Daley’s vocals came in, I knew it was the beginning of a spiral into a rabbit hole full of fuck nigga energy… Energy to which I am apparently still very open. In this performance, Daley’s falsetto as he sings about not wanting to pull out of his partner is literally the most disarming sound I’ve ever heard. It’s what I imagine the Sirens in the Odyssey sounded like. I’m 100% certain that behind the sunglasses, his eyes are pitch black. Because Satan.

Favorite Moment(s): 6:13 – 6:35. Mother of God.

7. Rapsody, “Sassy” Night Owl | NPR Music

December 4, 2018

RAPSODY IS ONE OF THE MOST UNDERRATED LYRICISTS OF ALL TIME AND I WILL NOT REST UNTIL JUSTICE IS SERVED.

Like… I’ll sleep and all that. But I will be dissatisfied. Known for her home-hitting lyrical additions – Kendrick Lamar’s “Complexion (A Zulu Love) and Anderson .Paak’s “Without You” – Marlanna Evans deserves so much more for the brilliance that went into Laila’s Wisdom. When she was nominated for 2018 Best Rap Album of the Year, she was the fifth female-identifying nominee in the 23-year history of the category. This performance of one of Laila’s singles, “Sassy”, makes me want to bounce through the streets in some high tops. It demonstrates her ability to give us all profound lyrics and pop-off sounds.

Favorite Moment(s): Her dance break @ 2:45.

8. H.E.R.: NPR Music Tiny Desk Concert

December 13, 2018

H.E.R. had already appeared on NPR Tiny Desk before this performance, but five minutes of listening to her voice were simply not enough. Whenever I listen to one of her songs, I have to listen to two or three more. The cool thing is that she’s not using subliminal messaging! It’s literally just carefully-honed skill and talent! These niggas can’t even spell talent!

The transitions in this video are wild. Seeing how many times Gabi Wilson switches the instrument she’s playing is honestly just really fun. “Focus” is my favorite H.E.R. song, and this performance takes it up three whole notches. Considering the fact that she’s an actual child prodigy, I cannot help but smile seeing her get the shine she deserves; hearing people refer to her as “the girl who covered the Drake song” really made me as upset as the people who fight in the comments under Lebron highlight reels seem to be.

Favorite Moment(s): The back-and-forth between H.E.R. and the two amazing background vocalists @ 16:28.

9. JPEGMAFIA – Thug Tears | A COLORS SHOW

December 14, 2018

I really cannot tell if Barrington Hendricks/JPEGMAFIA/Peggy is the kind of person who hates astrology and everyone who mentions it, or if he consults his Co-Star chart every morning. Regardless, as the sole member of the non-Scorpio Scorpio Fan Club, I love this Scorpio king.

One second into his COLORS episode, I thought my speakers were fucking broken. Twenty seconds in, I thought I was having a stroke. I eventually realized that I was not being Punk’d by the peculiar nigga on my screen, and decided to go back to the beginning and try this shit again.

I became so infatuated with JPEGMAFIA after watching this performance. This may mean that I need to call my therapist soon, but I would argue that my interest stems from the healing power I feel is available in his artistry. While different from serpentwiththefeet’s “vibe”, Peggy presents us with a similar sentiment: being unafraid to display your emotions, whether it be grief or anger, in ways that are not respectable or palatable can shake up a nigga’s psyche. Lord knows this shit had me shook all the way the fuck up.

Favorite Moment(s): He starts off stretching. Definitely didn’t realize how necessary it was going to be.

10. KOFFEE – TOAST (LIVE FROM KGN)

December 23, 2018

I first listened to Koffee when she performed with Chronixx on the Real Rock Riddim. This past November, the 18-year-old released the inspirational fucking BOP, “Toast”. In the song, she speaks to her performances with Chronixx and other key moments in her musical journey as well as the bright future she sees ahead. The song itself has been at the top of my morning playlist; you already KNOW I love to bust an early whine while I brush my teeth. But this performance… it’s magic. You can barely hear Koffee herself with the audience screaming all the words back at her, letting her know they’ve got her back. And with a big ass smile full of braces, you can tell she’s feeling all the love they’ve got to give. Everyone, myself included, is ready for Koffee to rise to the top.

Favorite Moment(s): Her disbelief at the room’s energy at the beginning, and when she brings on the girls to help her sing @ 1:30.

10+1. Noname ft. Smino and Saba: Ace

January 8, 2018

One day, I’ll share the story of how Noname was an instrumental part in my sexual “becoming”. It’s the same story that I shared with her after the aforementioned concert (still so sorry about that, yikes). Until then:

I screamed when I found out this performance was happening. I don’t even think I can put into words how Noname, Smino, and Saba’s performance of “Ace” changed my whole attitude. For the last eight days, my sense of clarity has been… well, CLEAR! I realized how much my hair had grown. I finished grant and job applications. I’ve received great personal news and old, important friendships are being rekindled. They have too much power. I’m tweaking.

All I have to say is that this video ran me a bath, put a glass of wine in my hand, and made me dinner. Enjoy.

Favorite Moment(s): I. Cannot. Choose. (But wow. The way they look at Saba @ 1:56. I’m emotional.)

[reblogs-and-writings]

Do You Guys Ever Wonder How Many Strikes It Takes Until You’re a Bad Person?

Do you guys ever wonder how many strikes it takes until you're a bad person?  Like, I know that everyone has faults, and to expect perfection from yourself or anyone else is ludicrous.  But I wonder how many faults you can have before you're just a faulty human being.  Like, I've often struggled a lot with jealousy and envy.  When a friend tells me something good has happened to them, I'm more inclined to be jealous the good thing didn't happen to me, than to be happy it happened to them.  Even when they complain about their own issues I find myself bubbling with that hot, bitter feeling.  Like when my friends complain about boy troubles, and I sit alone and wondering why no boy seems to bother with me.  And I wonder if that makes me a bad person.   I'm also very lazy.  I have all these lofty ambitions, but I never seem to be getting any closer to accomplishing them.  I rarely even take steps to find out the pathways that would lead me to getting closer, because I think I have this fear of failure that paralyzes me from even trying.  If I don't try to accomplish my goals, then at least I can think back and believe I had a chance.  But if I give it my all and I still don't succeed, then I'm just a failure.  So I don't even try, and that's just silly and defeatist, but I keep doing it. And I feel like I pity myself way too much for it to be an acceptable level.  So what if I don't accomplish my dreams?  I wouldn't be the first person in the whole world to not get what they want.  If so many other people have suffered the same fate, does it even count as suffering anymore or just as a fact of life?   And I often bemoan the fact that I'm alone and no boy likes me, and when I like a boy he doesn't like me back, but what can I expect?  I never make any advances at men, because I'm too shy.  Once again I don't try, because I'm afraid I'll fail, and when I'm at fault I can't feel bad about my failures, since it all comes down to me being responsible.  Not to mention I never leave my house.  I go to school and work and church, and that's really it.  If I wanted to meet more people I should just join an after school activity, right?  I mean, there's like 20,000 people on campus, and I know around 50.   And sometimes I think my standards may be too high.  I'm sure I'm like most every girl.  I want a Prince, but I'm not a Princess.  Relationships have to be equal right?  If I want a guy with a certain list of criteria, then I have to meet those criteria too.  It'd only be fair if that were the case.  And when I think about the person I want, I don't think I'm worthy of them.  And then I worry if my ideals for men are just unrealistic, and I'll never find a guy who meets that criteria.  Even if I did, like I've stated, I wouldn't be equal to them, and I don't think it would be fair to ask a Prince to downgrade and date beneath his status, ya know?  Because as much as people may hate to admit it, there is a ranking to social interactions.  10s dates and befriend 10s.  Same with 9s, 8s, 7s, 6s, 5s, 4s, 3s, 2s, and 1s.  That's just how life works.  There are exceptions of course, but to hope to the exception to the rule may be too much of a pipe dream. I wonder if acknowledging my faults makes me better or worse than someone who's unaware of them.  I know I could be more confident.  I know I could lose a few pounds.  I know I could put more effort into my appearance and try harder at my dreams and be a better person all around, but I never seem to be able to improve my faults.  I know I'm bad, but I don't know how to become better.   And there are good people and bad people.  I don't buy into the whole morally grey stuff.  Of course there is good and bad in everyone, but just because you're nice to your cousin doesn't mean you're not a douche bag to everyone.  That's why I have some issues with positivitiy posts.  On one hand, it's nice to be told you're special and great and better than everyone else once in a while.  On the other hand, sometimes that's just not true.  Sometimes you and me and everyone is a terrible person and our problems are a direct result of the choices we've made.  Because no matter what sob story I have, no matter what bad mood I'm in, ultimately the choice to do bad or not do good is MY choice.  Just as it is YOUR choice, and EVERYONE'S choice, because no one is in control of our actions, but us.  If I'm bad, then I'm bad because I chose to be.   ...I fear bringing up these issues to the people around me, because I don't want to bother them with my issues.  A lot of my issues stem from low self-esteem and self-pity, and by god those are the most annoying problems to talk about with someone.  Because it always seems like I'm just fishing for attention and someone to tell me I'm wonderful, because quite honestly?  I am.  I just want someone to tell me I'm a good person and I'm pretty and smart and talented and everything will be okay.   And I don't want to be that person.  I don't want to be the "Pity Party" Person.  I've already built up a reputation as the Happy Girl TM.  I'm joyful and bubbly and energetic.  I listen to the problems of others, and I'm nice.  Everyone always tells me I'm nice.  Just this year I've heard 5 people tell me I'm the nicest person they've ever met.  And that makes me happy.  Because although I certainly do play up aspects of my personality while around others, I am Happy Girl TM.  Because often I am happy.   I'm happy, because I have such wonderful friends.  Friends who would cross states to visit me when I'm down.  Friends who give me rides to places without asking for gas money.  Friends who bring me tea and soup when I'm sick.  Friends who write me letters, and no doubt friends who would be willing to listen to my problems if I ever told them.   I'm happy, because I have family.  Even if it's just recently grown smaller than it was before, I have such wonderful people I share blood with.  People I'm proud to claim as my family.  They're a whole cast of characters that inspire and infuriate me, and I love them.  And they love me so much.  If I have nothing else in this world, I know that I have them.   I'm happy, because I'm not all bad.  I am nice.  I don't want to toot my own horn about that, but I think I'm pretty good at being nice.  It's the one thing I know I'm good at.  And when I see people laugh at my joke or smile when I give them a Happy Card or even just grin at a random compliment, I get so happy, because I got to cause someone else's joy.  And I'm very proud that I can do that as often as I do.  And I've at least worked on one fault pretty successfully.  I've gotten much more patient with people, and that is one area that I have seen significant progress in.  Even if it took forever, I did it!  And sometimes I even have a good creative idea or a burst of energy and time management that lets me accomplish things.  And when I actually work at things for long enough, I can see progression.  However slow, however minute, I get better at the things I work at.  I do.   I'm happy, because I have God.  Sometimes I don't understand why he does things, and sometimes I struggle with my faith.  But at the end of the day, I know he's with me.  I know he's right beside me as I type out my little pity party, and he's gotten me through the toughest times of my life and no dout will continue to support me.  I'm sure you guys know the whole "One Set of Footprints" story, and although it may seem like a cliche to say to people when they're having a rough time, it often helps me put things in perspective.  It makes me feel better, and it gives me hope.  Without hope, I'd have blown my brains out long ago. So I guess it's not all bad.  And no doubt in a day or two, I'll be right back to normal.  Worrying about regular things like that test I procrastinated studying for or a bad hair day.  I'll go back to being Happy TM.  I'm not even sure why I've taken so long to type this out.  Maybe I just needed to vent.  Maybe I really am just looking for attention.  But I know that soon it'll be okay.  Things will be normal again...And yeah, I also know that I'll have another episode like this, where I sit and reflect on my various faults and the deep loneliness that seems to creep up periodically, but I know that'll episode will end too, just like all the others that have come before it.  It's not how many times you fall, it's how many times you get back up again, right?  And I always get up.  Yeah.  I always do. Maybe I'm not a good person, but I'm an okay person.  I'm working on it.  

[stretchjournalemerson]

One Graduation Gift

By Diti Kohli - 

“It is these quiet moments of dimly lit chit-chat that I still think about. And it was one of these quiet moments, days after my high school graduation, that he gifted me Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill. The blue book slid towards me on the green granite I’d grown to know and love.”

Acknowledgements

Thank you to Mary, Kayla, and Audrey for endlessly commenting on this piece and helping it reach the place it is at now. Thank you to Napoleon Hill for writing Think and Grow Rich. This piece would physically not be possible without it. And most importantly, thank you to Papa for his inexhaustible inspiration and guidance.

I found out most kids do their homework near the kitchen later than most because for me, our smooth green granite kitchen island was our home’s only no-work zone. My brother and I did everything from alphabet flash cards to college applications holed up in the corners of our rooms, easily and effortlessly sneaking out our phones in-between––and sometimes during––assignments.

Our dining room was used as a Sikh prayer room, shuttered by sheer curtains and a makeshift door which was actually a wooden folding screen we always saw at World Market. The only table we had sat in the empty space near the kitchen bathed with light and elephant chotskies. But eating meals at this table was reserved for dinners with formal guests, those who we wished to trick into believing we were civilized and polite and normal. Usually when we ate, the four of us were littered around the island only yards away from the stove where Mama rolled rotis, perfect and thin and oval.  

Meal-time configurations were a constant––me on the squeaky far-left stool, Divij on the one right beside me, and Papa standing straight ahead of me, assuredly leaning back on the low-shelved cabinets and staring down at his phone until naan, sabji, and daal were carefully laid out in front of him. On good days, days where he would sing and laughingly scream and grab the butter from the fridge before Mama could ask us to, he would sometimes sit. Otherwise, he devoured his dinner back-hunched, with only his elbows touching the unsanded granite away from us. He claimed he sat enough at work.

But on days that inescapably prompted me to be the last one at our faux-table, when Papa lingered around the sink rather than returning to his nightly ritual of gruesome television, he and I would talk. It was usually on school nights when for some reason; I had no more English reading, and he had run out of emails to answer. My brother always slept early, around 9, and my mother was dead-set on gently rubbing his back until he drifted off. So they fled upstairs well before the both of us.

Sometimes in this late-night dialogue, he lectured me on anything he could pinpoint.

“You’re wasting your time singing and doing speech and participating in everything that has nothing to do with anything that matters.”

“You need friends with bigger goals, bigger ambitions. Or you’ll fall behind.”

“Don’t look down when I speak to you. Look at me.”

“Don’t side with your mom.”

These insults slowly but steadily lost their weight. But these kinds of conversations reminded me he had an unnatural talent for coiling subtle fear into the hearts of each of our family members.

But on easier days, days when we felt closer and more amiable, he would unknowingly retract in a long autobiography. It would be complete with stories of his youth, his dad, his Suzuki motorcycle, his journey to this country, his life. Both my respect and my anger for him derived in his unrelenting air of authority during these kitchen island conversations. I held him to a higher standard than everyone because of how much his words had hurt me in the past––partially because he was my father and partially because of the cultural norms that excused his yelling and hitting and menacing.

Because of the way his father had acted and his father’s father had acted, he thought it was okay that he set the mood of the entire household. Sadly, the remaining three of us had no grip over the air that loomed in our home. If Papa was upset, we were bound to be, wound tightly by his staring looks, his forceful orders to clean and move and shut up, and his ability to burst open in a fit of screaming at any time. If he was happy, we simply weren’t allowed to be gloomy or confused or have other plans with our friends; this was suddenly a picturesque day where we were mandated to wrap ourselves up in quality family time and be ready with an endless list of activities to do together. It was this grip that I always wished to break out of––I wanted to be permitted the power to set the tone for my life. And the only time I felt like I could was when he talked to me like an actual person, not just as his daughter, in these kitchen island conversations.

It is these quiet moments of dimly lit chit-chat that I still think about. And it was one of these quiet moments, days after my high school graduation, that he gifted me Think and Grow Rich by Napoleon Hill. The blue book slid towards me on the green granite I’d grown to know and love.

***

Mama and I were squished on the plane during my one-way trip to Boston for college––me completely unaware of any snoozing men and crying children, lost in a fleshed-out fantasy of a life to come. My dreams were no different than the possibility of freedom that prompts so many other naive college freshman to frolic thousands of miles away from where they grew up. I was finally being given the permission, if not encouraged, to study and travel and exist amongst high-rises and privileged intellectuals in Boston––waiting and watching as we all drowned in a pool of debt only for missed classes and Ramen noodle dinners. Even now, I am thankful for naivety because it makes this frivolous college life worth it.

Papa knew I was responsible and entirely capable of handling myself in an atmosphere of liquid temptation, loud roommates, and procrastination. I was already used to handling a busy schedule. Classes, debate, choir, theatre, and running in high school just morphed into more class, student newspaper, and an internship in college. I could do it easily, just with a little less sleep.

My dad reluctantly stayed home with Divij during my move-in because he started school the day after. Papa wanted to come help carry my boxes up flights of stairs and take pictures of me in a filled dorm room with quirky decorations I knew he wouldn’t approve of.

With an hour and a half left in the flight, I pulled out my dad’s gift to me, the book. I wondered if Papa had considered handing down his old, tattered copy, ridden with folded pages, margin notes with crappy pens, and the ancient version of the forward. His version lived on his desk, and he claimed he read it through twice every year. His hand-me-down would have felt more personal, more intimate. In that moment, I wished he understood me a little deeper––deep enough so he could have seen that his was the version I actually wanted.

On the inside flap of the revised copy he gave me, he wrote a long note, in the penmanship I had always seen in letters from Santa, birthday cards, and school permission forms. Make us proud...Babaji Mehar Karan, May God Bless You. I ran my hand softly on the glossy cover and flipped through its pages quickly. In only three months, dust had built up in the spine and between the pages. It landed on my lap as its breeze brushed my face.

Other than the messy, blue writing near the beginning, it was the cleanest book copy I’d laid my hands on in a while. As a serial reader and avid notetaker, every other book I owned was adorned with slashes, quips, and folds. In fact, this copy was the purest thing I was taking to my new shiny life at school.

But sitting on the plane with Mama sleeping beside me, I realized everything in my life was wildly pristine. I was literally floating in the air towards a new city amidst a life of luxury. Had I not been given the opportunity to have an exceedingly average upbringing, I would have no chance to fulfill the extraordinary ambitions I held on that plane. This was my umpteenth time in the air; my first time was before I could even remember, before I could walk, before I could even speak.

Papa was 24 the first time he boarded a plane. He grew up in a house the size of our living room in Old Delhi with a largely absent father who was always at work, an unrelenting mother, and two little siblings he placed on his bike and physically pedaled to school for years. When he flew to an unknown life in America twenty years earlier, he was essentially penniless––with so little money he wouldn’t splurge on an airport burger, let alone a new pair of shoes like the ones I was eyeing after security.

The plane took me farther and farther away from home, from the place where Papa had hidden the true nature of his struggles from me. Gifting me a pristine copy of the book that had helped him lift himself out of a place of poverty, of insecurity, of constant worry only made the difference between his childhood and mine glaringly clear.

I held the book in my hand tightly for what felt like hours. Mama woke up; the flight attendants took our trash; the pilot turned on the seat belt sign; the plane landed. But there I was, letting the sweat from my clammy hands clutching the book seep into its glinted pages and blur the outside ink.

***

Papa’s always been one to unknowingly contradict himself, but he’ll never admit to his contradictions. He’s prideful. It’s ironic that for years, he told me there was no formula for a good life. The only underlying constant in everyone’s reach for the abstract of success was hard work, he said. And I believed it because this advice had worked time and time again.

In high school, I always saw myself as a force to be dealt with because that’s what he expected of me. I approached every test, every tournament, every concert with a glaring air of confidence and poise. It seems like I loved myself as much as one could and had full faith in my abilities, even if I didn’t. Behind this facade, I made 3 AM my regular bedtime, lost weight because I would forget to eat, and packed every hour of my life until there was physically no more time. It was all part of working hard––working hard, he told me, was the only way.

But his favorite book sells a more twisted version of this lesson.

I had graduated days before, and he chose not to give me the book until the tranquil hours of the night when we both found ourselves seated around the green granite once again. He had hidden the copy in plain sight where its presence would go unquestioned by me: the planning desk connecting the pantry and fridge in the kitchen. The book is thick and weighted, held down with the compilation of lessons from some of the greatest businessmen in recent history. These men founded monopolies, created literature that transcended the evolution of time, and forged unexplored paths through violent invasion. Author Napoleon Hill interviewed hundreds of these men, and succinctly wrote “a powerful, proven formula” to personal fulfillment and higher achievement. It’s essentially a cop-out for life.

I flipped it open to the introduction. “TRULY, THOUGHTS ARE THINGS,” it starts. “And powerful things at that when they are mixed with definiteness of purpose, persistence, and a BURNING DESIRE for their translation into riches or other material objects.” It then tarries off into a story about Edward C. Barnes, right-hand man to Thomas Edison. The book was corny, over-simplified, and blatantly everything I’d never want to read.

But I quietly listened to Papa’s summary while I aimlessly perused through the book. And he explained, with wonder in this eyes and voice, how it worked.

“You’ll reach the part in the book where you will see the formula, and it’ll click.”

“Okay,” I said plainly. “I can’t wait to read it.”

***

I never got through the book, and he doesn’t know I haven’t. One day, I intend to. It’s only fair to accommodate Papa’s enthusiasm eventually––hopefully sooner than later, so he doesn’t lord it over me. He claims the book shaped who he was and brought him to the position of occupational and personal power he now holds. After getting through the forward and about a page before re-realizing self-help books aren’t for me, I realized why he likes it as much as he does. Papa believes the cop-out because he does not realize the capacity of what he has and can continue to achieve on his own.

He had big dreams that were hindered by a world of financial insecurity and the burden of a watching family. As the most intelligent and the most willing of his siblings, the responsibility to pull the family out of a paycheck-to-paycheck lifestyle fell on him. Despite the stress I’m sure he occasionally felt, he swooped into this position with ease and confidence. And because he did, I have absolutely no need to take the same role. I am given the power to be ambitious, to be idealistic, to think about passion rather than money for at least a little while. The idealism that accompanies youth was sharply snatched away from him as he was forced to take the path that led to treasure. And his submission of his idealism is what to allowed me to escape this hinderance.

Growing up, I loathed him for his blatant anger and insults that sprouted itself whenever he wielded it. These feelings were pointed at us more often whenever he was stressed about work, about his property, about our education. His anger derived the memory of the life he gave up––though maybe unwillingly––to give our family the life we deserve. His stories around the kitchen island don’t reflect dreams of being stuck behind a desk of a IT company, ordering people over the phone and traveling every other week. He wanted to be a doctor. He wanted a life of intrigue and adventure.

My money will always be built up on money that already existed, the money he made. Though it may be selfish and stupid to complain about starting far above rock bottom, my privilege sometimes minimizes my journey. It doesn’t matter what I achieve in my life; to me, my accomplishments will always be trivial in comparison to his sacrifice. They will never be enough.

In times where I feel lazy and uninspired, I completely forget the moments he was degrading me and focus on those where he and him alone––any and all self-help books aside––drove me to be better.

***

The plans I made for my life began to slowly piece together after my first few months in Boston. I am happy in a menial sense, as much as one can expect an eighteen year old to understand the essence of contentment. My grades are good; my career is on track; my internship is everything I wanted it to be; and my friends party hard and often. And though I see that book everyday when I sit down on my desk to put in my contacts and straighten my hair, the pages mean nothing to me.

I brought the book because it serves as a symbol and reminder of my father: a reminder I currently do and probably will always need. The lessons in Think and Grow Rich and its illustrious formula I have yet to discover cannot possibly teach me as much as he has. My dad’s teachings have led me to a lifelong learning journey of complexity and resilience, and one book, one collection of words, cannot hold nearly as much power.

Papa places everything but that which drives me to an achieving job on a lower pedestal. So when I call him––though these calls are few and far between in fear of fueling his dissatisfaction, I tell him what he wants to know.

“At my internship today, the mayor gave me his personal phone number so I could set up an interview with him––like a real reporter.”

“That’s amazing,” he says. “Did you take the book I gave you to college?”

“Hanji. I did, Papa.”

“I knew it. Babaji Mehar Karan.”

[hot-leaf-juice]

thank you @alzheimersparrotroute​ for tagging me in this 30 questions Get To Know Me challenge!

i’m not sure who’s been tagged in this already, so sorry if you’ve already done it (let me know though so i can read it!) but i tag: @pg753​ @eri-descent​ @choromeki​ @mysterygreentea​ and anyone else who wants to do this! please tag me in it so i can see it! (for those tagged: you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to ofc)

now, let’s get started:

1. Are you named after anyone? my dad is obsessed with what little irish heritage he has, so that’s where the name “erin” comes from. my middle name is the name of one of my aunts from my mom’s side

2. When was the last time you cried? about a month ago. which is....an improvement considering it used to be daily

3. Do you have kids? no & never

4. If you were another person, would you be a friend of yourself? jesus god no

5. Do you use sarcasm a lot? it’s the only way i know how to communicate

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people? teeth

7. What is your eye color? brown

8. Scary movie or happy endings? scary movie with a happy ending! (jk i’m a total weenie, no scary movie only happy ending)

9. Favorite smells? uh....clean laundry probably? i don’t really pay attention to smells

10. What’s the furthest you’ve ever been from home? on the other side of the globe? my home has moved a lot so who knows

11. Do you have any special talents? my special talent is not having any special talents

12. Where were you born? ohio

13. What are your hobbies? honest to god i don’t even know anymore. it used to be drawing, it used to be video games, it used to be hiking, etc... and now? idk breathing

14. Do you have any pets? no :’(

15. Do you have any siblings? one, who is a total dick when playing mario kart (i know you’re reading this you know what you did 👀👀👀)

16. What do you want to be when you grow up? *finger guns*

17. Who was your first best friend? idk because my family moved around a lot but i wanna say it was the girl in 1st grade who gave me her pet beta fish when her family moved

18. How tall are you? 5′2-ish 5′3-ish? i’ve never actually felt the need to figure it out precisely

19. Funniest moment throughout School? in high school, we’d have this raffle kind of thing at the end of every week, and the school administrator would read out the names. one of these raffles happened at some school olympics event so all students and teachers were gathered in one place and the student administrator read off the name “jack mihoff. jack mihoff? jack mihoff!” over and over. no one ever let him live it down for the rest of the 4 years i was there. idk what kid put that name in there but they will forever be a legend

20. How many countries have you visited? 7

21. What was your favorite/worst subject in High School? i HATED math, as most kids do i’m pretty sure. though that was mostly because most the teachers i had were AWFUL (one would accuse me of stealing her food all the time, for example, and closed the door in my face when i was on crutches). it was in college that i found out i actually liked math a decent amount

22. What is your Favorite drink? Animal? Perfume? my first answer for favorite drink was “margarita”, but i’ll be more responsible and say green tea. favorite animal: all of them (i love roadrunners and capybaras a good amount more than other animals i suppose). i don’t wear perfume because i don’t like it so

23. What would you (or have you) name your children? naruto, goku, erin II

24. What Sports do you play/Have you played? i’ve played softball and soccer but didn’t actually enjoy them. i like to play basketball occasionally but i am absolutely no good at it. i used to be waaay active in martial arts (jiu jitsu, aikido, karate, but taekwon-do is my one true love). i sincerely miss it and hope to find the time to get back into it someday

25. Who are some of your favorite YouTubers? game grumps are the only youtubers i keep up with

26. How many Girlfriends/Boyfriends have you had? one boyfriend (almost 7 years and still going strong!) which is funny considering 1) i don’t care for romantic relationships at all and 2) i don’t like boys but....life works in mysterious ways i guess 

27. Favorite memory from childhood? having no food sensitivities and being able to eat whatever i want. not having to pay so many damn bills

28. How would you describe your fashion sense? plain (i’m not a fan of bright colors)

29. What phone do you have? (iOS v Android?) iOS! with a few older androids sitting around for me to tinker with

30. Tell us one of your bad habits! biting my nails, fidgeting in a way that makes people uncomfortable apparently. procrastinating on important tasks by doing this ask thing right now

[youdecode]

1100+ Daily Journal Prompts for Self Discovery & Self Reflection For Adults

 Laying on her favorite comfy sofa, sally volumed up the sound when her remote-jabbing stopped at hbo.

Her eyes meet the beautiful face of Alice and who at that time has reached the wonderland.

Sally stretched a wide smile, ordered popcorns and crashed her head on a comfy cushion.

“Who am I?” . . . Alice kept questioning herself. Sally creased her eyebrows as a deep thought began to sink in her mind.

While watching the identity struggles of Alice, Sally began questioning her own existence.

She did not want to be a prey of lost identity.

Sally asked herself the questions which Alice was asking. . . guess what Sally began experiencing the lost sense of existence.

You know what Sally did?

She tossed the popcorn aside, grabbed her pen and began scribing on her journal.

To discover herself.

To reflect who she was. If you have not met Sally then you might be new to the blog.

Meet her here! You will love her.

What Sally taught us?

The amazing — self reflection prompts. It is so true that we live in a strange world.

A world where we are so detached from ourselves.

Who you really are? The truth is that we can study thick heavy course materials or literature books.

We can learn the character traits about the protagonist. We can absorb dense science knowledge.

The only knowledge which we fail to learn is the one linked with ourselves.

We fail to know our true self. It is not that we do not have an answer sheet about our lives. We do possess the answers.

They are present. But we have never seen them, acknowledged them and thus not known them.

Don’t worry as this blogpost will exactly guide you how to know the answers which life is telling you.

You might not realize but your answer sheet is extremely important.

Your self reflection sheet is a manual which will help you in every decision making step.

And we make choices everyday.

You are nothing but your choices.

To make your better choices, it is vital to discover your true essence.

This is a strange world where we read memoirs and history about others but never go for intentional self discovery.

I am glad that you stumbled upon this post for it will surely help you perceive your voice.

I have been journaling since 12.

But I have been mindfully journaling since the life crisis struck me .

The vital thing is that you should not wait for life to throw you off the cliff and then explore your deeper self.

If you will be mindful from the start then it can save you a huge loss.

If you do not have a journal yet then I urge you to keep one. I am not talking about a digital journal. Get writing friends.

You asking me when?

Befriend your mornings.

You can journal at any time you want but I encourage you to journal in the mornings. Even before brushing your teeth. Why?

Because right after you wake up, your brain is in the theta state.

To keep it simple, this is a state of mind where your subconscious mind is highly receptive.

Subconscious mind is the king.

It rules you. Every answer is already there.

Thus ask the questions about yourself and you will get the answers without working too hard for it.

There is no one way of answering the prompts.

You can dedicate each pain to prompt or half (depending to the answers you will get) 

Ready to talk to yourself?

Describe a detail in a movie that you can’t forget.

Personal growth journal prompts: EMOTIONS, FEELINGS & HABITS

 The strongest emotion which I constantly experience is The strongest emotion which I want to constantly experience is I feel most joyous when

I am content when

I am grateful when

I feel angry when

Something that makes me outrageously angry is..

Things which scare me are

I would have achieved this if fear would have not stopped me. . . Shame engulf me when

Doubts sink in my mind when

Cloud of depression covers me when

Feeling of pride saturates me when

Confusion overtakes me when

The thing which I find most annoying is . . .

I feel most protected when

I feel most loved when

I feel like hating myself when

I feel autonomous when

I totally feel like me. I feel like my true self when I constantly worry about . . .

I am in peace when

I find hardest to soothe my mind when

I have certain habits which support my well being. They are . . . What is the habit that you keep for the longest time?

What bad habits do you want to break?

The new habit which i want to adopt is

I experience clarity about everything when

Journal prompts for spiritual growth

You can replace any one word with the source. Be it universe , divine, GOD.

I experience the strongest connection to source when My relation to source is

The first memory when i felt the connection with source was I especially trust the source when

My biggest prayer to the source is

The thing which i aim to let go is

I aim to forgive

I feel complete when

Are you a spiritual person? Describe your beliefs and how they affect and define how you live your life?

Do you have spiritual beliefs that help guide you?

Do you believe faith is powerful? Why and why not?

Journal Prompts to find your Purpose, Values, Intentions, & Goals

The value which i highly prioritize above all is

The finite things which I can not live without are

Now if there are only 3 things which can own in this life , they will be I intend my life to turn into

I am setting this intention today that from now on I am creating a world for myself where

My most important goal is

This goal is important for me because

3 months from now, i see myself . . .

6 months from now, i see myself . . .

A year from now. . .

These 3 things I did brought me closer to my dreams.

This is this is the way through which i can add more motivation and inspiration in my life I am currently running away from

If we talk about settling for less than of what i am worth than I My career path is / not aligned with my positive qualities.

I am passionate about

This challenges me

I procrastinate and do this activity instead . . .

I want to contribute to the world by

If could try any job for a day then it would be My health goal is

My career goal is

My spiritual goal is

These are the people who have achieved similar goals as mine and i can learn this from them

Th empowering belief which will help me achieve my goals are

Nowadays i am busy with and if you ask me will it matter in 1 or 5 years then

My current financial status is

MY current cash and debt balances is

The lifestyle which i would like to live in the next five years is

This is the amount which i need to make monthly for achieving the dream lifestyle

I measure financial success by [this amount/car/home]

I would like to retire by

If you ask how hard I am willing to work for what I want then . .

The short term losses that i am willing to accept is My risk threshold is

This year i am doing this to achieve my dream

This month i am doing this to get closer to my goal

The distractions that are hindering my productivity are

This is the thing which keeps me awake at night

My current struggles are

If I were asked whether I am taking my cues from the circumstance or controlling my own life then the answer would be.

If I were to rank myself on a scale of 1-10 in terms of self discipline then I would rank myself as. . . motivational things which i can do to boost the numbers are . . .

The most productive time of the day for me is . . . this time can be better utilized if i . . .

My space can be organized if i . . .                                 

Daily journal prompts for Self Discovery, Self reflection, Identity & Worthiness 

 I deserve to

The most important thing which i can trust myself for is

I feel most confident when

My natural talents are

My polished skills which i can share with people are I wish to be seen as

This is the last thing which i want the world to see me as

This is the thing which I absolutely deserve

There is no doubt that i am worthy of

I do this to boost my self-worth . . .

I feel this to multiply my self worth . . .

A thought which makes me love myself is

I question is life worth living when

My greatest achievement by far is

A day needs to go like this to be considered as my perfect day. . .

One thing which i badly want to change within me is

My three greatest qualities are

My dream work is this

These 3 things i absolutely love in the work i am currently doing

If i had unlimited money i would do this

If i had limitless time then . .

This particular thing drains most of my time . . . and i would change it by I can better use my energy in . . .

My limiting beliefs which stops me from moving ahead are

My life can be simplified if

The frequent excuses which i make are

My friends have my particular image set up in their minds and that is

My inner critic says this about me. . .

I have this best advice for the people who feel insecure and that is . . .

There is this little thing which I can change from today for the biggest impact.

I would love to possess this super power because .

I need to let go this one thing for tapping my true potential

The most frequent dream which i have is . . . and i think i have it because

This is a topic for which i can talk for 20 minute straight . . .

This thing inspires and motivates me the most in life

These are the things which fall out of my comfort zone

I can do these 3 things to get out my comfort zone this year

My biggest challenge is . . . And my comeback for it is

This is my uniqueness which no one can take from me

This thing gives me the most fulfillment

This thing is completely under my control

This is the way through which my intuition speaks to me . . .

I eat when not physically hungry because

This area in life is where i need some support with

This is the thing which I have been putting off . .

My typical inner dialogue is like

These are the 3 things which my day cannot get complete without

If i would have to be describe myself to an stranger then it would be like

The top 15 affirmations which i live by are

My 3 flaws which i choose to accept are . . . but the positive thing about them is

The 3 adjectives which perfectly describe me are

The last thing which i did for the the first time was and it made me feel like

These are the different roles which i am playing in my life . . . and if you ask how good i am at each then

This for me is blessing in disguise

The frequent compliment which i always get is

My instant response to any sudden life problem is . . . and i can replace it with

If you ask me to list money, health and family in the order of importance then it would be like

If you ask the best tradition i keep alive then it is I am grateful that i don’t have to

I can become more calmer person by

If I were to define love then for me love is . . .

If i were to define life then for me life is . . .

How do I define happiness?

If I were to tell one thing that is bothering recently then it is . . . it is affecting because and the way out is . .

These 5 things in my life makes me most happy

If i were to tell one thing that i always wanted to tell then it would be

The things which i can do now which i could not do before are . . .

If I were to confess a secret then it would be . . . This is the thing about me which keeps to myself and never let others the air of it.

Qualities which makes me unique are

The top priority in my life is . . .

If I were to confess my anticipations , then yes I am waiting for . . .

If i were to list my underlying beliefs then they are

The basic value system which my life revolves around is of . . .

If I were to tell you whether I am being true to myself then my answer would be . . .

Things through which I am afflicting myself physical, mental, or emotional pain are . . . and these are the steps which can take to subside the unwanted pain in my life.

My approach towards experimenting with life is . . . things which can turn me more adventurous are

The most dominant belief which i pen about other people is . . . (healthy/loving/toxic)

The ten qualities which make me the same as everyone else is . . .

Silence for me is . . .

If i were to detail a perfect day then it would be . . .

If i were to be mindful of my thoughts then 90 % of my thoughts in a day are positive/negative/feelingless . . .

My biggest insecurity in my life is

My favorite list of self affirmation is

If i were to point out one thing which seems impossible to me then it is . . . and it can be overcome by.

Things which I promise myself about are . . .

My thoughts about “change” is.

If I were to rate my adaptability level then it would be . .

Writing Prompts for Journal Related to past

 If i could summarize my childhood in one word the it would be

My favorite memory of the past is  . . because . . .

The worst memory of my childhood is

The person whom i remember the most from my childhood is In my childhood, me and mom/dad/sibling(s)/grandparent used to. . .

The role which my past played to shape me is . . .

If there has to be one thing which i could tell my past self then it would be

I would have done this if I did not care what other people thought.

This past experience can be used in my advantage.

Last three years have changed me in these ways

I Learnt this one thing about myself last year

I am most grateful for

My biggest regret is

The biggest setback i have ever encountered is and i will make sure it does not happen by

If i could give one life lesson to people then it would be

If we talk about past , present and future then i am living in

This is a thing which i am still holding onto

These are the 20 things which I am sure for now and i did not know them before

If i had a time machine then i would go back and change this

The biggest disappointment I faced in life was . . .

The most joyful experience i faced in my life was . . . because . . .

There are things which i thought i cannot do in life, but i did.

It was I felt truly alive when . . .

I can do this to experience the feeling often

What is that one thing which you want to tell your 13 year old

Some pleasant things which has happened to me in the past week are

The most recent failure which i have experienced is . . . and what i have learnt is                                                         

Daily Journal Prompts  Related to OTHERS

 I idealize this person whom I personally know because . . .

If i see this quality in a person than i totally sink in admiration

I enjoy spending time with this type of person

The five people whom i spent most of my time are

Whom do you admire most in the world?

What are their best qualities

Why do you respect them?

What can you learn from these people?

My ideal life partner looks like . . . and i can find this person at

The best piece of advice which i ever received is

My friend has to have this

I would go to my favorite place with this one person because

One thing I really want to say this to my boss/coworker/friend/spouse

If I were to name someone who needs to get forgiven in my life then it would be. . .

Can i let go of this painful holding . . .

The thing which i procrastinate in my life is . . . and this is what should i be doing right now

If I were to list the traits of a good person then these are . . .

The level of my people pleasing is . . .

if you question whether I care too much about others then the answer is . . .

My first crush was like. . . and I learnt this from it.

I compare myself to others in this way and I can stop this by . . .

Daily Journal Prompts For BODY SELF CARE

 The feature which i find attractive about myself is I feel most feminine when . . .

I cope my insecurities through

I take care of myself by

I treat myself like this when I make a mistake . . .

i can replace this treatment by

I love myself because and i can love myself more by

The ideal self care routine which i would stick to is

For me beauty is . . . if i were to tell whether I find myself beautiful or not then . . .

I practise self care through . . . [healthy life/exercise]

I can do more of . . . Things which make me uncomfortable about myself are . . .and i can make myself more comfortable by. . . .

Daily Journal Prompts  About WISH LIST

I need more of . .

If i had a year left to live then i would

If i had a month left to live then i would

If i had a week left to live then i would

If it was my last day in this world then i will spend it as

If i could get a yes to anything then it will be

My favorite place in the world is . . because

If i knew that i would not fail then i will

If i had to plan a dream wedding/party with all the loved ones in life then it would go about like this . . .

List 5 things which you want to do before you die . .

List 5 places which you wish to visit before you die. .

If you were to write a letter to your pet what would it be?

What is that one thing which you want to tell your future self

These are the list of things which i want to buy/have/posses because

Daily Journal Prompts for Self Discovery Related to Hobbies

 What is your favorite book?

A book that spoke to you on a personal level. Why?

If you had a theme song, what would it be?

Describe a detail in a movie that you can’t forget.

What i like to do for fun is

I am ignoring these three things in life which I love to do the most and these are the possibilities I see branching out from this direction.

I do like to do this

I read this in my spare time because

This song/book/show changed my life in this way

Do you prefer to read fiction or nonfiction? Why?

This is the thing which i love re-reading because

The lyrics of my favorite songs are

If i were to list something new which i want to learn then it would be . . . I love investing my time in

My favorite quote of all time is . . .

My favorite book/movie characters are . .

 WHAT MORE?

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