#had an actually very traumatizing experience a few days ago and am still having mini breakdowns every few hours when my brain gets too quiet

[starbuck]

Obligatory: i am still very delicate. be gentle with me.

[spine-buster]

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | one

A/N: Here’s the beginning of my new mini-series!  I hope you all enjoy it.  It will definitely be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, so be prepared!  There will be five parts!

SUPPORT MY WRITING HERE: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

                                                                   *     *     *     *     *

Brock Boeser felt like he was at some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, with everybody around the circle introducing themselves and their similar predicaments.  The group was in a big meeting room at the local community centre, and when he walked in, he saw a group of dads playing basketball in the gym.  He sort of wanted to join them instead of being here, in this room, with all these people that he didn’t know talking about what they were going to talk about, but he’d done this back in Minnesota, at his mother’s behest with his siblings, and he was going to do it here, too, in Vancouver, to make her happy and ease her mind and to make sure that he was easing his own mind.  

“Um, hello everyone.  My name is Brock Boeser.  I’m from Minnesota, but I’m living in Vancouver.  And um, I’m here with you all because my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.”

“Hello Brock,” everyone smiled at him, and he smiled and nodded back.

“So it was your dad that was diagnosed,” the leader, a kind, older woman named Esther who had greeted him at the door and stuck with him until everybody sat down, egged on a conversation.  He knew she was doing it because he was new; everybody in this room probably already knew each other.  A part of him actually wondered if anybody knew who he was.  “When?”

“Um, he—he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2010,” Brock revealed, stuttering it out.  He knew he’d have to be open at these things – open so people could empathize with him, open so he could empathize with others – but it was still tough for him to do so.  “But he—it’s—it’s not just Parkinson’s.  Two years after he was diagnosed, he was in a car accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury.  In 2017, he was diagnosed with lung cancer.  He beat it but then in June it returned to his liver and chest.  In July, he had a heart attack and his heart stopped beating for 15 minutes.  I was with him and—I—it’s—it’s a lot, as you can imagine,” he tried not to start crying right then and there.  Imagine that – first meeting with a Parkinson’s Society of BC support group and he’d bawl like a baby.

“Goodness me, Brock,” Esther said.  “He has support at home?”

“Um, well, money isn’t an issue now, but when I was growing up my mom worked three jobs to make sure we were all taken care of,” he revealed.  “I’d pitch in too wherever I could, obviously.”

“But it’s been tough for a number of years.”

Brock paused.  It had been tough for a number of years.  It had been really tough for a number of years.  He nodded his head.  “Yes ma’am.  I try to take it day by day.”

Esther nodded as well.  “I don’t know if you pray, Brock, but I know a couple of members around the circle do, and, well – you’ll be kept in all our prayers.”

Brock saw a few people nod their head.  Another older woman, probably his mom’s age, clutching a rosary; a Sikh man dressed in a casual suit; a younger woman, probably in her thirties, with short blonde hair.  He appreciated the sentiment.  He knew that people took prayer very seriously – that people suffering took prayer very seriously.  It was, realistically, one of the kindest things somebody could ever say to you: “I’m praying for you.”  “Thank you very much,” he said, nodding his head once.

***

There was an arrangement of cookies at the end of the meeting.  Even after the 90 minutes of everybody talking about their experiences and emotions, they apparently liked to stick around afterwards as well just to mingle.  It didn’t all have to be doom and gloom, he thought.  It didn’t all have to be about Parkinson’s or about sick people or losing your loved ones all the time.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about the news.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about sports.  The weather.  Anything.  Anything to make a connection with someone beyond something so tragic.  

After stuffing an entire Fudge-O cookie into his mouth, he looked up to see a young woman staring at him, holding her trenchcoat in her arms.  She was smiling to let him know she was friendly.  He was embarrassed because he knew she just saw him stuff an entire Fudge-O into his mouth.  “Hi,” he said, his mouth still full of cookie, the sound of his voice reflecting that fact.

“You’re Brock Boeser, right?” she asked sweetly.  “You play for the Vancouver Canucks?”

“Yeah,” Brock couldn’t help but smile.  He swallowed the rest of the cookie even though he didn’t really finish chewing it.  “That’s me.  Are you a fan?”

“My step-brothers are more so than I am,” she said.  “But I’m a fan of the team, yeah.  I’m Grace Gillespie,” she extended her hand to shake his.  “God, they’re not gonna believe me when I say I met you.  They’re gonna freak.”

Brock couldn’t help but chuckle slightly.  “Do you—I mean, do you want a picture?  I don’t mind at all.  I’ll sign an autograph on a napkin if you want me to.”

“Well…it’s a bit awkward to ask you at a Parkinson’s Society of BC meeting, but we could go to the Starbucks down the street and I could buy you a coffee.”

Brock was slightly taken aback at her forwardness.  He shouldn’t have been.  Girls came up to him all the time.  All the time.  And they were most definitely not shy.  But he wasn’t exactly expecting it to happen here, of all places.  A bar, sure.  Out with Petey or any of the other guys, absolutely.  But not here.  “Yeah…yeah sure,” he stuttered out.

“Then we should go,” Grace smiled.  She turned to look behind her.  Brock saw Esther picking up a few Oreos.  “Thank you for leading another great session, Esther,” Grace said.  

“Oh you are most welcome Miss Gillespie.  How is Hamish these days?  You didn’t speak much today.”

“He’s been doing fine lately.  His caregivers have been working around the clock for him.  They just work wonders, don’t they?”

Esther nodded.  “They are angels on Earth.  Anyways – we’ll catch up next week,” she said, leaning slightly on her leg to look beyond Grace and to Brock.  “I hope to see you here again next week, Brock.”

“Thank you, Esther.  See you next week,” he said, realizing he made the commitment before he could even realize what he was saying.

***

“I take that was your first meeting?” Grace asked as she set down the two lattes on the table against the window where Brock was waiting.  

“Was it really obvious?” Brock asked.

Grace shrugged her shoulders.  She didn’t want to make him feel self-conscious.  “It was the stuttering that gave it away, at least to me.  I know I stuttered a lot the first few times I came to these meetings.  I wasn’t the most comfortable talking about my dad’s condition to a room full of virtual strangers.  But within just a few months I realized the people in that room are the kindest, most empathetic, most amazing people that I’ve ever interacted with.  So I became a lot more open.”

Brock was transfixed by every word that Grace was saying.  “So you’ve been coming here a long time,” he said.

Grace nodded.  “My dad got diagnosed with Parkinson’s when I was fourteen.  I didn’t start coming here until I was about eighteen, though.”

Brock knew he shouldn’t ask.  He knew he shouldn’t.  But his brain had ulterior motives, and his mouth – well, his mouth listened to his brain, because it apparently needed to know.  “Is your—is your dad like my dad?” he asked.  “Does he have, like, other problems complicating things?”

Grace shook her head.  “No,” she said softly.  “But the Parkinson’s is enough for him.  I mean he was diagnosed just short of ten years ago and he’s already on puréed foods.  It’s not—I mean, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t regularly develop that fast.  But that’s…I don’t know how you do it.”

Brock didn’t know either.  Some days he didn’t.  “I just take it day by day,” he said simply, just like he said in the meeting.  “If I think about it too much…that’s when it’s bad.”

“I hear ya,” Grace said, taking a sip of her coffee.  “But let’s…not talk about this for too long.  Do you like Vancouver?  Do you find it nice?”

Brock appreciated the change in topic.  “I love it here,” he nodded his head, smiling.  “The city’s great.  The fans are great.  My teammates – I mean they’re amazing.  What do you do?”

“I’m a dance teacher at Goh Ballet – little kids and teens, mostly.”

He wasn’t expecting that.  She was drop dead gorgeous, sure – Brock wasn’t blind – but he wasn’t expecting to hear she was a dancer.  “Do you, like, dance in the real ballet?”

Grace snorted slightly at his phrasing of ‘real ballet’.  “No.  I pursued it only up until a certain point.  I was good, but uh, I stopped when my dad got diagnosed.”

“Why?  Don’t they always tell people like us to have, like, an outlet or whatever?”

“They do.  But I loved my dad more than I loved dance.  And I would have rather spent the time that I was spending on dance with him instead.”

He understood where she was coming from, and he wasn’t there to judge her.  “And your brothers you mentioned, did they help too?”

“Oh no no no.  Sorry – I should have specified.  I’m an only child.  Like, the only child between my parents.  But they divorced when I was six and when my mom re-married I gained two step-brothers, Jasper and Theo.”

“How was the divorce?” Brock found himself asking.

“You ever see footage of a nuclear bomb exploding?” Grace giggled as she asked the question.  It caused Brock to laugh too even though the analogy she was making was dreadful.  “It was awful.  The type of divorce nobody deserves, you know?  I became a pawn, basically, and my parents would only speak to each other through lawyers.  Even stuff concerning me.  It was bad.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was.  But it’s the only life I know,” she said.  “He was lucky my mom ended up marrying another rich guy.  I mean, my mom only marries rich men,” she giggled slightly again.  “That’s how Jasper and Theo became my step-brothers.”

“So your family has money?” Brock clarified.  “What’s it from?  Dad a lawyer or something?”

“Not exactly,” Grace said.  “My dad and his brothers own a private equity firm that started like this,” she pinched her fingers together, “and went like…” she continued, spreading her fingers and moving her hands around her like a bomb explosion.  “Gillespie Brothers Investments.  I’m sure as a Vancouver Canuck you’ve heard of them.  I mean they wanted to buy the Canucks before the Aquilinis.”

Brock hadn’t heard of them, but he now knew he’d have to do some snooping when he got home. “I haven’t heard of them.  But I mean – sounds like they were successful.”

“Three billion dollars is pretty successful to me,” Grace quipped.

“B—Billion,” Brock sputtered out.  “With a B.”

“With a B,” Grace nodded.  Brock had no idea he was sitting across from the daughter of a billionaire.  She didn’t act like a billionaire.  Not like Brock knew what billionaires acted like.  He’d never met one before in his life.  Well, besides Francesco.  “But tell me more about what you like about Vancouver.  What about the nature?  I always kind of fine a good long walk along the Seawall or through Stanley Park really clears my mind from all…this.  What about you?”

Brock smiled.  “I find the white noise of downtown clears my mind.”

***

“You want my number,” Grace said as a statement rather than a question as she and Brock exited the Starbucks.  They were kicked out.  They’d been there for so long that they’d been kicked out because they were closing.  Their coffees had gotten cold.  They hadn’t ordered new ones.  And now they found themselves on the deserted sidewalk, jackets put on hastily, and Grace came up with that.

Brock looked down at her.  They’d been able to look into each other’s soul for the past few hours.  “Of course I want your number,” he said.  There was no reason to hide it.  No reason to deny it.  No reason to have to wait until next week to see her again as they sat around in a circle in a community centre talking about their parents.

He took out his phone.  She gave him her number.  He texted his name to hers so she’d have his.  When that dance was done, she looked up at him.  “I’m really glad I met you tonight,” she said, her voice sincere.

Brock nodded.  “I’m glad I met you too.  I—I really enjoyed this.  And I mean—I needed it.”

Grace smiled, nodding her head.  “I needed it too.”

“D’you—” Brock stopped, trying not to get too far ahead of himself.  “D’you need a ride home?”

“Oh no no, my driver is right there,” she motioned her head towards a black Mercedes waiting by the curb.

Brock hadn’t noticed the car until now.  “Chauffeur?”

“Billionaire dad,” she winked.  Brock understood.  She took a few steps back before smiling one more time.  “Call me,” she said, before flipping her hair over her shoulder and walking towards the Mercedes and getting into the backseat.  Brock watched as it drove off, making a right at the end of the street.

He would definitely be calling.

[somarysueme]

WicDiv Thoughts, some overly personal

stiiiiiillllll can’t really put together my feelings about the end and epilogue.  I will say that I liked the ending and epilogue more than I expected to*, and the longer I sit on it, I find more things to like about it.

(* Except for everything about Baal and Mini)

That said, there’s still that huge, unpleasant gap between what I wanted/expected this comic was supposed to be, and what it actually intended/was. I wrote this post after 43 (the “everyone does the thing” chapter), using bits of a half-written reaction to 39 ("Laura did the thing” chapter) to talk about that gap. I decided to sit on it til everything was said and done Just In Case, but I mostly still agree with what I’d written. 

So Here Are My Thoughts

The full pantheon abdicating! This is basically where I expected us to go. Since 39 it seems like the natural place for the story to be headed. Laura’s revelations, along with the Daddy Forgive Us special made it clear that the only way out of the game was not to play it. I was kinda luke warm on that concept, but it made sense for where the story was at that point. I was waiting to see how it actually played out before getting fussy about it.

I give him a C for execution here. Maybe a C+. 

I thought Dio’s moment was great. Jon’s was beautiful. Inanna’s I definitely could have gotten behind if he’d actually gotten to have any of that arc on the page instead of getting put on a bus 30 chapters ago. 

The rest range from “meh” to “yikes.”

I could have liked this, I wanted to like this. Given how much “OKAY” has been miles more thoughtful than Mothering Invention, I was genuinely hoping to like this. I would have loved to see these kids find something more important than godhood to live for. But that’s not what we got.

We did get them realizing that being a god is not worth dying for. Which is good!  And essential! And basically the central conceit of this comic! 

But.

But...  

I really wanted to see our cast value their lives period. And while there was some of that, there was far more of seeing them be humbled. We saw them beaten down until they had no choice but to admit they Were Not Special (or at least, were not as special as they thought). I was hoping for them to find a capacity to value their lives because their lives have value whether or not they are special, but instead it was a story about being humbled, and I guess to me, I just can’t see that what young queer artists need is help being humbled. They need help being valued as people, they need the internal presence of self to command that value be respected, and they need the external support to give them a fighting chance at that.  And not to be That Fan, but that fighting chance doesn’t come from individual actions. It comes from worker solidarity and respect for labor as labor.  It just doesn’t work for me to have a series around the exploitation and consumption of young talent and leave anything material about money and labor practices out of the material.

(McKelvie’s My (6000 F) pantheon has unionized joke, but unironically.)

Anyway this comic was all about Don’t Let This Happen To You.  And that’s a good start, but I was hoping for it to be so much more than that. It could be that this is me looking at WicDiv and wanting it to say something broader about specialness and creativity and mental illness and exploitation. 

(There’s a lot to be unpacked wrt presenting itself as a story about the whole world through all of human history, while also intending to be  psuedoautobiographical for a very specific set of circumstances. But that’s not this post.)

It’s weird because like, Fandemonium already delivered masterfully on Laura learning to value herself outside of godhood.  Laura’s last pre-apoptheosis soliloquy about “I can’t save any of them, but I can still help them” was one of those wham moments that really cemented this book’s place in my heart. Living through Fandemonium and realizing that the gods were people, and needed actual love and support from people who cared about them as people, and that just being a decent friend is something worth living for, fuck!! That’s good shit!! That’s fucking excellent!! 

And for the rest of WicDiv’s run, I was always waiting for the story to get back to that place, but it never really did. 

 (ETA AFTER 45 IS OUT: ok fine I fucking love that Laura saved Luci. Big Gay Hero Girl drags naughty non-devil out of hell and they kiss, fucking A+. But “can’t save but CAN help” is still something I wish the comic had followed up on more. The friendship thing got touched on a little bit too,  but never in a way I found as satisfying as Fandemonium.)

So anyway Luci going Full Diva. Her future is this and her future is nothing.

The longer I chew on it, the more I like it, and the more it seems like the inevitable place for Elanor Rigby’s story to go. It’s a good continuation from where we last saw her have any scrap of agency, but also frustrating in that “the lat time we saw her have any scrap of agency” was basically the entire comic ago. It was jarring to have her go from [One Sassy Line Per Issue] to [Maybe I’m The Final Boss]. Her story suffered deeply suffered from all the time she spent off screen. But despite all that, I’m very much really looking forward to whatever the fuck Laura Wilson’s going to do about this. 

I’m trying not to get my hopes up for Talk Her Down ending. It seems perfectly in line with this series to end with the moral of “sometimes, no matter how kind or brave or caring you are, people you love pick their addictions over living.” That’s a song I’ve already heard live and in person, and I don’t really want or need to hear anyone else’s studio cover.

Uh final thought on 43 is.... Minanke DOES seem to count herself as part of the 12, which still lines up with my Emily Was Also A Fake God theory (Fauxmaterasu theory? Nokami hypothesis? Amaterasuspicion?) but it does seem unlikely to actually be a Thing between now and the epilogue. shrug.

(ETA AGAIN: I had to write out my feelings on 39 and Laura’s own abdication (unpotheosis?) to properly respond to 43. So here’s a draft of another unpublished post that I fleshed out.)

I have extremely mixed feelings about chapter 39. 

First Feeling: thank fuck the pregnancy plot is over. 

Second feeling: establishing abdication as an option established a nice overarching shape to this book. Things have felt directionless for many chapters, but this does make it seem like we are back on some kind of track.

Third Feeling: kinda liking abdication as a general direction for endgame.  For most of the series, I was hoping the whole that there actually was Something Important about the recurrence, but since it's clear now that it’s basically all lies, I like this this angle well enough.

Strongest Feeling: hell fucking yes to Laura’s shaved head. 

(Tangential Feeling: buzzing your own head is good and you should think about doing it. Doing it for catharsis in a moment of crisis is A-OK, but I did it once just because I felt like it and it was fucking great. banishing your high maintenance hair does not cure depression, but it does give you back an hour of personal upkeep every day and the fuzzy head is wonderful to touch.)

Contrary to most of the fandom, though, I absolutely loathed Laura’s monologue here, and the context that it puts around her not-choice. There’s a lot of shitty Hot Takes out there about how mental illness and addition and creation intersect. A lot of people will suggest that being unhealthy makes you a better artist, and what’s more that being a better artist is worth being unhealthy.  This series is unambiguously and steadfastly against that message, which is one of the absolute best and most important things about it!  I don’t want to diminish that.

But that all said, seeing Laura alone in the dark describing “an addicts moment of clarity” was... jesus it was all kinds of personally painful and upsetting. It hurt real bad, and not in the way I though I had agreed to be hurt. And I’m not sure how to spell out why.

I have thousands and thousands of words on why it struck such a sour cord in me, but a lions share can be summed up with “fuck absolutely every story where a Troubled Girl just needed to get traumatized/humiliated/humbled enough to Realize How Bad She Was Being.” Double fuck this one in particular for showing the girl getting over addiction/mental illness by literally sitting alone in the dark thinking about how much she fucked up.  That story is tired, and cruel, and dangerous, and thank Christ I encountered this comic at 30 and not 19 because I would have swallowed it down with all the other poison that Helpful Adults fed me.

But yeah though, her shaved look is fucking adorable as shit.  Neither she nor Britany made any hair mistakes.

ETA ULTIMATE: That last bit is the one thing in this post I don’t quite still stand by. By the end, it’s clear that the above wasn’t at all the story this book was trying to tell at all. I thought WicDiv was trying to tell some Epic Truths, Hard-Facts-About-Human-Nature shit. But despite the sweeping setup (All Across The World and Through All Of History) the book was using a complex allegory for a very specific situation (Selling Your Soul and Name and Life To Creative-Industrial Machines), and that made it muddy.  

(Insert Principal Skinner meme here “Am I out of touch? Was I simply interrogating the text from the wrong perspective?  No, it’s the original creators who are wrong!”)

I’m from a family of mentally ill, addiction-prone, recovering-Catholic artists.  Laura is in my blood. Half the people I love are Laura.  I have Laura’s painting on my wall and her books on my shelf. I’ve sat with Laura’s mother a few years after Laura’s death, as her father now slowly dying in the next room, and listened to her music for the first time. (It was good. It was really good.  And I never even knew.)

These experiences colored my read, but how could they not?  

I do now, I think, understand what Gillen was trying to say- the addiction he was talking about was to stardom, the attention and accolades, and free pass to make your own shit be everyone else’s problem. I understand now that the “art” that the gods made was always supposed to be Not Real Art, that there was no true “message” from their songs- all noise, no signal. It was never about Laura’s art, or even Laura as an artist.  And that was unpleasant to reconcile.

Because when you're Laura, or Elanor, or any of them, life doesn’t have to grant your ill-advised wish before it fucks your head and kills you. Sometimes you fight as hard as you can with every fiber of your being and you’re still in Hell. Sometimes you’re doing all the Meetings and self-reflection and therapy you can manage and you’re still a Destroyer. But the shit you create while you’re down there is worthy of creating. What you do with your too-short, too-fucked time matters. A fucked up life was still worth living because it was your life to live. And... I guess, from the story presented in Faust Act and Fandemonium, I sort of thought that this was what WicDiv was supposed to be talking about. I thought it was going to be about doing something good even when life is fucking you. But instead it is a cautionary tale that  that suggests you could have stopped getting fucked at any time if you had just gotten over yourself and said the magic words.

We spent half the comic watching Laura drag herself through the mud. Half the comic was focused on Her Mistakes, when so little of her circumstances were actually her fault. “Punish Ophelia until she gets over herself” is not at all what WicDiv meant to be about. I imagine the creators would be aghast to hear that’s what I got out of it. But the text is what the text is.  While it is intended (and successful!) at being many other very good things, this one really bad thing is still part of that mix, and that sucks.

Maybe I should have picked up on the discrepancy between my read and the intent sooner. Probably I should have just done myself a favor and stop reading once I did.

2016, 2017 while my life was going a bit to shit, this comic was exactly what I needed. Being in the fandom made my life better and helped me meet cool new friends and get through some of the hardest shit to happen to me since I was a kid. Then in 2018, it slid into source of frustration and soured promise. Now at the end I have no idea if I liked it or not. 

But that’s fine, now that it’s done. The ink is dry, the ritual is over. It’s just a comic book now.  Some pictures I still love and some words I don’t always agree with. A lot of noise, arguable amounts of signal, but not a song I want to play on loop anymore.

I have no real conclusion to draw here. I respect at how firmly WicDiv rejects dark and unhealthy parts of being a professional creator- especially unhealthy things that are generally just accepted as Common Wisdom. I don’t think it took enough care in spelling out what it was rejecting, though, and I do think it was remiss in not finding good healthy things to embrace as an alternative.

All of the above notwithstanding, I have to give it credit for delivering almost exactly what I wanted in terms of lesbian nonsense. That ain’t nothing.

I give this series ?????/∞ and am happy to be safely clear of Kieron Gillen’s Wild Ride

[the-council-of-new-york-vampires]

Okay so I keep rereading your Priya x Mc things and I just gotta say “I need more” Your writing is wonderful.

Out of Character:

Thank you so much!! ❤️

Your message was kinda special to me, and I love that pairing too. Therefore, I thought about the couple’s purely sexual dynamic, and wanted to write something special for you too. 😊

I want to see how this develops. It’s not sexual, but it’s a turning point in their relationship. 👀

Amy walked in confidently, feeling a hundred times more relaxed than she had felt the last time she had been here. Meeting Priya Lacroix - casually walking over to her house - had become more of a normality, and Amy was grateful for that. Actually, the two had even agreed on meeting this day!

However, when Amy was let in, she took in the chaos. While there were usually very few people in the foyer, there were now a bunch of them. Several dogs, houseboys, Priya even, standing around. Apparently, this wasn’t a normal day…

Carefully, she approached Priya, turned away from Amy, who was wearing a tight dress - as usual -, six inch heels - as usual -, commanding men around - as usual. “Hey, Priya.”

“No, not like that.”

“…Priya?”

“More to the left.”

“…Priya?”

“Ugh. Are you stupid?”

“Priya!”

Finally, she turned around to her guest. Priya’s critically raised eyebrow turned into a facial expression that displayed surprise. “Amy?”

“Hey.” Amy smiled - and hugged Priya. She had no idea how a hug could feel more intimate than sex, but with Priya it did, and Amy found that fascinating.

“What are you doing here?”

Amy’s eyes widened. “You invited me? Remember?”

“When, last year?”

Calm, Amy, calm… “Uh, no? Like, three days ago?”

“Ah well. I don’t remember that.”

Her face did show a bit of sorrow. “…Oh.”

Priya, however, seemed relatively careless. “Yea.”

It was then that a houseboy interrupted. “Priya? Is it good like that?”

She turned to him again, Amy as well… and the two were facing a man trying to adjust a massive picture - of a chihuahua.

Suddenly, Priya got angry. “I said not like that!”

He adjusted it slighty to the left. “Better?”

“No. It’s a disaster!”

“But-”

“You’re a disgrace, Sergio.”

Finally, Amy asked, “Priya, what is going on here?”

“It’s Jean-Claude’s birthday.”

Amy gaped. “No way.”

“Yes way. Obviously, I’m planning a party.”

“For today?”

“Nah, for the weekend.”

Amy grinned. “That’s so cute.”

It was then that someone rang the doorbell. Immediately, a horde of tiny dogs rushed forward, all of them barking! A houseboy opened to reveal a man, carrying a massive cake. “An order for Priya Lacroix?”

“Bring it in!” Priya ordered.

The houseboy by the door took the cake from the man, who saw it fitting to leave again, and tried to make his way to Priya. Yet, the dogs were blocking his way, still barking. “Out of the way!” he scolded them.

Priya was as patient as always. “Are you making it today or next week?”

He made it towards her with slow steps, the dogs seemingly demanding to inspect the cake.

“Ugh. Hurry up!”

Under pressure, he kept scolding them. “Out of the way!”

Then, it happened: In the wrong moment, as he was moving his foot, Jean-Claude was in the way - and he kicked him! The dog whimpered in pain.

It was then that Priya gasped! The whole room was suddenly silent.

He faced her with wide eyes, gaping. “I-I’m sorry. I swear, the little guy was in my way! I never meant to-”

In a heartbeat and with red eyes, Priya was on him! She grabbed him by his t-shirt and held him up, pressing him against the wall! “What did you say?!” Her sharp fangs were only an inch away.

“P-please… Don’t-Don’t kill me…” he begged, his facial expression as fearful as it could possibly be.

It was a sudden movement when Priya’s arm outstretched, throwing him into a corner!

He landed roughly, blood dripping from his head!

But Priya wasn’t done. She approached him with big steps and placed her high-heeled foot on his chest. “Who you think you are to kick my dog?!”

“I’m sorry,” he sobbed. “I didn’t mean to.”

Her hand reached out for his throat and she held on to force him back up, onto his knees. “You despicable piece of shit!” She held him eye to eye. “If I ever lay my eyes on you again, I will rip your balls off and force-feed them to you! Understood?!”

He was shaking in fear. “Y-y-yes…”

“Good.” Priya dragged him after her until they were standing in front of the open door. “And now…” She turned him around… “piss the hell off!” and kicked his ass!

The young man was kicked onto the sidewalk!

It was then that Priya slammed the door shut, eyes on her houseboys. “Clean this shit up!”

Amy watched how the men were rushing forward to clean up the cake from the floor as well as the previous houseboy’s blood stains.

“Sergio, who’s next on my list?” Priya asked, still visibly annoyed, as she picked up her Jean-Claude.

“Uh…” He pulled out a piece of paper from his jeans. “Harry Ford.”

“Invite him. I want him here in an hour.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When, finally, the aggressive atmosphere got a little calmer, Amy approached Priya who was petting Jean-Claude, his tail wagging. “Priya, uh… I think I should leave.”

Priya sighed, sitting down on a mini sofa. “Actually… You can stay. You can help me choose.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Choose what?”

“Henris Cord-”

“Harry Ford?”

“Uh, yeah. Whatever.”

“Who is he?”

“A candidate.”

Amy was in the obvious need of an explanation…

It was then that Priya grinned. “You think I choose my houseboys randomly or what?”

Amy gaped. “You have castings for them?”

“Of course.”

Wow. “Omg.”

“Omg is right.” Her grin was yet present.

Amy looked back at the men who were cleaning the past houseboy’s blood off of the floor… and wondered if Harry Ford really wanted this job.

-

About an hour later, Amy and Priya were sitting in the living room, alone, on two chairs. It was then that a man walked in. He was tall, handsome, muscular. “Hey, girls. Name’s Harry.”

Amy’s eyes widened. It were exactly those type of guys that had had three girlfriends at once in high school.

Priya grinned. “Sexy.”

He stood before them, asking, “So, what do I have to-”

“Strip.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

“Strip,” she repeated.

“Uh… okay…” He began to strip for them, taking his time. Harry took his shirt off, his pants… and stopped when he was only wearing underwear.

“I’d say, like, mediocre.” She looked at Amy.

“Uh… It was good, I guess?”

“Do you like what you’re seeing, Priya?” He flexed his muscles, wearing an arrogant smirk.

“I don’t know,” she said calmly. “I haven’t seen my fav part yet.”

He did seem a bit surprised. “You want me to-”

“Pants off.”

“Oh… Really? Okay.” He took his boxers off.

Amy’s eyes widened. She had expected her day to be spend in Priya’s bed. Now, she was actually sitting next to her, fully dressed, inspecting and rating a man’s dick. At least, Priya wasn’t making this embarrassing…

“How long is it?”

…Nevermind.

“It’s eight inches.”

Priya laughed. “No way!”

“It is.”

“I can recognize eight inches when I see them, sweetheart. That’s six at most.”

He grinned. “I know how to handle it.”

“No matter. I have my standards.”

Harry was shocked. “What?”

Priya faced Amy. “Seriously, would you fuck that loser?”

For a moment, Amy was silent. Then, she spoke her mind. “Priya, I… I think it’s wrong to rate them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Shouldn’t you judge their personalities?”

Priya seemed utterly perplex. “Uh?? No?”

“I wouldn’t judge someone’s genitals. And, no, I wouldn’t have sex with him. Because I barely know him.”

Priya pouted. “That’s cute.”

The guy asked, smirking, “Where can I sign?”

“Uh, the door is there,” Priya pointed.

“Seriously?” He scowled at her. “Is that a joke?”

“You’re the joke. Bye.”

Angrily, he put his clothes on - and left.

“Priya…” Amy faced her. “Have men rated you like that?”

“Yea.”

“So, why are you- Wait. What?”

Priya’s pout was yet present. “Amy, life isn’t sunshine and rainbows. And if I’m a sexy, rich and powerful woman, I may as well allow myself the freedom to choose who gets to fuck me.”

Amy’s eyes widened. “Have…?” She shook her head. “It almost sounds like men have rated your worth based on shallow criteria.”

“Men are pigs.”

Amy’s face was sad. “Not all.”

“Yeah, all.”

…Maybe she had collected bad experiences with one of her houseboys?

“Men just want to fuck. They are shallow as hell. So why are women judged when they want the same? Women have a sex drive too, you know? And they deserve to get their needs met.”

“I… agree.”

“See? It’s not that hard, huh?” Her usual grin was missing.

“…It seems like you have colleced bad experiences with men?”

“Nah.”

“No?”

“I just know what men really want.”

“Oh…” Amy was uncomfortable. Seeing Priya that serious was unusual, yet fascinating.

“Yea.” Priya grabbed a tiny cup of tea and started drinking. In a way, this woman was iconic.

Amy grinned. “That’s the tea.”

Priya laughed.

It was then that Amy remembered the annoyance of the sound… and how much she had missed it. She felt like she had started exploring an ocean… and now, she wanted to dive deeper. To see what was hiding in the dark. To find her sunken treasures. “Priya, are you… always in the mood for sex?”

“I’m not some kind of robot.”

Amy laughed. Never before had Priya seemed so humane. “And you think men are?”

“Men are selfish. Now it’s my turn to be.”

“Is that why you degrade them?”

Priya grinned. That predatory smile… it was back. “Degrade them, huh?”

“Yeah. Like… whip them, spank them… They are practically your slaves.”

“That’s the only thing they’re good for.”

Amy gaped. Even for Priya, that answer seemed harsh. “They’re human beings. With a dignity and soul.”

“I don’t care.” There was something cold in her eyes.

It was quiet until Amy asked, looking at Priya, “Did men traumatize you? Sexually?”

Priya rolled her eyes, seemingly annoyed. “Oh, Amy, you really piss me the hell off.”

“I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked…”

“Then why did you?”

“I just… Honestly? I want to know why you are like that.”

“Like what? I am the way I am. Are you some psycho?”

“No…”

“Then leave me the hell alone.”

“I won’t ask again. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever.”

Amy promised, “You can always talk to me.” She wanted her to know.

Apparently, Priya took offence in that. “I don’t want to. Why the hell would I talk to you?”

She faced the ground. “I… I just thought there was something. Between us. I don’t know what our past meetings were for you, but they meant so much to me. I was at home, thinking of you. Every day.”

For a long time, Priya was quiet.

Facing her, Amy pinned a hair strand behind Priya’s ear. This alone was meaningful.

Finally, an answer. “I thought of you too.”

Amy gaped. “Really?”

“Yeah. But I like to block feels out.”

“Priya…” She pulled her into a hug. It was the only right thing to do.

“You can’t change me, Amy.”

“No,” she said. “But I can try to heal you.”

[adelindschade]

Have I ever told you about my irrational fear of tornadoes?

I shouldn’t say it’s irrational. It’s a very valid fear but the sheer anxiety I experience when it’s even a possibility makes a very high dysfunctional fear I’ve been plagued by since I was a toddler.

*if you have a vague idea was a tornado is like - let me paint the picture: Before the death funnel drops, you feel a distinctive drop of pressure. The skies turn an eerie green (”skies are green, get ready to scream” was a motto my grandma always said) and the wind REALLY picks up. If you live close to the woods like I did, they effers SHOOK. Some broke off. It’s very apparent this isn’t just a passing breeze. Rain hails down on the windows and then actual hail follows. It slams on the roof like rocks on a tin can. Very loud. Very scary.

* The link is actually taken in my hometown. While not a tornado, it’s a very close resemblance of just how LOUD these storms can get, and storms like these can produce rotation (which in itself can descend onto the ground to become a full fledged tornado).

( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Yan5RAjy_s ) Maybe skip ahead around the 0:50 - 1:00 mark.

Then the sirens pop off. Deafening sirens almost as loud as the wind itself. Sharp, piercing, and uncomfortable wailing that echoes because they post a couple of them within the mile radius to make sure EVERYONE can hear . If you’re curious and don’t live in an area where these aren’t common, look ‘em up on YouTube. It’s eerie and anxiety inducing.

If you’re unfortunate enough to actually be caught in one - the ROAR is real. People describe them as a freight train and it’s spot on. It’s a range of 50 - 230 MPH winds funneling - picking up speed, debris, and color by the minute. A rope like structure can quickly encompass a mile wide monster that’s a big, black wall - you can’t see around it or through it. You can sure as hell hear it though. It’s a very heavy, low rumbling sound layered with a  deafening wind.

(Pictured: an 1890 Tornado that terrorized Lake Gervais, outside Minnesota State Capital, St. Paul).

Once it’s on a warpath, the best you can do is get to low ground, avoid windows, hold on tight and hunker down. Cover yourself with something like a shield - a twin mattress, couch pads, blankets, to prevent direct hits from debris.

These monsters can suck up houses from their foundations, tear buildings apart - wood by wood, nail by nail - and throw trucks into the next county.

Like so:

(Pictured: Fridley (a suburb outside Minneapolis) aftermath of the Minnesota Twin Cities Tornado outbreak in 1965.)

(Pictured: Damage of St. Paul Capitol after 1904 Tornado)

(Pictured: Anoka, MN infamous Father’s Day tornado, 1939)

What’s worst - these are not geographically contained like hurricanes (although the Great Lakes are known to have their own mini Hurricanes  like the Great storm of 1913 - I highly recommend you look it up!!) Tornadoes can happen anywhere but are notorious in the valley area stemming from Minnesota (Canada, too!) to Texas.

Even though we are wayyyy up north, Minnesota is technically still in tornado alley, and we continuously get tornadoes annually. A major metropolis (North Minneapolis) was hit only a couple years ago! (date checked: 2011). I’ve always lived within a 20 mile radius of the main cities, so even though most of the tornadoes reported are either southeast or plain south, tornadoes in central Minnesota are a huge possibility.

(Pictured: North Minneapolis Tornado damage)

I’ve never really figured out before how I got this fear (until this summer when mom DROPPED A BALL ON ME) but it’s pretty much a certified phobia since I can remember. When the skies turned green, the wind picked up, and the weather forecast showed red or yellow over Washington county, y’all - when I tell you I went into survival mode, you better believe it. I didn’t waste a second!

While my parents occasionally peaked out the window and straight up ignored the storm outside, I was the exact opposite.

I’d grab my cat, the dogs, my blankets, my pillows, and TWO flashlights and lock myself in the basement bathroom. I REFUSED to leave for hours at end until I KNEW the clouds passed over. My parents were so DONE with my dramatic ass but I wasn’t taking no chances.

NOW THAT I PAINTED THE PICTURE...

I hope you get a grasp of just how vile and deadly these things can be. From a scale of F0-1 which is very light damage to F5 with can see up to 10+ casualties and literally level landscapes (no foundations, soil ripped up as deep as 4-5 feet).

Now let’s backpeddle to the early 2000s. I’m about 7-8. My brother was just a tot. That’s the timeline I got from my mom. She was telling the family over this year’s fourth of July about the Tornado in Hinckley, MN (our annual summer campground & 3 hours drive from my hometown) prompted by some insane rain storm we just waited through. Not just another tornado - the one we actually had to evacuate in the dead of early morning because it was dead set for the campgrounds and EVERYONE was being woke up and told to GTFO. That turned my head - what?? I don’t remember this!!

So Hinckley has like trailers (chalets) and actually campgrounds for RVS and tents. Next door is the big casino. My aunt & uncle stayed in their souped up RV. Grandma would stay in her chalet close to ours.

So it’s about let’s say - 12 to 3 AM - very unusual hours but very dark. You can’t see shit outside the window. The rain is barrelling down. My mom is woken up to the chalet SHAKING. She swears it was actually picked and I believe it because the wind was insane. Tents were flying across the road. Literally in a split second lights blare through the windows and the  staff were coming through with these shuttles and yelling through microphones “EVERYONE EVACUATE TO THE CASINO! THERE IS A TORNADO WARNING! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! PLEASE EVACUATE TO THE CASINO UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE!!”

It was chaos. My brother and I were asleep and my mom woke us up in full fledged panic (thanks mom! I now know where I get it from now!!) My dad is pissed because his sleep is disrupted (psst. He’s a dick). We pack up our two dogs, ship to the casino, and huddle in the middle of the slot machines while HAIL IS PELTING THE ROOF. You hear wind roaring. You hear people panicking and employees talking over walkies evaluating procedures and damage. People are screaming, crying, kids are wailing, and I’m pretty the reason why I don’t remember any of this is because I suppressed the entire traumatic experience.

Imagine having to be uprooted in the middle of night, waking up to the surreal picture of shit FLYING EVERYWHERE, can’t see a few feet ahead of you because the rain is coming down hard, people screaming, parents panicking, and the dogs scared shitless while employees are directing you to the middle of this place that is packed with equally frightened people! It was a disaster zone with flashing yellow lights and sirens.

I’m sure this was the very moment my fear was nailed. I may have suppressed the memory but the remaining fear and anxiety only got worse throughout the years.

We came back to a disaster zone. It wasn’t like Moore or Joplin. It was a a few displaced tents, damaged RVs, and scattered articles but the whole experience ruined me as a kid and certified that I’d be perpetually scared of the mere idea of a tornado. Holy was that a huge revelation for me that Fourth of July. It explains so much. Usually calm and collected Cass turns 180 whenever the wind picks up during a storm. All because the weather put a damper on our summer weekend.

And that’s how I got this irrational fear of tornadoes or adequately named, death funnels.

[alanaparliament]

Panama to Colombia

Hello from the Cartagena Aeropuerto! We made it safe and sound across the rough seas from Panama to Colombia (although I did not think we would during some points). I’m going to rewind to Panama City. Our days there were very chill, just as the rest of Panama had been for us. For the last two nights we stayed in a really nice hotel called the Tryp by Wyndham. It had a pool, a steam room, a sauna, a buffet breakfast, and a nice room for us to organize our things before our big 5 day sailing trip. I bought a GoPro before leaving the city because Eric’s had stopped working as long ago as Costa Rica. We really wanted one for the boat, and for the rest of South America - and I’m glad we did as I have some amazing footage to show you! On our final day in Central America Eric and I ventured to the Panama Canal to see the famous Miraflores Locks. There was an interesting museum; but what we were most interested in was getting to see the canal in action with a cruise ship! I’m glad we left the hotel for that. The rest of our final night was dedicated to packing and getting ready for the early 5am bus pick-up.

Sailing Day 1:

‘The 5am bus pick-up and the windy road to the boat day’

I really didn’t need to get motion sick before going out on the water, but that drive did it. We were taken out to our beautiful catamaran “The Santana” by a small boat and were greeted by our friend Greg - the Captain. After organizing passports and assigning beds (he gave Eric and I the biggest one closest to the back - thank god), we were sailing around the San Blas Islands. While we were sailing, a pod of dolphins started swimming right in front of our boat! They were jumping and playing and keeping up with us. I love them! Our first stop wasn’t too far from our take off point, and it was paradise. We parked in front of a tiny 400 meter long Island covered with Palm trees and white sand. After a beer or two Eric and I went for a snorkel. We saw huge starfish, a mini lobster, a mini eel, and several fish. It was pretty good for our first time in the water. After that it was dinner and socializing with our new friends (17 of us in total).

Sailing Day 2:

‘The oh my god I can’t believe I got trapped on the reef twice day’

We woke up, had breakfast, and did a short sail to our next stop in the San Blas. Greg parked the boat in front of two small islands perpendicular to each other. This is where we would spend the day and night. So we hopped in the crystal clear water and began our snorkelling adventure. The water and the reef at this location were breathtaking. Eric and I were so into what we saw that we didn’t realize we were being pushed towards to the shallowest part of the reef. There came a point where the sharp coral was only inches below us, and the breaking waves only pushed us further onto it. We were both at a point where we were literally stuck on the reef and we couldn’t make our way back to the deeper water. It was very painful as the waves hit and my body was scraped up against the rock. Our only option was to walk along the coral to the shore of the beach. However, there were sea urchins everywhere! Every step was a gamble of stepping or not stepping on the spiky creatures. Not to mention the waves didn’t help with balance. Someone from the shore threw me his fins so I could walk to the beach. Eric did it barefoot, and luckily we both made it. However, I had massive scrapes, scratches, and sea urchin sores on my arms and legs. It was not fun. After that traumatic experience, we walked the length of the beach in search of a different snorkel destination where that would never happen again. So after a few pictures and one of Eric’s famous backflips we went back into the water at the tip of the island. Well, guess what happened? Everything was going smoothly until I got to the point of the waves hitting the reef. The water started getting shallower and shallower, and I was carried to a point on the reef where I was trapped again. This time I had a major breakdown because again I was getting tossed on top of the rocks. I caught my balance, sat on the reef and cried. I didn’t know what to do or why something so stupid happened twice within an hour. Again, sea urchins surrounded me, and my only option this time was to get past the breaking waves to the deeper water which seemed impossible. Eric swam over and talked me through it. I slowly made my way to him and somehow made it out of reef prison. Once we were in the deeper water, we were able to snorkel along the reef and not over top of it. It was so amazing, and near the end of our experience a beautiful eagle ray joined us. He glided around us and with us for about 15 minutes. Thank goodness for the GoPro and the footage we got of him. After that we swam back to our boat for lunch. Then Greg took our group to the other island where we hung out for the afternoon. We played beach volleyball, swam in the ocean, and enjoyed each other’s company. Then it was back to the boat for dinner. Lobster dinner. Fresh lobster dinner. It was probably the best lobster I have ever eaten. After dinner half of our group went to bed and half of us went back to the island for a bonfire and some coco locos (rum filled coconuts). On the mini boat ride over a another pod of dolphins decided to join alongside. It was dark, but Greg had a flashlight so we could see the dolphins playing. The bonfire that night was fun. It was very chill, but a great way to end a beautiful day.

Sailing Day 3:

‘The we’re not actually leaving for Colombia today because of the wind so everyone gets a bonus Day day’

Greg asked if it would be okay if we stayed where we were for one more night instead of hitting the open water that day. We all cheered. I went for a little snorkel by myself that morning (making sure to distance myself from the shallows of the reef), and came across an octopus! It was so interesting to watch him camouflage to whatever colour surrounded him. He put his defence up when I put my GoPro in his face, so fair enough. I felt so lucky to see him so close! I wanted Eric to see, so I swam back to the boat to get him. A group of us went out together in search of the creature but couldn’t find him. We came across a neat looking sting ray, but that was really it for animals we saw besides fish. We went back to the boat for some lunch, then Eric and I decided to go on a big snorkel expedition the other way along the reef and island. We geared up and were in the water for about 2 hours. The reef was absolutely stunning. We saw a trunkfish (like a box fish), a stonefish, and a massive pufferfish. By the time we got out of the water onto the beach we had goosebumps even though the sun was blistering hot. We were definitely in the water too long. We were pretty tired out, so swam back to the boat for an afternoon siesta. That evening we were invited back to the Island for another bonfire with another boat. So off we went to meet a whole new group of people and kind of celebrate my birthday. It ended up being another great night.

Sailing day 4:

‘The it’s my birthday, but all I want to do is die day’

I took a gravol in the morning thinking it would save me a little bit. Well I was wrong. I slept a lot of the day, but the ocean was so rough, that when I got up I couldn’t hold anything in. I threw up about 7 times while I was awake. I couldn’t eat anything, or move. I literally felt like I was dying. It was horrible. Eric was feeding me pills (which I threw up), and food (which I threw up), and water (which I threw up). Thank god for him looking after me and watering me like a little plant he was trying to bring back to life. But I just couldn’t. I slept as much as possible to avoid the feeling...

Sailing day 5:

‘The shit we still have about 24 hours of open water sailing, I’m going to try to sleep for 23 of them day’

Yep. We were still on the ocean every time I woke up. I had to plan my bathroom trips, and when I would try to eat something, and when I would drink water as not to become dehydrated. I mainly slept though. A lot of people slept. It was like the rocking of the boat put everyone to sleep. There was a point where I got up and watched the sunset and actually appreciated being at sea. But that lasted 20 minutes tops, because I felt nauseous right after that. So I slept.

Sailing day 6:

‘The I’ve never been more relieved to see a city skyline and hear the drop of an anchor day’

It was 5am, and the rocking of the boat stopped. My head was still swaying, but I was so happy to see the skyscrapers of Cartagena line the bay. We wouldn’t get off the boat until about 9am, so I went back to sleep. They fed us breakfast that morning, and once Greg sorted out immigration we were free! I stepped on the land and felt so dizzy, yet was so relieved. Eric and I went to our air bnb right away. It was a nice apartment in the city with AC, a shower (thank god after 6 days), a kitchen, and laundry. We spent our first day in Cartagena doing laundry, cooking, and re organizing our things after being on the boat. That night our group met up in Old Town at a bar called the Black Parrot so we could have a few drinks together and get our passports back. Lewis (the cook on our boat) baked me a birthday cake and everyone sang! It was such a nice surprise and I felt pretty special. After the birthday I had puking on the boat, I was so happy to be celebrating with everyone in Cartagena.

Overall, I am glad I did the sailing trip from Panama to Colombia. It was an experience of a lifetime, and the time spent around the San Blas Islands were amazing. I really liked our group as well. The people were awesome - passengers and crew. However, I don’t think an open water sailing trip on a boat that size is in the cards for me again. I am realizing more and more that I am not a boat person. I’m not “motion” person really. Rollercoasters are sliding down on my list of things to do as are sailing trips. It’s all good now! We’ve been in Colombia for 3 days, and are currently flying to Medellín (I’ve left the airport and am on the plane). The past couple days in Cartagena were good. Eric and I explored a Spanish Castle (more like a Fort), went to a museum, walked around the old town, ate the food, met up with friends, and really enjoyed the scorching hot city. Our next stop is the home town of Pablo Escobar! Like I said we’re all caught up on Narcos, so I’m excited to explore Medellín.

I should go now, the motion of the plane is making me a little dizzy 😉

AP 💕

[keyofthetwilightsalt]

Remembering bad memories: So, yeah I’ve just been going down memory lane

And so, yeah. I’ve thinking of how I am now and I guess my life is a confusing one yet super mundane.

When I was just growing up, I guess I start remembering my life until then was when I was two years old when I remember my brother’s first birthday. (There was that possibility that I even remembered my past life, but it’s all silhouettes and on a hill with a tree, but whatever) But anyway! Besides all that, my first molestation was when I was four and I was unawareof that all because I was still a child and I was in a grocery store when that happened and my babysitter saw and pulled me away from the strange man, then she told my mom what happened and my mom ask me, what did the man do?’ And the naive child that I was didn’t understand and thought the man was friendly and and then, I guess after that, my mom became super paranoid with me.

And then, later, I guess I was enrolled to this preschool (by the way, all of this was all in Dubai) and I remember how harsh the discipline was there and I was apparently a problematic child that my teacher always spanks me with her stick all the time and I was afraid of doing anything wrong which was hard to differentiate if I did anything wrong or not , but I do remember having this really nice teacher, she was just a substitute and young, so it was sad when She left and got my scary teacher back ( I was hoping she didn’t come back). And I think, when I first got there, I was being introduced to the other students, but the last one I remember this one girl attacking me for some reason and I was scared by that, because it came out of nowhere.

Another thing, I almost drowned in a very beautiful beach once, but my dad saved me from drowning and now I’m afraid of the ocean.

So, i guess, throughout my stay in Dubai, I was super close with my family and My youngest brother was born there, too! then we went back to the Philippines. But, since I don’t exactly remember the Philippines that much, except when I drank my first apple juice my tita squeezed for me, which was I guess when I was even younger, like, an infant, maybe.

So, the Philippines, I remember how culture shocked I was, since I was practically raised in Dubai, I wasn’t used to the Philippine life and I guess my family was on the fortune side of the Philippines since I remember being in a really nice neighbourhood. But the downside... one of my cousins was so mean to me. He called me fat and picked on me a lot, then my brother joined in. Because of course. 🙄 and yeah. But I guess, when it was time for my family and I to go to Canada, my cousin, the one that was mean to me throughout my stay was now nicer to me. Because, of course. 🙄 Family~! 😑 Thank you, cousin, for now making me self conscious about my image~. 😑

So, after that, we’re in Canada, culture shock again. I then got enrolled to my first elementary school! And it was HELL. I was alienated, I was bullied and I got punched in the face by one of the boys just because no one liked me in my class, causing me to bleed and lose a tooth. And then second grade. I didn’t know which class I was in and then got humiliated. Then I was transferred to another school in the same year. Which was way better, but it’s a shame I didn’t get to stay there long everybody was really nice, but I was only there for one year. Then, back to be transferred. And it was awkward. It was okay, kids are still judgmental. Then I was transferred again, but this time, I was there to stay, finally. But it was nice, I enjoyed my elementary school life there. Until High School. Well. It was fine for a bit, because I’m still with my old classmates from my old elementary school, but from then on, it’s just teenage angst and drama. But my first high school was just fine.

But my second high school. No. It was just downhill from there. I was put into the mini program with students who just got issues. Sure, a good friend of mine from elementary school, to the first high school to this one was there and all, but, I just couldn’t stand everyone’s attitude. My last years of high school was just me, closing all of my emotions from everyone and isolating myself from my classmates, all because I hate the drama that stirred there.

But when I started closing my emotions from everyone was when my class wen to this food bank thing and I met this guy there and I thought I’d find “true love” because I did thought he was cute, but no! He was a creeper and I was stupid enough to follow him in his creepy van, promising me of food, but parked us at some quiet area, then stuff almost happened and I had to fake a headache at that time to bring me back to the food bank then I called my dad. Even though nothing happened, except that my first kiss was taken by a stranger. I was fucking traumatized. So now, I don’t trust any guy ever again. And yeah. Also add in my childhood friend’s experience with guys. I never trusted any dude dating her, except with the last one. He was actually decent. So anyway.

But yeah. I was put into a mini program with a friend of mine that I was with from my second elementary school to my first high school and outside of this school, apparently, when people hear, “mini school” they think we’re gifted or something, but, really, it’s for problematic students with behavioural problems or students that need more help, like ADD or the like. And since I have trouble following along with the teachings, I was put there because of it. But my god! The wars me and my friends have with the boys in class at that time. One of my friends was always getting into verbal fights with this guy in class and I even get into verbal fights with them on behalf of a friend of mine when she’s not there anymore.

And so the final few days people will remember me by was the girl whole attacked this one boy to SAN Diego, because she snapped and went crazy. So, yeah. Fuck that school.

So, after graduating, I wasted six years of my life working at Orange Julius. Because I was in huge debt and I need to pay it off, but then a new company bought off the place and fired me and screwed me over, because, two years ago, I was being harassed by debters. And yeah, I was jobless for six months, then I applied to Wendy’s, then I quickly got stressed and depressed from working there. Well, I was always depressed, but I was feeling it even more there. Then I quit that place. I was jobless again and used up all my money, but instead of six months, I got to find a job in one month. So, that’s god. Not really, because every payday I always go broke by the end of the week. And now I’m attempting to apply for a better job! Or just a second job!

Because please, life! All I wanted was to actually work at a place I love! I even want to love living! I don’t want to live a life I’d hate for the rest of my life! I don’t want a mundane life that’s boring and work at a place that’s really hateable! I’m tired of it.

[roadtorima-blog]

reading between the signs.

I didn’t “read between the signs” until recently, mostly because i didn’t believe they were signs at all. I honestly don’t know exactly when I stopped doubting the signs i was seeing, but I do remember the first sign that gave me no room to doubt its meaning: what i like to call the “unlikely ladybug.”

but let’s backtrack for a minute. 2015 and 2016 were two of my roughest years. when I say “roughest,” I do not mean that these were overall bad years for me; i am blessed enough to say that I have never experienced an overall bad year - let alone week - in my 24 years living. you might say that the positivity is due to circumstance, but I would argue that it’s equally (if not more so) due to perspective. anyway, I digress...

i went through some things in 2015 and ‘16 that i traumatized and hurt me in ways that i could have never imagined. i believe that i will never go through those things again, but, until recently, i was reliving some of that pain just by virtue of not confronting the remnants of emotions that those experiences left behind. 

i used to think that true liberation and bravery came in the form of transparency and willingness to yell your deepest fears and most hurtful experiences on the highest mountaintop; concurrently, i used to believe that the things i was unable to speak/write about were those same things that had a hold on me, that were unresolved, my kryptonite(s) of sorts. i no longer feel this way about the inextricable correlation between communication and bravery. some things don’t need to be discussed publicly for them to be resolved. some things i can never discuss on this blog out of respect for who and what i represent, but that’s a topic for another blog post.. again (and like i will continue to do so throughout these posts unapologetically) I digress...

long story short, i was “going through it,” and the worst part about it is that I didn’t really want to let myself admit that i was feeling hurt, damaged and less powerful. instead, i sought out activities and behaviors (that soon became habits) that further perpetuated the disconnect i was feeling between me and myself. i was going out, A LOT; avoiding family; avoiding pretty much anything that provoked the deep, critical conversations that I needed to have with myself. i stopped writing. i formed intentionally temporary relationships with people because they helped me forget. i was fighting with the people who cared about me the most. i brought pain and tears to those people because they couldn't understand why i was not confiding in them; why i was "braving” (more like cowering) through this “storm” alone, without even letting them watch through a window. 

i remember my brother talking on the phone to his girlfriend at the time. he thought i was asleep, but i was in one of my moods where i didn’t feel like talking to anyone, so i acted asleep when he walked in my room. he said: “I don’t know what her issue is. My sister has honestly been a mess. Like a serious disaster. She doesn’t care about anything but her students and her friends right now. She’s just in this phase where she’s shutting out the whole family, and i can’t wait until it’s over.” 

i remember crying for an hour after overhearing that conversation. i allowed myself to rationalize it by pretending i was upset that he would be discussing my personal life with someone else, and that i felt betrayed by his words. the truth is that he was right, and it hurt me so much that i was allowing my behavior to make my family feel like i didn’t care about them. it hurt even more because i wasn’t planning on changing anytime soon, so i blocked out the truth behind his words, and convinced myself that i was just upset that he said that.

instead of confronting what was so clearly there, i spent a lot of nights in my room trying to let my rage out in the form of slightly satisfying sob sessions that weren’t loud enough for my parents and younger sister to hear. no follow up. no much needed writing session. no intervention and promise to start acting from a place of self-love. just temporarily cathartic crying sessions to get me through the next day. 

one of these nights was most memorable to me though, and it was the same night of the “unlikely ladybug.” 

i had just had another fight with my parents that resulted in me going to my room, shutting the door and crying. even though i really can’t remember what it was about, it usually was some rendition of my very perceptive parents trying to figure out what the root cause(s) of my disconnected, withdrawn behavior was, and me resisting their attempts to understand and better love/nurture their daughter. 

this time, i was feeling particularly sorry for myself, so i texted my older brother some things about my parents that i knew i didn’t mean, just because it felt good to say those things. something along the lines of “i’m so sick of them and can’t wait to get the hell out of this house and live on my own so i never have to deal with them” (basically my 2015-16 anthem). then, it happened. 

it was the middle of the winter. i mean like January Michigan winter, and this random lady bug came out of nowhere and legit attacked me as soon as i sent that text. i call it the “unlikely ladybug” now because it was in my upstairs bedroom and just so happened to attack me as soon as I sent my text about my parents. i hadn’t seen a ladybug in months. after it attacked me, it flew over to the headboard of the bed, and just stayed there peacefully all night with me. 

i know that in my more doubtful days, i would have read this and been like “okay, so it just so happened to attack you when you really needed to get slapped, and it was in your room during the winter - big deal. stop trying to overanalyze everything.” that’s cool if that’s where you’re at too. but that night, i really couldn’t deny what i was feeling. i felt like the unlikely ladybug was a reminder to me during one of my lowest moments that i need to get my ish together. that the universe (and God) was going to hold me accountable (aka attack me lol) but love me (aka spend the night posted on my headboard) at the same time. 

as cheesy as it may sound, i felt companionship and understanding with that ladybug that night. i felt a remarkable and undeniable attempt to remind me of who i was and who i knew i was becoming. that there was a light at the end of my longest, darkest, most ambiguous tunnels. that i need to hold myself accountable when i do or say anything that counters the “rima” i know i am and the “rima” that i am working to become, because i will do and say those things occasionally. i cried myself to sleep that night because of how overwhelming the sign felt in my space, because of how badly i needed that support, but didn’t want to ask for it from anyone, let alone give it to myself.

today, i feel much happier and connected, and i still see signs almost everywhere i go. now that i’ve opened myself up to their presence and purpose, i have started connecting dots that add so much more meaning to my path. i’m not here to convince you to believe in signs. that the young girl who told me that i’m her #goals the other day in the exact moment i was having negative thoughts about myself and my body image was more than a coincidence. not trying to make you believe that the text message i got last night from my brother asking how i’m doing because he “sensed something” literally as soon as I had an anxiety attack is more than serendipity. 

i’m not really trying to convince you of anything, honestly, i just wanted to share the power in my perspective shift once i started becoming open to the greater purpose behind my interactions with the universe, because it really is a beautiful thing. now that i’m blogging/writing again, i’m going to try to capture some of the signs that i experience, whether subtle or striking, or somewhere in between. the images included in this post are but a few examples that i’ll briefly explain below.

This first sign is actually my most recent; it occurred just yesterday. I was having such an amazing day. I felt especially connected, healthy, loving. I felt like my work, life, relationships, had so much purpose and value. It was just such a great overall day, and i remember that i kept thinking about how great i was feeling all day. as soon as I got to my car, i saw my ladybug friend, and it was a beautiful affirmation. i got to my destination, and she was still on my car. i took her presence to be another reminder that, good or bad, God is there for the ride. i originally posted the picture with “serendipity,” but, i actually don’t think there was anything coincidental about it. 

I saw this “Remember Why You Started” sign during my trip to Toronto last weekend. I had recently started this blog, and was feeling really inspired to continue my #roadtorima brand and explore all of the possibilities that come along with that. but, naturally, with motivation comes mini pockets of doubt, and i believe this sign was a subtle reminder that i’m on to something.

The #RoadToOctober16th calendar was less subtle for me. I came back to my parents’ house to visit and be with my family a couple weeks ago. My father is experiencing some health issues that have had me feeling anxious and scared. I was particularly stressed coming home that day. When I walked into my room (that had recently been cleaned out), someone had taken my calendar off the wall and put it on the dresser. It was the only thing on the dresser, and its contents had been fully erased, except for the #RoadToOctober16th heading. #RoadtoOctober was singlehandedly the starting point of my entire #roadtorima journey, my commitment to better health, self-love, this blog, and pretty much all of the intentional positivity i have in my life right now. #RoadtoOctober extended far past October, but it was the light at the end of a once very dark tunnel. Seeing it was a striking reminder to stay positive, and keep doing what i’m doing.