#i could write a whole essay on how emily having a sister changes half her personality

[emilys-bangs]

I don’t consider evolution to be canon, but fuck Emily’s sister anyway xx

[ava-jones]

Jen and Ava have a duel

Practice challenge fic pt 2.5

Ava sighed as she walked towards the garden she had seen from her window. It was a little more put together than her wild gardens of Sumner, but it would do. 

She stepped out and looked at some of the flowers, it was quiet. She had never found a quiet place in Angeles as long as she had lived there. It was a nice change. She turned to walk down another path when she saw another selected. It took her a moment but she vaguely recognized her as Jen Li. She was one of the people on her managers "do not speak to" list. However, Ava really liked to stick it to her manager so she approached the lost in thought Jen. 

"Oh hey, sorry I didn't realize anyone was out here.” She apologized but secretly was hoping to make a friend here. This would be a very boring job if she was on her own all the time. 

Jen straightened and turned away from her, “It's okay. I'll just head in.”

Ava felt her older sister instincts kick in as Jen sounded troubled, “No wait, are you okay? You look a little uneasy. Not to like, pry or anything but I've been told I can lend a good ear.”

“No, I... It's just been a lot. They never let you have a moment to breathe.” She replied before mumbling something to herself. 

Ava couldn’t help but laugh. This was a place to breathe for her. It wasn't as free as Sumner, sure, but she didn’t have to deal with stalkers waiting outside her house, or cooperating with sleazy men, “Sorry, this has just been-like my vacation away from never being able to breathe. I don't know if you recognize me or know of me but I'm Ava Jones. My work keeps me pretty thrown around like this so I might have a few pointers if you'd like some?” She offered, sitting down on the bench next to Jen. 

“I mean, if you want to,” she responded before smirking, “and I like Friday.” She added. 

Ava rolled her eyes at the comment of her oldest song, “Thanks. It might be my greatest shame but at least I have the excuse of being 15 when I made it.” She then thought for a moment as she tried to find the right words for her advice. “Well for me, I generally find, like a - and please don’t think I'm an Angeles hipster for this- but a 'zen' place. Like I have a pretty big garden backyard because it makes me think of my garden at home in Sumner. So, for you what's a time or place where you just feel really at peace?”

She took a moment to think, “whenever I'm in my apartment and I'm completely immersed in an essay while my music plays on shuffle. I can just forget and focus on where I know I want to be.” Ava thought she sounded like a good potential friend.

“I get that. When I write a song I'm in a totally different place too. Wouldn't get essays though since I dropped out of high school.” Ava paused for a moment trying to find the next way to help her, “Do you have any topics of interest you'd be able to write on while here?” 

She laughed, “Maybe. You think they encourage individual thought here? Because I doubt they'd like my essays.”

“I mean I don’t think they've discouraged it. Whichever person marries the prince will end up queen so they probably want someone with a brain.” Ava thought out loud not really having considered the topic before. 

“A brain with only shared opinions maybe.” Jen half joked. 

“Well what ideas do you think they'd dislike of yours? You don't seem particularly threatening. I doubt you'd suggest whipping out a guillotine.” Ava added genuinely wondering what ideas she could have that would really be that out there. 

Jen laughed, “ You have no idea. What about you? Do you have any opinions you'd be admonished for?” 

She had to think for a moment as she hadn't really had a moment to consider anything but work since she was fifteen, “hmmm, I'm not really political. There are obvious things like women's equality, especially in the music industry. It's really shit right now. But other than that I can't really think of anything. Maybe an easier opportunity for caste growth? But i dont think I'd be hung and quartered for that.”  

“Maybe not. Some people might want you to be, but... Sorry, you said you don't care about politics,” she shrugged, “Guess someone like you wouldn't have to.” 

My eyebrows furrowed at her second comment, what did she mean someone like me? “I mean I don't not care, I just haven't really had the time to think. Also what's that supposed to mean?”

“Well, it's not like pop stars like you need to. People like you can get by because nothing affects you.” I was in shock for a moment. I grew up in a town of mostly 4s and lower. I was very aware of the effects of economic disparity and the flaws of illea. Just because I hadn’t considered them recently did not mean I was unaffected. 

“You literally just met me. You don't know the first thing about me. Jen Li, right?” I double checked, running through all of the info I knew about her. Maybe she had a family member who was an 8? No. Someone died of poverty? No.

“Yeah, what of it?”

“So in my line of work, I have to expect any questions in interviews and have answers prepared. Therefore, when the selected were announced I received basic information on each of the selected. What's your caste again?” I asked, knowing full well that she’s a three. A higher caste than I was for most of my life. 

“I'm a Three.”

“Mhm, and where do you go to school?”

“Something about the way you're speaking sounds like you already know.”

“Yeah but you don't seem to be aware of it. You go to Yale, an extremely expensive school, you're also a three, wealthy enough that they picked your caste for all selected to default to after elimination. So I'm really sure that the economic disparities of our country greatly affect you personally enough for you to have an opinion, whereas I clearly don't.” Ava huffed in anger and stood from the bench, “I'm not really a fan of close minded, wealthy hypocrites, I meet enough of them in my line of work, so I'll see you around.” Ava said, turning to leave. 

Jen yelled after her, “At least I do something with my privilege. Unlike you, I don't strut around on stage while being paid millions of dollars.” 

Ava turned around. She could yell how she’d fixed her family's farm, how she’d paid for the medical costs for Michael, how she kept everyone in her town fed and housed, how most of her money went to charity because she was very aware of the struggle around her as she had grown up in it. But she held her tongue, “You don't know the first thing about me, your assumptions show you as judgmental and arrogant. Add those to the list of reasons I'll be taking my leave.” 

Later that night Ava was enjoying a cup of tea in her room when Emily-Rose burst in sobbing. Ava and Emily weren’t really friends, but they did know each other so Emily must have come to her as her only friend here so far.

“What’s wrong?” Ava asked as she sat down her tea. Emily spent the next few hours crying and telling her how she had tried to befriend Jen. As soon as Jen came up she knew this would be bad. Emily being the blissfully ignorant girl that she is, brought macarons as a welcome gift for some of the girls, she was always so desperate for validation. Jen saw this as a display of wealth instead of an invitation of friendship and rejected it. Emily, never being raised around 6s handed the box off to the maid without speaking or looking at her. Enraged Jen stood from her bed and shoved the box back at Emily and told her she was being disrespectful to her maid. Emily was confused so she tried again and asked the made if she could throw away the box, an act that both would upset Jen as she was throwing away perfectly good food and not doing it herself- despite the fact that Jen had a maid and clearly was not doing somethings herself either, Jen called Emily a bitch and she ran off crying. After hours wondering what she did wrong Emily appeared at Ava’s door. She spent the next few hours crying in Ava’s bed until she tucked her in then stormed off to Jen’s room. 

She banged on the door, “Open this fucking door you shithead!”

Jen’s maid opened the door and looked horrified which caused Ava to feel a bit guilty about the late hour, “Oh sorry, I figured she would have dismissed you for the night.” She apologized. She would have waited for this, but she really would rather get over with her last time speaking to Jen Li. She walked in and walked over to her bed, “Wake up!”

Jen sat up and dismissed her maids question about calling security, “What do you want?”

“I have a question for you? Were you raised by bears? Do you have any idea how to be polite at all! I mean I was raised on a farm and I've seen pigs have better manners to do. What do you do when someone offers you a gift, Jen Li?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“I'm talking about Emily-Rose White and her dumbass macarons. Of course they're extra and yes she can be a little annoying. But when someone offers you a gift, the polite thing to do is to take it and move on even if you don't want it. The rude thing that you did do is refuse it adamantly, then even worse, all the person who gave you the gift a 'bitch' which by the way the use of that word is a whole other discussion.” 

Jen looked up in shock, “She treated my maid like a dog. I don't respect people who don't respect others, especially because of their caste.”

That’s rich (like Jen). Ava laughed before speaking again, “Well then you shouldn't respect yourself! You assumed that because I am a two that I am snobby and hoard money. I donate most of my money, I was born a four, and my closest friends who I live with are sevens. And yes Emily is spoiled, and I will speak to her about that, but escalating a situation by calling someone who is simply ignorant does not help anyone. You are arrogant and cruel and someone, unfortunately me, has to speak to you about that before you go making more well intended people cry themselves to sleep.”

“She's old enough to know better. None of us are children, and I'm not going to coddle a bunch of Twos just because they were raised that way. It's not an excuse to disrespect someone in a lower caste. I don't care about ignorance.”

“So instead of try to help and understand another person you'd rather call them a bitch and make things worse? And she's 19 and extremely sheltered, I wouldn't say she's gained the wisdom to know any better. Also no one is asking you to coddle all I'm asking is for you to be fucking polite. You didn't have to assume I knew nothing of economic struggle, you didn't have to shove Emily around, slam a box into her and call her a bitch. There is a difference between not tolerating disrespect and acting disrespectfully back at another person.”

“I didn't slam a box into her.” Ava rolled her eyes knowing that was untrue, 

“So you didn't shove a box of cookies at her repeatedly? Because at least she handed them to your maid.”

“You're making it sound like I assaulted her. She's the one who barged into my room without asking.”

“Oh okay so if someone comes into my room and gives off bad vibes, I can shove things at them and call them a bitch. It's perfectly polite and respectful?”

“That wasn't the reason I did it!” God arguing with her is like talking to a child Ava thought. 

“It doesn't really matter the reason you did it. Because again, there is a difference between not tolerating disrespect and being disrespectful. You could have said "Hey Emily, that wasn't right. I know you didn't grow up that way but maids are people and need recognition in order for it to be polite" Instead you shoved a box at her, she tried again not knowing any better then you called her a bitch. Which by the way the whole thing could have been avoided if you'd just taken the damn present like a sane well mannered person.” 

“Okay, whatever. I'm sorry. But maybe she should've tried dealing with her problems instead of running away like a child.” 

“Not everyone's a stone cold ass who can handle being treated the way you treated her. She apologized and has spent the last thirty minutes crying to me about how horrible she feels. You didn't allow her an opportunity to realize what she had done wrong before being an aggressor. And I'm not the one you need to apologize too I'm just the one who has to clean up your mess.” 

“Why don't you just go back to your adoring friend and mind your own business, Ava? Just because you're famous, doesn't mean I'm going to listen to you. Get over yourself.” Hah! She’s telling me to get over myself? Clearly she hasn’t heard a word that’s come out of her mouth. 

“It doesn't matter if I'm famous or not I'd be in this room yelling at you just the same. I'm not even really friends with Emily, I just don't tolerate people being cruel and disrespectful especially ones I have to live with. Just because you're a three doesn't mean you know everything and you need to start thinking from other people’s perspectives!” 

“I never claimed to know everything, and I do think from others' perspectives, but excuse me if I don't listen to just another privileged Two who got her little feelings hurt.” She probably has no friends.

“You don't need to listen to Emily. Emily doesn't want anything from you. You need to listen to me. Since apparently the only perspective you think you can understand are lower caste people, as I've lived as a four the majority of my life I can tell you, you're not listening to anyone, you're only looking through your perspective, and you're hurting well intending people because you're one of the most casteist people I've met. I've said all I need to say. Sleep well in your rich bed with your maid next to you miss I-hate-privileged-people-and-am-going-to-lash-out-at-them-because-clearly-I-don't know who I am!” 

Ava groaned and turned around slamming the door behind her. She went back to her room and threw herself down in a chair where she would be sleeping through the night and prayed that Jen would be gone soon or she would. 

[patheticphallacy]

IT’S MAY Y’ALL. Even though I’ll still be doing blog posts in May, it’s not going to be as hectic, as I finally finished my second year of university and have decided to take it easy after a very packed April.

I’m also doing things a little different with my wrap up this month by getting rid of star ratings. I watched a video on it, and I just feel like I’d rather people go by my actual comments on the books than look at the rating and decide that covers all my thoughts. I still have star ratings on Goodreads for my own personal use, but I’m doing my best to start writing proper summaries of my thoughts from now on!

READING WRAP UP

  Tropic of Serpents by Marie Brennan– a solid follow up to the first book, although there’s a startling lack of dragons in a series about a dragon naturalist! Definitely go into this one expecting a lot more politics than book 1, and Isabella starting a lot of Drama.

The Elementals by Michael McDowell– such an amazing horror novel! McDowell is so underrated for a writer who wrote predominantly in the seventies and eighties, and it’s so tragic how young he died. 

Princess Jellyfish Volume 1 by Akiko Higashimura– such a disappointing read. It’s really problematic, to the point where it drastically impacted my enjoyment of the plot, especially when I’ve got so many other more recent manga I could be enjoying more than this. 

Fullmetal Alchemist Volume 8 by Hiromu Arakawa– speaking of next tier manga… holy shit. I am so scared of volume 9 and finishing this series, it’s meant so much to me and it’s really helped me immerse myself fully in reading manga. 

Lumberjanes Volume 9 by Shannon Watters– Barney is a precious precious bean and I love them! This is a roller derby volume, and it was pretty great: I’ve been a fan of roller derby since I first watched Whip It, and this volume was super entertaining!

Lumberjanes Volume 10 by Shannon Watters– wholesome volume where the parents come to visit their kids. I do feel really sad for Molly, but it was nice seeing everyone else’s parents! 

Lumberjanes: A Midsummer Night’s Scheme by Nicole Andelfinger– this was a fun bonus one shot comic. However, it does get very cheesy and it’s whole message is just so obvious  that them explaining it was very much unneeded. 

Smut Peddler Volume 1 by Various Authors– this is a fun anthology of smut comics that I super enjoyed reading. E.K. Weaver’s comic is by far my favourite, and it’s only after I realised that it was a one shot about a character in her webcomic! 

Rumple Buttercup BY Matthew Gray Gubler– a very cute children’s graphic novel about loving yourself and finding acceptance! 

Smut Peddler Volume 2 by Various Authors– this wasn’t as good as volume 1, but I still read it really quickly and had a fun time looking at the different art styles and methods of story telling!

Dream Daddy by Various Authors– there are so many good moments in this comic, it’s so great. Highly recommend if you’ve played the game, and if you haven’t, check it out, it’s real fun! Damien and Robert’s issue was by far my favourite as they were my favourites in the game too.

Tokyo Ghoul Volume 5 by Sui Ishida– finally, I’m starting to enjoy Tokyo Ghoul. It took a while this volume to actually understand what the hell was happening, but once I did, it really did become something I enjoyed.

Rick and Morty VS Dungeons and Dragons by Patrick Rothfuss– A decent enough read, although there is way too much dialogue and exposition on every page. The font is really small, too, so reading it was a hassle. 

Meddling Kids by Edgar Cantero– this book was actually terrible and I have a whole review discussing my issues and how harmful it is!

Jackass! Volume 1 by Scarlet Beriko– This is a funny, sweet manga about fetishes and blackmail. It has an age gap romance between an 18 year old and a doctor, and there is some transphobic bullying/weird treatment of bullying being okay if the person has a crush on you, but the main relationship is great, and the MC has a really lovely relationship with his older sister. 

Batwoman: Elegy by Greg Rucka– Chronicles the Alice Batwoman arc from Detective Comics, as well as giving the backstory for Kate. It’s so great having a badass DC hero who is a lesbian, whose storyline also touches on homophobia in the ‘don’t ask don’t tell’ era of the military. Glad I finally got to this!

Sparrowhawk #5 by Delilah S Dawson– a really disappointing series conclusion overall. I knew I should’ve just stopped reading after the first issue and I wasn’t feeling it, and I honestly wish I had after such a dissatisfying conclusion. Others may enjoy this, but it really wasn’t for me.

Assassination Classroom Volume 1 by Yusei Matsui— an amazing series starter! Already really moving with a teacher who spends all his time encouraging his students despite being a threat to the entire world they have to kill within the year. I have a feeling this will become a new favourite.

I’ll Be Gone in the Dark by Michelle McNamara– really great non-fiction read written by a journalist who played a massive part in the resurgence of talk surrounding the Golden State Killer. You also get some of her life story, and by the end I was almost in disbelief that the author had already died by the time her work was published. I will say it did drag at points, especially in the parts not written by McNamara that had to be finished after she died, but overall a really thorough look into the cases and the victims.

The Woods Volume 5 by James Tynion IV– this series is- dare I say it- picking up? I still have issues with the representation and the fact that most of the main characters to have died, especially in this volume, were POC while the white characters are in the exact same situation and survive. Will have to see if this carries on. 

Backwards & In Heels by Alicia Malone– this started off strong, and I found out so much about women in film and their presence in the industry since the creation of film in the 1800’s. However, by the end it got so repetitive and formulaic in the way information was presented that I started skimming. This is more of a coffee-table, occasional-read book when you fancy learning more about amazing women! Also, even though there is diverse rep and talk of lack of hiring of WOC and LGBT+ women in the industry, we also get the author praising white women earlier on in the book who took on roles where they did blackface and yellowface, which really dulled down the conversation in the latter half of the book. 

My Love Story!! Volume 6 by Kazune Kawahara– so GOOD. I got so emotional reading this volume, I ended up crying. This is by far one of my favourite manga series, I can’t recommend it enough. It follows tough-but-soft boy Takeo as he enters into a relationship with Yamato, cutest girl in the universe, with the support of his best friend Suna. Truly the PEAK of romantic comedy fiction. 

When the Sky Fell on Splendor by Emily Henry– emotional, hardhitting read about a group of friends who end up with superpowers after discovering a strange alien object. It’s very reminiscent of the film Super 8 in my head, and if you love stories about not only aliens but found families through friendship, highly recommend!

The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle– I just don’t think Sherlock Holmes is for me. I love the retellings and adaptations, and in theory, I’m invested in the murder mysteries, but I just think Doyle’s prose weighs it down and there’s always that underlying racism I don’t think is appropriate to even attempt to shake. 

And my May TBR Jar pick is…. MY HEART GOES BANG by Keris Stainton!

TV SHOWS/MOVIES/VIDEOS

At the start of the month, I started bingeing Dead Meat videos, a channel entirely revolving around horror. My personal favourite series is the Saw kill count videos, and the movies that changed horror podcast episode James (the host) does with his girlfriend Chelsea (who is amazing)!

I finally watched season 2 of Stranger Things! I adore Steve, as always, and it was such a solid season (BOB). However I did have an issue with the needless rivalry that festered with Elle towards Max, season 3 better sort that and stop pitting girls against each other for no reason other than because of boys.

Zoe from Read by Zoe was on FIRE this month with some really great read-a-thon videos! I loved her 24 read-a-thon vlog especially, she read only books she enjoyed growing up and it all felt really nostalgic.

This is very much a personal one, but my favourite streamer returned to a podcast with the company he used to work for, and it was just…. so heartwarming to watch. I can’t believe he left four years ago! I’ve been watching this company since I was about fourteen, so it was so nice watching this, a long-awaited reunion.

Kat at paperbackdreams did an amaaaaazing video rant reviewing After by Anna Todd, and I loved it. In general Kat is a top tier booktuber for me, I highly recommend her videos as much as I can!

MUSIC I’VE ENJOYED

Pressure by The 1975

Old Town Road Remix by Lil Nas X, Billy Ray Cyrus

The Black and White and I Spend Too Much Time in My Room by The Band CAMINO

I Got 5 On It  (Tethered Mix From US) by Michael Abels, Luniz, Michael Marshall

Soldiers (From Stranger Things) by Kyle Dixon, Michael Stein

REVIEWS I POSTED

Three Romance Reviews: Kulti, The Hating Game and Sunstone

The Elementals Book Review

Meddling Kids Book Review

OTHER POSTS I’VE DONE 

Spring Cleaning Book Tag

Film Friday: Favourite Campus Films

Getting Through Exam and Essays: ADVICE

DISCUSSION: Reading at University, and how I do it!

Music Monday: OMG This Song Book Tag

Top Ten Tuesday: Rainy Day Reads

Top Ten Tuesday: First Ten Books I Ever Reviewed on Goodreads

  April Wrap Up & May TBR Jar Pick IT'S MAY Y'ALL. Even though I'll still be doing blog posts in May, it's not going to be as hectic, as I finally finished my second year of university and have decided to take it easy after a very packed April.

[lalobalives]

*An essay a week in 2017*

Today I saw a video of a whale caught in a fishing net. A boat approaches. They think the humpback is dead. He begins to move. A last ditch effort to save its own life. The people on the boat radio for help. They know the whale won’t make it until help arrives. They must be the help. They begin to cut away at the net with what they have on the boat–a small knife. They cut and cut. The whale begins to move. He is still tangled. They keep cutting. Suddenly the whale gets free. For the next hour it dives and jumps out of the water. It slaps its enormous tail on the water. It hurls its body above the water and splashes back down into the depths. This is its freedom dance.

***

On Wednesday, in my high school fiction class, we started reading Gabby Rivera’s “Juliet Takes a Breath.” I got the students, three boys and five girls, to talk about people who have inspired them, like the protagonist Juliet is inspired by Harlowe. I ask: “Have you ever had someone make that big an impression on you? They go around sharing.

One boy says he has no big inspirations. I know him to be a huge comic book fan. He’s a burly fourteen year old with kind eyes and a big heart who is often biting with his jokes. He’s awkward. He’s been bullied. His humor can sometimes sting. I’ve had to remind myself that he is just learning how to be a brown man in this world. The world has already tried to crush him.

I ask: “Well, who introduced you to comic books.”

He smiles with no teeth. Says: “No one did.” Then he shakes his head. “No, my dad did but not through comic books. He introduced me to super heroes. He gave me a whole bunch when I was like five or six. He wanted to see which ones I liked.” I smile. Lean in closer. “And a few years later, I learned that comic books tell the stories of those super heroes.”

“And you were hooked,” I finish for him.

“Yes.” He smiles again. This time he shows teeth.

I move on to a senior I’ve known since she was a ninth grader. Before she went natural and now dons a head of tight brownish blonde curls. She looks at me and smiles with her whole face. “You,” she says and starts to turn the pages of her homemade journal. She folds white papers in half, staples them, seals the cover with clear packing tape. I imagine she has stacks of these at home. “I quote you all the time,” she says. “Last week, you told me…let me see.” She flips through the pages. I see lines of poetry. The beginnings of stories. Anecdotes. Musings about her day. Quotes from the many books she reads, some that I’ve suggested. She’s always reading. She stops on a page. Scans it with her index finger. “Last week I told you something shifted in me. I told you I think I’m more than a poet. You said, and I quote: ‘I’ve been waiting for you to see that. You’re a storyteller.’” She looks at me. Her eyes are welling. I blink hard. I can’t hide the heat in my face. I am all the colors.

“You’re the first person to tell me I’m a writer. To make me believe that I can make a life out of words.” I give her a high five.

I will hug her later. Tell her that I love her. Tell her that I believe in her. She is going to Smith in the fall on full scholarship. She is going to major in creative writing. I tell her: “You are light years ahead of where I was at your age. Just keep doing the work. Keep writing and pushing yourself. You got this.”

Later that evening, I cried at a comic shop after hugging and congratulating my sister friend homie Gabby Rivera on her first comic book outing, America #1, published by Marvel. There was a line out of the door for her signing, yo!

On Tuesday evening I went to a screening at the UN of the documentary AfroLatinos: The Untaught Story written by my Comadre Iyawó Alicia Anabel Santos, produced by Renzo Devia. The room was packed!

It hit me in the back of the comic shop on Fulton how very proud I am of these two glorious women who mean so very much to me and are amongst the best humans I’ve known. To say that I am proud does not suffice. I was moved to big fat tears, and just as I was about to apologize, I remembered what Lidia Yuknavitch said during workshop at Tin House: “Never apologize for your tears. My Lithuanian grandmother used to say that crying was the only language she trusted because it was the language of the body.”

I think of the inscription Gabby wrote in my copy of her novel: “We are the revolution.” Indeed.

***

I have a hard time accepting compliments. I have a hard time hearing that I have inspired and motivated and been an integral part of someone’s journey. I have seen these two talented women grow and evolve. We have gone through changes together. There were moments where it was too much to be in each other’s lives, so we weren’t. And then we came back. We’ve shared joy and tears. We’ve shared writing and stories. We’ve sat in classes together. We’ve workshopped each other’s work. They’ve both participated in my Writing Our Lives Workshops.

I tremble as I write this. I want to explain that I’m not say that I’m not taking credit for their accomplishments. I am acknowledging that we have been part of each other’s journeys. I want to say that I don’t know if I’d be where I am had I not met and loved them. I want you to know how much they feed and inspire me; that they are integral parts of my life and my evolution.

I remember when Iyawó told me she Renzo had invited her to tour Latin America and the Caribbean to work on the documentary. I remember when she started preparing for the months on the road and when she left. I talked to her from so many places across the globe. Me here in NYC, being a single mom, working and writing and trying to build a life for myself. Her in Haiti and DR and Brazil and Colombia and Honduras and…

I remember when Gabby told me about this book she was writing. I remember when she shared that Juliet came to her in my first Writing Our Lives class, in the petri dish class. I’ve often thought that that class was a failure. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was still figuring it all out. You learn so much in the journey…

***

In her essay collection Create Dangerously, Edwidge Danticat writes: “All artists, writers among them, have several stories — one might call them creation myths — that haunt and obsess them.”

***

Imposter syndrome has been sinking its claws deep into me this week. It’s nothing new. The feelings of unworthiness have walked with me for most of my life. If I look at the root of it, at where it comes from, I know it comes from my mother. Here’s the thing: a part of me feels guilt over this, over this writing I’ve done about my mother, over calling myself unmothered, over not being able to tell people that I have a great relationship with my mom, that she is my foundation and my church, that all things go back to the altar of la madre.

We texted a few days ago. It ended like it usually does: I am left reeling and questioning and wondering: if so many people love me, why can’t you? Why can’t you love me, mom? Why?

I am tired of feeling that. This shit is exhausting…and yet, here I am. Writing it. Again.

***

In her forecast for this week’s Venus retrograde, Chani Nicholas writes for Sagittarius:

Get to know what you are capable of. Don’t back down from it. Refuse to diminish it. Own it without arrogance, but with an unwavering acknowledgement of its magnificence.

Consider all that you have learned about your creative, erotic energy over the past 8 years. Which love affairs were your greatest teachers then? What did you learn from them? How have you healed? How do you approach this aspect of your life differently now? What were you learning about your creative energy then? What projects were your biggest teachers? How did you approach them then? How do you approach your creative work now?

The last two weeks of Venus’s retrograde ask you to sink deep below the surface of things. They get to the root of why you feel worthy and unworthy. Desirable and undesirable. Connected and disconnected. They scour the base of your energetic reservoirs, your creative wells, your oceans of imagination for clues as to what may have entered your streams of consciousness, telling you that you aren’t what you are. They ask you to heal the old wounds. Flush out the poisons from childhood. Cleanse the systems that were put in place by familial patterns so that you can better honor the gifts that you have received from the gods. ~ChaniNicholas.com

***

Over the past two days, I’ve found found myself searching for unmothered womyn like me. I’ve searched their names, their stories, their poems. I’ve been looking to feel less alone in the world. I need to see words like mine. Words that dare to speak our truths about our mothers. Words that chip away at the mother myth with a sledgehammer.

I reached out to folks on FB: Emily Dickinson’s poem Chrysallis inspired the title of my memoir. My sister friend Elisabet told me the other day that Dickinson was very much unmothered like us. I did not know this. There’s something about knowing I’m not alone in this that has gifted me much solace. All this is to say that I want to know more about Dickinson’s relationship with her mother. And if there’s any other unmothered woman writer that you think I should know and read, please do share. Yes this is me searching for roots. I am willing to be vulnerable and share that. There is no shame in our wounds.

In my research, I discovered that I am indeed not alone. There is nothing like learning that you are not alone in your ghosts and obsessions…

In a letter to her mentor, Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Dickinson wrote: “Could you tell me what home is. I never had a mother. I suppose a mother is one to whom you hurry when you are troubled.” http://classiclit.about.com/cs/articles/a/aa_emily.htm

Virginia Woolf’s mother died when she was thirteen years old. She writes in her autobiographical fragments Moments of Being: “Until I was in [my] forties”—until she’d written To the Lighthouse—“the presence of my mother obsessed me. I could hear her voice, see her, imagine what she would do or say as I went about my day’s doings. She was one of the invisible presences who after all play so important a part in every life.”…

And once it was written, Woolf noticed, “I ceased to be obsessed by my mother. I no longer hear her voice; I do not see her.” Why? The question haunted Woolf. “Why, because I described her and my feeling for her in that book, should my vision of her and my feeling for her become so much dimmer and weaker? Perhaps one of these days I shall hit on the reason.” Source: The Day Virginia Woolf Brought Her Mom Back to Life

Woolf would later call her mother’s death “the greatest disaster that could happen.”

***

They call us unmothered. There are those who are unmothered because their mothers died. Then there are those like me, whose mothers are alive and still don’t mother us.

Merriam-Webster’s defined unmothered as: deprived of a mother: motherless <adolescent gosling that, unmothered, attached itself to him — Della Lutes>

Dictionary.com takes you straight to the various definitions of “mother” as if unmothered couldn’t possibly exist. As if nature would not allow that. God wouldn’t. The universe wouldn’t. And yet, I exist—an unmothered woman. ~excerpt from “They Call Her Saint”, A Dim Capacity for Wings, a memoir by Vanessa Mártir

***

I remember finding the term unmothered and how shocked I was by it. More than anything I was shocked by the realization that I wasn’t alone in my suffering and there were other people out there like me, who walked unanchored in this life. I wanted to read more work by and for us. I’ve searched high and low for it. I’ve reached out to mentors and friends for suggestions and recommendations. What has this made me realize? That I want to, have to, will one day compile an anthology of work by and for us unmothered women. An anthology of poetry and fiction and essays. I will create this for womyn like me to see that they’re not alone. That we see them. That there is refuge. There is something about seeing yourself in literature that is so profound and comforting. This is also true for the unmothered who have been living with the mother myth for so long, who have been told “solo hay una madre,” who have seen people gasp and clutch their pearls when they dare to speak of their mothers honestly, to show that she is not what the myth said, she wasn’t loving, she wasn’t kind, she broke you in so many ways��� And here we are picking up the pieces. Let me show you how this shard glints in the moonlight. Let me hold up that mirror, sis. Let me show you what solidarity looks like…

***

In his essay “Finding Abigail” Chris Abani write: “Ghosts leave their vestigial traces all over your work. Once they have decided to haunt you, that is. These ectoplasmic moments litter your work for years. They are both the veil and the revelation, the thing that leads you to the cusp of the transformational.”

***

To be clear, there is no pride in me saying I am unmothered. This is a wound I walk with. I just decided that there is no shame in it either. This is my truth. This is me coming to terms with my existence. This is me seeing you. This is me telling you that for far too long we have carried this, telling ourselves that there must be something wrong with us because how could a mother not want to mother and be tender to her child? Mother is earth. Mother is the world. And to say that mother is wrong or incapable is to say that the world is wrong and incapable, and how could that be? It can’t…right? Wrong. There is nothing wrong with you now as there was nothing wrong with you then, when you saw your mother sneer at you, hatred pulling at the corners of her eyes. This was her pain. This was her trauma. That is not yours. You, I, we are worthy of love. We are lovable. It has been a journey to see that and own it. And some days I still struggle to see it and be it. But today you saw me. You said, yes. You said, me too. This healing ain’t easy but you must name your ghosts before you can tackle them. Mother is not the enemy. She just is what the world made her. What are you going to do with that unmothered wound? Me? Imma make art and I’m gonna love and Imma mother in resistance to how I was mothered. This is what I have and it is everything.

***

Kintsugi (“golden joinery”) or kintsukuroi (“golden repair”) is the centuries-old Japanese art of fixing broken pottery with a special lacquer dusted with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. Beautiful seams of gold glint in the cracks of ceramic ware, giving a unique appearance to the piece. This repair method celebrates the artifact’s unique history by emphasizing the fractures and breaks instead of hiding or disguising them. Kintsugi often makes the repaired piece even more beautiful than the original, revitalizing the artifact with new life. Kintsugi art dates back to the late 15th century, making it more than 500 years old. It is related to the Japanese philosophy of wabi-sabi, which calls for finding beauty in the flawed or imperfect. The repair method was also born from the Japanese feeling of mottainai, which expresses regret when something is wasted. Source: My Modern Met

***

I started therapy a year ago. My first words to him were: “I am an unmothered woman.” I am still in therapy, still digging into that wound. What I’ve come to is this: there are people who have mothered me in ways my mother couldn’t and still can’t. I am grateful for those surrogate mothers every single day. I had my Millie and I had my brother and so many others who reminded me that I am loved and lovable. They taught me that I can be different. That I can use these scars to make something beautiful out of this life I was given, that I have made. And, no, I didn’t do it alone. And, yes, I can stop the cycle. And there is also the bittersweet realization that I wouldn’t be who I am nor would I be able to do what I do, see you and be with you and be the mother and writer and teacher and student that I am, had I been mothered. See, it’s true in many ways que solo hay una madre, and that’s why I am still wounded by this truth of being unmothered. So the decision is: be broken by it or let it be my fuel. I didn’t know that I made the decision when I left at 13 and didn’t look back. I didn’t have the language then but shit, that girl somehow knew she had to save her own life. I’ve been doing it ever since. Even when I fucked up. Even when I repeated the “love me, please love me” cycle I learned from my mother. I was then and now still trying to save my own life. I was trying to see the glint of the moon in these shards. Today I want to say thank you to that 13 year old Vanessa. You are my hero, nena. You be the illest.

***

I have family on my FB friends list who don’t get why I write what I write or why I do the work I do. I see you. You’ve had a different experience with my mother or you don’t want to look at your own wounds or you’d rather I stay silent because you’re more interested in protecting the family name and keeping these secrets that don’t protect any us. I get it in many ways. I still won’t be silent. Don’t ask me to be. I’ve thought this through. I know I may hurt some people in my journey to heal and free myself of these ghosts. Yes, I think it’s worth all of it. Why? Because the cycle stops here. It has to. Silence already killed my brother. There can be no more casualties.

***

A little a while ago, as if to remind me again, a post came across my FB. The article starts: “How did Marcia Butler, the distinguished oboist, save herself from a detached, withholding mother and a sexually abusive father?… But Marcia was also hooked on trying to understand her mother. ‘I cobbled together weekly rituals through which I might pretend to be close to her and imaginatively pierce her thick veneer,’ she writes.”

So many of us are broken by our wounds. Some of us have somehow found a way to overcome and be fed by them. This is one story. I am writing mine.

[Woolf] was shocked by her [mother’s] death, but then again Woolf believed it was her “shock-receiving capacity” that “makes me a writer.” She thought the productive thing to do with a shock was to “make it real by putting it into words. It is only by putting it into words that I make it whole; this wholeness means that it has lost its power to hurt me; it gives me, perhaps because by doing so I take away the pain, a great delight to put the severed parts together.” The Day Virginia Woolf Brought Her Mom Back to Life

Relentless Files — Week 61 (#52essays2017 Week 8) *An essay a week in 2017* Today I saw a video of a whale caught in a fishing net.