#i had a goal to move out of my home state before my 30th birthday and i beat it by two weeks 🙏

[stormesandshowersparttwo]

I kinda forget to tell y'all about what's going on in my life, but me, my fiancé, and our best friend moved to Colorado together this week 🏔️ our apartment's main window faces the mountains. so happy we did this

[juvinile]

* LÉO  DAUDIN ,  CIS MALE  +  HE / HIM  |   you  know  XAVIER  HUGHES ,  right ?  they’re  TWENTY - FOUR ,  and  they’ve  lived  in  irving  for ,  like ,  THEIR  WHOLE  LIFE ?  well ,  their  spotify  wrapped  says  they  listened  to  SAY  SAY  BY  YOUNGBLOOD  HAWKE  like ,  a  million  times  this  year ,  which  makes  sense  ‘cause  they’ve  got  that  whole  TRIPPING  OVER  LACES  YOU  KNOW  YOU  REMEMBERED  TO  TIE ,  THE  DULL  VACUUM  OF  GETTING  THE  WIND  KNOCKED  OUT  OF  YOU ,  SQUEEZING  CONSTELLATIONS  TOGETHER  TO  MAP  OUT  YOUR  FEATURES  thing  going  on .  i  just  checked  and  their  birthday  is  APRIL  30TH ,  so  they’re  a  TAURUS ,  which  is  unsurprising ,  all  things  considered .

TW  INCLUDE  anxiety tw, bullying tw, panic attack tw.

AESTHETICS :

tripping over laces you know you remembered to tie, the dull vacuum of getting the wind knocked out of you, squeezing constellations together to map out your features, chewing teeth and regret, sharp tongued anxiety like flames at your heels, bearing crushing disappointment with hard taught posture, shoving fists into your pockets, empty trophy cases collecting dust, a hazy fog of shame, reusing beer cans for whiskey, telescopes that see into the future, planets with more rings than people.

CHARACTER  INSPO :

patrick verona (10 things i hate about you), somehow both yuri’s (yuri on ice), jackson whittemore (teen wolf), tybalt (romeo and juliet), llewyn davis (inside llewyn davis), luther (umbrella academy. this one hurts to admit bt theres some parallels there. don’t execute me), haymitch abernathy (the hunger games), the premise of being an antihero, the trope of a bully that stops bullying ppl, scary looking dog that lives next door (my apartment)

GENERAL STATISTICS :

full name :  xavier donovan hughes

age / dob :  twenty four / april 30th

gender :  cis male

pronouns :  he / him

faceclaim :  léo daudin

orientation :  pansexual

residence :  orion avenue / delphinus heights

occupation :  zoinkies employee

pinterest :  HERE !

BIOGRAPHY :

they weren’t always irving natives, but no one can seem to recall when the hughes moved in to the big house at the end of the cul-de-sac on orion avenue. there’s probably a rational explanation for this but no one really bothers to find out. what a fun little moment of foreshadowing for xavier’s life. 

xavier was born in irving some time after the mysterious arrival of his parents. an only child, he would be the sole inheritor of the family estate (something they always told him and he was always like lmao what the fuck are u talking about). there’s probably a second home somewhere, maybe two or three, xavier assumes. makes sense because his parents were and are literally never home.

when they were home they were putting pressure on him to live up to some expectation that he wasn’t confident he could ever reach. he played like 5 different sports as a kid and was really good at most of them, but roadblocks would start to get in the way of that later.

he was also a really smart child but left to his own devices too much. grew up too fast and too slow simultaneously. he had a strict curfew, strict diet, manners classes, everything to prepare him for. what? 

xavier was a really smart child, blessed with private tutors and language coaches, a revolving door of adults to latch onto when his parents weren’t around. none of them permanent, and mastery of everything he did was always expected. 

in high school his parents refined their hopes for him. a soccer scholarship, xavier’s least favorite sport but the one with the most promise, the most room for growth and potential to make good on the hughes family name. he was instructed to quit everything else, even told to fall back in school if it was necessary. he repeated a grade. everything was harder then.

truthfully he’s really good a soccer, but he gets horrible anxiety before every match. it wasn’t along before that anxiety started spreading to. basically everything he did. 

lashed out at most people because he didn’t want to appear weak. was not a nice person in high school at all. had more enemies than friends and the friends he did have weren’t the most well liked people around, didn’t have the best reputations. didn’t want anyone to know how anxious he was so he forced himself out of his shell so much it hurt. 

his girlfriend cheated on him senior year with a guy he was unwilling to admit he kind of loved himself. it was the final straw that broke the camel’s back. he’d gotten a scholarship to a small in state school for soccer already and he played a season, literally did so bad. couldn’t even go to class because he was doing so bad. he got a second season chance to redeem himself and kind of shit the bed with that one too. lost his scholarship and his parents made him come home.

now that he’s back he does pretty much whatever he wants, and his parents pretend not to care (they’re never around to notice anyway) as long as he works a steady job. he’s officially really stuck in life with no backup plan for his future. all he knows right now is that he regrets the way he treated. pretty much everyone.

but forgiveness is never easy.

PERSONALITY :

extroverted. introspective. intelligent, philosophizing about the greater meaning of things. anxious, buried under a lot of deflective techniques. relatively keeps to himself. overworked and put out, most of the time, it seems. big fan of bottling things up and collecting these feelings on his shelf. good at small goals, horrible at the big picture stuff. not organized. defensive of and loyal to a close circle. regretful. slothful, lately. passionate, mostly about outer space and pole vaulting. soccer hater. 

WANTED CONNECTIONS :

people he bullied in school that still hate him and look at him weird when he crosses the street.

someone he was a dick to in school who he’s always fighting with now.

ex soccer team members ... ex track team members .. maybe one of them saw him have a panic attack before a match. keep it a secret between themselves.

people who crash at his house when his parents aren’t home (which is always)

people who think his family is involved in shady illegal shit (they could be, xavier doesn’t know what they’re always doing)

coworkers at zoinkies? he’s notoriously bad at his job because he literally doesn’t try at all but somehow doesnt get fired. pretty privilege probably

people who want to see the good in him idk soft 

hook ups he probably has a few but hes emotionally unavailable. recurring trend in my muses.

[masterserris]

FUNERAL FOR A MAGICIAN    Pt.12 Discombobulate

Coming back from the dead, isn’t easy on anyone. Beck is struggling with himself, as is the rest of the team.

Characters: Neo Mysterio (Quentin Beck), Doc Ock (Otto Octavius), Spider-Man (Peter Parker), Alexandria Beck (Alex), Maria Beck, Sandman (Flint Marko), Chameleon, Electro, Rhino

Warnings: Explicit gore and death, violence, mentions of past abuse, mental illness, physical illness

^These warnings are here for the story as a whole. If you get invested by reading a less graphic chapter, then be prepared for the warnings above in other parts!!

(This chapter is fairly light hearted!)

It had been two full weeks since Beck had come back from the dead. Adjusting had been... difficult. The Avengers patiently waited for a sign. Was Beck going to turn over a new leaf and stray away from villainy, or was he going to destroy his second chance? They had pardoned all of his crimes for his heroic sacrifice. He could go back and live with Alex in peace. He could become famous. He could even become an Avenger with a little work and great showing of change and growth. Perhaps only time would tell. 

For the moment, the Sinister Six stayed off the map. Spider-Man kept a very close eye out for any evidence of them, but Otto was extremely elusive. Even though he had recently been to their base, he could not find it again. It was truly a disappearing act, the kind Mysterio used to greatly enjoy as a prank, but this seemed far more serious than simply a base move. They were planning something BIG and everyone wanted to get to the bottom of it. 

Come hell or high water, Beck was going to see Octavius’s plan through until the end. Rhino could live free with his wife, Sandman and Electro could get cured, Chameleon could be free of his past, and Beck could remake himself into a new man. Otto’s life goal and work was worth it. The whole world would know the name “Otto Octavius,” come hell or high water. It was worth throwing away his life again. 

At least that’s how it was for Beck. To be honest he still felt... Off. Not fully there and alive. Sure, he had a fully human body again, but it wasn’t the same. Perhaps it also had him feeling a bit... Powerful. The fact that not even dying could stop him was a little intoxicating. With Otto’s advances in health care, it was possible to clone a new body and simply save a quantum copy of his mind and place it into a new life at any time. 

Given all of this, however, Beck was still in an abysmal mood and slumped further into a depressive state, but there was something he needed to do. His sister had her operation and was pronounced cancer free. She would need to keep an eye out for it in the future, but for now, the stars had aligned and the Beck family was free from imminent destruction for once. This was the prime opportunity to pay her a nice visit.

                                              --------------------------------

It took him all night to fly to the midwest. He had to often fly slower and lower to the ground than commercial jets to avoid detection. Luckily he was rather quiet flier. He had sent a message to his sister, letting her know he was coming and a message to Otto telling him when he would return. 

With a quiet knock on her front door in the early hours of the morning, Quentin was welcomed in with an abrupt hug. She had not seen him after his resurrection. It had been far too long.

Alex: “Agh, you idiot,” she huffed, still holding him tight. 

He was stunned at first, but gently hugged her back, and they headed inside.  He pulled off his helmet and set it on the couch. It was not Mysterio who entered her house that day, but rather her lost brother who needed his sister’s love once more. 

She had been preparing breakfast for the three of them, to which he gratefully accepted and even offered to help.

Quentin: “Here, add some chives to the eggs. It tastes way better.”

She looked at him confusedly for a moment, then shrugged and continued to peel an apple.

Alex: “Heh, since when did YOU of all people learn to cook?”

Quentin laughed sheepishly.

Quentin: “Haha, well, Otto’s been sharing some of his mother’s recipes with me... and in my free time I’ve been binge watching cooking shows.. and reading... I thought it was high time I tried something new...”

She narrowed her eyes at him playfully and gave him a wry smile.

Alex: “You were always hot garbage at cooking, so when you offered to help, I was planning on watching you fail spectacularly, then jumping in to save the day. I guess this is your chance to prove me wrong, oh master chef.”

Quentin:��“Oh screw you, hahah! Sure, I was bad, but not THAT bad...”

Alex: “....................................you once burned a piece of fish so bad I had to throw out the pan entirely.”

Quentin: “SHUTUP!” 

He couldn’t keep a straight face and nor could she.

In truth, he wanted to get good at cooking to impress her. To show her he was working on himself. That perhaps someday, they could all get away from their past.

With the smell of scrambled eggs and fruit tarts, the sound of laughter and sizzling food, Maria Beck came down stairs, still in her onesie pajamas. She was holding a plushie of her uncle Mysterio in his costume that he had sewed together for her birthday. She rubber her eyes and ran up to the table in excitement.

Alex: “Bedhead! Now you finally wake up?”

Quentin: “And with Little Mysty, I see? How have you been taking good care of me?”

Maria: “He got ripped once, but mommy sewed ‘em back up... She said it was a.... battle scawrr?”

Quentin shook his head laughing, as Alex’s face went red with embarrassment.

Alex: “Yes well, you seem to get a lot of those so it’s FINE,” she said as she thwapped his shoulder with a hand towel.

Quentin: “H-hey!! I didn’t say anything!! Hahah.”

Alex: “Youdidn’thaveto, youlittletwerp!!”

With breakfast made, they all sat together. Quentin was content to simply listen to the pair of them catch him up to speed with their lives. It was the happiest he’d been in a long while. But sooner or later, he would have to head back... and face the music of the life he’s lived. He could choose to stay here. Forever. Renounce villainy for good. Be free of his burden.

But that would mean forsaking Otto, and that was impossible for him to do.

His heart was heavy with this knowledge, but he hoped more than anything that once this was over, he could return here. That he could simply cook every day for them. Take up a new business in special effects. Put his master’s degree to good use. Maybe even be the hero that he so desperately needed as a kid to those who also needed someone like that. The future was uncertain, but he needed to push forwards anyways. There were people who needed him.

But for now, he would enjoy breakfast.

                                            ---------------------------------

Alex: “Alright, kiddo, go upstairs and get dressed, you gotta go to school today. The bus will be here in 20 minutes, so hop to it!”

With that Maria, ran upstairs as the two siblings cleaned up. 

Alex: “I.... suppose you have to get back soon, don’t you?” She asked sadly.

He nodded silently.

Quentin: “But forget that. I’m staying. At least until 1pm. I won’t be here when Maria gets home, but I think Doc can wait just a few extra hours.”

Alex beamed at him, eternally grateful for this one day together.

Quentin hugged Maria before she hurried off to school and wished her a wonderful time. For the rest of the day, Alex and Quentin spoke in earnest as they watched a movie, both picking apart plot holes and bad acting. It was a great day, but all good things must come to an end. 

Soon, Quentin said his goodbyes with one final hug. Even if he was unsure about his new life, he thought it was all worth it just for this one moment of bliss.

                                            ---------------------------------

By nightfall, he returned to base, and with his return followed his gloom. While the time he had spent back at home was truly wonderful, he was now back into the thick of his misery. No one, save for Otto even noticed he was gone.

The only members of the Sinister Six outside of Otto that seemed to bother trying to understand Beck’s pain were Sandman and Chameleon, with the latter being the silent supportive type. It was not that Electro and Rhino did not care at all, it was just that they did not know how to handle such a situation. That, and with what they were going through themselves? It was not such an insensitive thing to do to avoid further pain. No one there had an easy time in life..

Chameleon was the kind of person who merely would sit next to you when you were lonely, or randomly leave a gift on your bed without a card or note. He was the man of a million faces, but outside of acting like another person he simply found it hard to show how he truly felt and let his actions do the talking. Perhaps it had something to do with his assassin’s training and harsh history, his cold precision, or perhaps he was simply always like that. No one truly knows.

Flint Marko, on the other hand, was a regular man before his accident. He understood what it meant to lose one’s identity. Their life. To be separated from their loved ones. Perhaps most of the Sinister Six had a connection to that sort of loss, however Marko was not afraid to wear his emotions on his sleeve. If he was upset, he would let you know about it. And if you were upset, he would do his best to try and help out, no matter what.

                                               ----------------------------

Seeing Beck being so quiet, Marko simply knew that he was still torn up on the inside. After one of their group meetings, he pulled Beck aside for a little “chat.”

Flint: “C’mon, we’re goin’ out, Beck.”

Quentin: “W-wh- Why? The mission isn’t until the 30th. We should lie low.”

Flint: “Yeah? So? We won’t get spotted. Ock has nuthin’ to worry ‘bout. Just switch into one a’ yer fancy black suits and let’s get goin’.”

With a confused look, Quentin merely complied. He was not about to argue with a dump truck full of sand.

                                                -----------------------------

It only took a few moments to compress his armor into a skin tight under suit, and a few more minutes to change into his rather dashing suit. He hadn’t worn it in a long while. A lifetime ago. 

He was set, and exited his room with Flint waiting just outside. Marko looked him over and sighed.

Flint: “Nice try, but get back inside. Mysterio doesn’t look like a disheveled wash up.”

Quentin: “What if Mysterio IS a disheveled wash up? HM?? What then?” Beck said as he narrowed his eyes sarcastically at Marko.

Flint: “Then Mysterio better get his act together because people care about him. Deep down, Mysterio prooooobably doesn’t wanna go out in public with helmet-head and extreme bags under his eyes, an’ he knows it. So get back in there, an’ fix yourself up more. It might be tedious an’ seemingly pointless at first, but ya know you’ll feel better when ya actually try to give a damn. You LIKED dressin’ up and lookin’ snazzy. So hop to it, or I’m gonna comb your hair FOR you an’ we all know how bad that’ll be.”

Beck relented at his friend’s threat. Nothing worse than having sand in your hair all night. Amusingly enough, Flint sounded like Beck’s own sister scolding him once more. To his credit, Marko was right. Fixing himself up did slightly improve his mood. This might not have worked with other people, but with Beck it did. Flint was just a people person, it seemed.

                                               ---------------------------

When Beck stepped out, he looked much better, and Marko nodded in approval.

Quentin: “You haven’t told me where we’re going, yet, you know. ..wait. What is that.” 

Beck pointed at Flint’s new clothes.

Flint: “Oh, this? Don’t worry ‘bout it. I just made my own suit outta sand. Gotta fit in, right? Chammy’s comin’ too, so ya won’t feel so alone. It’s a surprise trip, Beck, relax. I’m sure you’ll like it.”

They headed out the back entrance of the base, where Chameleon was waiting in one of their unmarked limos, with him disguised as the driver. Politely, Flint opened the door for Beck, before seating himself as well. Quentin was supremely confused and suspicious at this point. He had an idea what was in store, but he held his tongue and simply let things play out.

                                               ---------------------------

They soon arrived at Broadway. It was a busy night and when Beck looked out the window, he gasped and whispered “fuck off, no way.”

But there it was, one of his favorite theater troupes were performing The Phantom of the Opera, and Sandman had three tickets with him to see it. He handed Quentin his ticket, to which Beck gratefully accepted.

Quentin: “H-how the hell did you...? How did you get these? They sold out weeks ago. How did.. you know that I liked them?”

Marko: “A little birdy told me, now let’s get inside. Chammy’ll be right behind us.”

It was a full theater, and they had prime seats. They didn’t have much of a problem hiding in such a large crowd. That and Sandman changed the structure of his face a bit to avoid being recognized. Mysterio’s face was less well known, but for good measure he released a bit of his hologram gas to blend in. 

Sure enough, Chameleon joined them soon after, completely disguised as another person all together. The three of them sat and waited for the show to start, when Beck noticed who sat to his right. At first he didn’t pay much attention to the man in the black overcoat, sunglasses, and hat, but it is impossible to not recognize one’s best friend. Indeed, it was Otto that had set this up in the first place. He had ordered the tickets several months back, hoping to surprise his friend with something nice for once, instead of constantly plotting, fighting, and stealing things. He noticed Beck wasn’t doing too well and had hoped to cheer him up. When Beck died, however, Otto was shattered that his friend was gone and that also all of this effort was wasted. That Quentin would never have had the chance to see his favorite actors perform his favorite play.

Otto: “But you’re here now, and to us, that is all that matters. So let’s set everything aside, and enjoy ourselves tonight.”

Quentin merely beamed a rare, genuine smile at them and sat back. Fairly content for once. He had people who were there for him, and that was the best part.

Quentin: “I could see you and Chammy watching this with me, Doc, but you Marko? I didn’t think you were the kind of person who would enjoy this sort of thing...”

Flint: “Who cares? As long as it makes you feel good, then I feel good. An’ that’s that, so shaddup and watch the show.” He said with a chuckle.

Truly, for one night in a long while, Quentin Beck was happy spending time with his teammates. Nothing could take this from them. That was, until a certain photographer taking pictures for the Daily Bugle noticed them leaving.

And Parker was not about to let them escape.

[acuppellarp]

Welcome (back!) to A Cup-pella, Jeanne! We’re excited to have you and Lacey Mikhailov in the game! Please go through the checklist to make sure you’re ready to go and send in your account within the next 24 hours. 

OOC INFO

Name + pronouns: Jeanne, She/Her Age: 25 Timezone: EST Ships: /Chemistry Anti-Ships: /Forced

IC INFO

Full Name: Lacey Renee Mikhailov Face Claim: Abigail Cowen Age/Birthday: 23, October 30th Occupation: Baker at Snickerdoodle’s Bakery, cheerleader for April’s Showers Personality: Generous, stubborn, guarded, sheltered, ambitious Hometown: Sandusky, OH Bio:

Take one part warm Ohio summer nights spent chasing fireflies through wide open feels, two parts Sunday church services, three parts abandonment issues, and one part good, traditional Russian cooking, and you have the recipe for Lacey Mikhailov’s childhood. While she won’t go into too many details if asked about it, she likes to tell people that her youth was everything she could’ve hoped for, and to an extent that’s true. Would she have liked to have a mother who was present rather than someone who spent every opportunity away from home? She absolutely would have. But when Brenda Mikhailov got pregnant young by a man she met in a fit of passion one night, it laid the groundwork for what would be Lacey’s life spent with her grandfather as her source of emotional and physical support.

There was never an official discussion about Ilya raising Lacey full-time; it just sort of gradually happened. Brenda asked him to babysit for a day and it ended up being the whole weekend. She said she would take Lacey to her doctor’s appointment, and then call up Ilya last minute to say she couldn’t and he would have to. By the time Lacey started school, it was automatically assumed that her grandfather would be the one to sign her up and take her to her first day, something he did with a giant smile and about three dozen photos snapped and added to a scrapbook that’s still sitting on Lacey’s bookshelf to this day. When Brenda told Ilya that she wanted to “see the world” and move out of state later that year, there wasn’t even a question on if Lacey would be going with her or not. Brenda packed her bags and gave her daughter and father a hug, and then drove off without seemingly any second thought.

Despite growing up outside of the traditional nuclear family unit, Lacey didn’t want for anything. She never knew Brenda as her mother, so her loss didn’t sting much during childhood. Ilya wouldn’t let it. Instead, he would spend their time after he got off of work and she got home from school in the kitchen, showing Lacey how to sift flour and press dough to her heart’s content. Back in Russia, he’d been a baker by trade, and watching his granddaughter fall in love with it was nothing short of beautiful. Lacey always insisted on making homemade treats for her school’s Halloween and Christmas parties, and that’s when she came to love the expression on people’s faces when they first tried her creations.

When she as in middle school, her aunt Dory moved in to give Ilya a hand raising Lacey, and the three of them became a family that was thick as thieves. Ilya and Dory were at every science fair, church program, and poorly-played volleyball match of Lacey’s life and she couldn’t imagine it any other way. Last she heard, her mother had settled somewhere in Washington where she married and had three replacement kids whom Lacey has never met. She doesn’t even know if her step-father or half-siblings know she exists, but she tries not to think about it too much. If you ask her, she drew the best lot in life. She would express to her Aunt Dory (not her grandfather, never her grandfather — the last thing she would want is for him to think he was anything less than amazing) about how it hurt to think about her biological mother not wanting her, something that is still painful to think about even now that Lacey has grown. Dory would assure her that it was entirely Brenda’s loss, but that has never completely dulled the ache.

Losing Ilya was painful, but not entirely unexpected. Lacey was in her junior year of college at the time, earning an obligatory business degree in the hopes of one day opening her own bakery. Saying good-bye to the person who taught her everything she knew definitely left her feeling lost, and she wound up taking the following semester off of school because she simply didn’t have the capacity to give it the focus it deserved. To this day four years later, she still doesn’t really know what compelled her to go to New York in the first place. She’d talked it over with her family and friends, idly wondering if maybe a change of scenery would do her some good, and before she knew it her and her aunt were looking at flights for the East Coast.

It was originally meant to just be a vacation for the two of them, to help set a new pace now that her and Dory were learning to cope. But it’s like as soon as the plane touched down in the city, Lacey felt at home. They were only there for a week and a half, hitting up the city’s tourist traps as well as tracking down some little hole-in-the-wall places. Still, within the span of a few days after returning home to Sandusky, Lacey told her aunt she wanted to move out there for real. By the end of the year, Lacey found herself settling into the city, feeling both terrified and unbelievably proud all at once. Her grandfather had always told her to never hold herself back and being inNew York felt like the ultimate testament to that.

She finished up her last year of classes online and earned herself a degree in business, and was able to soon find a job at a bakery that her and her aunt had stopped by during her first visit. Currently, Lacey’s biggest source of pride has come from introducing a few recipes taught to her by he grandfather into the small business, which now offers a select range of Russian desserts courtesy of her. The next step is to actually invest in her own business, the same goal she’s had since she was little. Lacey’s vision board is filled with photos and inspiration to keep her focused on that goal, and every last bit of money goes into an account to help her get her feet off the ground.

Pets: Two cats with her, plus two more living with her aunt back in Ohio. The little babes in Ohio (Peanut Butter, or PB, and Jelly) were much too attached with her aunt’s dog and Lacey couldn’t bear to separate them. She adopted Eva and Zsa Zsa shortly after she moved to NYC. Zsa Zsa is definitely the more rambunctious of the two and likes to hide in places to spook Lacey (and now her roommates). Good luck opening a cabinet to not find her sitting in there. Eva is much more relaxed and introverted and likes to camp out on Lacey’s pillow, but she’ll wander out to ask for pets every so often.

Relationships:

April’s Growers — Lacey has an entire lifetime’s worth of love to give and was raised knowing the importance of giving back, so she recently signed up to join April’s little committee. She makes sure to give her fellow members nothing but support, but she does struggle when it comes to voicing her own ideas. She’s working on it though, and the more comfortable she becomes in the group, she hopes to be able to give it her all without hesitation.

Jemma Sterling — Coming from a small city, Lace way underestimated how much she’d be able to live by herself in New York. She was able to rent a room from a nice little Russian couple in Brighton Beach for a while, but ultimately decided to move closer to work and ended up finding a roommate in Jemma. She is… more than a bit intimidated by how open and free Jemma is with herself, and she’s seen more of her naked than she ever planned on, but Lacey can appreciate how to-the-point and amusing her roomie is.

April’s Showers Cheerleaders — Lacey loves spreading positivity and showering people with support, so when she first became aware of the little cheering squad for the soccer team, she jumped right in to join. She enjoys all the other ladies, and despite knowing almost nothing about sports, she’s trying to at least get to know them better and have them teach her the ins and outs of soccer.

EXTRA INFO

Lacey ♥ / mikhailacey/ Trying to save the world, one red velvet cake at a time 🍰🍪🍩 Five latest tweets:

@mikhailacey: When your aunt facetimes you just so you can say goodnight to your cats ♥♥♥ @mikhailacey: A little boy said I look like Princess Ariel today, no compliment will ever hold up @mikhailacey: Question for people who’ve ridden public NYC transport their whole lives: how? @mikhailacey: Is crimped hair still in style? Asking for a friend (read: me) @mikhailacey: I can bake marlenka in my sleep but I just burnt microwavable mac and cheese #sendhelp

[informationpalace]

Captain Tom Moore: NHS fundraiser celebrates turning '100 years young'

Captain Tom Moore celebrates his 100th birthday after several weeks of whirlwind during which he became a household name and received nearly £30 m for the NHS. After heading out to walk 100 laps of his garden before his 100th birthday on 30 April, the Second World War soldier, who served in India and Burma, has become an international celebrity. His initial £1,000 target was reached in about 24 hours, and after completing the first 100 two weeks ahead of time he extended his goal to 200 laps. Captain Moore wants to spend his special day with his daughter Hannah Ingram-Moore and her family at home, from whom he has been trying to isolate himself. They will all celebrate individually and, using technology, will be accompanied by his daughter Lucy and her family. “100 years young today. Looking forward to a day of celebration with the family. Today will be a good day!” Captain Tom shared a message on Thursday for his fans on Twitter. The soldier also shared a message on the eve of his birthday asking people to stay home and wish him a happy birthday from distance. "I am turning 100, which is quite extraordinary," Captain Moore stated. “It is even more extraordinary that I am doing so with this many well-wishers and I am in awe at the response my walking has had. “To everyone who has donated, sent birthday cards and messages, sincerely thank you. Please stay home, stay safe. Tomorrow Will Be A Good Day.” Having won the hearts of people all over the world, many have found ways to mark the anniversary celebration of the national hero. The soldier of the army has been overwhelmed with birthday letters, along with more than 140,000 cards, opened at a special sorting office set up at the school of his grandson. Royal Mail has designed a postbox in the NHS blue village of Captain Moore, in recognition of his fundraising efforts. The postbox was adorned with a golden balloon, at Marston Moretaine in Bedfordshire. Royal Mail's David Gold stated: "We wish Captain Thomas Moore a very happy 100th birthday. "His accomplishments are truly phenomenal and this is reflected in the affection shown to him throughout the world." The RAF also organized a Battle of Britain Memorial Flight air show of a Spitfire and a Hurricane to mark Captain Moore's birthday, and he was selected honorary colonel of the Army Foundation College. General Staff Chief Sir Mark Carleton-Smith booked an appointment, which the Queen has accepted, to motivate the next century of soldiers. Many tributes to the soldier include a Royal Mail postmark with all the sealed post signed "Happy 100th Birthday Captain Thomas Moore NHS Fundraising Hero 30th April 2020" until Friday. He also had a Great Western Railway (GWR) train named after him in recognition of his charitable accomplishments. Do not forget leaving your valuable comment on this piece of writing and sharing with your near and dear ones. To keep yourself up-to-date with Information Palace, put your email in the space given below and Subscribe. Furthermore, if you yearn to know about the critical point in bitcoin, view our construct, ‘Bitcoin at ‘Critical Point’ As Price Suddenly Moves Towards $10,000’. Read the full article

[atarahderek]

2017 in review

This past year was one of the most eventful I’ve had in a while. Let me go over some of the highlights...

I turned 30 this year.

On my 30th birthday, I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer.

I underwent my first real surgery on March 28.

I received my official declaration of remission on May 26. I didn’t even have to do the radioactive iodine.

My sister graduated from high school and began college.

We said goodbye to our beloved Jack dog.

I chased out of state AND also the big leagues for the first time: Moderate risk, PDS tornado watch in Wyoming. It was a big enough deal to attract Reed Timmer. And we STILL didn’t meet him OR see a tornado.

We had that sizable earthquake up near Lincoln.

My brother and I began the process of moving back to Helena to live in and fix up a rental our grandmother owns.

Our family attended the big Celtic festival and games they hold out in western Washington every July. Still didn’t find me a man.

Caleb the moose-dog joined our Great Falls family. He’s a big, slobbery, loving German shepherd, and probably the only purebred dog anyone in my immediate family has ever owned.

My youngest brother took his first literal steps toward becoming Cody Lundin.

I witnessed a total solar eclipse. And let me tell you, being there for the full experience was so incredible, and no amount of pictures or video can replace that. Well, all except for the eclipse jam on the way home. I think that experience is pretty replaceable.

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. I do, however, make goals. Some of my goals for 2018 include...

Submit a book to publishers

Start offering rattlesnake relocation services

Storm chase in Canada

Make a full cosplay and/or FCF outfit (I do have a version of the latter, but I’d like to make myself some more stuff)

Try to restart Royal Rangers at my church

Remodel my bedroom and get rid of the remaining mice

Learn enough Hebrew to understand Bibi’s videos

Learn wayfinding (continental; oceanic will have to wait)

Secure tickets to Hamilton

2018 ought to be an eventful year as well, and I’m ready for the adventures that await me. I hope you are as well. Happy New Year!

Edit: Sadly, our German shepherd Caleb passed away unexpectedly on January 2. My family is devastated. They adopted Caleb after his previous owners dumped him in the woods, and they fostered him through his preliminary veterinary care before officially adopting him in August. He was part of the family for such a brief time, but he was well loved. We will all miss him.

[meganambers]

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of those who continue to visit my website and share my thoughts on their social media accounts. Despite being away for almost 3 months now, you have shown nothing but kind gesture and words, and I will always appreciate that. Thank you.

I stepped away from my site to bring back the focus that was so desperately needed in my life. I was trying to do way too many things at once and I found myself in a rut. A lot of my attention was depended on by my son Michael, and him getting used to being in a new school with new children. Which, despite what most people would think, a young child getting acquainted with a new teacher and new children is a process all within itself. But while I was away, I did learn a few things about myself and my relationship with myself and with others. It was not a very easy lesson to learn, but as they say (paraphrasing, of course) If you don’t learn your history, you are doomed to repeating it.

In the beginning of the year I wrote a post about my goals for this year and why it was important for me to meet them.  And although some things that I didn’t share in the post has come true, the year is still young and there is still time to make the rest of my resolutions, a reality.

July is almost over and it fascinating to me how much I did get to do already. So I want to do a little recap on what’s been going on in my life for the last 7 months. I am still on a high over finding what feels like the perfect apartment for myself and my son. It took a while for us to get familiar with the neighborhood and our new surroundings, but its been 5 months now and we both couldn’t be happier.

During the transition of moving and getting back to the old pre-baby me, I worked a few weeks under a publicist from Las Vegas that I met through networking from twitter. My place was not only to work under her, but I was also in charge of the other interns to come. Although it was a short-term experience and I walked away knowing more than I knew, but it just became a little overwhelming for me to keep up with the workload that I was given and other work that I had at the time. So I went my own separate way, with the hope that we will work together again on a later date. This year has definitely been a year of more UPs than DOWNs. Lessons and blessings. Shortly after moving into my place, I celebrated my 30th birthday and it was well welcomed. I remember going through this dramatic reaction that you may witness most people go through with the idea that growing older. However, next to the year I had given birth to my son, this has been my best year thus far. While I took that time to reconnect with myself and the woman who I was created to be on a spiritual level, I also reconnected with a friend who invited me to a show that he had here in NYC. (READ HERE)

  I had the pleasure of watching him in his rarest of form, along  with his sister. And after 7 years of correspondence, I finally had the opportunity to meet and talk to her in person and she really is as sweet as you would expect her to be.

This year I took the initiative to tale michael on little “mommy and me” trips around the city. I took Michael to the zoo for the very first time, during spring break. Never had the opportunity to take him before and with a friend and her little niece, we visited one of the popular zoos in NYC, the Bronx Zoo. It was hectic and people were impatient, but overall we had a great time. He loved looking and learning about all of the animals that he has seen on TV and in school. I can’t wait for the opportunity to take him to the aquarium next. 

Last month, I unexpectedly scored a pair of wristbands from Fader for the Governor’s ball NYC (a three-day music festival that is held annually here).

 I decided to go with a former colleague from the website I worked at last year. Since this was my first time attending the festival, I could only imagine this experience would be like how I imagine attending Coachella would be. It was very much what I expected. There were people on top of people everywhere. People lying on the grass, taking selfies, flower crowns everywhere, and the occasional blunt and vapor pens. A modern-day Woodstock. We missed the first night with Chance the rapper (long story) so when we attended the Saturday show, we were excited to see Wu-Tang Clan’s performance because it just so happened to be their 20th anniversary since their first album. It was amazing to witness how so many people (young and old) Knew every word to every song verbatim. Some experiences, however, was not expected. For instance, I got caught up in a mosh pit (not as fun as it seems) and people were crowd surfing. LOL We were also sprayed with Moët and water, courtesy of RZA and Method Man. Afterwards, we walked what seemed like a mile to the other stage to catch Childish Gambino’s performance. And I must state that watching him is a life-altering experience, and If you have never seen a Childish Gambino live performance, sell a lung (if you must) and go to see him. You will not regret it. Afterwards, we got lost looking for the transit bus and i didn’t get home until almost 3 AM. 

During this hiatus, I also started to go back to networking events again. It was suggested to me by Erin Ashley Simons (formerly Revolt Tv and now Cycle media) to get out there and meet new people. I left with two business cards, Instagram info from one musician from south Carolina and contact info from the co-founder of the digilogue (the creators of the event). Not so bad for a girl out of practice. 

Oh. And this happened. 

And yes, it is a really big deal to me. LOL 

And lastly, the most recent thing I’ve done was become a contributor for DJ Vashtie’s website. This opportunity is important to me because it gives me room to grow as a writer, to expand my knowledge of wellness and beauty content. When I worked for HU and even on this site, I always spoke about music, pop culture, current events and so on. I never had the opportunity before to talk about wellness, health regimens, beauty products and etc. This is a time for me to step out of my comfort zone and expand my writing skills to new and higher lengths. 

 A good writer can write about anything … really well. An exceptional writer can write about everything… really well. 

Totally just made that up just now. But tell me I’m wrong. 😌

So I am so very excited to be a part of her team and I can’t wait to see where this adventure takes me. http://www.vashtie.com/author/megan/ (You can find me here.)

Before I end this quick (not so quick) post, I wanted to do a short rundown on the top 10 things that has happened in the celebrity world while I was away. Some may and some may not be important to you, but it for certain was trending.

10.Diddy’s Can’t stop won’t stop movie.

9. MSFTRep and Roc Nation partnership 

8. Migos vs. Joe Burden

7. Blue Ivy freestyles on 4:44

6. Kanye working on a new album

5. Kid Cudi returns to the stage at BET experience

4. Rob got robbed by Blac Chyna

3.Jay-Z releases his 13th studio album 4:44

2. Beyoncé has Sir and Rumi Carter 

1. We lost Chester Bennington of Linkin Park and the Original batman, the Legendary Adam West

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IAmMeganAmbers.com will be back up and running on Tuesday, August 15, and I really miss it and desperately need to get back into the swing of things.

See you then.  

RECAP: The last seven months of 2017 -During my hiatus  I would like to take this opportunity to thank all of those who continue to visit my website and share my thoughts on their social media accounts.

[lizzizzie-blog]

Remember that time when society made you think you were straight?

So, it’s been more than a month since I posted anything. As my 30th birthday looms (3 days and counting), I’ve been spending a lot of time thinking about who I am. I’ve been reflecting nostalgically on my youth (i.e., listening to early 2000′s emo). I’ve had so many threads of ideas for post topics floating around my brain, and I’ve wanted to sit down and get into all of them, but... I’ve been utterly stuck on this one idea, and I’ve been stalling. I’ve been going back and forth in my head over whether it’s important enough to write about this. Questioning the validity of something I know to be true about me.

I’m afraid to say (write) these things. I’m afraid that people won’t understand. That’s one reason not to write this. Also, this feels self-indulgent. Nobody asked. I’m not sure anybody cares. I feel silly shouting “me too!” when friends of mine have been out - have had to be out - for years now. It’s moot as far as others are because I’m married. I've already “settled down,” so why does it matter? Those are additional reasons not to write this. But, it does matter.

Because I’ve learned that research shows learning the story of someone who’s a member of an oppressed group can help change people’s minds. And I know that sometimes people change their minds when they realize someone they know is LGBTetc. And maybe I can be that person.

Because bi erasure is real and harmful and I don’t want to implicitly contribute to it.

Because it’s not fair that, because I am married to a man, I shouldn’t have to be open about my sexuality as a prerequisite to living my authentic life, when so many LGBTetc people that I love don’t have that option.

Because every moment that passes that I don’t share this, I feel less authentic. And it hurts to be inauthentic.

Because self-love and self-acceptance are my main goals for my 30th year.

Because maybe I can help young people.

Because it’s true. (And the truth is always a gift). 

Those are all my reasons to write this. And today they outweigh the reasons not to.

In early December of 2016, I went out with some girlfriends. We ended up huddled around somebody’s kitchen island, wine tipsy, chatty, giggly… all wearing incredibly immature “ugly Christmas sweaters.” I had a warm glowy feeling going. We were discussing our husbands when the conversation took a stereotypical turn in the “men - can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em” direction, and then we were on the subject of kissing women. Someone said, “I could definitely kiss a girl,” to which I shrugged “I mean, course!” in agreement. Then they qualified with, “but that’s probably it - I could never go down on a girl,” to which the rest of the girls agreed with varying degrees of enthusiasm. I shrugged and let the subject naturally change. This is the most recent in a series of conversations throughout my life, where I’ve found myself realizing that the way I feel is not the way the majority of straight women I know feel. This was the first time I noticed it in real time, though, rather than in hindsight.

It’s taken the better part of 30 years, and the happy accident of discovering Skam - and the incredible Skam fandom (Skam Fam - more on that later) - but I am finally in a place where I consciously know what I am: bisexual. Or possibly-probably pansexual. I’m not sure. Labels are tricky, as we’ve discussed. Anyway...

Growing up godless, I didn’t have any religiously rooted shame to overcome. I’ve always been emphatically pro-LGBT rights, ever since learning the meaning of the word “gay” and the concept of “same-sex marriage.” That’s always felt intensely personal to me. I’ve always felt a connection to LGBT stories in (pop) culture. They’re always the stories I latch onto and obsess over. I’ve always felt attracted to girls/women. I’ve always flirted with boys/men and girls/women, and I’ve always meant it. And yet… somehow, at the same time, I had no idea that meant I wasn’t straight. I didn’t know that what I was feeling for girls and women was different from what my straight friends were feeling. I assumed that everyone must be feeling what I was feeling, and since I was attracted to boys and men, too, I ignored that part of me. I received no messages that it was a valid option, and so I didn’t even consider it. I had trouble distinguishing between friendship feelings and romantic/sexual feelings, with girls and boys, so the confusing jumbled mess all felt normal to me. I dated boys by default, and nobody ever really asked, so I never really thought much about it.

When I was 18 and 19, I did the stereotypical “drunkenly make out with other girls at parties to get guys’ attention” thing. Only, it was mostly just one girl. And I’ve never been an attention-seeker. Looking back, I just really enjoyed making out with my best friend. And so I was happy to play along with the default narrative. ...I didn’t understand any of this at the time.

During the summer before my senior year of college, I developed real - or at least closer to conscious - feelings for a girl for the first time. We met working a nerdy biology summer job together. I knew I thought she was beautiful and elegant and stylish. I knew I thought she was smart and funny. I knew I thought she was incredibly pretentious and kind of irritating, and my straight male roommate who also worked with us couldn’t really stand her. I knew that, objectively, she was not someone I’d be expected to befriend. I knew I couldn’t get enough of her anyway. I knew that when we roomed together at a hotel during a work trip, I enjoyed the intimacy of it more than she did. And I knew that when we each slipped pantless into the sheets of our respective beds, and talked until the middle of the night, I felt fizzy. I knew that she annoyed the shit out of me, but I missed her when we were apart. I knew all these things, and yet at the same time, I didn’t totally know why I felt all these things. I chalked it up to quick, intense friendship. I didn’t think much about it, because we both had boyfriends at the time. (Not to mention, I was also developing an increasingly flirtatious texting relationship with her male roommate, and harboring a secret identify as my university’s mascot. I had a lot going on at the time.)

The summer ended and I didn’t see her any longer. I broke up with the boyfriend and jumped quickly into a circumstantially intense relationship with a new guy. My year as a mascot, my senior year of college, was a total whirlwind of mascotting and one incredibly unexpected, devastating, formative experience that I shared with the new guy (a topic for another time). The point is, I had no time for self-reflection with regard to sexuality.

Fast forward to the following fall, I met and fell in love with my now husband, quickly and completely. I was 22. Since then, I haven’t really had much cause to consider or think about my sexual and romantic orientations. Fast forward to age 29, and here I am.

I’ve never been particularly secretive about my crushes and attraction to women. I talk about my crushes on women with my husband, my gay girl friends, and my guy friends regularly. It’s something I’ve never felt any shame about. Shame is not what’s taken me so long to get to this point. It’s repression. It’s socialization. It’s a lack of representation in the media. I assumed I was straight, that my feelings for women were “phases,” outliers in my otherwise straight existence, just like everyone else had, because that’s the default option. Sexuality is fluid, and experimentation is totally normal, but eventually most people choose a “side.” That’s the story we’re told.

My story picks up in late December of 2016, a few weeks after the “I could never go down on a girl” incident during which I’d clammed up (and no one noticed). I was sick with the flu over the holidays. I was looking for something to distract me from my nausea and my incapability to spend time with family in my gross state, and I discovered Skam. In a matter of days, I binged through all three seasons, and it became my favorite show ever. I became more attached to fictional characters than I’ve ever been (which is saying something for those of you who know my heart). The show’s target audience is Norwegian teenagers, but its themes of self-acceptance, internalized homophobia, mental illness, feminism, and friendship (plus many more) are universal. The most recent season follows the story of closeted Isak, who meets and falls in love with a bisexual (presumably), bipolar Even. As they learn to love and accept one another, they learn to love and accept themselves. It’s a portrayal of a realistic, soft, healthy relationship between Isak and Even. It’s something I’ve never seen before, and it was so... refreshing, clarifying, to see. It is incredibly realistic, beautiful, and moving, and it touched me. I became obsessed with this show and these boys.

As a total fangirl, I needed an outlet for this new love. Unsurprisingly, I couldn’t convince any of my IRL friends/family to watch a Norwegian show about teenagers accessible only through fan-made subtitled files on Google Drive. My husband got tired of me blathering on about the amazing editing, clever and moving soundtrack choices, and witty, subversive dialogue. So, I took to the internet. I found my way into the fandom on Tumblr. I met a bunch of young, gay (a catch-all term) as hell Skam fans, and I began talking to them. Each new person I met, I felt immediately connected to them. I felt at home among this group. They are incredibly kind and accepting. They are so far ahead of where I was at their age, in terms of knowing and accepting who they are. It makes me so proud and thrilled for them, and so glad they have each other. And at the same time, it makes me sad for myself when I was their age, and jealous that I didn’t have a similar outlet.

In the last few months, I’ve learned so much from Skam and them. I’ve made impactful, real friendships with people all over the world. They feel like my people, and I’ve come to realize, it’s because they are. Their struggles, and their futures, are a big part of the reason I feel compelled to put this out there.

So, here I am. Validating myself. Accepting myself. Taking my own advice - that I don’t have to be able to explain this to people who won’t understand in order for it to be true. I am Not Straight in 2017. I am Not Straight at age 30. I guess it doesn’t really matter. Then again, it really does matter.

[jobsearchtips02]

Portrait of a Pandemic

During the first two months of 2020, Herine Baron was in a pretty constant state of bliss, driving around Miami accompanied by the pulsating rhythms of Caribbean party music. A new mother at 28, she was enjoying her chubby-cheeked baby, Malcolm, and making plans to build a house. As she returned from maternity leave to her hospital nursing job, she had only one big question hanging over her: should she continue her education with an eye toward administration or more advanced nursing?

Little did she know what lay ahead. Little did anyone.

In Boston, Josee Matela, 21, was juggling: six part-time jobs, three senior-year college classes and two extracurricular responsibilities. It was a grind, but she was buoyed by the end in sight. In May, Matela, the first member of her Filipino immigrant family to attend college in the U.S., would graduate from Boston University with degrees in journalism and international relations. And then, she thought, she would launch.

Mahum Khalid, 27, a hotel worker and student in San Francisco, also felt on the cusp of something life-changing. After years of abusing alcohol and drugs — especially heroin — she had been frightened in late January by a weeks-long manic episode triggered by mixed drug use. Coming out of it, she read on Twitter about Kobe Bryant’s death and the deadly virus in China. She felt like the world was upside down, and she desperately needed to make a change. After entering treatment for the first time, she started collecting days, then weeks, of sobriety.

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In Brooklyn, Parker McAllister, 29, was seeing signs that 2020 would shape up as a year he could present to his parents and say, See? It was all worth it. They had honored his wishes to attend an elite conservatory to study the bass, even hosting fundraisers in their Bedford Stuyvesant brownstone to send him there. Now he had booked 60 shows through the summer, including tours in the Bahamas and Europe. Soon, he believed, he’d be able to help out his parents – who were struggling to hold onto their home in a gentrifying neighborhood – and buy himself some breathing room to slow down and invest in his artistry.

Also in New York City, Ngoc Cindy Pham, 32, had by early this year finally settled into her life as a Brooklyn College business professor. She had grown up in Vietnam, where her parents worked long hours to send her to graduate school in the U.S. Here, she had regularly devoted 18 hours a day to her master’s and doctoral studies, ignoring her personal life for fear she would squander her parents’ sacrifices. She did feel she was living a one-dimensional existence in her “bachelor apartment,” and promised herself she would start dating in 2020. But, before everything changed, she was focused on helping her students move up in the world, much as she had.

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Kara Frey, 26, and Nate Morris, 24, meanwhile, were laying the foundations for a life together in their new apartment in Toledo. They were starting to talk about marriage, and for once, their work lives seemed blessedly stable. Frey, a construction worker, was busy with a five-week installation project at Sephora stores in Southern California, while Morris had just landed a job as a patient registration specialist at a local hospital.

In Odessa, Texas, Jessica Fajardo’s year kicked off with a bang. After searching for work that suited her — trying out dental hygiene, daycare, arcades — she had found her calling as a phlebotomist and her ideal job at a small family medicine center.  On Jan. 5, which was her 30th birthday, her colleagues decorated the office and gave her gifts. Then, at day’s end, her best friend, Maria Hernandez, surprised her with a dinner party at a new ramen restaurant. The youngest of five children in a close-knit Mexican-American family, Fajardo was surrounded that night by relatives and friends. When they sang to her, she became overwhelmed. 

She wiped away a tear, then blew out her candles.

There existed a time before people spoke each day of deadly viruses and ventilators and mobile morgues; before they socially distanced and self-quarantined and sheltered in place; before, newly fluent in terms like PPE and N95, they clapped and banged pots at sunset to honor doctors, nurses and essential workers.

At the start of 2020, Americans were ushering in a new decade and what was shaping up to be a dynamic presidential election year. China was already reporting patients afflicted by a mysterious disease, but in the United States, many young people were writing New Year’s resolutions and setting what seemed to be reasonable goals.

On Jan. 1, there were about 75 million people in the U.S. between the ages of 18 and 35. Some 3 million were expected to graduate with bachelor’s and post-graduate degrees in the new year, and step into what was forecast to be a healthy job market. At year’s start, the unemployment rate was at a 50-year low, and it was under 2 percent for those with a bachelor’s degree or more. The sectors whose employees skew younger — like retail and food services — were looking robust.

Over the last couple of months, as the picture changed, we interviewed more than 100 young people about who they were before the pandemic, what happened to them when the pandemic struck, and where they find themselves now. For a rolling feature called Notes on the Pandemic, we spoke with college students and young professionals; artists and teachers; gig workers and restaurant employees; nurses, doctors, and other essential workers; incarcerated people and people in recovery; young parents and pregnant women who gave birth during the pandemic.

We wanted to understand how the pandemic has affected younger people at this formative time of their lives, just as financial downturns, war and other major events colored the lives of prior generations.

In some ways, heading into a protracted shutdown, this generation was better equipped. They are more accustomed to navigating the world through technology, to communicating primarily on devices, and to working from home.

Yet: they grew up in the shadow of 9/11. The oldest among them entered the job market after the financial crisis of 2008. The youngest grew up with lockdown drills and the fear of school shootings. Their social media feeds have long been filled with conversations about: the opioid crisis, mass incarceration, rising inequality, political polarization and climate change. It’s a generation in which two in three college students graduate with an average of about $30,000 in debt, and some 1.3 million have served in the military during a period of several overseas conflicts.

Before the pandemic, then, many of those interviewed were already in an unsettled state. And yet they were revving for a future — or at least a year — that seemed to hold promise.

The Pandemic Strikes

On March 11, the day that the World Health Organization declared the coronavirus outbreak a global pandemic, Herine Baron, the Miami nurse, was treating a patient who came into her emergency room with a fever. Fifteen minutes before her shift ended, the patient was moved to isolation, and she was tasked with doing his bloodwork. Only at that point was Baron given an N95 respirator mask, a gown and gloves, she said.

Herine Baron, 28, a nurse, spikes a high fever a week after treating a Covid-19 patient.

A week later, while working a night shift, Baron started feeling feverish. By the time she got home, her fever had spiked to 103, so she returned to the hospital. She was admitted with what would be diagnosed as Covid-19.

“I felt like my brain was cooking,” she said.

That same day, after BU announced its classes would be going remote, Josee Matela panicked about losing the jobs that she needed to make it through her final semester. Hunkering down in her campus apartment, she created a spreadsheet — “March Madness,” she called it — to track her finances. Six days later, she found out that students had to leave the university in five days’ time. She felt heartsick. She sobbed on a call to her family in New Jersey, and then proceeded to pack her belongings in trash bags.

“When I had to move out of BU housing,” she said, “it kind of created this shift where the life that I was working on was completely done.”

By March 11, Mahum Khalid had achieved 45 days of sobriety. Considering the negative milestones of her life — she started drinking at nine, taking pills at 13, using heroin at 20 — this was a significant win. But when San Francisco shut down a few days later so did a mental health program she needed after addiction treatment. Then her hours at her hotel job were cut. Suddenly, she was locked down inside her parents’ home, which she had found stultifying even with the freedom to come and go as she pleased to classes, work and Narcotics Anonymous meetings.  A nerve-jangling mixture of boredom, frustration and family tensions began to test her resolve.

Parker McAllister, 29, a touring bassist, gets an email from his manager: “Prepare for all of April to be canceled.”

“Being at home is not a good place for my recovery,” she said. “Being stuck in the house is making me want to use.”

On March 12, Parker McAllister, the bassist, ventured to the Lower East Side of Manhattan to check out the band with which he’d soon be touring the Bahamas. Italy’s strict lockdown had already derailed his European tour, but, he thought, would getting stuck (and making money) in an island paradise be the worst thing in the world? He wouldn’t find out. The next day, the band leader called off the trip, and on March 17, McAllister’s manager sent an email: “Prepare for all of April to be canceled.”

After Brooklyn College moved classes online in mid-March, Ngoc Pham busied herself trying to help her students, but they were dealing with problems beyond her control, like canceled internships and family members dying of Covid-19. From time to time, she sent small

Amazon

gift cards to those who were clearly struggling. But really, there was little she could do.  Alone at home in her sparsely decorated apartment, she felt a discomfort — a sadness — growing. It was exacerbated when, during Zoom meetings, she caught glimpses of her colleagues’ lives: kids, pets, beautiful houses.

“Before I had professional connections, so I didn’t feel too lonely,” she said. “Now all of those connections have disappeared.”

By March 22, Nate Morris had adopted a new routine when he returned home from St. Anne Hospital in Toledo, where his job was to check in patients at the ER. He’d go straight into the basement, remove and wash his scrubs, clean his hands, and then wipe down all surfaces he had touched. 

That day, he felt a bit off, but it had been a long work week. The next morning, though, he woke up feeling awful. Neither Morris nor his girlfriend, Kara Frey, were shocked. They knew he was likely exposed to Covid-19 patients at work. But they weren’t worried. He was young, healthy and athletic — a competitive recreational hockey player. They anticipated a few days of misery with cold symptoms.

Nate Morris worked as a hospital worker as coronavirus spread.

Photo: Courtesy of Kara Frey

But Morris started running a fever, and when it couldn’t be broken, his girlfriend had a dawning realization: “I was, like, wow, this is really happening.”

By the time Frey took Morris to the emergency room, he was sick with pneumonia and so dehydrated his kidneys were shutting down. Days later, Morris was placed in a medical coma, intubated and hooked up to a ventilator.

In Odessa, Texas, Jess Fajardo, the phlebotomist, understood almost immediately that her symptoms — coughing, mostly — were bad news. Because she had asthma and diabetes and because she worked at a doctor’s office, she was worried from the minute the coronavirus started spreading across the U.S. She shut herself away in her room at her parents’ house, telling her mother, who’d leave her food outside the door: “Mom, don’t even knock — nothing.”

On March 17, she texted her friend Maria Hernandez: “I think it’s fascinating that the world is cleaning up by slowly getting rid of us. Mother Nature is like, nah, y’all, it’s getting too hot on me. Time to take care of some of y’all.”

But when Fajardo’s symptoms escalated, she wrote Hernandez a different kind of text, with instructions on what to do with her ashes, should the time come.

She finally went to a hospital to get tested on March 27; she was initially denied testing because health officials attributed her symptoms to her obesity, her friend Sarah Jarocki said. (Later, it would turn out that there had been at least 10 Covid-19 cases at the medical office where she worked, according to her boss,  Dr. Madhu Pamganamamula. He believes that the chain of infection began with another employee, who then transmitted the virus to Fajardo and the others. He said he shut his office on March 19, the day after the first employee took ill.)

While awaiting her test results, Fajardo experienced a coughing fit so intense it made her cry. The next day, she checked into the hospital, and her test came back positive.

On March 30, she posted an update on Facebook: “I want to thank everyone for your kind words, prayers and encouragements,” she wrote from her hospital bed. “I plan to keep fighting this as best as I can.”

One friend, referring to the music video game Dance Dance Revolution, commented: “So … you don’t want to come play DDR now?”

And Fajardo, who by that point was incapable of talking “without almost hacking up a lung,” responded: “I’m still down for a ‘rona party.”

Before the country quieted to a whisper, one theme in news coverage was inter-generational squabbling. Pointing to spring-break partying and crowded bars in cities yet to shutter, some stories cited older adults complaining that young people weren’t taking the pandemic seriously. Some young people, in turn, said their parents were in denial as they refused to curtail their activities.

Soon, the pandemic erased the differences.

While older Americans faced a far greater risk of severe illness and death, young people started getting sick, too. About 1 in 10 patients admitted to hospitals for Covid-19 symptoms was under 40. By early May, nearly 400 people aged 34 and younger had died of the disease in the United States, according to provisional data that is likely an undercount.

Economically, the pandemic shutdowns hit young Americans hardest. From March to April, unemployment for Americans under 25 tripled. More than half of Americans younger than 30 lost their job or took a pay cut, compared with 40 percent overall, according to a report by the Pew Research Center. Young people dominate certain sectors that have been most profoundly affected — like the food-service industry and the gig economy. Yet most young Americans — two-thirds of those under 30 — had no “rainy day” money set aside to cover their expenses.

Losing jobs, getting kicked off campuses and going remote for work, many young people relocated. Not only college students but many young professionals found themselves back in their childhood bedrooms. Many saw it as temporary, but the last downturn, the 2008 financial crash, drove many young adults back home for what became extended periods; even before the pandemic, one in six people between 25 and 34 lived under their parents’ roofs.

What Just Happened?

Lying in her Miami hospital bed, Baron switched roles and became a patient. Very quickly, she grew disheartened by the way her colleagues at Jackson Memorial Hospital refused to enter her room for fear of catching the virus themselves. In tearful testimony on YouTube, she decried what she saw as her hospital’s missteps; it got more than 220,000 views.

Jackson Memorial said it has investigated Baron’s situation and that “we remain confident that all Jackson’s caregivers are getting the best possible protection during a fast-moving and fast-changing health crisis.”

Herine Baron reunites with her son Malcolm after recovering from Covid-19.

Photo: Courtesy of Herine Baron

During her hospitalization, separated from her baby, Baron pumped, and dumped, her breast milk, fearful of passing on the virus to him. On the day she was discharged, she learned that her son Malcolm had tested positive for Covid-19. This made her sad, she said, especially because doctors had advised her to remain in isolation at home and she wouldn’t be able to nurse her own child back to health. Malcolm remained in the care of his grandmother for another couple of weeks.

 In the month that she spent at home, she and her son both recovered fully. One day during that period, for which she was paid worker’s compensation, she had to return to her hospital for further testing. Stepping inside a place that she once venerated, she felt pangs of dread and anxiety. She worried about the day she’d have to return as an employee.

When she did return, it took her time to calm her nerves. But her concerns dissipated. As she saw it, the hospital had improved its handling of the virus and become more supportive of its workers. During daily staff meetings, managers asked her and her colleagues to speak up if they needed anything to help them perform their duties more safely. She began working closely with Covid-19 patients, grateful that she could understand their pain because she had experienced it. 

The whole ordeal has left her certain about the decision that nagged at her before the pandemic. If in her carefree state back then, she was contemplating a career pivot toward hospital administration, she has now decided to continue her studies in advanced nursing, doubling down on her original motivation for entering the health field, which was to provide compassionate care to patients.

“I always looked at nurses as heroes, that’s one of the reasons that I became a nurse,” she said. “But I feel like we’re getting recognized more.”

After Josee Matela was forced to move off campus, she was thrown into a semblance of post-grad life, newly navigating bill-splitting and household chores with roommates. She was able to keep three part-time jobs — campus brand manager for HBO, marketing associate for FinTech Sandbox, and co-coordinator of her communications college’s ambassador program. For the time being, she can afford rent, but she’s very anxious about her future income because the job market is so bleak.

Boston University postponed its commencement ceremony. So when Matela completed her final exam for a public diplomacy class, there was nothing to mark the end. She doesn’t know when, if ever, she’ll be able to throw her cap in the air or give her family the joy of watching their first college graduate walk across a stage. To help herself and others like her appreciate how far they’ve come, she created a digital yearbook for first-generation college students.

Josee Matela is the first in her family to graduate college.

Photo: Courtesy of Josee Matela

For the last four years, Matela had been working hard to set herself up for a journalism or international relations career after graduation. At the year’s start, when the job market looked to be red-hot, she anticipated moving immediately to New York or Washington, D.C. Now, though, amid uncertainty, she’s staying in Boston. It is unnatural for her to play the part, as she described herself, of  “a very driven bear in hibernation.” But, she said,  “I’m willing to take a step back or just see what happens because that’s what the world’s doing.”

Staying home, and home, and home, with her family was challenging for Mahum Khalid at such an early point in her recovery. Before the lockdown, she depended on her hotel job to distract her during the day. At night, Narcotics Anonymous meetings kept her both psychologically and socially tethered; they’d spill over into long post-meeting diner hangouts every Friday evening.

Mahum Khalid, 27, a student and hotel worker, has achieved 52 days of sobriety.

Her hotel job, at first, disappeared completely. And virtual NA just didn’t do it for her. One night, she sneaked a bottle of a relative’s Adderall into her room, and slept with it for comfort — though she didn’t take any, reminding herself that she preferred downers to uppers. At the end of April, when her manager asked her to return to the hotel for five hours a week, she found the outside world brought back old urges. She clocked out of work one day, got in her car and ended up at a liquor store. But she just sat in the parking lot, for a long time, knowing that drinking would likely lead to using. Finally, she turned the car back on, made a U-turn and drove home.

Not long ago, Khalid couldn’t hold onto a job for more than two weeks; in one humiliating instance, she nodded off at her desk and woke up to find a sticky note in her hair saying, “You’re fired.” Sheltering in place, she said,  has given her time to reflect on how far she has come from there. It has also afforded her time to dream about building a future once her world reopens: Could she work enough hours to save enough money to buy a farm? Could she build on it a sober living house for others addicts looking to start over? Could she find peace there?

With his performance calendar extending emptily into the future, McAllister wondered how far he could stretch his $1,000 in savings as his earnings slowed. For how long would he be able to pay his parents $800 a month to live in their guest room — which was, in turn, a way to help them pay their mortgage? His father had recently started home dialysis. Would McAllister be able to insulate him from the threat the outside world posed?

Soon, some checks for previous performances arrived, but, with the world now awash in out-of-work musicians, he knew he would need to expand his career beyond the plucking of his bass strings. He lugged his amplifier from his car into his parents’ parlor, so that he could produce something like studio sound. He got some production work, started creating samples for a music-production platform called Splice, and taught himself video-editing. He still practiced his instrument three to four hours daily, he said, but to be competitive, he’d have to learn to be “the engineer, the producer and the musician.”

If two months earlier McAllister had hoped to buy himself some slow-down time with the income from a busy touring schedule, he now had to regroup and hustle. But, he said, he was down to pivot.

Ngoc Cindy Pham, 32, a Brooklyn College professor, cries about quarantine loneliness on a call to her mom in Vietnam.

In mid-April, Ngoc Pham called her mother in Vietnam and broke down crying. The prior month of isolation had been far quieter than the spring she initially  planned: preparing her students for graduation, lining them up with jobs and internships, and getting ready for New York Fashion Week as its director of marketing. Instead she was alone, trying to burn time cooking meticulous meals, eating what she could, but still having leftovers for days.

During the lockdown, her loneliness — the whole dating thing never really got off the ground earlier this year — surfaced. She yearned for someone other than her mother to call when she cried, for someone to hug at night.

“It’s really sad to not have anyone to talk to,” she said. “I doubt myself — why have I been working for such a long time? What’s the goal? What is happiness? I’ve tried to redefine what happiness means. Is it a successful career or family?”

Two weeks after Nate Morris started running an intense fever, Kara Frey sat alone on their living room couch in Toledo. In her head, she toggled between two images of her boyfriend: the sturdy, gregarious, hockey player and the unconscious patient lying in a negative-pressure hospital isolation unit.

Kara Frey’s partner, Nate Morris, 24, is placed on ventilator due to Covid-19.

With their cats curled up next to her, she realized it had been 11 days since she had heard her partner’s voice. “I’ve had a couple nights where I’ve missed him so badly, and I’ve just been scared,” she said. “Scared as hell.”

Morris’s hospitalization stretched longer and longer. He’d come off the ventilator for a few hours one day and be back on higher levels of sedation the next. “It really was a huge blow to my optimism,” Frey said. She became exhausted from seeing endless stories in her social media feeds about people refusing to practice social distancing. “I can’t help but think ‘Wow, that might be nice for your worst-case scenario to be staying home,’” she said. “My worst-case scenario is Nate dying.”

Finally, on a sunny Sunday morning, came a series of loud thuds on her bedroom window. Frey emerged from a deep sleep to find Morris’ stepmother standing outside with a message: Nate is trying to reach you. She rolled over and saw the missed calls on her phone. The night before, Morris had woken up and pulled out his breathing tube himself. When they spoke for the first time in three weeks, he asked if Frey had contracted Covid-19 while he was in a coma. She said no. “Good,” he said, “’cause this sucks!”

Nate Morris, 24, a hospital worker, comes out of coma, pulling out his breathing tube.

After Morris woke up, he had some residual issues: a cough, fatigue and paralysis in his left arm. But his personality remained intact. When he FaceTimed his girlfriend to demonstrate his ability to feed himself Jell-O, Frey breathed a sigh of relief. He was still a jokester.

Some things weren’t funny, though. Reflecting on the days before he got sick, Morris saw himself at his hospital’s reception desk, with no protective glass between himself and the patients. He wore a mask, but he was only issued one a day, he said, in a voice still hoarse from a trachea tube. (The hospital, in a statement, said its mask policy was consistent with federal government guidelines, and that it had installed protective screens “as an added precaution” on April 1, which was after Morris got sick. It declined to discuss his case, citing privacy concerns.)

Morris and Frey know there’s a long road ahead, physically, financially, and emotionally. But for now, they’re just happy that the road exists.

The day before she was intubated, Fajardo, the phlebotomist, sang “Happy Birthday” to her best friend. It was hard to do. She was crying, and her breathing was ragged. She tried again by text: “Happy Birthday bestie. Sorry that I’m dying.”

Over the next week, Fajardo’s condition improved, and doctors cleared her for extubation. When they tried, however, she fought them off — so hard one time that she fell out of bed. Over FaceTime, her sister tried to calm her before the next attempt. During the call, Fajardo was crying. She tried to lift her hand, as if to communicate something, but she was too weak.

The next day, which was Easter Sunday, doctors succeeded in removing Fajardo’s breathing tube. But she did not survive the procedure. Her mother, Elsa, said that her rapid deterioration had stunned them.

“I don’t know how long it will take us to recover from her loss,” her mother said.

The Fajardo family held a “drive-through viewing,” and broadcast her funeral live on Facebook. Instead of mourners, the room was filled with 66 gold and white star-shaped balloons, each bearing the name of a person who had attended the viewing. After the service, the balloons were released outside the funeral home. Tied in a cluster, they snagged on an overhead power line, creating a loud explosion and shorting power to the neighborhood. But a few managed to break free, floating off into the sky.

Jess Fajardo blowing out candles at her surprise 30th birthday party in January.

Courtesy of Abby Guerra

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from Job Search Tips https://jobsearchtips.net/portrait-of-a-pandemic/

[someplace-that-is-else]

What Are You Afraid Of?: When a Writer Sees Himself in his Creations

Editor’s Note: this blog has spoilers for books in the Darkened series. If you have not read them yet....BEWARE!!!!

 I was surprised.

 Book 3 in my Darkened series began…with NaNoWrImO.

 Nanowrimo stood for National Novel Writing Month. It took place every November. Millions of writers sat down and attempted it. The goal? To write 50, 000 words in one month. 50,000…the length of a novel. So every year, millions of writers attempted it. To some, it was a fun challenge. To others, it could be a way to see about getting over something like writer’s block. That was the case with me and Book 3.

 There were several books that I had on my mind for NaNoWrImO. I had just come off of working on Darkchilde, the second book in my Darkened series. Questions swirled in my head. What would happen next? Who would be the narrator? The ending of Darkchilde gave several possibilities. Given what I had set up in my world, how would Book 3 shape up? Would it stay a trilogy or was there a fourth book in the wings? Those questions paralyzed me. So I decided to use Book 3 for NaNoWrImO.

 SPOILER ALERT!!!!!!

 In Darkchilde, Ebony, the sister of main character Daniel from Darkened Soul, became part of a conspiracy that involved Nosferatu and witches. Her maker, Darkened Soul villainess Ursula, had a backup plan to resurrect her if something was to happen to her. Though Ebony and the witch Aidan, along with their friends, tried to stop the plan, they failed.

 Ebony also was in the midst of a love triangle between her ‘will-they/won’t-they’ companion Nicholas and Mexican rogue Victor. Not helping matters, Ursula killed the head of the Nosferatu circle, her lover Jonathan in Darkened Soul. Power abhor a vacuum, and several Nosferatu attempted to vouch for the new head. Victor was one of those people. Ebony had to make a choice between Nicholas and the secrets they had between them…or Victor who knew her as far back as when she was first turned.

 She picked Nicholas.

 In Book 3, Ebony and Nicholas go on the hunt for Ursula. Their hunt took them to the city-state of Egypt. It would also put their still-budding relationship to the test.

 Unknown to Ebony however…her brother Daniel…who died at the end of Darkened Soul…was resurrected by witches as well.

 With no memory.

 Plans within plans…

A Thing About Forryns: Diving into Worldbuilding

 The world building. Oh, the world building.

 With NaNoWrImO, one does not need to think. But what one does…was write.

 And I wrote. I wrote. Perhaps it was the feeling of the threequel that I always had with movies. But with a challenge that allowed me to just write, that fear fell away.

 And the world building, oh, the world building.

 There had been times in my writing life that I did not feel that I world built enough. Even with my self-titled Darkenverse, I felt it. But working on Book 3, it simply flow. My world took place in a dystopian futuristic world of city-states. I was surprised when I started to write to find that Ebony and Nicholas was in the city-state of Egypt. It was fascinating from the norms that populated the city-state from dress to the fact that only men were allowed to work the shipyards. And that…was just the world above.

 And now SPOILER ALERT!!!!

 I introduced the Forryns as a plot twist in Darkchilde. What were the Forryns? You might know them by a different name…werewolves. Not only were they werewolves, but they were werewolves who were tech savvy…thus, being hidden for centuries.

 Just like witches had been a minor plot point in Darkened Soul so they could be a major presence in Darkchilde, I into the Forryn in Darkchilde. I knew they would be a major presence in Book 3. And I could not wait to get to them. I could only imagine what being underground for them was like. I gave myself a taste, doing a very dark short story called ‘How the Other Half Lives.’ Due to its dark theme…it was even removed from the Darkened Soul Facebook page (www.facebook.com/darkenverse). However, it only hinted at the world building that I wanted to do.

 At the end of Darkchilde, The Forryn also winded up in possession of Daniel…the only person known to be able to fight Ursula.

 Speaking of Daniel…did I mention that he still had no memory of who is he in Book 3? However…the world building, the world building.

 I knew that I would do some diving into the Forryn world. I saw how they lived underground. I saw they were divided into clans. I saw that there were in-fighting, neutral ground bars, and technology. It was fun. However, I also knew that at some point, Daniel would have to escape.

 And he did. Using his abilities, Daniel made it to the surface, the city-state of London. And no longer in neutral territory, the various Forryn factions tried to capture him. Thankfully, he escaped.

 And then…I stopped writing.

 A Game of You: How Well Do You Know You?

 At first, I blamed it on my schedule.

 It had been unusually busy at the one job. It was not so usually busy at the other. I was busy running around a lot. So there was not a lot of time for me to sit somewhere and write. Not helped by my diva laptop with its faulty battery. And that was not helped by my SRO deciding to not have good internet anymore. So more time out of my day was spent to find time to find time to find good internet and get things done.

 So of course, I blamed it on exhaustion.

 Finally before I knew it, it was here. By here I meant it was the anniversary of my father’s passing. My father was the closest person to me. We talked almost every day. About television. About dating…funny because who knew that he accepted me. About life. One day he was here. The next…he was gone.

 On October 30th. Halloween used to be my favorite holiday. Once that happened, it all just changed. This particular year, I could tell that I would take it hard. It has almost always varied. As the years have passed, I had attempted to try to ‘get back on the horse.’ I tried to enjoy that period. I tried to not completely fall apart.

 There’s nothing like the death of a parent. One remembered them. One remembered their hopes and dreams for you. One looked at their life…and might found it wondering. Not to mention lonely.

 And that…was how I was feeling this year.

 Next year would be my 40th birthday. And I thought about where I wanted to be when I was 40. And at that time, I thought I would have a more successful writing career. Whether it was my books, writing for television, or blogging about television, I figured that I would be doing that more…professionally. Of course, I figured that I would be back in New York City, too. Yet…here I was. Not where I wanted to be. Alone. And I was feeling the isolation from everything around me.

 Those down feelings took me back to when I first had written Darkened Soul. The thing that always rang true about Daniel was that his loneliness as a human and even as a Nosferatu pierced as I wrote him. He always appeared to want to break free. And yet…life put things on him. From being gay as a human. From the prophecy that said he would be the One. And when happiness was hinted at, there was Jared to be a jealous harpy. Was it love? Was it co-dependency? What did Daniel want?

 And now…Daniel was back in Book 3. It was almost like a second chance. Could he achieve what he wanted this time around, or was it simply time wasted? And from what I saw as I wrote Daniel so far, he might not know who he was truly was or what role he played, but he was just as lonely now as he was in Darkened Soul. He was a Nosferatu, not a Forryn. He liked a Forryn, but Forryn are only allowed to mate with their own kind and the opposite sex at that. He had made it to the surface but had no idea where to do or what to go. He was the very case of alone right now. And then I realized it.

 I had hit close to home. In fact, I had hit it right between the eyes.

 I was not busy. I was not exhausted. The anniversary of my father’s passing simply triggered what I should have already realized. As writers we always write what we would like to read. And sometimes we writers write to deal with some things. However, writers tend to write, usually unknowingly, a part of themselves into the story.

 I had not stopped writing because I was busy, exhausted, or down. I had stopped writing because I had glanced a part of myself. And that jerked me right into writer’s block. Because when I saw parts of myself in books, it usually meant my characters were trying to tell me something. Usually something I didn’t want to hear.

 Sometimes the Listening: Moving On

 One foot after the other. That was what was usually said.

 At the moment, Daniel had escaped from the Forryns. He had started to explore this futuristic London. I went into detail over the next few pages of what that was like for an amnesiac that did not know anyone.

 It was nice. It was nice to be able to dig into the character. Starting small allowed things to simply grow. To build. And every writer worth anything knew how to do plot buildup. I felt good about it. As writing did with me, it started so small with limited time. From there, it started to grow.

 Daniel was always a sullen character when I wrote him in Darkened Soul. Even with no idea of whom he was, I saw that Daniel really had not changed much.  There was a scene talking about one of his nights of wandering around. The fact of seeing people together. Seeing intimacy between couples. To see signs of happiness from people. None of them aware that Daniel was watching them. And the feelings that seeing some positive displays made Daniel lonely…so alone in this game of chess.

 Or was he…?

 He came around some Gothies, my term for Goths in the future. They were off to have a little bit of fun. And they looked oh so happy. Especially, the male couple. So…Daniel followed.

 In a funny twist…I was going to a Goth event that weekend. Lol.

 So even without trying, it appeared that I had parts of myself appearing in my novels. It was not a bad thing. I could not help, but wonder something though.

 Where did I end and my character began?

 #writing #writersblock #father #passing #nanowrimo #november #daniel #death #anniversary #alone #loneliness #darkenedsoul #darkchilde #ebony #victor #nicholas #ursula #spoilers #spoileralert #worldbuilding #facebook #halloween #birthdays #40th #goths #movingon

[reingeclothingbrand-blog]

New Beginnings

NFL Athlete and Entrepreneur Omar Bolden paves his own path while rehabilitating an injury and navigating the New York City fashion world.

On November 30th, I walked into REINGE for my first day of work carrying my life in four large bags: two rollers, one duffel, and one backpack. With my new co-workers, office furniture, and racks of clothing already filling the showroom, my luggage quickly turned the space into an obstacle course.

Being up against obstacles is something I’m too familiar with. As an NFL player, I’ve had my fair share of injuries that have periodically kept me off the field throughout my career. With that said, my current absence from the game has sparked some curiosity in maneuvering in a new field—fashion. At this time of the year, I’m usually transitioning from my back pedal to a sprint on the football field, so moving to New York and making the transition from sports to fashion was not something that intimidated me.

Ironically enough, I vividly remember a time when I wasn’t so comfortable with fashion. As a child, I was conscious about my style when it was time to get dressed for birthday parties and family gatherings, because I was intimidated by my older cousins’ opinions. As much as we see eye to eye now, it was almost like our sense of style didn’t align then. It was too easy to see that the joke was on me, from “Omar, why is your shirt always tucked in?” to “Omar, why don’t you loosen up your shoes a little bit. You’re choking them so much they look like they’re on life support.” They say you only know what you’re exposed to, and experience is the best teacher in life. I didn’t realize it then, but those interactions were prepping me for who I was becoming. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned to become comfortable with being uncomfortable.

When I was in the 9th grade, I saw the Harlem rapper Cam’Ron wear a pink fur coat with a baggy, pink T- shirt while talking on a pink Nextel phone. In urban culture, oversized tees and fur coats were cool, but wearing pink was not. He also had on two big platinum rings and a chain to match.

At that moment, I was like, “Yo, you can really do what you want to do. If you’re confident enough, you can wear whatever you want to wear.” I didn’t have that confidence right away. At the time, I was only fourteen, but he made me realize that you can do what you want with style as long as your bravado existed.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve always been into fashion. I couldn’t afford to always get new clothes, but I had a vision for what I wanted to do and what I wanted to wear. It seems I had champagne taste on a Kool Aid budget. All throughout high school, my friends and I did Fresh Friday every Friday. On that one day of the week, I’d put together the hottest ‘fit that I had. My personal style gradually developed as I gained more financial independence, so when I got a job at Best Buy, the Friday ‘fit would come more often than Friday. I was dressing up on Mondays and Wednesdays too.

This investment in style carried over into college when I attended Arizona State University. The first thing I fell in love with, in terms of fashion, was what I put on my feet. When I was younger, I never had the new pair of shoes I wanted, so in college, after my rent was paid every month, any extra money in my pocket was donated to this dope, low-key skater shop that had every shoe: Adidas, Nike, Vans, you name it. I always wanted to be fresh, and as long as my kicks were fresh, I was good.

I had a sense of style, but I hadn’t found my style yet. I entered the league in 2012 and although it was a fairly easy transition, the lifestyle was very different. The NFL parking lot is like a car show, and the locker room is like a runway. Like so many of these guys, I briefly thought that in order to be fresh, stylish, and fly, I had to buy everything designer. I went crazy on Balenciaga, Giuseppe Zanotti, and Louboutin shoes. It wasn’t until midway through my second year that I realized I wasn’t being true to myself. I was just wearing these brands because I could. I do have to thank that part of my life for where I am with my style, because now I realize how easy it is to be influenced.

These days, I prefer to shop on my own. With football, I’m always part of a team, which I love. But when it comes to fashion, it’s me. I’d rather do my own thing than be influenced by other players’ or my friends’ opinions. My style is versatile, and I take real pride in being able to go from a suit and tie to street style to casual chic. I try to bring different looks to events, for sure. If there will be a potential photo op, you better believe I put some genuine thought into what I’m wearing. I want to look good, and regardless of what style I choose I want it to look effortless everyday.

It wasn’t until 2014 that I thought I might be seriously interested in fashion, more than just getting dressed in the morning. I wanted to poke my head into the industry to see what was going on. Those thoughts constantly crossed my mind, especially as I started thinking about life after football. I’ve never thought that football was my endgame; I always knew I would do something after. And then I faced adversity. The game was taken away from me due to injury after the 2016 season.

I was released by Chicago (Bears) in July, and that left me in an interesting space. I was back home in LA by early August, which gave me a lot of time to think and to have quiet introspection about real life. Even though I was rehabbing daily and working to get my body healthy enough to play, I realized I would be out for at least a couple more months. Soon enough it was September, and New York Fashion Week was around the corner. I’d always wanted to attend, but never could because of my game schedule. Prior to being released, I hired Rob Wilson as my publicist and told him I wanted to make the trip to Fashion Week. He lined up a few events for me to go to, and a couple of meetings to attend, which turned out to be a major investment in myself.

When I first arrived to New York City, I  met with Kevin Flammia, the Founder and CEO of REINGE. In their SoHo showroom, he introduced me to the brand’s concept of high-end fashion for the athletic figure. Their use of a body scanner and its data to revise sizing was something I’d never seen before. That was the start of my relationship with REINGE.

Four weeks after fashion week, I came back out to NYC and called up Kevin in my free time. I stopped by the showroom and we brainstormed ideas. It was at this meeting that he proposed the idea of working together.  After careful consideration, I decided to take a leap of faith with this opportunity to see if the fashion industry is something that I really like. I was at a standstill with football due to my health and wanted to explore some other avenues. I was intrigued by the game of football, but I didn’t know I enjoyed playing ‘til I stepped on the field. I figured the same would be for fashion. Learning from Albert Einstein and staying “passionately curious,” I fully immersed myself in the industry to find out.

Everyday at REINGE is different. I’m working as the Brand Advisor to help coordinate events and curate social media content. I also have the pleasure of shadowing our designers, Jodi Ingham and Johnny King, in the studio.

One thing that I’m thoroughly enjoying is watching the designers bring concepts to life. It’s a lot more complicated than just sewing fabric together; it’s real work. I never thought about how much work goes into an everyday T-shirt, which is one of the things that intrigues me the most. Whether working with the seamstress, cut and sewers, or the marker, it’s fascinating to see how many people are responsible for making one article of clothing look great. This type of teamwork is something that I can relate to because that’s what sports are all about. I’ve had the privilege of not only playing in two Super Bowls, but winning one. I know what it takes to put forth a collective effort to accomplish one goal, and I intend on bringing that same mindset to REINGE. I have a feeling that through this process, I’ll find out where I want to fit in the industry. I’m in no rush.

[junker-town]

It’s Lionel Messi’s 30th birthday, so here’s my favorite performance by him

In 2009, with Diego Maradona in the stands, Messi put on a show against Atlético Madrid.

The Obelisco de Buenos Aires was inaugurated on May 23, 1936 to celebrate the 400th anniversary of the founding of Buenos Aires. It was built in less than four weeks and stands at 235 feet, in the Square of the Republic, where the church of San Nicolas de Bari once was. Argentina’s greatest monument was 24 years old when Diego Maradona was born in Lanús, just south of the capital city. Maradona’s birth took the usual 9 months and when he matured, he stood only at 5’5 feet tall.

On January 6, 2009, Maradona sat in the stands of the famed Vicente Calderon, among 54,850 others. He was there to watch Atlético Madrid play Pep Guardiola’s Barcelona in the first leg of their round of 16 Copa Del Rey tie. As the new manager of the Albicelestes, he was there to observe the 21 year old Lionel Messi. Though Maradona was shorter than the Obelisk, Messi and the average Spanish man who sat beside him, his shadow engulfed the entire arena.

It was in this same darkness of Maradona that Diego Latorre moved from Boca Juniors to Fiorentina and then into irrelevancy. Where Ariel Ortega lost his temper and headbutted Edwin van der Sar before trying to find solace in alcohol. Where Marcelo Gallardo went to France and then back home, then to France again, and to the United States before returning home for the final time. Juan Roman Riquelme, Pablo Aimar, Javier Saviola, Carlos Marinelli, Andres D'Alessandro, Carlos Tevez had all been made small by the shadow of Argentina’s greatest monument.

Messi’s first goal that day was a goal like many others to come in his career. Dani Alves brought the ball up the right side of the field before rolling it to Messi who was by the touchline. Alves then moved to the inside of the field, staying higher than the two defenders who were now focused on the Argentine. Messi took a few steps forward with the ball and the defenders engaged. Then he passed it to Alves and sprinted behind his markers. Alves, always one for the spectacular, back-heeled the pass through and it found Messi one-on-one with the French goalkeeper Gregory Coupet. An easy side-foot finish saw the keeper look back in agony as Barcelona took the lead.

He would score two more. But with Messi, what doesn’t happen is as just impressive as the ones that end up in the stat sheets at the end of the game.

When Maradona watched Messi, he must have felt as if he was seeing himself reincarnated. There had been numerous new Maradonas before, but Messi resembled Diego more than any other: the floppy hair, the left-foot, the mazy dribbling, riding challenges, the sometimes absurd vision and the high level of genius that made the extraordinary look absolutely routine. Yet, he couldn’t have been more different.

Maradona scored 38 goals in 58 caps in his time at Barcelona. At 24 years old, he was already in the argument for best player of all time. Yet, his time in Spain is regarded as a failure, not just in the professional sense but as the man himself admits, it was the beginning of a lifelong battle that would harm his legacy: “I was 24 when I started doing drugs. I was at Barcelona. It’s the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.”

On the field, the lasting image of Diego’s difficult time in Spain wasn’t one of his spectacular goals but rather something that showed one of the greatest differences between him and Messi.

In September 1983, as Diego went to control a ball in what seemed to be an easy victory against Athletic Club, Andoni Goikoetxea, known as the “Butcher of Bilbao” slid in from behind the forward with a terrible tackle that saw his ankle bent into a V-shape. Diego was carted off and diagnosed with a broken ankle. He was out for three months and Athletic won the league, just one point ahead of Barcelona.

The next time the two teams met, in the Copa Del Rey final, Diego got his revenge. Continuously hacked down again and bullied, he lost his temper. He pushed Athletic’s goalkeeper to the ground and as the shot stopper turned around while on one knee, Diego ran to him and kneed him in the face. Then he kicked Andoni, and everyone else who came after him. Never once backing down.

Atlético Madrid fouled Messi repeatedly in that 2009 match. As they had done previously and continue to do to this day. Not as a consequence of mistimed tackles, but as a general cynical tactic. In one instance he received a pass, and as he went to control it, a defender purposely ran into his standing knee. When he fell over and the ball went out to Alves, a second defender scythed the Brazilian down — after the original foul had been called.

Messi never once reacted to the provocations. At the most he asked the referee to card the one who had brought him down, but he never engaged with the individual. They took him down, and he came right up to continue on. Where Diego had the attitude of a street kid who never backed down, as Ortega, Tevez and Riquelme did, Messi seemed almost above those reactions. He was better than the ones who came for him, and he treated their dirty tactics as it was: a last resort for them to stop him. It was the same attitude that allowed him to not only survive but to thrive within the Obelisk of El Pibe de Oro.

When he was subbed out towards the end of the match, Messi received a standing ovation for his performance. Maradona stood and clapped as loud and as cheerfully everybody else.

Before he was appointed manager of the national team, Maradona had gone to see Messi in the Beijing Olympics. At the end of it, he said:

“I have seen the player who will inherit my place in Argentine football and his name is Messi. Messi is a genius and he can become an even better player. His potential is limitless and I think he’s got everything it takes to become Argentina’s greatest player.”

Six days after this match against Atléti, Messi won the Ballon d’Or over by a record 240 point margin — 473 to Cristiano Ronaldo’s 233. And since Omar Sívori had become a naturalized Italian when he won his in 1961, Messi became the first Argentine to ever win the award. He would go on to win it four more times.

[tboneburpee-blog]

Either much anticipated or at long last a new posting from the city of endless sunshine and beautiful scenery. It is almost shocking that is has been three months since the last posting yet life has been calm and crazy at the same time. I feel like no post is needed if I do not do anything but then it is good to send updates even when there is no exciting travel had… so here is a review of the antics since the last posting…

Sunset Oman

Sunrise Oman

Sunset Jebel Shams

Crowne Plaza at sunset

Sunrise on the Natural Reserve on the way to work

Oh the classroom… that has not changed and as of the first week of January changes for next year host the potential for teaching in upper primary or 7/8th grade English. I made the mistake of telling my assistant this information and she broke down in tears. I did not realize she would do this as I was trying to share the information so she could be prepared and see what her options might be for next year. Thuraiya says to me, ‘just wait maybe it will be better next year’. In the six years she has been working here she said that this is the happiest she has been. The other teachers she worked with did not respect her and treated her as if she was one of the kids. Who thinks they can treat another person so poorly! I treat her like a person and say good morning to her everyday. This makes her extremely happy and she does not want to leave the classroom… who knew I was that friendly and nice!!! The boys have not changed in my opinion, and I have honestly tried to like them and the grade, it is just not happening. I am not challenged (yes every day is a challenge) and this experience is making me not enjoy the classroom, which is sad given I have only been teaching for 8 years. Lord 8 years.. time flies!!! The boys are so catered/pandered to at home they struggle daily at school to do things on their own and need confirmation they are doing things correctly at every step.

Yes they may be ‘cute’ but do not be deceived

I struggle with this as you can imagine, the one goal I have as a teacher is to make the students independent learners so they may thrive and survive in the real world. I am, however pleased to say that some kids are actually learning to read as parents have thanked me for their success to date… But regardless of my distaste for this grade level, I go in daily and do the best job I can in the hopes the students take something away with them into second grade.

Muttrah Port – Sultan’s summer palace

Muttrah Port – fort behind Sultan’s summer palace

Muttrah Port – Sultan’s yacht

Muttrah Port – Dows

One highlight of our nonstop working were the National Day/Sultan’s birthday celebrations that took place. Our school was set up with carpets in the courtyard, hand-made craft stalls, food, and the kids performed saying prayers and singing songs to celebrate. The staff partook by dressing in formal Omani outfits. All went well for students and teachers alike especially since our celebration day ended at 1 pm and my friends and I left school to celebrate ourselves.

My boys on National DayMuscat, Oman

Ladies on National Day Muscat, Oman (Nareesha and Emma)

Courtyard Ladies on National Day – Muscat, Oman (Kelly, Harriet, Emma, Nafiza, Jo)

National Day fun – traditional woman

National Day fun

The people love His Majesty the Sultan so much and are so grateful for the safety and comfort within their country that he provides they honor him constantly; most took time during this holiday to decorate their cars proudly with photos of His Majesty and the colors of their country. The number of cars that were decorated (and creatively) was astounding. Interestingly enough, if you decorated your car they had to be cleaned by November 30th with all decorations removed. This was also the same for the cities and villages that put up holiday lights and flags during this time.

Muttrah Port Oman

Life during National Day – Muttrah Oman…

Sunset during National Day – Muttrah Oman…

Alleys in Muttrah Oman…

National Day fun – cars

National Day fun – Sifa

For National Day we were granted two days holiday (YIPPEEE!!!) so I arranged to flee and headed to Abu Dhabi, UAE to visit Trish and Colin from Bermuda who I had not seen in 10 years. Trish and Colin have lived in Abu Dhabi for two years and I was so happy they were home and welcomed my visit. To my surprise Nicky and her husband Podge (more friends from Bermuda) had flown in the following morning so the visit became a double treat. Trish and I paddle boarded in the mangroves, stunning! A little slice of peace and quiet in the bustling city. We visited the Grand Mosque, one of the largest in the United Emirates and has the largest hand-knotted rugs in the world with 2,268,000,000 knots. (Oman has the second largest with 1,700,000,000 knots) and rode bicycles with their son Charlie along the Corniche. The Corniche is a paved path that runs along the beach in the middle of the city. One has views of the various volleyball and football matches being played, the 7 star Emirates Palace hotel, Marina Mall, and the construction of the new Fairmont Hotel (ha ha!!). Riding along or running along this daily could help someone forget about a bad day and appreciate the beauty that is around them. I liked Abu Dhabi and look forward to going back and visiting with friends again soon.

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With Abu Dhabi done it was time to see what Dubai was like. Mind you the most I saw of Dubai was the inside of their National Stadium, some really fit men, and some wonderful costumes and I was okay with that!!! Who would be disappointed watching men in shorts with monster legs run around on a pitch in spectacular sunshine?!?! The sole purpose of our trip to Dubai was to watch HSBC Rugby 7s tournament. Yes, I think I am addicted and if this is my only addiction (aside from the beach and wine) …. I think I am okay with that. There were four of us from Oman who attended the games and we had a blast. Sadly the USA did not do as well as they did last year in Singapore but it was good fun to watch all countries play nonetheless! The rugby is fast moving and a thrill to watch. The speed and techniques are quite different from 15 aside matches so this changes the vibe and to help, the people watching is fantastic!!! We stayed in the Le Meridien Fairway which was perfectly situated to get to the stadium easily and the Irish Village. Irish Village being a must for any attendee to rugby or a visit to the city.

Dubai crew

Costumes of Dubai

Costumes of Dubai

Intermission during 7s Tournament – Dubai

Airport randomness

The 14 weeks we had between our October break and Christmas were long and filled with many social activities. The friends I have here are amazing and we have a great time together. I have also made a good group of friends outside of work, which is very important for me to do, I am not one to sit around and discuss work when I am not there so having friends outside of the work field is helpful. I do not check emails after school or over the weekend, once I am out the door work is behind me and my life moves on. One Thursday afternoon while sitting in Habanas (the bar at the Grand Hyatt Muscat) we wondered why we were drinking inside when there was so much glorious sunshine and a beach right out the door. We then remembered that we could not drink on the beach and there were no outside bars. Okay – this is one drawback of a Middle Eastern country! With that said we decided that our next Thursday outing would be on the beach and VERY discreet. We packed colors, blankets, snacks, Chili dog and headed to the beach for sundowners, happy drinks, happy times (whatever you want to call it). We people watched, chatted, and watched the sun go down. It was stunning just sitting there with such a good group of friends that we lost track of time and did not leave until well after sunset. And as of typing this blog we have done it three times!!

Picnics on the beach Oman…

Jo and I

Beach picnics in Oman…

Sunset a day…

Christmas time brought me back to the States to spend time with Momma bird and Mel, family, and friends. For a day or so I did not mind the refreshing crisp air that nipped at my cheeks and numbed my fingers, but it was unreasonably cold!!  I sucked it up, went for a run, slugged my way through a sinus infection, and soaked up family time and the Christmas spirit. I knew I would be back in the brilliant warm sunshine soon (and it would not be New England if it was not cold in December!!!)… Christmas is not celebrated in the Middle East so although the US starts Christmas in October it was a thrill for me this year to come home and hear Christmas music and see the decorations everywhere. At times like this it takes leaving a country to appreciate what you have left behind.

Boston you’re my home…

One thing that brought a smile to my face before leaving the Middle East for the East Coast of America was hearing the Boston accent and seeing a man wearing a Boston Red Sox cap while waiting to board my flight in Dubai. The man wearing the hat was probably wondering why I put on a big smile when I looked at his head as I did not say anything to him just kept on walking… never hurts to smile at someone for no reason either!!

    I was able to help Momma bird with things around the house, Christmas shop, meet friends, and just relax….After being away for six months it was nice to be back to the place I will always call home.

Arriving in Oman, I was greeted with open arms walking off that plane at 7 AM by the 20 degree heat and blazing sunshine (80 in F)! I quickly drove home after doing laps and making phone calls to figure out how to pay for parking at the airport long term parking which did not accept bank cards… WHAT?!?! Back home and reunited with Chili dog, it was time catch up on sleep. My two overnight flights and a hiccup in Munich proved to exhaust me;  the energizer bunny was done and needed to recharge!! Batteries charged …… a beach walk was in the future and catch ups with friends was on the menu. I went for a walk on the beach with Chili, went running, and went for dinner…. ahhhh life was restored!!!!

Photos of life in Oman…

sunsets Al Shatti Beach

black and white sunsets Al Shatti Beach

Life in Oman

Al Shatti Beach.. Muscat, Oman (fishing boat)

need a little arse in our lives – Yiti, Oman

Harriet and I

Jo, Emma, and I

Grumpy cow is what I was called …

Royal Opera House Oman

Beethoven’s 9th First opera – Scott (coworker) and I

Sun worshipper stump – like me..

Sunrise on the Natural Reserve on the way to work

Birds of Oman

Super moon

Parliament from above

4 wheeling in Oman – ocean views

Goats and boats – Sifa

Goats – Sifa

Donkeys and goats – Sifa

As for an update post Christmas and January….

Well departing Boston was easy in the sense of flights, it is never easy to leave family and friends behind.. visits are bitter sweet, but life moves forward as with time and I had to get back to work.  Checked into Boston for my first of two overnight flights.  Now I do love flying and get a thrill each time the plane takes off but overnight flights in cattle class came be a bit cramping to say the least.  Row of four seats I kindly asked the little man next to me if he wanted to move so he could have more room, he politely declined.. grumble (I was thinking leg room and sleep!!)… well we were off and there were empty seats in front of me, again I asked the man if he wanted to move and he said ‘ok’.. SCORE…. I got some sleep and arrived in Munich a little perkier early the next morning…I set out to explore the city after getting some coffee.  I know it might not surprise some of you but I was not properly dressed to explore a city in the winter, therefore my tour of Munich was a rather quick one.  I can say that what I did see amazed me and I look forward to going back.. IN THE SUMMER!!!! 

Quick tour of Munich

                  Concluding my tour I went back to the airport to warm up and try and check in for the second overnight flight back to Muscat.  I could not check in.. umph!!!  I wanted a seat on the aisle and was getting grumpy this might not happen… finally the check in counter opened and I surely did not get my aisle seat, in fact, I did not get a seat at all because my ticket was canceled… yes you are reading correctly… canceled.  Gobsmacked I made my way to the purchasing counter, trying to remain calm and pleasant, and asked the woman if she could get me on the flight back to Muscat… she replied, for 700 EURO I can yes!  I am sorry how much?  With no other option I bought the ticket, walked back to the check in counter and presented them with my new ticket, and tried to weasel myself an upgrade… did it happen?!?!?  NO!!!!!  Long story short, I did not fly the first leg of my already purchased round trip ticket therefore the airline kindly canceled a section of my return ticket (when they could have canceled the whole ticket.  Mind you I did confirm three times with travel agent in Muscat that this would not happen… ) Sleepy and back in Oman, Chili was delivered to me by a friend and gave big welcoming licks to wake me up.. aw I missed that pup!

Chili-dog

Back to work but not without ringing in the New Year strong.  Couple of us decided that we should do this properly and stay up for the ball drop.. a few too many glasses of bubbles, a taxi ride home and argument with a taxi driver, I woke up with a start at 7:08 AM… Holy $$$$ I was due at school at 7:00 AM..  hustled my tail into the shower, walked the dog, stopped for coffee (um come on now!!!), and got to school at 7:45… I walked into the classroom, slightly off as you might imagine and my assistant greeted me with the biggest smile and clapping!!  Lord I love this woman..

As we moved into January a group of us took an adventure ride from Muscat to Rustaq and over the Jebel Shams mountain range ending in Al Hamra.  The drive over the mountain range was stunning, every turn had another photo opportunity and we did not miss them.

Views over the range

Rustaq to Al Hamra

falaj water system – historic

hike to quiet qaterfall

because each valley needs a football pitch

Rustaq to Al Hamra – 4 wheel drive trip

Jebel Shams Range – Oman

evenings in the mountains

Sunset Jebel Shams

Al Hamra is a small village but what makes this town unique is that it also has within it a mud village.  The mud village has been abandoned for the last 30-40 years (when we asked a local he could not provide a better answer).  This town was reminiscent of New Mexico as the homes and outlying buildings were all made out of adobe.  Incredible to see a town abandoned because they did not have the knowledge or understanding of how to protect the buildings from rain or weather related issues.  Yes it actually does rain in Oman and they have no idea how to handle it, even this many years later.  The village was a little eerie yet peaceful to walk through.  One does not get a chance to walk through many abandoned towns in the Middle East.

Mud Village Al Hamra

Mud Village Al Hamra

Mud Village Al Hamra

Mud Village Al Hamra

Mud Village Al Hamra

Mud Village Al Hamra

Doors

Mud village – Al Hamra

Doors of the Mud village – Al Hamra

The adventures continue and the country amazes me when I get the chance to get out on the weekends and explore.  Life is full and exciting in Muscat.  I am grateful for the friends I have met, the places I have seen, and the opportunities that I have been given. I miss family and friends daily and think of them often but am really enjoying the experiences and my life in Oman. Thank you for reading..!!!

    Aw life in Oman.. 2017 Either much anticipated or at long last a new posting from the city of endless sunshine and beautiful scenery.

[michealsinclair]

Losing My Mother At 25 & Why Suffering Is Grace In Disguise

I'm writing this from grandmother's kitchen table in my hometown of Laurens, SC. My mother's birthday is today and I came home to celebrate with my family as I've often done in the past but this birthday will be different than all of the others I've experienced with her. This year I can't call her and joke with her about turning 21 for the 30th time.  I can't surprise her with flowers or a sweet card. There is chocolate cake here but it's what's leftover from what my grandmother baked for last Sunday's dinner, not a birthday cake. I won't see her smile or hear the voice that has calmed me more times than I can count. I won't be able to physically experience her at all this year because she passed away due to complications from Pancreatic Cancer in June of 2016. My mother was the third child my grandma has had to bury and honestly, I came home to be around her strength today. It's been nearly 7 months since my mother passed and the space between then and now has been filled with a lot of grief that I often don't know what to do with. This grief is preceded by about 2 years worth of confusion and guilt and depression and anxiety and anger and hopelessness and probably any other negative emotion that you can think of. I've suffered so much since that morning she called to give me the news. I definitely couldn't see it while going through it, but that suffering eventually led me to learning how to heal from the trauma of my past. That suffering brought me closer to my mom and closer to God than I've ever been. That suffering inspired creativity that I didn't know that I was capable of. That suffering led me to start questioning myself and everything I had ever been taught and has allowed me the grace to learn who I really am and become whole again.

I moved to Oklahoma City in August of 2013 to chase dreams of becoming a musician. I expected my mother to put up more of a fight when I told her the news that I was leaving but I think she knew how I felt about my hometown at that point. This would be my 2nd big move in less than a year -- the first being 16 hours away to Boston, MA and this one being 15 hours away.  She fought hard to keep me home before I moved to Boston, even going so far as to put my weeping 10 year old brother on the phone to beg me to stay home after I called and told her that I was considering a job offer up there.  But this time there was not much resistance from him or her. So off to OKC I went, guilt free, and started what would end up being one of the most magical experiences of my life but it certainly didn't feel like magic all the time. In fact, it's in Oklahoma City that I first learned that my mom had cancer. As if hearing that kind of news from your mom isn't enough to make you feel awful, imagine hearing it while also being 1000 miles away from home and not being able to hold her and console her when she told you. What do you say to your mother when she calls you bawling with news like that? I don't know and didn't know then so I lied and told her everything would be alright. I told her that we would beat it. I told her not to worry about the statistics that the doctors gave her because statistics had never applied to us before so why would they start applying to us now? I held it together as best I could on the phone because I assumed that I needed to be strong but as soon as we hung up, I lost it. I'm not sure the words "terror" and "hopeless" accurately describe what I felt in that moment. I didn't know what to do so I did what anyone else would do after hearing news like that, I got on the internet and started looking for ways to beat it. What I found instead were a lot of statistics that essentially said that we probably won't beat it. Statistics like, "95% of people diagnosed with PanCan die within 5 years of diagnosis". I've always been a glass half full kind of guy and it's really pretty hard to get me unhopeful about the future but I'm also a realist, and 5% is a slim margin. Not to mention, my mother's cancer was already in stage 4 when it was detected. These statistics haunted me everyday from the first day I read them. I've never felt more useless and hopeless than when talking to my mom who was suffering and not being able to make it better. Feeling useless was kryptonite to my superman complex. I needed to be in control and having no control in this situation made the pain so much worse. But eventually, through meditating and doing yoga, I began to forfeit control. I began to accept what is, instead of being so worried about what might be. I started living in the present and I stopped worrying about not having my mother in the future and instead switched my focus to appreciating her while she was here. Appreciating her fully -- something I should have done a long time ago but I needed tragedy to remind me of what I had.

Like most of the other relationships I have with the women in my life, my relationship with my mother was complicated. Also like most other women in my life, we had trouble communicating and often I felt like she'd hear something completely different than what I said. There was always a lot of love between us but I felt very misunderstood growing up and I think that contributed to the issues me and my mom had with communicating our feelings to each other.  When I was 11, my little brother was born and I became a self-made victim of middle child syndrome. I started to feel forgotten or at least secondary in the family and I think that's why in my teenage years and a few years beyond, I didn't feel as close to my mom.  I also always felt judged by her and everyone else in my family because my style, goals, and interests in general were different from most others in my family. Judging is a normal thing to do in my family but it always pushed me further away and made me feel more isolated. At home I'd often hear comments like "why'd you buy those ugly shoes?", "why do you like those tight pants?", "you need to shave that hair off your face", "those tattoos are ugly" and again, never were those comments meant to be harmful -- it's just the way some of my family members talk to each other but that stuff starts to get to you when it's coming from your family. I can brush off the judgements of strangers but it's different when it's coming from the people you've known the longest and are the closest to. Because I always felt judged by my family and because I couldn't stand my racist, closed-minded hometown, I couldn't wait to leave home for college. When I got to college, I didn't come home often at all even though I only lived about an hour away. I didn't realize it at the time but I later learned that my mom was hurt by this. Fast forward a few years to December of 2014, I came home from Oklahoma City to visit on Christmas break. It's worth mentioning that this is the first time I'm seeing my mom since she got sick and seeing how drastically she changed physically and it really impacted my mental state for the worse. At some point while being home my mom tells me that she doesn't like my hair which was in a natural (read: nappy) afro at the time. All she wanted was for me to comb it out and get it shaped up but I liked it how it was and I was such a hurt person back then and was so tired of feeling judged by them about how I chose to dress and live in general, so I decided to confront my sick mother about being judgmental right then and there. We got in an argument and I told her that the reason I couldn't wait to leave Laurens was because I felt like I was always being judged here. What she heard instead was that the reason I didn't come home was because she was always judging me and it really hurt her feelings. For sake of time, I'll leave out the gory details, but eventually me and mom finally had a talk about it all while I was still home for break. A talk that the little boy in me had been longing for a long time. A talk that eventually led to her being more accepting of me and of my little brother's budding uniqueness. We both apologized about that misunderstanding and other misunderstandings and we honestly have never been closer than from that point on. My mom was sick and suffering and I felt so bad for causing her more pain. But us finally talking about the pain she felt and the pain I felt brought us so much closer together. That pain tore down walls that were built over 2 and half decades and really gave me my first friend back, not just my mom.

Initially I felt like God was picking on me for no reason when my mom got diagnosed. Of course it was her who had the cancer, but I felt like I was being punished through her getting it. I remember being so angry at God. I couldn’t fathom the idea of how some superior being who supposedly is love and loves me unconditionally could allow my mother to contract one of the worst diseases known to man. My ego was literally offended -- I remember thinking that cancer wasn't supposed  to happen in my family even though my great aunt had just passed away from lung cancer a few years prior. Growing up, church was something I did because I felt like I was supposed to but always was repulsed by it deep down because I felt oppressed by it. By the time I left home for college, I felt like God was an authority figure always pointing the finger at me saying what he approved of and what he didn't approve of. I felt like he was always watching me but I wasn't really looking for him at that point in my life. I'd holla at him in a prayer when I was really down or if I wanted something, but other than that, I really didn't actively try to foster a relationship with God. I've always been spiritual so I thought about God often but usually as an afterthought.  When my mom got sick, I became so empty and so mad. The anger that I felt led me to begin a search for God. Not to beg him to heal my mom. I was more than done with seeing him in that regard. No, I began to search for God because I wanted to give him a piece of my mind. I began to search for God because I was pissed off not only about my mom, but also because of Mike Brown and all of the other unarmed black people being murdered in the street with impunity around the same time. I wanted to confront God about those evils and all of the other evils he allows in this world. I wanted a fight and had forfeited any fear I may have had of Hell because I felt like I was already living Hell everyday in not knowing how soon I was going to lose my mother. I'm happy to say that eventually I did find God. Not in the heavens but in my heart and not until I stopped looking for God with binoculars and started looking with a mirror. In that mirror I met the God that I always knew existed but had forgotten all about.  A God that is love so he would never punish you because where there is condemnation, there is judgement, and where there is judgement, there cannot be love. A God that would never hurt me, but allows pain because suffering is grace. Suffering is the sandpaper that transformed me from being an ignorant, ego-serving, self-absorbed, inconsiderate human being that I was into the person who is constantly working on bettering himself that I am today. The pain I endured made me more compassionate for the pain that I know that all sentient beings endure.  Suffering also taught me that if I continue to allow my external circumstances to effect my happiness, I'll never be happy because I can't always control my external circumstances but I can always control how I react to them.  

I've always liked that quote "smooth seas don't make for skillful sailors" but it took on new meaning to me while dealing with the storms that came along with my mom getting sick. Up until that point in my life, my happiness was directly correlated with what girl I was with, how much money I had, my relationships with friends and family, whether or not I felt like I was succeeding at life, and a ton of other circumstances that I don't have full control over.  For the first 6 months after hearing her tell me the diagnosis, I was depressed pretty much everyday. The anxiety was constant and at that time, I really didn't know what anxiety was, let alone how I could treat it. Now don't get me wrong, there were certainly days in which I experienced happiness but it always felt like that happiness was marked with an asterisk. That "happiness" was usually just pleasure in disguise that I was getting from the sex, drugs, and other vices I used to escape the pain. I felt guilty for enjoying anything while knowing that my mom was suffering everyday. My pain, which sucked while it was happening, now seems to have been absolutely necessary for my development. That pain led to my heart opening and allowed me to forgive myself and the people I felt had wronged me. That pain allowed me to consider if what I thought I knew about everything was wrong. That pain led me to meditate for the first time where I first met unconditional love and where I could successfully find solace from the constant neuroses of my mind.  While there's nothing I want more right now than to call my mother and congratulate her on another successful trip around the Sun, I know that she finds peace in knowing that her suffering and early death wasn't in vain. Thank you for all of the sacrifices you made to make me better, mama. Thank you for suffering and for the grace that your pain allowed me to heal. Thank you for waging hope against Pancreatic Cancer and for beating it everyday for 2 years.  I miss you but I'm so grateful that you don't have to hurt anymore and that you can continue to inspire without the burdens that this material world placed on you. I know that our parting, like all other things in this place, is temporary and I look so forward to being reunited with you again.

M.S.

This post originally appeared on michealsinclair.com