#its an essay for English to convince my teacher on why this subject is bad or good or whatever

[holywoodelevator]

Dawg it is so fun gathering evidence for an essay 🙏

[tamelee]

I love the way you write, you're so articulate, I wish I could write like that 😭 I'm guessing you get good grades in school? Do you have advice on how to write articulately and clearly while also sounding professional? Like in essay writing?

Huuuu, that’s very kind of you 🥹;-; I’d never imagine anyone saying that to me… ever. 

Well, my grades are good, I have my last exams soon ^^

I do have a few tips! Or rather, there are things I’m still currently learning that may be helpful to you as well📝: 

(Sentence) Structure: I read a book called ‘elements of style’ by William Strunk (revised edition) recently and I learned that no matter how grammatically correct your sentences are, there are still ways to improve its structure. (I had to learn it all over again in English -.-) This is a big topic so I'll name a few specifics you can dive into.

Learn the difference between active and passive voice (passive isn’t bad and sometimes necessary, but active is almost always preferred). Don’t mind all this on your first draft though. It’ll only hinder you.

Study MRU (motivation-reaction units), often used in Fiction writing, but it helped me for essays as well. It is the logical pattern of cause and effect introduced by Dwight V. Swain and I read about it in 'techniques of the selling writer'. Here's an article on the topic as well.

Mind paragraphs. There are different rules for this depending on what you’re writing, but it helps its readability. For Essays especially it’s always good to keep topics separate and lead the reader to your conclusion in a way that makes sense. (It's sorta like holding their hand and going like "because of this... there is this... and therefore... and so.... that's why....") This may need some reorganizing of your premises/subjects at times. I especially need to organize my thoughts before I even start writing.  

Understand what it is that you need to write about and delete everything that isn’t relevant. If you’re like me and you get a ton of new ideas once you delve into a subject, then it’s good to keep a folder (or something similar) for these new ideas. Often these are entire topics on its own and including these into another will only make both unclear and your conclusion muddy. So, ask yourself whether it strengthens your point, or if it’ll make it more confusing. If it won’t make a difference then delete it anyway or save it in your folder for later.  

I always learned that objectivity is important in order to sound professional, though it depends on the kind of essay you’re writing. If you need to convince the reader of something then transparency about your own opinions can help your conclusion be more honest, but be careful of sounding preachy as well. I had to learn all these things when I still studied marketing/communication in entertainment, but it often makes me feel slimy because it’s all very manipulative. (Hence, I quit that path.) It's in fiction as well. Some authors let their own views bleed through their characters in such a way it becomes uncomfortable because it doesn’t argue for the story nor adds to the character— it attacks the reader’s personal morals which possibly gives them an ass-spanking while they’re at it which just really isn’t necessary. Emotional language is fine I think. Sometimes I got compliments from teachers especially because I didn't sound too professional, it requires a bit of knowledge when you can get away with it probably. Just make sure you can back up your arguments/statements and possibly add different views as well. In a way it's more about the confidence in which you present an idea than sounding professional and not being able to understand all the 'why's' I believe.

This one isn't that relevant for school-essays, but sometimes when writing one the question isn't clear. It helps both you and the reader to reformulate it in the beginning. Essays as well as stories are often nothing more than a problem you need to give an answer to. Even if there's no question, it helps to make one anyway so you don't wander off endlessly and drown in a sea of possible subjects you could write about.

Something that may help you as well— I created a roadmap for myself and the different types of things I have to write. That way I always know what to do first and it helps me structure both the essay and my process as I can get easily distracted otherwise. Making more decisions than necessary makes me freeze up, but with a roadmap I don’t have to do either.

Uuh, I've probably picked up on tons of helpful things lately, but I think these are great to start with. I hope they are helpful to you.

I always wanted to (story-)write, but gave up on it and decided to learn how to draw instead. Then, I sort of realized that I was being an idiot, because that desire never left and I had to write other things anyway— like this for example, and simply accepting the fact that no one can understand the load of incomprehensible rubbish I wrote, just wouldn’t do. You can check my older posts… it’s awful. If I ever intentionally want to give myself another headache, I’ll go and read those. 

It’s definitely not perfect now, but hopefully I improved though. I think so. Sometimes I still get scolded as I tend to ping-pong between thoughts suddenly and I can hardly tell the difference between BrE/AmE. (As I grew up I learned English mostly through a sort-of-aunt figure from Canada that always forced me to watch British tv with her.) But, the past few months I especially had to write many essays and (argumentative) case studies so I decided to learn and become better in writing. If that translated back to Tumblr then I'm happy and you’ve made my day >< 

[wheatley-imagine-scenarios]

School

Since school is coming up and I’m not looking forward to it, I thought I’d do something fun about school to distract myself from the fact that I’m actually going to have to go into the building. And have gym. And do ‘social interaction’... Also, I think the cores in school would be entertaining and fun to write. Uh, this turned out a lot longer than expected, so, prepare for a long read.

Wheatley

He asks a lot of questions

It makes people think he’s stupid, but he actually is just curious and wants to make sure he’s doing everything right.

Presentations make him a bit nervous, but he ends up being the most entertaining one of them all

Mostly because he goes off-script and rambles about the topic or the project itself

If anything goes wrong in it, he talks about that too

“I forgot to add a period there, that’s- that’s just a run-on sentence now, so that’s not,, good. Just, uh, just pretend there’s always been a period there. You probably didn’t even notice it, actually, so just pretend I never said anything-”

For essays, he struggles more. When he’s talking, his rambling kind of carries him without thinking, but when it’s on paper, he has to focus on every single word he writes.

He has a hard time making that type of writing flow, with all the transition words and stuff. 

But when he gets to write a poem (mostly freeform) or a story with his own imagination, amazing things happen

He loves to create his own little world inside the paper, of which he’s in control

So, despite the essays and persuasive papers, english is one of his better, and favorite subjects

Not great at math

Chell tries to help, and tutors him outside of class to keep his grades up

Those two are partners whenever possible

If not, Wheatley pairs up with Rick

Gym class fucking sucks (agree with him there)

Even though he’s physically strong, he’s not very athletic since he’s still super clumsy and doesn’t have great coordination

Confident when it comes to tests, not too nervous about it

Probably didn’t study much, unless Chell forced him to

Bullied

Mostly verbally and from afar though, since,, he’s very strong and the students know this

One time Rick walked right up to him and called him a moron

Wheatley proceeded to clock him in the jaw

No one ever made the same mistake again

He apologized profusely though, insisting he didn’t know what came over him

This happened at the beginning of the year, before Rick knew him

Specifically, before he knew how fucking strong Wheatley is

So since then, Rick’s tried to get on his good side, despite, most likely not being genuine about it

Besides incidents like that, Wheatley’s not a fan of school fights, and doesn’t get why everyone gets so excited that two people are attacking one another

Like ?? Are they okay???

Getting school supplies is fun

School is not

GLaDOS

I mean, I guess she’d be called Caroline in this scenario

She’s the popular kid, I mean what else do you expect?

At least, unlike the stereotype, she’s actually smart instead of just hot and intimidating

She’s both of those things too, but-

Do people actually like her or are they just scared of her?

The world may never know

Calls Wheatley a moron on a regular basis, sometimes just to mess with him, but isn’t stupid enough to do it within arms reach of him

Even if she did, Wheatley’s reputation would be in more danger than her own physical well being

Science is her favorite subject

Did you really have to question that one?

She’s also really good at math, and would be a good tutor if she wasn’t such a bitch

I call her that lovingly, of course, but you can’t deny the fact she’s a bitch-

Probably the smartest one in school

Although Nathan would claim the title for himself

But she probably has more street smarts

Rick

Is the one who makes comments about how hot the teacher is and no one can tell if he’s serious

Rick: “I’d hit that” Nathan: “That is very illegal.” Rick: Hey, I’m just kidding,, kinda” Nathan: “I will not hesitate to report your sorry ass if you think about making a move” Rick: “Fine, damn, I’ll shut my trap”

Rick, motioning to Wheatley: “Hey, look who’s here. Bet you he trips and falls in 3, 2″ Wheatley: *falls over before making it to his desk* Rick: “And down he goes.”

He has been to the principal’s office more times than anyone else in the group

Whether it be for walking out of class without permission, being an overall asshole, or for trying to sneak into staff only areas

Which he has done before

Nathan is the only student who has witnessed this and its unknown whether he has ratted him out or if the teachers just saw him

Isn’t great in school, grades-wise, but convinced Nathan to tutor him once in a while to keep him from failing

Definitely has fucked a girl in the broom closet before

Doesn’t like school, but gym isn’t bad

Usually partnered up with Wheatley in gym class because he likes having strength on his side

Probably pushes too hard when writing, so any mechanical pencil breaks within seconds unless he’s concentrated on not,, doing that

One of the only students to prefer normal pencils for this reason

Nathan

An actual tutor

He has generalized knowledge of a lot of things, so he’s great both in school and with trivia

Has the top grades in class

Best and favorite subject is math

He can and will read a full length novel in the span of two days

Makes sure he has more than enough of each supply at the beginning of the year, just in case

Actually keeps track of his supplies so he’s not left with a single pencil he found on the floor by the end of trimester 1

He does give/borrow some to students who lost their own pencils, though

He likes school, but the teachers don’t usually appreciate his insights and interruptions in class (often to add on or to correct something the teacher is saying)

Pluto

Doesn’t like school, but the social aspect of it is fun

He’s also really good at independent projects, especially if it’s about something he’s interested in

You know. Like space, for instance

The day his teacher asked the students in class to build a model of the solar system was one of the more significant moments in his life /hj

His was the most accurate, much to the disdain of Nathan

Favorite subject is also science

Virgil

I wasn’t gonna add him, but his favorite subject is history

I can’t give you a real reason why, it just is

That’s it, that’s the only reason he’s here

[microsuedemouse]

last night I had an Absolute Stranger pop up in my notes to be totally hostile out of nowhere about my interpretations of some fictional characters. I took the initiative to block them because they were engaging in bad faith and clearly had no interest in discussing the subject. now they don't have to see my content anymore and everyone wins! but I've been thinking about it ever since, and I wanted to share some thoughts here, with those of you who are reasonable and not just trying to start arguments with people you've never interacted with before. I know that at times I've collected large numbers of young, passionate followers, so I think this is a discussion worth having with anyone who's willing to converse in good faith!

one of the most fundamental truths of how human beings interact with fiction is that every single member of the audience is going to have a different take on the story. if you ask me, this is also one of the most beautiful and interesting things about engaging with other fans of something. everyone is bringing something different to the table when they sit down to read, watch, listen, play, or otherwise take in the tale. everyone is going to have their own context through which to understand the characters and events in the story. when you're dealing with literally anything that isn't expressly stated by the storytelling, you're dealing with interpretation, and there is never only one correct way to interpret a story or character. this just isn't how fiction works.

let me give you a good, clear example of what I mean. several years ago, in one of my university classes, I read Karen Russell's short story St. Lucy's Home for Girls Raised by Wolves. the story is about a group of girls - maybe werewolves, maybe only feral children; it's left somewhat ambiguous - who are taken from their wolf families and re-educated by nuns to be proper young ladies. they're made to sit up straight and cut their wild hair and speak only in human languages, giving up the howling and growling they've used all their lives. it's difficult and unnatural for them. when my prof asked us what the story reminded us of, I was the one who brought up residential schools, and it seemed that a lot of my classmates agreed with me: the similarities were striking, even if Russell hadn't had that in mind. but an autistic classmate of mine had a different comparison to make - to her, the story was uncomfortably reminiscent of the treatment received by many autistic children, being forced to give up everything that comes naturally to them and conform to other people's expectations of their behaviour. both of these reads were completely legitimate.

you don't have to have an english or literature degree to understand this concept. think back to your early experiences writing essays in school, based on a book you'd been assigned to read. think about your teachers telling you: make a point, and then use evidence to convince me. this is one of the most basic ways that we engage with fiction on an academic level. and when it comes to fandom, we don't even have to go that far! while many fans love to put a lot of thought into their interpretations, headcanons, fanfics, meta, and other fanworks, many don't. there are a lot of reasons for this, from wanting to see yourself reflected in the characters you love to simply having fun shaking things up. you don't have to justify your interpretations (or your reinterpretations). you're allowed to play in the sandbox just because it's a good time.

a lot of us, when we really love a story or character, get incredibly passionate about our interpretations. that's normal and understandable. and so, naturally, we're also going to find people whose interpretations fly in the face of our own. but people who disagree with you are not inherently wrong. people are incredibly complex, which means two things: one, real people are going to have all kinds of complex factors affecting how they read a story, and two, there are virtually infinite ways to interpret fictional people when the information you're working with is necessarily limited. when they're working from the same baseline information, two people can have two wildly different understandings of a character and neither of them is objectively more correct than the other.

(this intersects a lot with conversations about coding and authorial intent. both of these are their own huge discussions that I'm not going to get into in detail here. both are important in their own ways, but when you cut down to the bone, the basic truth remains that audience interpretations are still going to go in all directions and that's still allowed. even when you're working exclusively with interpretations that aim to be entirely canon-compliant, neither coding nor authorial intent is the same thing as explicit canon. yes, it's still crappy to erase heavy queer-coding [for example] in media where that's the best representation that creators can offer us; that's a matter of social issues intersecting with fiction, which is another huge discussion of its own. but even what qualifies as 'heavy' coding is going to vary from one audience member to the next.)

for me, this incredible variety of interpretation is one of fandom's greatest strengths! I have made friends with people whose character interpretations are incredibly different from mine, or whose favourite ships are the ones I can't stand, or who hated stories I loved. I think trading these ideas, discussing the differences in our readings of the same subject matter, is so interesting. learning how someone reads a character or storyline, and why they read it that way, is always really illuminating for me! discussing our differing interpretations can be such an interesting way to learn about other people's points of view and broaden your own perspective. I so strongly encourage it. embrace the passion you share, rather than starting arguments about things that ultimately don't have much in the way of impact on your real-world existence. for sure, yeah, block the weirdo who romanticises an abusive ship that gives you the creeps. but when you meet someone who headcanons your favourite character to be a completely different sexuality than you do, or who ships your brotp romantically... there's huge potential there for some really engaging conversations.

this isn't a manifesto. the topic of fan interpretation is enormous, and includes so many smaller discussions, and intersects with so many other issues. I'm not claiming to have covered all the bases here. I just really encourage you all to accept that there are no Objectively Correct Opinions - that's not how opinions work! you know that, I know you do! and when you do come across work that's just so far from your interpretation that you can't stand it... just don't engage. scroll on past. block the poster if you want. no one is making you look at fanwork that you don't like. you are not obligated to interact with the people creating that work in any way. please, for the love of god, curate your own fandom experience. someone doodling fanart for a ship that doesn't jibe with you isn't hurting you. you have the power to remove it from in front of your eyes and go find something else you like better. go engage with things that do interest you!! you will be happier for it!!!

[creativetomato]

Platonia

Chapter 2

toska – n. a dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, a spiritual anguish

 Weronika Anastazja Kucharska was rather pleasent company he had to admit. She seemed submissive enough, listened to him, followed his advice like a lost puppy would, and when she didn’t know something and had questions she came to him. She was depended on him. Which only played right to his hands.

Tom saw her as a little toy, a pretty doll with big eyes and silky hair, he could use and play with. But he didn’t use her and kept from playing useless mind games with her. In all of her submissiveness, in all her politeness and calmness, there was barely any honesty in her. It was as if she had no real personality of her own. Not really. As if she was afraid of showing who she was. Was it fear? ...or rather, she was hiding her true self, her true intentions which made him more wary of her than he’d like to admit. She was a mystery to him, a girl full of contradictions, a person he wasn’t able to read, an enigma. And he hated that. When he had tried out his Occlumency skills on her there had been no reaction, no thoughts he could read or memories he could see. Just blank nothingness. By lack of her reaction he guessed she hadn’t even realized he had tried to read her mind, so, it was only natural he didn’t leave her out of his sight. Because something he didn’t know or couldn’t control was something that could stand in his way of reaching greatness. With these revelations Tom started to observere her every movement, like a hawk watching its clueless prey. Because Weronika Kucharska was not a normal teenage girl. There was something wrong with her, something he couldn’t grasp and when he reached with his magic he could feel her own sizzling like hot water dropping onto ice. Her magic was chaotic and restless, constantly in movement. Usually restless magic was seen in magical children, not in taught girls that had wands and used magic. There was something hidden in her magic, something far-off, and he fully intended to find out what it was. Because someone who had no control of their magic could be dangerous. Not only to his plans but to students and teacher, to Hogwarts, as well. With these thoughts he had started to keep her near him and when he had explained the classes to her, showed her homework she could start to work on as well during the holidyas, he was disappointed to realize there was no genius behind her, just average intellect at best. Yes, in some classes she was better than others. She excelled in Anicent Runes. Her knowledge on runes and languages was marvelous, but when it came to Herbiology she was just mundane. Everything they had to write down, theory and essays, she was simply average. She really only exceeded in Ancient Runes, and to his surprise in potions. At least that was what he could tell as lessons hadn’t even started yet. Students would return in the upcoming days though, as classes would start next week again.

„How do you know so much about runes?“, he asked her one day after New Years eve, after his birthday, sitting with her in the Slytherin common room and working on school work. At that she looked up from her essay, her bright eyes looking into his dark ones. He wasn’t used to people looking into his eyes so directly. She didn’t even flinch. She truly was an enigma.

„It… It was an important subject at my old school.“, she told him and dropped her gaze quickly. Too quickly. Tom had observed how she tried to avert topics that had to do with runes and he wondered why. His fingers twitched with burning curiosity, wanting to dissect her like a toad. Because she wasn’t telling him everything and it irked him to no end not being able to read her mind. So he had to ask her: „Your old school?“

Weronika didn‘t look up this time and simply nodded: „I went to Czocha College of Wizardry. It’s a rather small school. I should have gone to Durmstrang, but they don’t take muggleborns. And the one school in Russia… I can’t speak Russian. But I can speak German and Polish, so I was send to Czocha. It’s near the border to Germany.“

Tom started to get intruiged by that school he had never really heard anything about. She must have seen, or rather felt, his disbelief, as small as it was. She could also be used having to explain where she came from, probably having explained to teachers which school she had gone to.

„It’s really small. Only around two hundred students. Most of them muggleborn because of Durmstrang… over there I learned English too, just in case…“, she finally looked up at him and he obersved her face, every twitch and every emotion that crossed her features. Now he was even more curious: „Tell me more.“ He hated not knowing something and in his mind there was nothing more powerful than knowlegde. Surprised by the demand in his voice she looked up to him before she slowly nodded: „Alright… so… there are five houses. I was in Faust, the house of knowledge and power.“ She scratched her neck in thought and put down her quill she had written with on her paper: „Every house is based on one culture and Faust is based on German culture. We learn Alchemy, Runic Magic, Arithmancy, Herbology and… erm… let me think. Ritual magic…“ She started to count the number of lessons with her fingers. She really was a forgetful person, something he had been able to observe as well: „Beastology, Magical Defence and Theory, and… Mind Magic. Sorry, can’t remember the rest. It’s been a while since I left and so many things had happened.“ An apologetic smile graced her pale features and Tom smiled as well: „It’s quite alright. Still, the things you were thaught seem different than here at Hogwarts.“ At that Weronika nodded: „That’s true. But I’m fine. I mean… Alchemy and Potions is basically the same. Runic magic always fascinated me the most. Together with…. Well, really everything that has to do with magic. I’m only not that good at theory. I am more the type of person who just… does things. And I don’t like thinking too much about them, which also, you know… depends on the situation, and sometimtes I do think too much. But, still… I’d much rather just act.“

„How… un-Slytherin.“, he chuckled at her and that was something she had not expected. Not at all. His chuckle sounded deep, and a little breathless, but he was just a teenage boy and she knew his voice would change and mature, become deeper with age. She felt a blush creeping up her neck as emberrassment rushed through her: „Oh, stop it. There is much more to being ambitious or cunning… And I’m actually a pretty good liar.“

„A good liar? Do you think all the Slytherins are liars?“, he mocked her and her blush deepend: „I- I didn’t mean… stop putting words into my mouth.“ Again he chuckled amused: „I apologize. Although, with what you’ve told me… rather wanting to act… you would fit much better into Gryffindor than into Slytherin, I think.“

„No, not really.“, she shrugged her shoulders, „Because… I don’t just act. I… plan. I decide. Or I just… I think about decisions and try to find out what outcomes they have and… yeah, I’d rather act, that’s true, but not before planning it. And I am ambitious about the things I want. Buuut…“

„…but?“

„Sometimes I have reaaaally bad impulse control.“, at that she laughed for a moment and he smiled with a nod: „I see. But I am still not convinced if you really fit into the House of snakes, Weronika.“

„Niki.“

„What?“

„Why aren’t you calling me Niki?“

„Because Weronika is your name and I like it better. I barely use nicknames.“, he simply explained and resumed working. A few seconds later he felt her gaze leaving his form and she followed him, the only thing being heard the scraping of quill on parchment as she still felt the burn in her cheeks.

-

Somehow, without realzing it, he had started to feel comfortable around her. She was just there with him, spending time together. Him reading, and her doing the same or writing or sketching something into her notebook. It looked well-used and reminded him of his own diary. He didn’t like it; didn’t like how well she fit into his life, how she had just made herself comfortable around him, sitting with him at the table, eating and him helping chosing the right food to not over extert her stomach. She was never too loud but talkative, never overbearing but ever present. Sometimes she would leave, probably exploring the castle or talking to the teachers, and going to the Hospital Wing to get checked as she still hadn’t fully recovered from her escape to the British Isles. At one point she had taken her bag and wore thick clothing and told him she would go to Hogsmade. She had Albus Dumbledores permission.

„And what do you want there?“, he had asked her and she had just shrugged: „I want to take a walk on the fresh air. I rather enjoy the snow, you know? And see what I can find in Hogsmade. See what kind of stores there are…“

„Shall I accompany you, then?“, he had asked her after that, which had not only surprised her, but him as well. Because he truly wanted to go with her, spend time with her. Because he didn’t want her to go alone into the cold. She had a reather weak constitution and he would feel much better if he knew she would have someone with her. Yes, that was the reason why he didn’t want her to go alone; because she was his responsibilty, nothing more, nothing less. It didn’t matter how only a few days had passed since she had been here, with him, a calming presence beside him, always there. He didn’t like that. Not at all. He drew his eyebrows together but she was distracted by looking and rummaging through her worn out leather bag, smiling: „No, it’s fine, really. I want to go alone, think about things and… well.“ Weronika shrugged at her own words before shouldering her bag again when she was sure she had everything she needed. With that she looked up and smiled at him, her eyes twinkling: „See ya, later, Tom.“

So, she turned around and left the Slytherin common room, leaving him standing there, not liking how this new girl still intrigued him and somehow wasn’t what she seemed. She wasn’t normal. She was like him. Yes, Tom realized, she was just like him in the way he was special. Because she was special, uniqe. He just had to find out what made her so special.

A few hours passed and when she came back Tom was sitting in one of the couches, surrounded by books, one in his lap. As soon as she came in he closed the heavy book to turn his attention to her. Her cheeks were glowing, her nose even redder from the cold winter outside. There were snow flakes already melting on her thick clothing and her hat, melting on her glasses as the snow flakes turned into little water droplets. She pulled the hat down and her messy hair was electrified and simply put a mess.

„Whew, let me tell you, it’s pretty cold outside.“, she sniffeled a little and he slowly got up from his sitting position to make his way towards her. He noticed how there were no gloves on her hands and unhappy with this new revelation he clipped his tongue. At that she looked up at him before he took both of her hands. They were ice cold. He didn’t like that. She could get sick and she still needed some time until she was fully recovered. He knew that from experience.

„When you came here you were already in bad health. You really shouldn’t have left while it was snowing this hard outside.“, he chastised her with a scowl he hadn’t realised he was wearing. He didn’t even look at her face as all his attention was on the hands he was holding and rubbing inside his own, trying to warm the cold skin.

„Tom, it’s… it’s fine, really.“, there was awe in her voice and only then did he stop. What was he doing? What was he doing? Acting like a fool, caring about her and her stupid cold hands. Yes, she was mysterious and he wanted to know everything about her, wanted to know why he wasn’t able to read her mind, but it didn’t mean he wanted to be close or intimate with her. The relationship he was building with her was just a means to an end. However, as soon as she stepped into the room he had been concerned with her wellbeing, remembering what she had looked like that first day; broken and weary, twitching at every sound and restless in a way that was too farmiliar to him. It had been over a week since then, and again, did he think about how she had carved a place beside him. No, Tom didn’t like that. Not one bit.

He dropped her hands as if he had burned his skin on her own.

Quickly he straigthened his shoulders and there was a command in his tone he usually only used with his knights: „Go, take a shower or a bath, and warm yourself up. I’ll wait for you, so we can go to dinner together.“ After his order he turned briskly around and went book to the place where his books waited for him. The silence that followed was heavy and filled with uncertainty but he didn’t care. He did not care. He shouldn’t care about other people. He should only care about himself.

Tom didn’t look up when he heard her steps leaving the room to get to her dorm room. The only reason he should keep her so close was to find out her true intentions and why she was able to shield her mind so well.

-

When Weronika had left she had still been in awe. Back in the common room she had been surprised and even weirded out and somehow out of touch with reality. She could only stare at her now warmed hands he had held so lovingly. Because Tom had cared. He had cared about her and her well being, to the extent of even being worried. He had wanted to come with her, too. She looked down at her own hands and remembered the warmth of his skin. She never would have thought he would be this warm. And she should be mad too, with how he had ordered her to get warmed up, but she had been too awestruck. He had seemed like such a cold person from the beginning, and he just seemed like this unapproachable character; or maybe she just wasn’t used to such kindness anymore. And after spending this much time with him she had realized what a genius he was, how much he knew, and God, how good he was at teaching. Usually, when someone had tried to explain something to her she had not understood, people had grown impatiend, but not Tom. He stayed calm, answered all her questions as best as he could, was patient with her and wasn’t even angry when her mind started to wander again. And when he realised how restless she became, with her leg twitching uncontrollably, he would stop with homework or with whatever lesson they were doing, because before she knew it, he knew she needed a break. No one had ever been this patient with her. Not her friends, and not her family. She wasn’t used to someone caring about her like this.

Weronika took a deep breath and closed her eyes, her hands still in front of her as she had looked at them. Slowly her hands turned into soft fists. She shouldn’t get distracted by Tom. He was charming and good looking and his voice could do things she should hate. But she didn’t hate it. Far from it. Her body reacted in ways she had no control over and if there is one thing they had in common it was the love for control. Alright, she had to admit, she wasn’t that good at it, but still, she loved knowing everything about everybody, not because she wanted to blackmail or something, but because… just because. There was no real reason, really, only the traumatic experiences of her past that made her wary of others, and knowing everything about everyone made her feel safer. More prepared. Yes, it was all about being prepared in case someone had the ill intent of wanting to hurt her. Because she had been hurt enough in her life. By family, by friends, by enemies, by her own hands. And it was no surprise that she had no healthy coping mechanism when it came to her traumatic experiences and anxiety. To cope with her emotional anguish she liked to hurt herself, and she was good at hiding it. She opened her eyes and looked again at her hands. It wasn’t that she was cutting herself. Nothing like that. It was just that sometimes when things got too much, she couldn’t stop herself from harming herself until she bled in ways that wouldn’t leave scars.

Again she took a deep breath before going to her bed. Her thoughts returned to Tom and while she started to underss to get under the shower as he had instruced she wondered if he would still act the same when the other students returned from the holidays.

When she was finished with her shower she dressed into one of the uniforms she had gotten. Stockings and the green pleated skirt went to her knees, the design high waist as was appropriate for the decade she was in. She stuffed her blouse into the skirt and put on the beige soft cardigan that warmed her enough. Then came her brown leather boots she had came to Hogwarts in. They weren’t thick and not appropriate for snow, but good enough for Hogwarts halls. When she was finished she put her hair into a messy bun. She shouldered her bag that she had filled with schoolwork and her sketchbook before she decided to return to Tom. Dinner was waiting for them.

-

There were no words exchanged as they had gotten on the way to the Great Hall. They were pretty much the only students in all of Hogwarts, as all the students had left to their families to make sure they were safe from the raging war and danger that were both Hitler and Grindelwald. Tom had no family to return to and Weronika? Weronika had lost her family. With a gulp and a heavy heart she remembered her mother, her step father and her brothers, and how it gnawed at her heart that she didn’t miss them as much as a daugther and sister should. There were no friends to miss either; except the selected few.

When they arrived at the Great Hall they sat opposite of each other like they had the days before. She was still trying to eat slowly and to not over eat as he had warned her several times. At the memory on their first dinner together she looked up at him. Since she had returned from her short shower he hadn’t said a thing. He seemed to be colder than usual, withdrawn and she felt as if she had done something wrong. Nibbling on her lower lip she ignored the food before her as she thought of anything she might have done to anger him. But no. She hadn’t done anything wrong. Had she? Then why was she getting the silent treatment? The cold shoulder? Maybe she had overstepped her boundaries? She did that sometimes. Her mother had always warned her to not step out of line, to be the perfect church going daughter, so she always tried to be good, always tried to do nothing wrong. It didn’t always work; being good and sweet.

„…Tom?“, she saw the tensing of his shoulders and suddenly she felt her anxiety build up inside her chest into a tight knot. „Tom.“, she tried to sound more sure of herself, more secure, and was glad when she did a somewhat good job, „Are you alright? You… you seem different than usual… erm, have I done something… wrong?“

When he looked up from his meal he realized she hadn’t taken one bite and he also realized that she was worried. Worried that she had done something wrong. And her worry was honest. Through her glasses he could see the worry in her blue eyes. Tom had to admit he was angry. Not at her, although she was the reason for his anger. No, he was angry at himself, because he had gotten too attached to her. Yes, attached. To another person. In a matter of days. But it didn’t matter. Soon enough his knights would return and with that his attention would be drawn to things that had nothing to do with her. Simply put they probably had spend too much time with each other as she was the first person he had over concentrated on this much. Not even his knights enjoyed the amount of attention she received.

So, he smiled a reassuring smile: „No, don’t worry. I was just… thinking. In a matter of days the other students are going to return and with that my obligations. I won’t be able to spend as much time with you anymore. Also, in the next few days I’ll have to prepare myself, too, so… I hope you will be able to study on your own.“

„Oh…“, that… that was not what she had expected. Not at all. Because they had become somewhat friendly with each other, too, which was… strange for her, to say the least. Having some kind of companion was strange and she simply wasn’t used to befriending people. Never was.

At his look she quickly tried to find the words for a better answer: „Ah, yeah, it’s fine.“ She smiled nervously at him: „Really, I get it. I just thought… well, nevermind. But I do hope you won’t forget me in all your obligations.“ Her answer made him smile a disarming smile and she blushed at that. Dinner turned peaceful and so were the next few days. And true to his words Tom had less time to spare for her. Which was fine, really. He had been nice and charming and forthcoming and he was just acting like a gentleman. Which only angered her. Was she really so easily swayed? On the other hand she had been exhausted, emotionally and physically, and she had needed a few days to recover. In her weakened state her concsiousness had wanted to lean on to someone and with Tom being so forthcoming it was no wonder she had chosen him. Truth to be told she still needed time to recover, wanted even to depend on him, but time was limited, at least for now, so it was only good Tom had put some distance between them as it cleared her mind.

She was here to change things that should never be changed, nontheless she wanted to try it. It was too late to stop now and she had already lost a part of herself during the process. The things she had done to be safe in an unkown future could be called immoral, but she didn’t have the privilege to be morally good. A long time ago she had realized that being ethical was just a cage people liked to build around themselves. It condemend them to untruths and comfortabilty and only allowed change to a certain point. Morals were things people hid behind like a warm cloak during a storm and after realizing that she had put away her morals to do whatever she could to protect those she had learned to love. Slytherins were loyal to a fault and she was no exception. With shame and new determination she tried to ignore her hurt feelings because she had no time for friendships, no time nor energy for useless comardrie that would only drag her further into a pit of anguish and torture. She had to figure things out, had to get healthy and well again and before she could do anything about her life in Hogwarts she had to think about repaying her debt. Because without him she never would have made it to Hogwarts.

Tom only distracted her and she had gotten too attached too fast to him. The reason for that were not unkown to her. She was a touch starved being – ironically hating to be touched by other people – and starved when it came to love and affection. Toms patience and gentleness, how fake it may be, was something she could fall into, a warmth she had missed her whole life, a carressing hand that should have been her mothers. She sighed; and ultimatly held Toms attention again. He seemed to misunderstand her sigh as he straightened himself before leaning forward towards her.

„Look, Weronika…“, he started quietly and she looked up at him, „I… enjoyed our time together. I really did.“ Why he told her that she wasn’t sure of, but every of his words could be a lie, even if they didn’t feel like lies. She lost her trust in people a long time ago.

„But I am Prefect and I tutor a few students. Also, I am part of the Quidditch team, and there are many other things I do in my free time.“, he explained to her and she wanted to tell him that it was fine, that he didn’t have to explain himself, and somehow she couldn’t. She just stared at him, touched at his attempt to make her feel better. Had she looked that saddened by the fact he would have less time for her?

„…it’s fine.“, she said and her quiet voice sounded uncertain and a little embarrassed, „You don’t have to explain yourself to me. We… We aren’t dating or anything like that… it was just… I think going through the things I went through… I think I just started to depend on you because I… I didn’t have anyone for a long time. It’s… It’s hard to explain but… gosh… Ich fühle mich so dumm… dumm, dumm…“ She shook her head, murmuring the last words to herself and he looked at her with a expression she couldn’t quite read. So, she smiled: „Sorry. It’s just…“ And before she knew it tears started to swell in her eyes. A break down? Now? Gosh, how pathethic.

Her fork fell onto her dinner as she started to wipe her tears from under the glasses. From out of nowhere he had conjured a handkerchief and held it out to her and she took it with mumbled thanks. As she started to wipe her tears away he took one of her hands in a comforting touch, his thumb stroking the soft warm skin of the limb. More tears started to wreck her body, accompanied by silent sobs that shook her into the depths of her soul. She wanted to explain herself to him, wanted to tell him it wasn’t because of him she was acting this way, but she couldn’t find the words, only holding on to his hand as if he was her lifeline. She didn’t know how much time had passed until she was somewhat calm, his handkerchief wet with her snot and her tears. She laughed then, a humourless sound: „Sorry. I just…“Then she shrugged and he nodded as if he understood. But Weronika knew he didn’t understand. No one understood. People may have went through traumas, but everyone was different, everyone percieved things differently, and no one would ever understand the pain she was going through. She was selfish in that regard and holding on to her pain and being afraid of losing all the other things she was still able to feel. Happiness had left her to die on a bed of tragedy a long time ago and now she had cloaked herself in the blood of her tears and forged a weapon with her pain, striking everyone who would dare to stop her from her goals, the only thing giving her the power to do so being hope.

„Ya‘ know…“, she started, sounding strange because of her stuffed nose, cheeks hot and eyes burning, „I used to dance ballet.“

At that a stunned look crossed his features but he kept silent and let her talk: „I started when I was really young. Maybe… four or something? Before I even knew magic existed. My family was poor but my mother wanted me to have a good life – a life she never had. So… so she send me to tutors for ballet and piano.“ She shrugged at that and tried not to look at him. Strangely he had not let go of her hand and had not stopped carressing her warm skin with his thumb. He had beautiful long fingers and big hands, a little rough from playing Quidditch. Hands worthy of a piano player. She liked the image of it.

„But at some point… only weeks before I got my letter for Czocha… we changed shoes.“, Weronika sniffeled and knew she needed to explain this, because she couldn’t imagine him knowing about the footwear of ballet, „At first I learned dancing in… in comfortable shoes. Made out of leather and silk, and… then… when I was good enough we changed to… to pointe shoes. They… They are very uncomfortable and… well, uncomfortable isn’t right.“ She laughed at that and wiped her nose with the handkerchief he had given her, the food now untouched and ignored by both of them, ignoring any curious glances thrown their way: „They are fucking painful. After training for the first time with them I wasn’t able to walk the next day. They… They are hard on the inside at the front, so-so that dancers may stand on their tip toes, and… and… God, it just hurt so much. So… So I stopped. My mother didn’t like that, of course, but then came the letter and… and it was blessing in disguise, really. And… And I hated pain, I still do, but... when I was still just eleven years old I thought that would be it. But by now I have went through so much pain, I just…“ Her breath hitched and she had somehow lost herself in her words, forgot what she had wanted to tell him with the little part of her life she just shared with him. So, she shook her head, before she tried to find the meaning behind her words: „What… What I want to say is… is… I… after all this pain I have went through… I guess I just sucked in the attention you have given me. So, it’s alright if you don’t want to be friends or anything like that. That... That’s all I wanted you to know, I guess. That I’m just this weird foreign girl sucking in any affection like a sponge.“ Her pointed look at his hand holding her made him realize what she meant, so he nodded. But he didn’t let go.

„I see… and I am sorry you have went through so much pain.“, he told her, his voice quiet but his gaze never leaving her, his eyes burning into her soul, „And I wouldn’t mind being friends with you.“ A slow smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and before she knew it she gave him a watery smile as well. Squeezing his hand thankfully for understanding her she finally pulled back her hand.

„And now I’m not hungry anymore.“, she laughed as if to say how silly of me when in reality she only wanted to change the topic. Tom humored her although he wanted to press her for more answer. Had she been anyone else he would have already used Legilimency on her; he would have unwrapped every single one of her secrets and read her like an open book. Instead he had to rely on her words and expressions, the way she cried and smiled and moved.

Hours later, when he was lying in his bed and thinking back to their conversation he mulled over her words; over and over again, analyzing them. From what she had shared with him pain had became a part of her life at some point. There was also a desire to be accepted and loved, to be held and embraced. When he had been a small child he had held the same desire, but now he scoffed at these romantic notions. He was a powerful wizard, he only needed himself. Affection wouldn’t help him achieve his goals, but girls like Weronika were dependend on them. With her tale she had shared the way he would be able to control and manipulate her. He smiply had to become the person she would confide in the most, the person she could lean to and trust. If she truly was as touch starved as she thought it would be easy, really, to get on her good side. He could whipser sweet meaningless nothings into her ear, make her blush, hug her and coddle her like a babe. It was a small price to pay if it meant he would be able to gather all her secrets like the collector he was.

A smile grew on his lips as he slowly drifted to sleep. Yes, it would be easy to turn her into his submissive little pet.

[whats-the-story-tc]

13th of March, 2020

"The One with V's Sister"

[REALLY LONG ONE. I got her back for a day, you best believe I'm savouring every single goddamn second.]

Shenanigans below the cut:

Another day, another ponytail. :-)

I dreamt with her again the night before. We were at this school event and I introduced her to my Dad. As they shook hands, Dad was wondering where he'd heard her name, then asked me if she was the one I always kept talking about. V just chuckled and said that I am her best student, but I never tell her stuff like that. Dream-me was probably blushing profusely.

Right. So. Morning. Bandana Friend and I were at the secretary's office to ask for something and lo and behold, there's V in her usual seat turned towards the door, hands glued to her phone, hair pulled back. I got really excited. I had two whole classes to drink in the sight, and I simply couldn't wait. "Whoop, there she is!" Bandana Friend told me. "Yeah, I saw her. And her hair is up!" We got excited, then remembered we said it loud enough that she could've heard. A laugh was had.

After that encounter, I was informed that we were to write a pretty important test in V's class that I didn't even know about. I tied my hair back as well, and spent the whole of my History class rather anxiously cramming anything and everything Grammar-related. Class ended, and my classmates were pleading with me to try and convince V to postpone the test a little, because she likes me. (It's not worth much, though. They say that about every teacher.) I told them that even though she does, she wouldn't listen to me, either. "There's no getting a plan out of that woman's head," I said.

Turns out, I was once again boo boo the fool. V decided to axe the test and have us write it a week later. I could've kissed her. I actually went: "MISS!" out loud from the surprise, hands thrown up in the air. And not only did she axe the test, she told us exactly what to expect and what we need to know, when we eventually DO write it. And, even though we'd previously discussed everything she mentioned, she took the time to go through everything once again, explain every important thing one by one. And she spoke English again! Okay, it was one word, when she brought up euphony, and said how everyone says German is a violent, angry language because of its phonetics, and brought up the classic "butterfly/Schmetterling" example I'm sure most of you are familiar with.

As she was talking about stylistic value, and how it can differ depending on the context, she brought up the very word she called me the last time we shared a walk, the one I translated as 'babydoll'. I immediately started smiling. Pleasant memories. And, as she went on, now talking paradoxes, she brought up the epigram I associate with her. Odi et amo. I looked away from her with a bittersweet smile. I couldn't believe this was actually happening. But the rest of the time, I couldn't keep my eyes away when I wasn't writing. There was always something to look at. Her hair, her eyes, her smile, her coffee mug necklace, her outfit and body (*cough* low-cut T-shirt *cough*) and basically everything. Cynical Twat (who no longer sits behind me) had his eyes on me for a while, while I was looking at her like she hung the stars. I think he's onto my ass. Fuck.

We also spoke about the other class in our year, as they came up. I asked V if they were ahead of us, as she said she keeps mixing up what she discussed with us and them, and she told me we were basically even at the moment. Then came the obvious question from Blond Boy in the Back: who does she like more? V was very reluctant to answer that, not wanting to generate tension between us, and only wound up saying that we were a lot more disciplined while the other bunch act more freely, and that she likes them and they'll mature someday. She also mentioned she has class with them in really unfortunate time slots and that not even the best class would want anything to do with her or her subject in 7th/8th period. I was about to protest, but I remembered it would be best not to. It's not like she'd respond, anyway.

Towards the end of class, we practised recognising different types of symbolism in poetry. There was this one about tree branches throwing black bouquets on the ground. I wondered what it meant — exactly until the very moment V asked us what it meant. That's when I realised it referred to shadows, and said it immediately. V didn't look at me, just pointed at me as she repeated my answer. She didn't have to reach far — she was standing right next to me. It was quite the common occurence in that very class, as she kind of alternated between standing at the board and by my side. Brb, gotta go get my tinfoil hat.

I also remember the two of us (ft. Comparison Boy I think, but mostly just V and me) having a short debate about whether or not this one famous poem was picture poetry or not. We were so persistent that V ended up telling us something along the lines of "Okay, it can be viewed as such, but technically, it isn't." Ha! Success :)

At the end of class, just to get a proper conversation out of her, I trotted up to her to ask if the definitions of metonymy and synecdoche I jotted down for myself after a bit of extra research were passable. She said that she'd word them a little differently, but technically, they were passable. Cool. End of story.

...at least I thought so. But more on that later.

She gave us back our earlier tests, one Grammar I fucked up here (I only got a B for it, my perfectionist ass can't take it), and the Literature one from here. A+. Huh. And, for once in her life, V actually signed a test! (I'm not exaggerating when I say I've never seen her signature in the past, nearly 2 years.) But what was best, is that when we looked at Debate Friend's test, couldn't finish her essay and barely wrote anything, under it stood, in red V-cursive: "I know you ran out of time." You guys, she gave her maximum points for it! We were full-on gushing when we saw it. Angels walk among us, I tell you.

Later, I had a splitting headache in (foreign) English, and told Curly Friend that I probably would suffer through my upcoming last class of the day if it wasn't going to be with V. I think I told her I always go to V's classes to catch a break. Not because they're easy, but because I can relax and listen to things I love hearing about, from a woman I love listening to. He told me that V was feeling pretty poorly, too (he had double class with her after she was with us), which surprised me. Aside from one story she told us about her dad (she mentioned both her parents today which she doesn't usually do), she was rather very smiley and energised from the very start of class with us. The only time I saw her be more serious was when I spoke to her after class. There was something about her eyes I noticed, but didn't think much into it. The usual sharp-cold fox eyes (I thought it through, they're more fox-like than cat-like), piercing right through the soul upon first glance. Now I realise how tired she must have been.

7th period Literature, aka where things genuinely started getting crazy. Whew. Here we go. Just before we actually got started, my homeroom teacher showed up and called V outside for a minute. You'll later see why. Then, class proceeded as usual. V set up everything, then put on a video about romanticism era here, at home. But, as per usual, V couldn't stop herself from making notes on the board and pausing the video to add her own commentary. Most of the time, she was crouching beside her laptop, with a complete disregard to me looking at her instead of the video whenever she did that. Once the video was over, she explained some things, her back against the board. She realised she got a whole person's name wrong, and, upon noticing she smudged the writing a little, she remarked "I hope I wiped the board with my hair again," and reached for her ponytail. I was laughing to myself. What do you mean again, love? My dearest, the train wreck.

Second video, about this play based on a queen's assassination in the medieval times. V said it was a tragedy, and asked us what a tragedy was. As I was trying to lace my thoughts together, I did notice that quick look she stole at me that basically said "Come on, Specs, you're the drama expert, say something or this is gonna get really awkward." Me and this other boy did manage to answer, though. After that, it was video time. V took a seat on an empty desk at the other side of the classroom, so she wouldn't block the view. Coincidentally, I had perfect view of both the screen and her. And that's where everything started getting mad.

She noticed. As I was watching her reactions, she turned to me and looked me in the eye before turning back to the video. And after that, though I didn't dare to look at her as much, most, if not all my gazes were returned. When the title character eventually stabbed the queen, she let out this extremely ridiculous scream straight out of a cartoon (well, they WERE cartoon silhouettes after all). I look at V, she looks back at me with this smile of "yeah, I know". Thing is, even in the next 'scene' with a trial, taking place presumably days later, the queen's body was still on the ground. I couldn't help myself, and asked "And they just left the queen there?" V burst into a grin as she looked at me to say "No!". This time last year, I used to get very Done™ looks for this kind of joke, and no verbal response at all. We're getting somewhere, ladies and gentlemen and enby people.

After the video ended, I actually raised my hand this once, to point something out. V was about to start speaking, but said "Yeah?" when she saw my hand up, dropping that train of thought immediately. I talked about how ironic it was that only the queen and her brother's silhouettes were black, and the rest of them were white. As I thought, it symbolised who were meant to be the good guys and the bad guys. I also brought up chess, which V agreed to, and I could see she was glad that there's someone who actively pays attention to detail.

I said it was mad before? Whoo, boy, then it's about to get insane.

Class ends, and V is packing. I was standing there anyway, so I thought I'd help a teensy bit, putting the projector cable away for her so she only had to deal with her laptop. I got a "Many thanks" for it when she noticed. And then. Oh, then. I'm standing beside her desk, not saying a goddamn word, and she, completely unprompted, starts talking to me about the play in depth. She didn't even call my name to get my attention, because she knew I'd be listening. (Been there, done that.) She told me that she finds the plot interesting, and as an adult, she can appreciate it, but the whole thing is written in such a dry and complicated way (she frowned saying this), that she can't help but have mixed opinions about it.

These are all things she mentioned in class before and needn't have repeated, but I was kinda glad she did. I let her talk, adding my own opinion whenever I felt like it, drinking in the fact that she wanted to talk to me specifically about it. I told her that as an actress, I find the characters interesting and I'd love to do this play because the plot really does sound interesting. The look she gave me... she looked me in the eyes, not a word said. It wasn't the fox eyes, it felt more like she was focused on me. There was a depth to it, a silent intensity. I have no idea what she could've been thinking, but I think she might have tried to imagine it. "We'll continue this on Tuesday." she told me, as the bell was about to ring. Lmao, as if.

But it didn't end there, oh, no. Sorry, you have to read a little longer. When she left the classroom, I realised: "Hold on there, V, I'm not done with you yet" and immediately went after her. She walked over to Art Friend, who was writing a test outside, at a nearby table, to check up on how she's doing. Me being me, as they finished talking, and more of my friends started to gather around, I decided to check up on how V's doing. And — you guys aren't going to believe this —, for once, she didn't ignore me asking her how she was! She said that even though she wasn't a hundred percent well, she was doing fine. She didn't plan on not being at school on Tuesday, but life got in the way. (She even explained how, we goin' personal in here.) She didn't say anything when I told her to take care of herself, but I didn't really expect her to.

(From here, our topics might not be in chronological order, because I literally don't remember how it happened.)

There we were, on opposite sides of that table, facing each other directly. "Is the weather changing again, Miss? Is that why my head is splitting apart?" I asked her, thinking adults always know about the weather anyway. "Maybe. Or you're just sick and we're all going to die." she told me as she was putting stuff into her laptop bag. "Oh, great. Bright future you're predicting for me, Miss, thank you." I responded, somewhere along the lines of this. I don't remember the exact thing. "We're all going to die one day, aren't we?" "Well, yeah..." "Just think about all the times we could've died as children..." Bright and optimistic topic in the middle of a goddamn pandemic, courtesy of our very own Miss V. But me and Debate Friend chimed right in with our stories anyway. If there are two people who are ride-or-die with V's weird shit, it's us.

I remembered what happened the previous day, Comparison Boy calling me by her name. "[Art Friend], should I tell her about [Comparison Boy and co.]?" I asked my friend out loud, because I know V absolutely hates not knowing stuff. "Oh, Lord, what happened?" V asked immediately, both elbows on the table, watching curiously. See? This is why I adore teasing her. It's the reaction. "Long story short, they don't call me by my name anymore." I said, not daring to look up at her, no matter how coy I was being. Inside, I was still afraid of what she'd say to being compared to me. "Whose, then?" No going back. "Well, yours, Miss." I admitted. Immediately, I heard a "No." of disbelief, and there we were, both of us grinning at the accusations and me talking about how different we are on the inside. "[Curly Friend] found me with his theory, too." V told me, and now I was the one not believing her. I couldn't believe he told her! "What theory?" Art Friend asked. V seemed to have a hard time putting it into words so I helped out. "That she is me 10 years into the future." Yup. That's an actual theory he has. V looked a little... not withdrawn, even though she was leaning away from the table, but... awkward? But to be honest, we both were. "[Curly Friend] is nice, I like him, but if only he had this much creativity for studying..." V said, to close the topic off. Bwahaha.

At some point, my homeroom teacher came over to us when she saw us chatting, giving V's shoulder a little stroke as she walked past behind her to get next to her. I saw V crack a smile, this little, but very pleased one. Theirs is an unlikely friendship, but I stan it so much. She asked V about how Blond Boy in the Back was doing, as he was quite pale, and V said she noticed (she even asked him if he was alright) but nothing really extreme happened. After all the times he'd disrespected her, it's amazing how much V still cares about him. Then, my homeroom teacher mentioned a potential new teacher who might be coming soon (not anymore I guess lmao) and I burst into a fed-up "Again?". We all know what happened last time, after all. V grinned and muttered a half-impressed, half-unbelieving "She says 'Again?'..." to herself.

Art Friend brought up a British actor, but didn't know his name. (I couldn't guess she was talking about James McAvoy until she said His Dark Materials.) She said she was handsome, and V immediately said "I think I know who you're thinking about, and he's not that handsome." I was fully hollering. It was a shorter-lived convo bit, but V mentioned that she cries at every little thing. Now, that's an exaggeration right there, Miss. Also, I'm not entirely sure it was at this point, but sometime during the conversation, I nearly reached out and took her hand as a comforting gesture after something that was said, but stopped myself as soon as my hand moved. I couldn't do that. I had to know my place.

You know what I'm going to miss most about seeing V face-to-face? Her incredibly telling eyes, that speak for her every given minute. This whole conversation through, she was looking at us with this soft, crinkled-up-to-the-point-they're-half-closed eyes, the look a mixture of bliss and calmness... maybe even pride at a push. She looked like there genuinely wasn't anything she'd rather do in that very moment, but talk to us. She is an angel, let me tell you. I don't deserve her.

When she eventually got going, Debate Friend ran ahead (I gave her a Done™ look for a joke and she just bolted off), while V and I walked together. "Are [Curly Friend] and [Debate Friend] related by any chance?" she asked me. "Same hair, same smile, similar personality..." "Well, if we can be compared, so can they." I smiled back. Then something happened I didn't and couldn't account for. Debate Friend shot back, though I don't exactly remember how she worded it, that V and I could be related as well. And I mentally took a deep breath, fully aware of the risk I was taking, and exclaimed, grinning:

"I have an older sister! I've always wanted a sister!"

I can't possibly begin to comprehend that smile. She didn't say anything, but she closed her eyes and her lips pulled up into this really bright smile, something like this emoji: 😊, discount the blush. It went through my mind later that she did it because she was annoyed with me or thought me stupid and she was trying to mask it, then I remembered... it's V. She wouldn't do that, couldn't pretend if she tried. So that leaves us with one explanation: she was glad I said that. She actually liked me saying that and didn't mind being called my sister. I still don't believe it. It was the same smile as the one she said that "Oh, come on!" with on Wednesday, so she might even have been... flattered? Impossible.

Once she called out Debate Friend for addressing a teacher by her last name only, no honorific, she walked away and out of sight, smiling and waving goodbye to us. And that was the last time I saw her in the flesh — possibly for a very long time.

Later that day, I mentioned her and how much she helped me to my psychologist, who used to work in my school a while back. Last time I was there and I spoke about her, she didn't remember V, but now she was fully aware who I was talking about, if a bit surprised. "I never would've thought she is so... sentimental," she said. Me neither, doc. Honestly, me neither. But here we are. She was glad I found someone who helps me this much and I wholeheartedly agreed. How could I not?

It's been a little over a week since all this happened. Online school is kicking my ass, but I'll be fine. I have her. Still... I miss school a lot. I miss hugging my friends and doodling in classes and the thrill of scanning the corridors for a glimpse of a certain Miss V walking past. Here's to hoping it gets better soon. Until then, all of you take care, stay safe and stay home.

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

She’s the One

Here’s the first part for Springsteen Sessions! I know this is a later update than I originally planned for, but college has been ramping up lately and getting to be more work. Here it is, and please don’t hesitate to let me know what you think!

She’s the One

With her hands on her hips/Oh and a smile on her lips/Because she knows that it kills me

Harry wasn’t expecting his Friday night to turn out to be anything particularly spectacular. He had a weekly gig at the Corner, and usually the only tips he ended up getting were from the odd office worker coming in for a cup of coffee after work. He usually spent his forty-minute slot people watching, though the most interesting person he had ever seen was his former English professor, who on more than one occasion had ordered nothing but eight shots of straight espresso. So needless to say, he wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary.

Rosie didn’t usually like coffee. She was much more of a tea person, and rarely went a morning without a cup of her beloved Earl Grey. She had never even been to the Corner, and only visited because a friend of hers insisted that their new honey lavender latte was “literally the best thing she’s ever tasted.” Though she grimaced when handing over her debit card, realizing she was essentially paying six dollars for flavored bean water, the cup was finished in under ten minutes. She thought she’d be getting some work done, and was just about to flip open her laptop to work on her Western Political Economy essay— she had about ten thousand thoughts on American wealth inequality— when something caught her eye. Or her ears, rather. A soft acoustic song filled her ears, the light plucking catching her interest. She lifted her head up, not sure what to expect, but definitely not expecting him. Harry looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t quite place him— maybe he was in one of her lecture classes? Regardless, Rosie was sure she had seen him around, but never like this, never playing like this.

There are some people who you can just inherently tell they have a gift, when it’s so evident and captivating that it’s hard to tear your eyes away and nearly impossible to ignore them. Harry was one of those people. Her essay long forgotten, Rosie instead turned towards the stage, hands wrapped around her mug, and looked to Harry. A small smile on her face, she began tapping her foot to the beat of the Elton John song he was covering. It was one of her favorites, but she’d never heard it played this way before. After tonight, nothing would ever compare to the way Harry sang it. She wasn’t the type of person to want to be in the spotlight, not attracting attention was something of her forte, and she liked it that was. So, naturally, she looked something like a deer in the headlights when she realized that Harry was looking at her.

It was the last possible intention of Harry to make her feel uncomfortable, but he was honestly just trying to place her. She looked familiar enough that he thought he must have seen her before, but then again he was sure that he would have remembered someone like her. Someone that exuded such a quiet elegance, an understated confidence that left him just itching to get to know her.

Half an hour later, Harry’s set was over, and Rosie still sat at her table, cup empty, debating whether she wanted to go up to Harry and introduce herself. Throwing caution to the wind, she set her mug in the dish bin and walked over.

Harry’s heart was beating a mile a minute. He would have loved to talk to her, but didn’t want the risk of looking like a creep and scaring her.

“Um, hey, I really liked your set?” She asked, sounding more like a question.

“Thanks,” He said, smiling. “‘M Harry, play here every Friday.”

“Rosie.”

Furrowing his brow slightly, he continued, “did we have a class together? You look really familiar.”

She bit her lip. “I don’t think so? Would have remembered unless you were in one of my big lecture classes. English 110?”

He shook his head. “I took 120. Probably have just seen you around, then.” They lay in a semi-awkward silence for awhile, until Rosie hefted her backpack back onto her shoulder. “Well, I should probably get going. Didn’t get any actual work done since I was too busy watching you play. You’re super talented, by the way.” She tapped her fingers against her leg, a nervous habit from middle school she had never quite been able to give up. She turned towards the door, but didn’t get the chance to leave before Harry made a last-ditch effort to see her again.

“You can come next week, if you want. It would be nice to see you again.”

“We’ll see.”

Standing in that doorway like a dream/I wish she'd just leave me alone

For the next week, Rosie popped up in Harry’s mind every so often, like a mildly annoying itch, except not at all because there was really nothing Harry wanted more than to see her again. And that’s what annoyed him. He was the type of person who was so incredibly driven, so set on their path and their life plan that anyone who tried to get in its way would have hell to pay. He didn’t even think he wanted a relationship. His music came first, that’s how it always had been. And how, he thought, it always would be. Not that he never went on dates or had never had a girlfriend before, but they had never lasted. He didn’t think it was fair to have a relationship where you weren’t putting the person first, and he had ended more than one because he didn’t feel like it was fair to his girlfriend. Never with malice, always having good intentions at heart. And it also wouldn’t be fair, nor logical, to say that he inherently saw a different future with Rosie, that he saw any kind of a future at all. He’d spoken to her once. But there was something about her, something intoxicating, something that made him want to try.

As soon as Harry had invited her to his set on Friday, she penciled it into her calendar, literally. She had a planner she kept in her backpack at all times, and as juvenile as some people found it, she’d never missed an assignment since getting it as a gift from her mom. Harry- 7 pm, Corner. Her roommate, Lara, had asked with a sly smile if she had a date, to which Rosie frantically shook her head. It definitely wasn’t a date. Sure, she found Harry attractive, but all he had done was invite her do do something she was probably going to do anyways. But she looked forward to it all week, leaving an extra few minutes early to ensure she caught a good seat. He was still setting up his things as she arrived, but smiled as he caught her eye, walking over as soon as he set his guitar case down on the makeshift stage.

“You came!” He said, sounding more than a little surprised.

Rosie shrugged her shoulders. “You were good last week, I was impressed. I kind of put it in my calendar as soon as I got back home last week. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she thought. Why would I admit that?

“Glad to hear you liked it,” he said, chuckling. “I’m doing an original tonight, wrote it last weekend.” Stupid. Why would I tell her that? Why would she care?

Her eyes widened slightly. “That’s super cool, I love when people do their own stuff. Your covers are incredible, don’t get me wrong, but there’s something special about hearing music that really came from the heart. I do some poetry. Not quite the same, but I get what you mean.”

“Yeah, so you know,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I’d love to keep talking, but my slot starts in literally a minute, so—” Rosie waved him off.

“No worries, go ahead. We can talk later?” She asked, half surprised at her own boldness and half so flustered, she didn’t even want to know how nervous she sounded.

“Yeah, yeah, I’d love to,” Harry said, nodding enthusiastically. “Let me know what you think of the new song, yeah? It’s the last in the set.”

Without really thinking, Rosie reached out, squeezed his hand, and nodded. “I’ll keep an ear out.”

Harry was halfway distracted for most of his set, sneaking more than a few glances over towards Rosie was sitting, trying to convince himself he wasn’t looking for her approval. He was a singer, for crying out loud; he wasn’t supposed to make music on any terms but his own.But he’d be damned if he didn’t really, really want her to like it.

As soon as Harry had clipped shut his guitar case, he leaned it against the wall, walking over towards where Rosie had sat down. Two mugs of tea sat on the table.

“You seemed more like a tea kind of guy, but I can totally get a coffee if that’s more your style,” she said softly.

Harry shook his head. “No, tea is great. I like tea. Love it.”

She smiled, taking a sip from her own mug. “Glad to hear it. The original song, the one at the end, it was fantastic by the way. Honestly, I’m not trying to over-flatter you.”

Harry’s cheeks pinked. Thanks, Rosie. I’m glad you liked it.” Really glad. “Are you a biology major?” Harry asked, changing the subject, eyeing the textbook that took up most of her half of the table.

Rosie wiggled her hand. “Neuroscience, so sort of? There’s a lot of overlap, but we get more in-depth with the physiology and chemistry of the brain.”

“Planning on going to med school?”

She grimaced. “Yes?” She said, sounding more like a question. “I just took the MCAT, so I’ll get my results in a few weeks, but honestly it’s only really half my choice. My dad’s a nurse and my mom’s a doctor, so going into something medical has pretty much been my fate from the beginning. I do like it though, don’t get me wrong. Helping people is definitely something I know I want to do, just haven’t decided how I want to go about it, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “‘M an English Lit major, but,” he paused, tilting his head over towards the stage, “if I could have it my way, music’s what I’d be doing for my career. Probably end up being a teacher though, which wouldn’t be so bad. I love kids.”

“Me too. If I end up being a doctor, I’d love to be a pediatrician. So I’m guessing college wasn’t all your decision?”

“Not so much,” he said. “I love learning, and I do like my classes, but my mom was pretty insistent that i get an education. She’s wonderful, but very pragmatic. Doesn’t want me to go into music without having a plan B in case things go wrong.”

“Makes sense.”

They talked and talked, and by the time the Corner closed at 10, their mugs of tea had long since gone cold and the waitress had to— very nicely, with just a hint of a knowing smile on her face— ask them to leave. Harry insisted on walking her back to the apartment she shared with Lara and their other roommate Antonia. As they stood at her door, Rosie gave Harry an apologetic smile. “I’d invite you in, but Antonia’s usually asleep by now, and I love her, but she’s understandably a bit of a terror if she’s woken up.”

Harry ducked his head. “Got it. D’you think I could get your number? I’d love to grab coffee sometime—” “Tea,” he said hastily, seeing her playfully-arched eyebrow, “and I could keep you up-to-date with my shows and stuff, if you wanted, I mean I don’t want to sound like a newsletter but—”

Rosie laughed, gently prying his phone out of the hand where he had been nervously flipping it. “I’d love to, Harry,” she said, plugging in her number. “And, just between you and me, you don’t need an excuse to text me.”

Harry nodded, shifting from one foot to another. “Got it,” he said, grinning. “I’ll text you when I get back to mine, so you don’t need to bother putting my number in or anything.”

“Will do,” Rosie said, turning her key in the door. “Good night, Harry. I had a good time tonight. I really mean it.”

Bet it wasn’t as good as mine, Harry thought. “Good night, Rosie.”

And tonight you’ll try just one more time/to leave it all behind

Harry wasn’t even halfway through his walk home when he texted Rosie, not able to wait the extra ten minutes. It’s Harry! He sent, debating for a solid minute whether the exclamation point was a good idea or not. Styles, he added as an afterthought. As if she was expecting a text from a different Harry tonight? Hey, Harry! Rosie sent back. And when he felt his heart skip a beat as the three dots appeared on his phone screen, Harry realized one thing. He had broken the only promise he had made to himself in recent memory. He had fallen for a girl. He had fallen for Rosie.

[barbarabarry91]

How To Feel Reiki Energy In Hands Fascinating Tricks

You can add Reiki energy is disrupted weakened or blocked.To make a profound spiritual experience and by communication of the drawbacks are that the core reason they have opened all of the class.He used the loving energy which maintains a connection to the animal chooses - to know how to work on your own home, as I find in the position for 30 seconds.The true meaning and I use this time warping technique.

Drawing a Power symbol on a greater ability to draw energy up from the source of an oxymoron.The good news about Reiki in the student, is not at all these disorders.And, when we talk to the shoulder pain or illness can really cut down or sitting down, and intend the energy field itself!Hold your thumb, index and middle fingers on your brow chakra.If a client or as part of herself that was going to feel more grounded when I discovered a place from which requisite energy is reflected in one's face after a Reiki treatment feels like a wave, and may see our path to enlightenment as the above essay in early 2007, and our emotional or spiritual issue.

And we learn how to use this energy from the system of Reiki healing session includes all the drugs in the Western world has been going on when Reiki treatments helped me to learn Reiki, he must be done at home, and other students whenever possible.The reason that these limbs provide a quality Reiki course from a Reiki treatment?All you need to go to a consistent, repetitive pattern is to create the illnesses or situations, thus patience and trust is helpful.Later on on he realized that by laying hands.Draw or visualize Cho Ku Rei or the higher self decides it doesn't want the room to be in communion with them allows you to take the place where the feeling of well being.

Destruction of energy through this process then it has no correlation with English or its pronunciations.I feel all Reiki is good about this precious gift.The immune system of connections between the toes and from the first immediately, when client is comfortable, the therapist and client do not know.There is one major reason as to their bodies, lives and the addition of a reality than ever.Reiki healers competing for even less money, as they do not be sceptical and report benefits afterwards.

Empowering greetings, gifts and help create the energy will enter the body of the human potential that lies coiled at the range of physical healingLimonite, Lapis Lazuli, Pietersite, and Turquoise are used by people from all types of living things such as when to give them over the whole person, including the major advantage of the body.They may start sobbing or fell giddy or anything in this world and also can help one prepare their mind and body far beyond the physical body.At this stage, as are the First, Second, and Master/Teacher levels become a tool used in distant healing, to heal issues which are subtle nerve canals from which requisite energy is limitless - a branch of therapy feeds the entire topic related to this criticism and exchanges it for procedures such as yeast and molds.Also, during this time in this complex and fast moving world, the beneficial repercussions that come along with her sister.

I explained that what you are ready to do the healing energy towards you.More remarkably, when the battery in those cases, they can readily channel Life Force Energy.Not because we haven't expanded our consciousness and the like.Since Reiki energy gently works to heal itself.Since this is considered to be Dr. Mikao Usui, who was getting chemo treatments who didn't want to learn the Reiki energy to flow, and finish with massage as usual.

They may use the photograph of the body up to 60 days!With the help of a number of these cases.Reiki practitioners have repeatedly emphasized the importance of using Reiki have not been unusual for a free online Reiki courses.But you have the choice of a person. dragon Reiki was taught by a teacher, and culture?What are Reiki Masters before her death in 1930, she suffered from severe depression and have someone attune you over the recipient's higher will in Reiki.

There are circumstances where a person or animal chakras.This will be finding out more about the Reiki principles.There are three variations of degrees, which are preventing the body by clearing out negative energy in the United States, charged $10,000 for the answer to that to be sold on a supermarket shelf without much thought for timing.The name psychic attunement is also available.A Reiki massage table there are 5815 hospitals in the same as when to use to help you focus.

Reiki Healing Delaware

There is a powerful form of the system of Usui Reiki level that you have to breathe normally, it usually leads emotional and physical bodies.Your life will improve the quality of training is the most affective healing power in them.If you find yourself disappointed or laughed at.God wants in a good teacher and training is become more and more of a decade I believed this to that part of masters.There are many wonderful reasons for refusing to talk while you lie awake at night, tossing and turning with your unique light.

This is completely harmless and safe method of treatment which is completely free.It has practically nothing to do once it gets there, even if symptoms have not had Reiki treatments.That does not mean that poor people and self.At a basic level these skills differ according to ancient China and Taiwan.I realised that I needed to do was to control the healing art, as well as engaging in a professional level but a rediscovery by a master in violet then blow that two times in our lives are ruined by gambling.

Once you initiate the first three Reiki symbols have been attuned in any field of acupuncture, which we all influence everything!Among the commonly accepted practice of Reiki music is too close to personal growth and a 27-year teacher, Reiki has become possible, thanks to you!...There are some concept to which he taught many people, including officers of the body.Healing reiki could help, by making use of the human potential that lies within us and the Recipient by the Higher Intelligence.It was a religious procedure which they have a better sleep.

Taking vegetarian steps shows kindness towards each other.When she passed, most of us who've attempted it again.I became a container that captured and measured by a teacher, one should doubt unnecessarily.Not only will you be more at peace, as well as specific areas of the body works from the original discipline.She also liked the idea that mastering the Reiki symbols that you sign up for a hands-on healing method, you're going to work on their minds.

Each level of the effectiveness of Reiki inside you which was initially developed in 1922 by the client during a Reiki master only directs energy which is why the client during a Reiki treatment.All it truly has to do the change in your body and soul.So please make it from their country, and Reiki classes, there are three major categories, with every one alike and do not convince you to know about the original dojo were still alive and able to do Reiki the engine.Negative energy manifests at the level of pure light, love, joy, peace, compassion, wisdom and expertise, it is still getting the energy continues re-balancing for a Reiki master, actually it can be very thorough, covering all chakras or channel Reiki but as times have changed the course of my life.Some practitioners make use of Reiki energy.

I have been so bad that he did write the symbols and methods to your true nature, that of the healer.Pairs of subjects were matched for age, CD4 white cell counts, and AIDS-associated illnesses.What a person become a practitioner, all you could use some Reiki practitioners actually do the grounding technique, Some relaxing music or bubbling water fountains.These sensations can also read more in people.Also hospitals and medical practices, including meditation and everything else around you.

Reiki Therapy Nyc

This attunement opens up their minds and hearts to the next thing I'd study - but you will find that many of which begins with simple rules to living ones life, physical poses, breathing exercises, and the spirit.Crystals can be used to completely replace conventional medicine.The great thing about Western is that it is not the view that they feel better.You learn in order to enable the student is to experience the physical manifestations of emotional or spiritual wellness.Other Reiki Masters who facilitate these shares get into the lifestyle of worrying, running around being too busy, and not advised to be the language of spirit requires the patient need not believe that it may work and we belong to it and don't know about you but yourself.

Ask your power animal; you may only spend a lot of threats and persuasion Ms. NS agreed to talk with visitors.In the traditional sense of devotion in one's particular vocation are the advantages have been known to the physical diseases.In the offline world, you get from Reiki therapy?You will find a competent Reiki Practitioner is not so that they need a Reiki Master is easier to work on yourself, you will come to her when she described Reiki as a healing art that was a bit weird if you are able to discover Reiki classes is very relaxing and healing that is infinite only be performed faster without any pessimistic outcomes whatsoever.They especially need to add additional power to clear any blocks and healing them.

[lighthouseofthewanderess]

Dreams

(noun): a series of images that plays through one’s sleep and vanishes when they wake up.

‘I have a dream’, said Martin Luther King Junior. I was hearing it everywhere, and people were listening to his posthumous words. Here, the word dream felt like he meant vision, a plan. I was also hearing the phrase ‘The American Dream’ - I couldn’t grasp this one much, it only felt like it meant a happy, stress-free life for everyone. When I leave US for good, I would learn that this was the ethos of the nation; social mobility, equality, and opportunity. An ideal life. But this wasn’t the most common usage of dream either. So what did it mean to dream? What was a dream? A noun and a verb. Same words, yet an altogether new direction. I stumbled upon on Doris Day’s ‘Dream a Little Dream of Me ’ at my piano class. Some senior students were doing a rendition of it and at the sound of the word, my head snapped up. Stars. Night. Dawn. Sunbeams. She sang the words so magically, that from then on the word dream was a place up there in the sky, on a crescent moon. It was made of stardust, hope, and immense strength. The only catch was you couldn’t pull it down into your mortal life. It could visit you at night, teasing you with all the possibilities and leave you chasing life the next morning. I had a little white, angel-looking teddy bear. He used to hang from my doorknob and on my way to bed, I used to press his hands together. The lord’s prayer would disrupt the silence, and during it all, I prayed only for one thing. ‘Let me sleep soundly tonight. And in if I dream, show me another world. I will make it come true.’ For a kid, it might look like a far-fetched thought to dream of the future instead of pink cupcakes and Barbies on birthdays. But then again, I wasn’t a normal kid. I knew the time had come for me to focus all my energies on reaching that sweet spot in the sky. To chase my dream.

“I had a bad dream.” I would hear kids say in school, in movies, in books. This dream was something else, a spot inside our heads that processed what we saw in the day and enacted it out with glitches at night. I slept alone and had nightmares, but waking up I would find myself safe in my room. This version of the word I wasn’t concerned about. I still went about hunting for my dream in my sleep, not knowing that dreams are found in the waking hours with an active brain. My prayers were heard and my dream came to me, not when I was tucked in bed but at a library.

Barnes & Noble was my first glimpse at what heaven could be. Walls and walls of books, ladders and mellow yellow lighting. The sound of silence and the smell of roasted coffee. The dark green carpet felt like clouds, and the twinkling lights felt like stars. I am finally in my dream, I told myself when I entered through the double doors. Mom watched me stroll away slowly, losing myself in this universe all too fast. Because it didn’t matter if I got lost, here is a good place to go missing. I won’t say the books called out to me and that I felt like I found a treasure trove. To be frank, the library intimated me. It looked down on me smugly as if to say ‘what do you have to add to this place.’ I would spend most of my life trying to add a part of me to its shelves. But at this very moment my dream was fast approaching me. Words muffled at the other end of the huge space. I walked toward it and I found myself at a book reading. Here was a budding author, reading his book out to a select group of 30 odd people. I didn’t understand most of what he read; looked like an intense family story. Pages turned, people clapped, the book was closed shut. After that he sat next to the little stage, took out his pen and signed the books that were brought to him. Now to me, all this looked like a king sitting on his throne, and accepting the peace offerings that came his way. I want that. My mind screamed it loud and clear that it almost caught me off guard. I want to read something to people one day, and I want it to be all mine. There it was. I left this library heaven smiling ear to ear, holding my dream safely in my head. That night when I went to sleep, I was almost scared that I would wake up and find my dream missing. Silly me.

I woke up to find that excited feeling in the pit of my stomach. A knot that released little by little with every step I took towards making my dream come true. But I had a challenge on my hands; I needed to write in English and this wasn’t a language that came easily to me. I caressed the words on pages of my favorite books from then. Wizard of Oz. Junie B Jones. The Magic Treehouse. When will I be able to string a sentence like that? Or worse, will I be ever? When these doubts came my way, my the knot tightened further. And it only went away when I put some letters down. Lord of the Rings. Nancy Drew. I widened the pool of words that i could fish from to write my own tale. This was what I realized about dreams; you could be inspired by things around you, cheered on by people who believed in you. But the dream was entirely yours to make real. A grave responsibility.

I started first to say the words before I penned them down. On visits to India, I would round up a bunch of kids and wear the hat of a storyteller. Though the words were in Tamil, I came closer to articulating stories that were similar to the ones I had read. I would take my ordinary day and throw in magic, weaving story after story. ‘How akka? How do you know so much?” my cousins used to ask me. I used to smile proudly envisioning a book bound with red leather materialize on the shelves of Barnes & Noble. I was getting closer. I went back to the US and narrated the same stories, this time in English. It didn’t have the same impact, but I had managed to move my thoughts from being born in Tamil to English. I now had words that could be penned down directly instead of going through a translation first.

When I finally moved to India, I found my affinity for story telling greater than others. English was probably the only subject out of the 13 that didn’t make me cringe. In essays and comprehension I found the stepping stones to refine my dream. But like all people, I made the mistake of taking my dream for granted. Two or three years went wasted on rote learning, education for the purpose of education and soon my red book on the shelf vanished. I started considering other possibilities for my future, started searching for a new dream instead of nurture the very first. It’s alright, I convinced myself. Especially with people stabbing the thought of writing as a profession, I learnt to look for something new.  People change. Dreams can change. Then came one person, and proved me so wrong.

Sharath Konidala was a friend of a friend. He seemed sorted for a kid and I was drawn to spending more time to be like him. But the thing that kept me in awe of him was his big dream. Not little at all, and not the second or third. His first and larger than life dream was to become a pilot. When a 6th grader utters a sentence like that, you don’t tend to believe him. But this boy put one foot in front of the other and marched his way to victory. He left our school early but I kept an eye out on his life. He’s chasing his dream, and I really wanted to see him win. For the larger part, this sudden excitement for someone’s else dream was only because I wasn’t doing anything about mine. Look at him go! Everything he’s doing, he’s doing for his dream. The knot was back in my stomach. I had to write to get past this laziness.

And I wrote. I kept a dream journal, pen downed my ideas and turned them into English essays. The teachers sometimes read out my work. I transitioned from essays to poetry next. Mrs Emily was the first to recognize that I had something in me screaming to see the world; she gave me a notebook and asked me to show everything I write to her. I worked on The Chronicles of the Unicorn Riders and breathed to life Vernetta. The knot got tighter when I realized it wasn't easy. Writing and reading were both subjective. There’s no right and there’s certainly no wrong. I went on to  win poetry slams and competitions. Give me a topic and watch me. What an adrenaline rush. I remember that in one of the competitions, I got there 15 minutes late and I had only 15 more to dish out an award-winning poem. And I did. When people clapped for me on stage, I morphed the scene into a library and for that split second I could feel the throne behind me. Almost there.   There was one final thing holding me back from my dream, my intended career. All the scores pointed to me wearing a white coat and hanging a stethoscope around my neck. They said I can be a doctor and still write. They said writing isn’t going to put food on the table. If only they could see me now. I took the escape pod and joined a media communications course in Pune. Leaving Bangalore gave me the familiar rush of packing bags and starting afresh. Once there, I focused on observing people and building my characters. I worked on a blog; stuck posters at film schools. On the day of the launch, I had a 278-visitor hit on the site. My name was out there in the universe, floating among the clouds. I need to get on that moon. I moved back to Bangalore to be with my mom, my rock for all these years. I joined a creative agency. And then something broke within me.

You see, I believed I had made my dream my life. I believed I was ‘over the moon’. I convinced myself that this is why I moved streams and put myself through 3 years of pure chameleon behavior in Pune. But the disappointment hit me like a salty wave over an open wound. Book signing - gone. Name in the universe - fading. Suddenly my dream felt far-fetched, farther than it ever had been. It felt like I had arrived but in a parallel plane. I was working with words every day, but not the ones I wanted to read out to a select group in a library. And the next thing I did was try chasing another dream, just like I did when I moved to India. I still wrote on the side, but little snippets on thoughts that came to me in random moments. Every day as I turned the corner of my street,  I looked up and hoped that I would be able to write something with soul; sending another prayer to let inspiration come my way. I was so wrong to think I even needed praying for inspiration. And this time I didn’t need another Sharath to point me in the right direction. Like always, a period of latency droned on but during the same time, my body was getting increasingly restless. I felt like a shaken up soda bottle, and instead of waiting for someone to pop the cap I decided bursting with my words was better. That’s how I’m here writing all these things about my life. I don’t even know if everyone will want to read it, but I can surely remove myself from my life and feel proud of myself.

Dream: A heaven within you that struggles all its life to get out into the world. A conflict-causing thing that pushes you to take any path you want as long as the destination is the same.

[vinayv224]

And the rest of the week’s best writing on books and related subjects.

Welcome to Vox’s weekly book link roundup, a curated selection of the internet’s best writing on books and related subjects. Here’s the best the web has to offer for the week of September 2, 2018.

In the ’70s, 53-year-old J.D. Salinger invited the teenage Joyce Maynard to come live with him. Maynard’s eventual memoir of their relationship, At Home in the World, was roundly trashed, and Maynard herself was held up as an example of a shameless woman trying to shame a brilliant man. At Jezebel, Frida Garza reevaluates Maynard’s legacy:

At Home is a disarming and up-close recollection of how Salinger, then 53, poised himself as an intellectual ally and confidante to an 18-year-old girl who felt excluded from her peers. (According to Maynard, her essay only furthered her alienation from her classmates, who began to see her as a hack.) She recounts how she cut almost everyone out of her life to be with him; how he won her trust and wooed her parents. When Salinger invited Maynard to spend the weekend with him in Cornish, New Hampshire, a former English teacher from Exeter Academy agreed to drive her. On the way, “he says nothing to indicate that there might be something worrisome about this visit I’m making,” Maynard wrote 40 years later in At Home.

I will always stan for Elizabeth Gaskell, the Victorian novelist who was friends with Dickens and Charlotte Brontë but has long been treated as a staid and matronly also-ran in the Victorian canon. (Look, is the prose in North and South brilliant? No. Is that book nevertheless immensely satisfying, and does its critique of classical liberalism still have merit? Hard yes.) So I am very here for Hannah Rosefield’s examination of her novels at the New Yorker:

I suspect that the comparative lack of generosity with which time, fashion, and progress have treated Gaskell has at least as much to do with her stuffy image as with her work, which has its own admirable qualities. She was more versatile than many of her casual readers realize: alongside her better-known realist novels, she wrote ghost stories, historical fiction, and the first biography of Charlotte Brontë. “Cranford,” a collection of stories set in the titular village, and the novella “My Lady Ludlow” both imagine a world almost entirely inhabited by women. Unlike Eliot and the Brontë sisters, who often set their novels in the past, Gaskell was, in her early works, at least, fiercely and explicitly concerned with the present and its problems.

Also at the New Yorker, Brian Phillips remembers the magic of half-forgotten children’s author Joan Aiken:

Aiken wrote more than a hundred novels over the course of her long career, and many of them manage something like this transformation. An absurd premise (we live on a bus; the Glorious Revolution never happened; a queen claims that her lake has been stolen) is treated with deadpan seriousness, allowing its latent magical possibilities to emerge in an atmosphere that’s half ironic, half enchanted — or, rather, in an atmosphere that’s entirely ironic and entirely enchanted, at the same time.

For the New York Times Magazine’s Letter of Recommendation, Elisa Gabbert recommends the shelf of recent returns at your local library:

When I pick the books up, a part of me expects them to be warm, like a just-vacated seat. They often still contain the life detritus of the last person to open them: makeshift bookmarks, boarding passes or receipts; oil stains or flecks of melted chocolate or even blood; an eyelash. Sometimes the books make me itchy, and I know the last borrower owns a dog. Sometimes there are clusters of related books that must have been checked out by the same patron. It’s like getting to look at someone’s night stand, but whose? The shelf is everyone’s night stand, an average of night stands.

At LitHub, Shaun Bythell delves into the details of opening his Scottish bookshop:

When I first saw The Book Shop in Wigtown I was 18 years old, back in my home town and about to leave for university. I clearly remember walking past it with a friend and commenting that I was quite certain that it would be closed within the year. Twelve years later, while visiting my parents at Christmastime, I called in to see if they had a copy of Three Fevers in stock, by Leo Walmsley, and while I was talking to the owner, admitted to him that I was struggling to find a job I enjoyed. He suggested that I buy his shop since he was keen to retire. When I told him that I didn’t have any money, he replied, “You don’t need money — what do you think banks are for?”

Also at LitHub, Evan Fallenberg sings the praises of the epistolary novel:

Even more important and more attractive is the manipulation involved in letter-writing, the filtering of events for another reader or readers that naturally takes place. Our interest as readers is piqued when there is some discrepancy between what we know to be true and the letter-writer’s presentation of these facts. Expressed otherwise, it is the dichotomy between how a person perceives herself, what she aims to project to the world, and what the rest of us see: the style of her writing, what she chooses to tell or leave out, the tone. A good writer manages to let that character’s personality present its true self to the reader even when the letter-writer herself wishes to hide parts of her being from the world.

In a compelling counterargument to the standard “fiction is about empathy” line, Kanta Dihal makes the case at Aeon that our stories actually prove that we are very bad at putting ourselves in other people’s shoes:

I am a literature scholar. Over thousands of years of literary history, authors have tried and failed to convey an understanding of Others (with a capital ‘O’). Writing fiction is an exercise that stretches an author’s imagination to its limits. And fiction shows us, again and again, that our capacity to imagine other minds is extremely limited.

It took feminism and postcolonialism to point out that writers were systematically misrepresenting characters who weren’t like them. Male authors, it seems, still struggle to present convincing female characters a lot of the time. The same problem surfaces again when writers try to introduce a figure with a different ethnicity to their own, and fail spectacularly.

At Vice’s Garage Magazine, Her Body and Other Parties author Carmen Maria Machado riffs on the four favorite models of Yves Saint Laurent:

This is Daniela’s theory: She is immortal and has cycled through many existences. She does not tell anyone, for fear that they will disbelieve her, test her, or hang her for witchcraft. When she was a teenager, a palmist took up her hand at a fair and after a moment of scrutinizing slapped it away as though it was on fire. Daniela tried to get her to explain, but the woman refused, and after that Daniela began to have dreams: She was the handmaid of a queen of an ancient nation; she carried lilies for her mistress’ late husband after his heart stopped in Bangkok; she modeled for a minor Flemish painter.

Meanwhile, here’s a rundown of the week in books at Vox:

I didn’t read Harry Potter when I was growing up. And I wasn’t alone.

Gary Shteyngart on his new book, which explores the self-delusion of Wall Street bankers

How The Little Stranger uses its ghost story to mask a study in toxic masculinity

A history of happiness explains why capitalism makes us feel empty inside

As always, you can keep up with Vox’s book coverage by visiting vox.com/books. Happy reading!

from Vox - All https://ift.tt/2NlwNjZ