#the eleventh hour is also usually when new phrases start showing up that would not have been admissible in earlier drafts

[marxism-lelouchism]

sometimes i have to drag myself kicking and screaming into the word doc to get anything done (usually in the earlier stages when the work is furthest from what i envision it could be) but sometimes (like rn when i’m almost done and pursuing an impossible standard of perfection) if i stay away from the draft for too long i get antsy

[fatokifavour12-blog]

Godsfavour Fatoki

Robert Lunday

ENGL 1301

December 12,2019

Two Year Experience, Forever Trip

A trip to Nigeria does not sound bad, right? Here is the catch; you have to leave your friends and family behind and can only communicate with your family through the phone. Feel like backing out?  This is the story of my life, March 2016. Who knew I was set to hear news that would eventually lead to me staying in Nigeria for two years? Nigeria is a place of culture, one that I did not know much about until the end of the trip. One of the perks about knowing your roots, is just having some background knowledge about where you came from. Which I was naïve too, but slowly began to appreciate.

Given that you had the opportunity to go and learn more about your culture, and where you come from. Will it be easy for you to drop your friends, pack your bags and travel off to your fatherland? Sound Bittersweet? It is not that simple, especially when you are not familiar with the environment. I was given the opportunity but had no say in the decision making. Despite the idea of the trip being bittersweet, if you knew a trip like this would change the way you think and view the world, would you still go? How about if you could not come back and visit the states during the holidays? Even tougher decision. Maybe now you can have a sense of what I endured for two years straight. Two years straight. In addition, there would be limited phone calls because of the time zone difference, and sleepless nights.

I was born in Nigeria, but raised in America. That being said, I can be categorized under the Generation 1.5. This refers to students who are citizens or residents of the US but whose home language is not English. For some of these students English can function as their primary language. In Nigeria, the main tribes or languages are Yoruba, Igbo and Hausa. I was born into a Yoruba home. You can tell a persons tribe by either their first and last name. For example, the Yoruba tribe is known for the “Olu, Oluwa and ola.” Before the trip, since I could barely speak the language, I had trouble distinguishing tribes from one another. Usually, whenever my parents would speak to me in Yoruba, I would have trouble interpreting and I would ask my sister to translate for me.

Before I returned to Nigeria for two years, I went to Cinco Ranch High School. While attending the school, we would have some foreign students, or some other Generation 1.5 students who had a senses of background knowledge of where they came from. Other Generation 1.5 students would be asked what their home country was like, and from there they would be able to pour out information that would have you like intrigued. I was in search for my own story to tell not, someone else’s something to let others know that “I know where I’m coming from,” “ I know my country.” That kind of topic can also lead to good conversations.

With all the fun I was having in America, I then faced the music. I was finally going to Nigeria. Did I want to go? No! Not at all. So, I was going to Nigeria, there were no further questions to be asked, my parents’ decision was final. They insisted that it will be beneficial in the end. I would be going to Nigeria with my older sister and my dad, leaving my two younger sisters and my mom behind. My older sister would soon return to America after her first year.

The plane ticket was booked for the fourth of September, and by this time Hurricane Harvey had struck Houston. While I counted the days leading to my departure, I also prayed that Harvey would hit George Bush Intercontinental Airport so that my flight, and only my flight, for Delta Airlines would be cancelled. Unfortunately, this was not the case .Departure day arrived and all the roads had cleared up. Still refusing to believe this was happening, there I stood in front of Gate C, with a carry-on bag and a suitcase of clothes.

My sisters were in tears as they watched me leave, as was my mom, who tried fake a smile. This was pretty aggravating considering the fact that she wanted me to go. “Ill see them soon, after all its just two years it will be quick. Let’s just make the most of it” I say to myself as I passed the checkout area. At the moment, I felt no need to cry or whine about it, because complaining would only make my it longer. I just had to take it as it was, as much as I felt like running away. Who knew what good could come from this?

The plane landed successfully on the fifth of September; school started on the eleventh. I would be attending Grace International High School, a boarding school in Lagos, Nigeria.

  The following day my dad used it as a day for relaxation, considering that we were coming from America we had to adjust to the time zone. My dad took me around town the next day, showing me some great places and sights. He showed me the hospital where I was born and the flat we stayed in when my mother was in labor.

I was born in a small hospital in Victoria Island. Victoria Island is a big area in Lagos. Lagos is like the suburbs of Nigeria. Lagos is the heart of Nigeria, this is where the money and power is mainly located. All the powerful people in the country stay in Lagos. In a sense Lagos is like the New York of Nigeria. This is where the most attractions are, and Victoria island is at the center of it. Most businesses and churches are established here.

On the seventh of September, we went to the school. We came here this day so I could see the school I would be attending. As we approached the gates of the boarding school, I began to have mixed emotions about it. Excitement and suspense filled my head as we came closer after the long car ride we had. As I stepped down from the car, I was told I would be taking my entrance exam. An exam of which I was not ready for at all. At this point my heart was basically racing and I was not happy with my dad for making that call. There was not anything I could do about the situation, so I did not complain out loud. The thought of failing crossed my mind at the time. “What would happen if I fail,” “I don’t want to fail and waist his money.” My dad made no attempt to calm me down; the only thing he would say was “you ready?” Now that was a rhetorical question any answer other than “yes” would result in a hot slap.

I walked in giving myself motivation. The examiner walked in and handed me my papers. She told me I would be doing a Math and English exam. She asked me the one I would like to do first, and I chose to do Math. As she handed me the paper she told me that I have an hour and thirty minutes. The math test felt easy up and till I reached question 25. I flipped through the remaining pages and realized that I had 50 Multiple choice questions, the remaining questions where non multiple choice. This caused me to start sweating in fear. I skipped question 25 and moved on “Is their any other easy question I could do?” I asked myself as I was running out of time. The examiner then walks in and says “Thirty five minutes left” and this is where I panicked “screw it A B C D!” I went straight to the non-multiple choice questions and could barely answer three questions. My heart sank after submitting the paper, I fought back my tears as the examiner handed me the English exam. Knowing how bad I did on the Math, I was determined to breeze past the English paper. I felt the English paper was somewhat easy, but not bad enough for me to fail.

The examiner checked my work and gave my father back the result. They discussed in Yoruba for a while, I eavesdropped, and only picked out phrases in what they were talking about. The were saying something along the lines of “he needs improvement, but he has been accepted.” A wave of relief filled me inside, and it must have been contagious because it showed on my fathers’ face. My dad now paid the school fees that I had so I could get my school clothes and books.

They sent us downstairs so I could get my uniform for the boarding house and for school. The boarding house uniform we would wear for any activity other than sports that took place downstairs. The boarding house uniform was a checkered blue shirt and khaki pants for the boys and a checkered pink gown for the girls. The school uniform was strictly for school and school excursions such as debate club competitions. The school uniform was a green long-sleeved button-down shirt with a tie and colored whine pants with black shoes and socks. I was absolutely disgusted by the uniform. It was evident that who ever had the idea of such nasty looking uniforms had no fashion sense whatsoever. The two colors did not fit together in any sense, my dad told me to manage the clothes because there is nothing we can do but get it fitted.

  The first year was off to a rocky start, friends did not come easy, I was a little secluded because I was missing home. I was falling a little behind in some of my classes, because it was pretty difficult for me to balance 11 subjects. I was doing Calculus, Math, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Computer, Catering, Civic studies, Yoruba, Geography and English. Some of these subjects I was being taught as a fresh subject. I had enrolled into the school as a year 11 student, and my mates have been taught these subjects since year 10. In order to make good grades I would stay back for tutorials, and I would read over night. It was not as easy as school in America, because I was used to taking only seven classes a school year.

In the school we had three terms a school year, I did not feel comfortable till the second term. I became friendlier but was not feeling true to myself. So I became a little more withdrawn and did not give anybody a chance to speak bad about me. Before I left I was a bit of a extrovert, me having the mindset of “I do not want to be here” really kept me from making friends. I still managed to figure it out because I could not help but talk. It was not until my second year that I began to feel more comfortable; though this was the year I felt more alone because my sister was not there with me, I became more independent. I started to branch out to more people than I did my first year. My dad would call me sometimes but it was not as frequent as it was my first year in the school. At this point I had not been missing home as much I was before and I felt more free with people.

The boarding house was pretty awkward at first primarily because of their restrooms; the place where we shower was not divided by any stalls or curtains. When we shower we could see each other’s private parts, which too me was very uncomfortable. It took me a couple days to get used to the showers. Inside the boarding house phones were not allowed, and this really prevented me from talking to all my former friends. Instead of phones, they allowed tablets sadly there was no free Wi-Fi. So some kids would hack the principal’s server and steal their Wi-Fi.

The boarding house was ran by the boarding house master, and the Boarding house prefect and the seniors. The school has elections that they do for every set of kids for every school year. The seniors were basically in charge whenever the boarding house master was not around. The seniors often abuse their power when it is given to them. The seniors bully their juniors. By junior I mean any student in the grade below. The boarding house had students from the 7th grade to the 12th. So the seniors had had wide range of students to pick on, I was in the 11th grade. The seniors gave the 11th graders some regard because they will soon be entering 12th grade so conflict between them was not much.

The prefects and students were allowed to belt other students, meaning that they could use a belt and deal with the students that were misbehaving. The boarding house master would use and object we called “cane,” which is basically like a tree branch. The cane could be used by a teacher, the principal and the vice principal. The boarding house master was known for his good arm. For an old aging man you would be surprised at how fast his hands move. The fear of being beaten by either one of those objects really got to me. So I was really cautious with how i acted in front of certain people and in different situations. I would often stop my juniors or mates from doing wrong to the juniors, but after a while I just got tired and lazy. Being mean to others people seemed to be the trend, which I nearly followed along to. The seniors do not like to be told what they were doing wrong, and when told it would result in a beat down to the students.

The experience shaped me to be who I was today; the nights I barely got any sleep really paid off in the end. It really opened up a part of me that I did not know I had. I had become more familiar with my culture and began to appreciate the side of me I did not know much about. I learned to appreciate what I had and I became more grateful for what I had. In Nigeria, not everybody has enough money to plan a trip to abroad, but I went there and came back. With all that I have seen in the country it had me thinking about how I could contribute to the society, a lot needs to be done to the country to speed up development. For that I thank God I went. Without the trip I do not think I would have sense of independence , I really went in to depth with my roots.

I have established a social network that will be useful to me in the future, the people I met will and can benefit me in the future. The friendships I have made with the people I met over seas I really enjoyed my time with will come in handy when I plan my return to the country soon.  You never know what you can do till you go through it alone.

[artificialqueens]

Teal Post-its, sale Greenies and artsy portraits can build something resembling the Sun (Sashea) - Nox

A/N: Hi! I’m Nox, a loooong while ago I used to post here, and I’m back from the dead. I’m obsessed with anything Sashea right now and I stumbled with this prompt: “i hired a dog walking company and i’ve never met the person who comes to my apartment but they leave me really cute notes and they give my dog presents and i kind of love them because my dog does and ALSO one of the artists at this gallery opening is hella cute and i want them to paint me like one of their french girls, plot twist is the same person all along AU” and all the sudden I had a 6k+ words written down, so yeah. This is dedicated to all the WONDERFUL Sashea writers here, you are all awesome and this doesn’t make you any justice but is my small contribution to the fandom.

I apologize if this doesn’t make any sense, and for any grammar mistakes. Hope you enjoy n.n

A post-it note should not put her world upside down.

Humble letters shouldn’t go through her like the flight of butterflies spreading from the tip of her pointer finger to her chest, words shouldn’t make her stomach do uncomfortable flipflops, small phrases shouldn’t mirror the effects of a long walk on the beach which burnt slightly her cheeks and tinted them red. A small, teal piece of paper probably shouldn’t be important, nothing more than a simple reminder tool, an office supply anyone could buy at any supermarket. Words laid out in simple handwriting were probably not meant to go beyond a simple greeting, a good vibes wish, a polite gesture.

Yeah, a teal post-it stuck on her fridge probably wasn’t meant to be a big deal.

But it was.

Vanya, the Italian greyhound, napped in Sasha’s lap after being satisfied with the welcome home he had provided his owner with. The day had surely being a very active one for him, as he had fallen asleep with barely 5 minutes of fussing around her feet. She had gathered him off the floor and brought him to her bed, the teal note tightly clutched on her left hand. A new smile formed in her ruby lips as she scratched his back. Who knew this little dog would get her in such a roller coaster of emotions?

Her grey-blue eyes returned to the note, scanning it for the eleventh time. She had already memorized the message, words carved into her being, every syllable for some reason enticing to her.

–Hey darlin’. Vanya was super excited about his walk, such a good boy! Hope your day was as good as ours, you’ve been working like crazy this couple of days. Vanya told me ;)  Give yourself a treat today. Love,   -Shea

Shivers went and came in erratic patterns, travelling up and down her spine as every word made white noise in her mind. She shaked her head a little bit, trying to fade the haze she was submerging into. Sasha sometimes wondered if she was a bit crazy. Sure, moving across the Pacific to an unknown country just by the desire of becoming an artist and live openly as a queer woman was bold. Moving from Urbana to Brooklyn out of a hunch and the need to have brighter lights and stranger people in the city she called home was somewhat risky. Leaving her shitty paid job as a receptionist for a shittier paid job as a assistant curator was kind of nuts is you considered her rent, but hey, she was slowly accomplishing the life  she set her mind into many years ago as she boarded that Aeroflot flight, on the heavy russian winter.

However, it was moments like this, when she arrived home and kicked her shoes out of the way to make a beeline to her fridge in the raw hope of finding a new note on it, that she really questioned her judgement on sanity.

Because Sasha was obsessed with a stranger.

She placed the note inside her sketch pad on her night stand, with all the others she had received in the lapse of three months, safely storing them to re-read later. She rubbed her hands together, fingers twitching, aching to do anything right now as she was high on emotion and sensations. This obsession, or however she could call it,  wasn’t something that she could quite explain, couldn’t quite pinpoint where it came from and where it was going, but oh it was all so very strange and uncommon that it became addictive to her.

Three months back, when she first adopted the mischievous dog from an animal shelter, the last thing she imagined was she might find someone to fantasize about thanks to dog walks.

She knew she would adopt Vanya the second she laid eyes on him. His long face and skinny legs make him look like a cartoon, dark orbs wide open when they met. She had taken him home without much hassle, just to start freaking out the second she remembered the insane amount of time she spent outside her apartment in between meetings, exhibits, late curatorial processes and overall mayhem a gallery generated. After an all nighter making schedules, budgets and a few calls, it was obvious she would need to hire someone to entertain the poor little pup as she was away. She had called a walking dog company first thing next morning as a solution. They assigned her a walker, one that usually worked with little troubles like Vanya was promising to be. Her name was Shea.

They had never met in person, and they haven’t really talked  since the day Shea sent her her number over a text and asked for her to leave a spare key somewhere she could fetch it every time she went to walk Vanya. Her avatar didn’t tell Sasha much about her physical appearance, as the picture was something between a photograph and an illustration, outlandish colors flying in quirky organic figures and toon body parts (breasts, Sasha thought) covered some of the features of a woman’s face- supposedly, Shea’s.

(She did try to analyse this better, but the tiny resolution for it made it quite impossible. Maybe this should have been hint number one, as she quickly became obsessed with the picture.)

She left that morning on a rush and returned home eight hours later, feet sore and swollen in her shimmery red pumps, completely depleted and a bit discouraged as the gallery owner, a southern belle called Trinity, changed last minute the queer exhibition she and the chief curator had been collecting for months for some kitschy landscape showing. The change brought not only tons of extra work but a low blow to Sasha’s ego as she had designed herself the museography. It felt very disrespectful to throw away a subject so dear to the russian.

She closed the door behind her with a sigh as she stepped into her small studio in Brooklyn, Vanya’s paws scraping over the floor in his dash to get to her. She leaned down and petted him, making then her way to the kitchen to get him some food and water, and stirring something up for herself to calm her growling stomach.

As she was about to open her fridge to get some fresh water for Vanya’s bowl, she noticed something- a note, a post-it note adhered to the door of the fridge, next to some polaroids of her and a few friends from Illinois she kept there.

–Hey girl! Vanya loved me. We had tons of fun today. Love,

-Shea

Ps. Hope you smiled a lot today. You look cute smiling in your polaroids ;)

The immediate heat that spread across her fair features was inevitable as she read the note. Vanya ran around her ankles, occasionally propping himself on his back legs, paws against her chins trying to get her attention back on him, as Sasha seemed to have spammed out of this universe completely, eyes wide and a blushed dusting her face and neck. The russian blinked in quick succession, mechanically opening the fridge and pouring water to the dog, who drank happily. Walking towards the small island that served as the dining table, Sasha felt the warmness of her face taking over her entire body.

Sasha was usually lonesome, sometimes too outside-the-box to fit in with the crowd. Brooklyn had proven to be a tad more open-minded to receive her, but still, there were few people that saw in a petite woman with blond wild hair, thick brows, a mind full of thoughts and opinions and a love for clothes with striking patterns and odd accessories as someone they wish to have close to them. She was opinionated, clumsy and most of the times what she said was perceived as overly academic and pretentious, which was exactly the opposite of her intentions. But Sasha didn’t know any better as to how to express herself. She wanted to be heard and she was going to be, no matter what.

Sasha wasn’t good with people, so she mostly kept to herself.

And maybe that’s why coming home from another day without real human contact, having lunch alone on a room cramped with stored paintings and sculptures, a lot of disastrous meetings and having ideas and opinions crushed under someone else’s feet, that she found this little piece of paper as something that had her at the verge of tears. This unknown woman, who walked her dog once, wished she smiled a lot during the day, just because she thought her smile was cute.

Sasha thought of writing Shea a text, thanking her for the note, but thought better of it. The last thing she needed was to scare off her dog walker just because she came on too strong, thinking too much about a simple gesture of courtesy.

The notes didn’t stop though. That was the first of many, many notes, and very, very much awareness over this person she couldn’t even put a face on. This random woman, who she might’ve never meet on the outside world, made her feel treasured and special with simple silly messages written down on a post-its that kept appearing on her fridge. Was she like this with other owners? Sasha liked to think that she wasn’t, that this was their special little thing. Sometimes, when she felt bold enough (probably after a couple glasses of wine late at night too), she would leave a magenta post-it on the fridge, with a silly cartoon or doodle, some message maybe answering whatever Shea had written, sometimes a lame joke, sometimes a simple “Thank you”.

The magenta post-its were always gone and replaced with teal ones, with new messages and new cute non-sense. It wasn’t exactly conversations, as more of signals out in the world that acknowledged both their existences.

Was this borderline insane? Yes, probably. But long ago had Sasha lost the sight of what might be real and what might be her mind playing her over her loneliness. And goodness knew this was the kind of love infatuation someone like her would find irresistible: dramatic, impossible and psycho-ish. It was art at it’s best.

It would make a great book.

_

A friday night Sasha came home soaked to the bone, a mild storm catching her off guard. After closing her door, she stripped to her mismatched underwear, trying not to get water everywhere as she definitely didn’t feel like cleaning. She could hear Vanya barking, probably on the kitchen. She skipped her way down there, her clothes and shoes in one hand, looking for the reason her little one was so distressed. Usually, Vanya was well behaved, and for him to bark inside the apartment was quite odd.

She found him propped on his rear legs, eyes set on a  paper bag over the counter of the island in her kitchen. He barked stubbornly to it. Her sculptural eyebrows shut up almost to her hairline, that wasn’t there on the morning. More surprising (and what made her heart do a painful summersault) was to find a teal post-it stuck to it. Her stomach did something resembling to a cartwheel, her knees felt quite wobbly. What was this? She threw her clothes to the floor, be damned the puddle of water that she’ll have to clean later, and with shaky hands, she took the note.

–So, I thought giving Vanya a treat today was a good idea. Turns out, he really like them and won’t stop crying if I don’t give him one very couple of hours. My bad :( I’ll work on it with him, I promise! For now, these should last him a couple of weeks. Didn’t meant to spoil him, Xx, -Shea. Ps. Who am I kidding? I love to spoil his pretty face.

Sasha read over and over again the note, feeling way dizzier each time she did. The white fuzzing in her brain seemed to stop time as her eyes scanned the piece of paper as if she was a robot. Vanya’s barking eventually brought her back, for her to realize she was steadying herself gripping the counter. With her eyes open as wide as she could, she opened he bag and emptied it, two bags of Hickory Smoke flavour Greenies were inside. The dog began jumping at the sight of the bag, whimpering, running in circles in excitement. Sasha opened one bag and grabbed a treat, tossing it to the impatient dog. Vanya beamed and catched the treat, later to nudge his face against his owner chins in appreciation.

She crouched to the floor, taking the note with her as she let Vanya lick her face. The dog looked at the paper in her hand and touch it with a paw, barking once.

Yeah, you know who wrote this, don’t you?

Vanya barked again and she giggled. It seems like he really liked his walker. And Sasha couldn’t blame him. She really liked her as well.

Another whole bunch of thoughts invaded her mind, never a moment of utter happiness lasting long. Was this a normal thing walkers did with their assigned clients? Why did that woman bought the treats? Were the double X meant to be kisses? Why did she love spoiling Vanya? Why did Sasha love the fact Shea cared so much about her dog?

It was less than likely that walkers went around buying treats for the dogs they took care off, and them just giving the bags to the owner because the dog liked them a little bit too much. Also, anywhere on the contract Sasha signed obligated the woman to do so, she could just have let her know Vanya would cry all night if he didn’t get a treat before sleep and let her deal with it. It would be the normal thing to do, as Vanya wasn’t Shea’s dog. Shea seemed to be very fond of Vanya as she just thought of spoiling him herself today. That made Sasha’s heart flutter. Sasha had never given a treat to Vanya as she wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, or even which would be a healthy one to give him. But Shea did know about this things, and Shea wanted to spoil little Vanya. Anyone who treated Vanya this good had a special space on her heart, and Shea seemed to be adding points in her favor on the imaginary score Sasha kept.

Nonetheless, the blond felt uncomfortable to leave it like this, after all, she was paying Shea to walk Vanya. If the dog needed anything, it was Sasha who needed to pay for it. She took her phone, and shaky fingers looked out Shea’s contact.

She’s had the woman number all along, but had never gather enough courage to message her ever since Shea asked her to leave a spare key for her to use. Unsure of how to even begin a conversation, she just plainly greeted her with a simple hi and asked her how much she owed her for the treats.

Txt from Shea: Hey girl! Don’t be silly, those are on me ;) Vanya quite liked that flavor.

Sasha giggled again. Indeed, Vanya seemed to be really into the Hickory Smoke flavor (of course her dog would like such kind of fancy named taste). She insisted a couple more times on returning her the money, not wanting to put the other woman in the obligation to pay for the treats.  Shea refused.

Txt from Shea: I mean it, don’t worry about it, Anything to keep the smile on my special boy. But, if it makes you feel any better, those were for sale.

Txt from Shea: I really think he is the only dog that likes that flavor.

The blond grinned to the screen of her phone. Shea calling Vanya her special boy make her feel giddy. Was it creepy she ached now to have walks on the park with her dog and a woman she didn’t even know besides the fact she was a dog walker and had  pretty handwriting?

Yes.

Sasha sat laying her back against the island, shivering as she did so as she was still in her underwear. She was giggling at her phone like a highschool girl with a crush. Vanya took his opportunity to wiggle his way into her lap, resting there with his head in between his paws. He seemed to be very happy to see his mom laughing and smiling, and Sasha wondered if he’d like to have two moms to spoil his little bonny ass.

Knowing Vanya, he’d love it.

_  

Bright eyes scanned paintings and sculptures on the O’Hara Gallery opening on a Thursday night. Sasha clicked her black heels against the marble floor, red fringy dress swaying and messy blond hair bouncing on her shoulders at the compass of her strut as she walked among the pieces that were exhibit, examining them and taking notes about the different techniques and authors. The artists featured were all former students of the Arts School of Brooklyn College, and Trinity had sent her to the exhibition to get some new contacts for their own gallery. The southern woman would rather die before placing a high heeled feet on her eternal rival’s gallery, so Sasha had filled in the Yes RSVP in Trinity’s behalf.

Sighing, she wrote down the name of a landscape painter she knew her boss was just going to love -a style somewhere between Aivazovsky and Coubert- ,  and moved on without paying too much mind to the painted canvas.

Most of the pieces, even though great in the technical display, were lacking uniqueness for her taste. Thinking on the easel with yet another unfinished painting she had back in her apartment, she sighed, somewhat jealous. Most of the former students featured on the exhibit were likely to find more galleries to feature their work- a prestigious college and regurgitated yet popular thematics endorsing them. Sasha, having studied Arts and Art History under a less known art college and using heavy discourses as gender and deconstruction to sustain her heavy analytical references to make portraits that haunted her mind, struggled a bit placing her work in big galleries like this one or Trinity’s.

Strolling past yet another hyperrealist pen-drawing she didn’t even bother to look closely -really, how many Juan Francisco Casas-like drawings can one display?-, something caught her eye. At the end of a hall, on the photography section, a splash of colors and figures make her turn around. She stepped up to there, gawking at a series of photographies- no, a series of digital work, something between photography and illustration. The models were posing on the most colorful streets Brooklyn had to offer, Sasha could recognize, all dressed in fashions belonging to subcultures and overall queerness, heavily influenced all by color blocking. Every picture was intervened with figures and comical illustrations, sometimes interacting with the model, sometimes just hiding parts of them out of sight. Every picture was weirder than the previous one, the illustrations taking over the picture as the series went on. Sasha stared at each picture in admiration, the overall visual effect was an explosion of diversity among all the other artists that mirrored each other.  

This was something Trinity would never in her life show on her gallery, but the kind of art that screamed at Sasha. Her ruby tinted mouth was slightly agape, wondering eyes trying to catch every single detail each work had to offer. Little new details were found wherever she took a deep look: the portrait of the tall, asian girl dressed in Harajuku fashion had small lolitas and Hello Kitties dancing around her modelesque pose, splashes of lavender, teal and yellow surrounding her in an echo effect, eyes crossed out and augmented with a heavy black wave over each orb, to the likes of very dramatic eye liner. Next to it, the barbie-doll like blonde woman  posed next to a old teal Chevy, dressed in a pin-up swimsuit, jewels and 80’s plastic dolls doodled over her, arrows and smileys pointing at her wide hips and tits, over drawn lips covering her natural features, a cartoony big ring draping one of her fingers. A blond drag queen, with heavy leaded eyes and dressed in a feathery white gown with teal accents had smoky waves of color around her, weed leaves forming a halo around her head, a blunt sketched lit on her hand. Her cleavage was overdrawn with a dark chocolate color that contrasted with the pale skin, her legs were draw out exaggerating them to the point they were twice their length.  These last three were Sasha’s favorites, as they seem to have something to do with the author’s life, the small additions maybe too clear in reference and meaning, probably implying whoever was behind this knew very well these those models.

Her trained eyes started looking for a signature, not wanting to wait till the last picture on her right to read the whole information about the artist. A small inscription on the corner of the pictures rewarded her: Couleé.

Vaguely familiar, she thought, maybe I have read the name somewhere on the Internet.

Sasha was mesmerized, moving several times over the first seven pictures, not wanting to get to the last one just yet, as that would mean this series would be over and she’ll have to move on. She didn’t want to, she desperately thought that perhaps, she could fit between those models. She could devise herself, maybe laying on an old couch, perched on the middle of a traffic filled road, posing like one of those french models Ingres and Delacroix painted back in the day. She would probably wear a gown, see through, with lots of sparkles and adorned with patterns and beads typically Russian. Her hair would be down, teased out of it’s curls, frizzy, clad with a head wrap of extravagant-printed fabric and feathers and beads. She would probably had giant eyes with thick lashes drawn over her natural ones, maybe a bushy brow. She could picture crowns and very Mondrian-esque lines around her. She smiles, dreaming what might be.

However, as she saw people approaching she felt the pressure to hurry up not to bottle up the hall. As her eyes landed on the last picture, her knees felt weak and her jaw dropped.

It was the portrait of a black woman, looking directly at the camera lens, her hand delicately touching her right shoulder. Her face featured her pouty lips slightly ajar,  eyes a bit overdrawn on the inner corners, making them look bigger. Around her were drawings of tits and asses, melting on some kind of gooey matter, odd cartoony eyes popping up everywhere, completely deviant and strange. Orange, purple, white and teal took over the picture, both the illustrations and the colors contrasting the sensual and provocative look on the woman’s face.

This was the most stunning piece of them all, and Sasha gasped in both shock and annoyance at herself. She had already seen this one. She could not believe she hadn’t associated the style before.

What kind of art curator are you Sasha!?

This was the profile picture she has checked at least twice a day on her texts ever since the Greenies incident. She had analysed a very lower resolution version of this on her phone, over hours of meditation and clutching a teal piece of paper in her left hand like a lifeline while doing so because it was loony stalking.

Couleé. As in Shea Couleé. That’s were she knew the name from.

She saw that name the day she signed the contract with the dog walking company. Of course Shea had to be the artist behind these amazing artworks. Sasha’s evening had been way too normal up until now. How many people on New York could have a last name like Couleé?

Sasha backtracked a bit, stepping clumsily backwards as her heart stammered loudly on her ribcage. So Shea seemed to be a photographer. And she was exhibiting her work. Here. At the very same gallery Sasha was at. And it was opening night. She might be here. That would make sense. Was that last photograph a self-portrait? Maybe, as Shea used it as a profile picture, it might make sense as well. Not that anything else on this very moment made sense to Sasha, as she kept stumbling with her not so anonymous dog walker everywhere. She kept walking, until her body felt a pair of hands stopping her by the arms.

“So, you like’em?”

Sasha yelped, turning around to her right, to find the most stunning woman she had ever laid eyes on. The woman from the last picture was standing in front of her, small skittish smile on her pouty lips, eyes shining under thick dark lashes. Her hair was slick, dark and barely grazing her shoulders, parted in the middle, framing her face giving her a supermodel twist with her high cheek bones. She was wearing a rosé sweater dress with a belt, which hugged all her curbs, from her ample bosom, her tiny waist and thick legs, hitting right below the knee. She played with her hands, left middle and pointer finger clutched nervously on her right fist. However, her stance was secure, planted firmly in both of her feet, wearing gold sandals that sparkled with the light of the gallery.

“Hey Sasha. I’m Shea, your dog walker. How’s Vanya?.” Shea said, her voice a bit timid.

Sasha’s mouth felt like a cotton ball, she could barely swallow as her eyes scanned up and down Shea’s body, shamelessly. Shea towered her a few inches, even with Sasha wearing pumps higher than Shea’s sandals. She seemed to notice Sasha’s wondering eyes, although she didn’t comment anything about it. Sasha knew she should say something, as she might look really stupid at her complete loss of cool. Her mind betrayed her though, as it sped on a turmoil finally putting a face to the name she had all but worshiped for months, a hundred questions maken her overthink.

How was this happening? Was all this really possible? Why was Shea talking to her so casually? Why was Shea so damn gorgeous? Why hadn’t Sasha worn the black and white dress Trinity often told her she good look with? Was her hair even combed?  What was Shea thinking of her? Why did it matter so much?

Sasha opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, like a fish out of the water, making Shea smile widely, crooked rows of teeth showing. The taller woman turned her body to face her photographs, feeling Sasha’s anxiety. She crossed her arms under her chest, tilting her head a bit to the left.

“You know, I studied photography because I really thought I was going to be this famous fashion photographer for Vogue and Marie Claire. Adolescent Shea Couleé, filled with fierceness and big dreams, ready to fight anyone on her way.  It turns out that you need one of them fuckers with long ass careers with the magazines to either endorse your work or die to leave a slot open for new talent. And before you ask, some of them had call my work a bit to banjee for high fashion so they don’t think they can mentor me.” Shea spoke, to Sasha, to herself. The blond woman looked at her with doe eyes, her mouth finally shut close, body angled towards Shea. The taller woman’s voice was soothing and enticing to her ears. She was trying to talk to Sasha as if they knew each other, confidence exuding from her like water down a waterfall. Sasha could feel herself relaxing into the situation, a strange feeling of familiarity blooming in her chest.

After all, they technically had talked before.

Shea leaned in a bit towards her left, her voice lowering a bit in a conspiratorial tone, “And I haven’t managed to take out anyone yet, but I’m working on it. So, for now, I’m stuck photographing my friends.”

Sasha snorted, the comment so out of place and ironical that she couldn’t help it. Shea smiled again, still looking forward.

“So, you are kind of a dog walker on the day, fashion photographer at night?” Sasha asked, looking at Shea’s side, trying to follow Shea’s coolness.

“Well, I’m sending books everywhere now and then, however one does need to pay bills, and I happen to like dogs a lot, so I get a buck and pet cute dogs while at it. It’s a win-win situation really.”

Sasha nodded, understanding Shea’s point perfectly. That was the reason she worked as a curator for now, until -hopefully- she kickstarted her career as an artist.

“Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“Work keeping you that happy, huh?” Shea asked, taking a small step to the side, getting closer to Sasha.

“I’m here for business actually, “ Sasha said, shaking her notepad a bit, trying to purse her lips not let Shea know she saw her move towards her, “talent hunting.”

“Oh! You work on a gallery right? Taylor’s Gallery?”

Sasha glanced at Shea, raising a brow and looking how the woman flinched. Her face scrunched up a bit and she sank her head between her shoulders, probably acknowledging it might sound a bit creepy that she knew what Sasha did for a living and where she worked.

“Ok, I read that on your file after you signed with the company, I swear.”

Icy eyes twinkled, Sasha biting her inner cheek to avoid grinning like an idiot. She fancied the idea that Shea was just as nervous as she was in this utterly weird situation. The photographer’s hands, though resting in her forearms as they were crossed under her chest, shifted warily, fingers drumming against her sleeves.

The coy smile on Shea’s lips make the whole room seem a hundred times brighter, the golden sparkle from expensive gallery lights dusting her features, making her look like a magical creature who’s glow tinted her surroundings. And maybe she was a magical creature, as Sasha instantly understood she was falling in love with this woman, this mysterious woman she knew a lot of and nothing about at the same time, who seemed to be linked to her life in the most ridiculous ways possible, the universe throwing them together at every chance at hand.

Sasha was not upset about any of that.

The russian woman took a small step towards Shea, the distance between them closing.

“I do work on a gallery” Sasha smiled, looking at the portraits in front of her, “I’m surprised you actually remembered reading that.”

“I have a great memory, girl.”, Shea half chuckled, half said. She dipped her head a bit, aiming to disguise the dark blush spreading across her cheeks. “In all honesty though, your apartment is filled with paintings and canvas. You had to do something related to art. I thought you were a restaurator, with all the fresh stuff you keep around.”

Sasha smiled amused, “Actually, I’m a curator. Assistant curator. That’s why they send me off to the exhibitions neither of my bosses want to attend. The paintings back home are actually mine.”

Shea’s face beamed at that answer, her ebony eyes back on the russian woman, “You are really talented. You should be featured here.”

“I don’t really think I fit here, with all… this…” Sasha waved her hand, dismissively, “and honestly neither do you. Your work is fantastic, like seriously genius. Everything else here is so boring,  I’ve been studying these for at least half an hour now.”

“Genius? Why you think they place my portraits here, and not on the main hall? The curator here hated all of the portraits. They were not going to let me show anything, but some dude cancelled last minute.” The taller woman smirked, “And don’t go all flattery on me. I might start believing you!”

“They are good! Extremely so! I’ve been obsessed with your profile photo for quite some time. I actually felt real dumb that I didn’t matched the styles until the very last picture.” Sasha admitted, unblinkingly.

Shea seemed to be a bit taken aback. Shyly, she tilted her face a bit

“Why didn’t you text about it? I mean, if you liked it that much. We could’ve talked about it, you know?”

“I didn’t want to, uhm- be creepy?” Sasha excused herself, feeling lame.

“You wouldn’t have been creepy at all girl. I mean, I left you post-it notes every day. I couldn’t get worst than that.”

They stared at each other for a moment. Sasha could see Shea slightly nibbling her lower lip, something crossing through her eyes she couldn’t quite name.

“Can we, like, talk about that? I mean, why did you do that? Do you, uhm, leave notes to every dog owner or something?” Sasha tried to pick her words carefully, trying to sound purely curious instead of extremely clingy.

Shea bit her lips, pursing them, avoiding eye contact again.

“No, I don’t leaves noted to… anyone else.” She sighed, “You are gonna think I’m crazy.”

“Well, we are here at an opening night, talking like we were old friends when this is the first time we have actually seen each other. You didn’t even needed to tell me your name for me to know who you were, and the other way around. I think we’ve long past the line of crazy here.” Sasha shrugged, trying to sound reasonable within possibility.

After a few bits of silence, Shea spoke again.

“I- I feel like I know you, you know? Like, I read your file and saw your photo there, the one that you have to give to make sure I can recognize you in case you try to jump me or something, and- it was like I’ve already seen you? I could read there where you lived, where you worked, but something about you just… clicked with me. And then I got to your apartment, and to your dog, and I can kind of pieced together a life for you. How you keep very few pictures of you with other people on display, how everything is extremely organized except the living room that is a mess of paintings and brushes, how this little guy is always near your bed when I arrive because he misses his mom. I didn’t know if any of the stuff I imagined was real, but it felt like it was getting to know you without actually meeting you. And then I started leaving you notes because I wanted to talk to you and you started answering back some of them and I just kind of saved them because they had cute drawings and-” Shea covered her mouth with her hand, eyes completely opened. The word panic was written all across her face.

“Oh god, I’m sorry I don’t want you to think I’m a stalker or something I just-”

Sasha took both of Shea’s hands in between hers, pulling them down from their frantic parade as Shea tried to explain herself. The russian had a shit eating grin plasttered on her face, her teeth showing, that confused Shea, as she had stopped rambling at Sasha’s movement. Sasha slid slowly her thumb over Shea’s skin in small circles, liking the velvety sensation of it under her touch.

“I keep your notes too. I sometimes read them before I sleep because they are very relaxing to me, I mean the idea of someone actually talking to me because they wanted to. I thought I was going crazy, asking Vanya about you, as he seemed to like you a lot and honestly so did I, more of what I was supposed to,” she laughed, not letting go of Shea’s hands, “I was very obsessed with you- No, I AM really obsessed with you, that’s why I was panicking when you found me. Because you clicked with me too…”

Sasha’s smile was sincere, and she could see how something inside Shea melted away, her breathing going back to normal, her hands relaxing in between Sasha’s. The blonde took a step forward, the distance between them almost gone by now. Sasha could feel the heat radiating from Shea’s body. She liked the feeling of it against her skin. She wondered if, perhaps, she had never gotten Vanya, if they had met somewhere else. Maybe on an art exhibition, maybe on the train home, maybe on a bar in which they might be sitting alone and decided to keep each other company. She was almost sure that yes, they somehow would have met, as this was the kind of bond the universe works very damn hard to build.

Shea’s eyes scanned Sasha, a new full smile spreading in her face. Sasha liked the sight of it, she wanted to make Shea smile more, she had a cute smile.

“So maybe… We can get to know each other? Better? Like we know a lot of the other and nothing at the same time. Maybe we could go to the park and get some ice cream, it’s still not that chilly like for ice cream to be a terrible idea and I’m free tomorrow, and the leaves are beautiful this time of the year, all shades of orange and yellow contrasting with the sky. Vanya might have to tag along, however, as he gets cranky if I don’t spend the whole weekend with him. But it’s not like I want you to feel you are at work or something! Oh dear, it’s a terrible idea, that’s basically what you do in your work and-”

The pull on her hands stopped her mid sentence, plush lips softly touching hers, asking permission. Sasha let go Shea’s hands and placed them on her waist, pulling her flush against her body, lips parting a bit to kiss Shea deeply. The taller girl’s arms snaked around her neck, playing with her frizzy curls, as she sucked a bit on Sasha’s upper lip.

The kiss didn’t last long enough, in Sasha’s opinion, but it was a promise. Shea’s smile as she kept her hands on Sasha’s shoulders was smouldering, bright like a hundred suns, warming every cell in Sasha’s body.

“I’d love to go to the park with you and Vanya tomorrow. I can’t say no to either of you.”

Sasha beamed and she felt childish as to be this happy about a simple date. As Shea’s hand slipped through her arm into her hand, fingers intertwining as if this wasn’t the first time they have done so, Sasha knew that yes, this was the kind of love she ached: uncanny, passionate, unique and oh so very them.

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When it involves imagination and also spontaneity many of our team believe that they come naturally. There are lots of practical techniques to change the method you react to the thoughts you have, off regular acceptances to a lot more comprehensive workouts that examine and deconstruct the limiting beliefs you store about your own self. They call for basically various methods given that creative writing and also expository writing have generally different purposes and attitudes. These approaches require the mergance from a wide range of ideas to spark off brand-new ideas as well as procedures. In my sessions and helped with conceptualizing treatments, we use several thinking tools like ONE HUNDRED MPH Presuming cents â, Intergalactic Presuming cents â as well as 180 ¡ Æ Assuming cents â to motivate the energetic thoughts and to lead our team to new, possibly much better options. If you loved this article so you would like to collect more info relating to yellow pages online phone book (embrace-gr8nessnfun.info) generously visit our web-page. Each one of these are actually examples from reframes, due to the fact that the crucial attributes from the occasion, item or even individual didn't modify-- merely your perception from them. On the other hand: a lot of our daily obstacles are actually much better handled along with the typical, vertical reasoning method. As you build up your shows understanding, you might utilize your pc gaming knowledge to make new enjoyable ready individuals. That is the situation, once it is actually one-of-a-kind or even amazing complex that requires the imaginative method. Artistic folks certainly not just do better in their work, however have even more fulfilling individual lifestyles as well, due to the fact that they can resolve complications much more effectively, as well as discovering means to commonly make life extra fascinating as well as enjoyable. The investigation on this one is still small, but one research revealed that for college students, those which took a trip abroad scored higher on creativity examinations than those which stayed at their primary university. If you want to promote creativity, instructor should reformalize the concept behind pedagogical directive. You've listened to the phrase work hard and also play hard." All you need to understand is actually that they're the same trait to a creative thinker. They use the technology and also techniques readily available to make better appearing components in the least amount of time. The majority of pupils blunder their means with and also cultivate these skill-sets and abilities on their own. While that is trivially precise, certainly not everybody is actually as innovative as the following individual as well as some are rarely artistic whatsoever. This greatly happens within the creative realm from the mind but could commonly be actually caused by external variables. Oftentimes the environment where you reside or even function blocks your creative thinking. Creativity entails pupils in discovering how to produce and use originalities in certain contexts, seeing existing scenarios in a new way, determining alternate explanations, and seeing or making brand new links that create a positive outcome. An analyst that showed our team a great deal concerning our thinking processes, Eduard DeBono, tagged this process as 'Vertical Thinking': the flow of thoughts moves like an arrowhead that continues its activity up until the intended is actually struck. It is actually unquestionably obvious therefore, that to keep above the floodings and secure persuade in his/her field, everyone must, in these opportunities, should automatically get capabilities in self-expression. In a try to locate a solution to this inquiry I turned to among the pioneers of reasoning, Edward de Bono, and found that his influential work on the 6 Presuming Hats ® administers wonderfully to the art and craft from creating. The road to damaging thought is actually quick and easy to have and also that usually shuts the door to imagination reasoning. Consequently, organizations must first offer a lifestyle (promoted through best administration as well as the panel from supervisors) that supports as well as compensates key presuming rather than reprimanding or preventing the mindsets as well as actions detailed at the starting point of this particular part. The secret in ordering to get a wonderful gift for your little one's teacher is actually to certainly not wait till the eleventh hour to begin considering that! People who seem to be to be extra artistic have actually just spent additional time and energy understanding as well as practicing to become more innovative. There is actually an outdated stating, If you could not express your suggestion in three sentences - you do not possess a suggestion!" Among one of the most vital innovation abilities is actually the ability to present a very clear and also really short description from an originality (2 to 3 paragraphes - like shouting through the closing door of an escalator) and making a quick discussion (two to three mins - what is actually named an escalator sound"). Some innovative tips are actually impressive and also dazzling, while others are actually simply basic, excellent, functional concepts that nobody seems to have thought of yet. Unlike solving an analytic concern, innovative understandings originate from allowing our thoughts stray along tangents and also right into apparently irrelevant locations. With a little bit of imagination and also imagination, you will absolutely locate a lot more typical home products that you could utilize for prudent scrapbooking suggestions. Often this is called purposeful reasoning which is significantly a sub-category of essential thinking. With all the beneficial comments concerning using imaginative electronic media, much more firms, tiny as well as large equally, are actually beginning to produce our team from this. With that in thoughts, this is virtually vital that business begin thinking about that prior to that ends up being far too late. In this particular streamer venture I needed to change or stating this much better improve the interpretation sentence after the seek visual information (graphics & and also photographes) for the ensign. One has to create the environment that assists creative thinking initially, to make sure that workers could transfer to a greater degree of developing brand new product or services. Our team today move toward show business of my solution where it is achievable to know why your supervisor desires to find even more of the innovative, association of ideas. Free Brainstorming Qualifying from Infinite Innovations Ltd - Discover innovative as well as essential strategies for conceptualizing. This will certainly interest observe if such technique activities can nurture imaginative and key thinking likewise that teambuilding games were actually anticipated to improve crew job. Like very imaginative settings at Facebook as well as Google, the a lot more motivational the group property events reside in your work environment, the much easier that is actually to damage the creativity block as well as uncover originalities. A particular kept in mind concerning imaginative individuals that deserves pointing out is determination. Before reviewing this distinction, having said that, that is essential to keep in mind that innovation is actually a brainpower anyone is capable of, not just the artists one of our team. When most of our team think of imaginative individuals, our team typically reveal a special ability like the capability to draw, painting, sculpt, compose, participate in music, vocalize, dance, etc This asymmetry and hindsight accessibility triggers a quite serious problem: every useful, creative concept will definitely regularly be rational in knowledge. However, once they do, after that the crew that has been actually stuck in the limits from that sector needs to have that off certainly there, and also a creative thinker coming from outside the sector needs to relax and note, but get involved to a lower level. For a lot of students in the basic education populace today, the emphasis from learning gones on their ability to use as well as assume problem fixing skill-sets.

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Black Bloggers Connect hosts 4th Annual Blogger Week UnConference in Washington, D.C.

Blogger Week is a multicultural social media festival centered on imparting bloggers and virtual media professionals of color get entry to schooling, workshops, and different skill-constructing events. This 12 months, 25 Black digital media specialists will speak on the Blogger Week 2017 UnConference. Blogger Week is held in Washington, D.C. Every 12 months, drawing over 2 hundred bloggers from across u. S .. The unconference is hosted yearly by means of global blogger community, Black Bloggers Connect, an entity of Culture The Web.kerry Washington

Blogger Week starts with a chain of online occasions scheduled for Monday, August seventh thru Thursday, August 10th. In man or woman events are scheduled for Friday, August 11th thru Sunday, August 13th.unconference topics

The Blogger Week Networking Mixer can be held on Friday

August eleventh at Mulebone in downtown Washington, D.C. By using the Black Public Relations Society of D.C. The Blogger Week 2017 UnConference might be hung on Saturday, August twelfth at Trinity Washington University. The last Blogger Week event, an UnStructured Fashion Show by means of Celebrity Stylist Geneva and DJ DRex, can be hosted on the Ritz-Carlton Georgetown on Sunday, August thirteenth. A complete time table of occasions is to be had at BloggerWeek.Com.unconference rules

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Black Bloggers Connect became based by way of Jessica Ann Mitchell Aiwuyor in 2011. Aiwuyor, a D.C. Based author and multicultural communications specialist, created the social network whilst earning her Master of Science in Public Relations on the prestigious S.I. Newhouse School of Public Communications at Syracuse University. Today, over 14,000 bloggers and digital media professionals get hold of assist and training from Black Bloggers Connect.google blogosphere.how to facilitate an unconference

Key sponsors and partners encompass Urban Movie Channel, Media.The Internet, EDEN BodyWorks, Truth Initiative, The Black Public Relations Society of D.C., Gotham City Esq., Truth Public Relations, Mulebone, BV Mobile Apps, The Hive 2.0, and Go Anacostia.

How to Have a Focus for Bloggers

There is much stuff that is frustrating whilst you first attempt to blog. Coming up with ideas, locating time to do it are one of the top ones. Keeping the ardor going when matters get difficult and having your eyes constant on your cause is any other.

Whatever the case is probably, I desire you take running a blog severely due to the fact your lifestyles could be very precious and time is short.

The component that bloggers war lots is clearly having a force, so to mention, a focus. A focus of thoughts while considering running a blog in their days. Not simplest they get distracted, however in the course of the difficult times, throughout the night time, so to mention, basically, they’re having a difficult time in keeping it going, pushing it through the demanding situations. Basically while not having the drive no blogger can succeed. So where do you find this pressure so as to assist you clearly discover and to make time for running a blog itself?blogosphere search

The force to me comes from my first notion within the morning when I wake up with the idea of who can I assist nowadays. This is my force. I actually think about that hobby and I deliver this idea of assisting humans at some point of my day and I hope you’ll also do this together with your blogging activities because having this initial power to assist human beings in whatever manner you can’t handiest will make the mission of locating the time for running a blog and making the time for blogging easier, but it surely will help you produce a lot useful content material, so much helpful training for people which you genuinely may not be capable of preserve up with this.

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You become a concept device, as James Altucher says, so you have to no longer best locate your reason, your better calling so to mention, but additionally, find this internal drive to help humans. That’s what I want to you these days, and that’s what helped me in finding time for my blogging activities. That’s I believe might be relatively treasured to you too.

Don’t think about blogging as an interest, at the least on your thoughts. Act like an expert, commit to it regardless of what. Complete your responsibilities you have for each day regardless the way you sense about it.

You are probably worn-out or careworn out, however, know this: if you’re operating in your running a blog business with the aid of taking small steps each day, the day will come whilst you will face fulfillment. But for this to manifest you have to have pressure and laser-sharp awareness.

Gross National Happiness on the Balance Sheet?

Happiness is a tangible outcome!

Because of my dedication to high-quality humans control and engagement, I turned into heartened to discover that the UN conference on happiness and well being which started out in New York City on second April came to the realization that desirable overall performance on GNP (Gross National Product) failed to automatically mean that GNH (Gross National Happiness) multiplied at a similar rate.

Yes, surely, Gross National Happiness! For folks who continually idea soft abilities were the gentle option, then the advent of the dimension of Gross National Happiness would possibly mean they have to assume again.

The convention pronounced that even as the economic boom was crucial, 4 other factors were independent reasons for happiness. These are; network agree with; intellectual and physical fitness; quality of governance and ultimately rule of law.

The conference pointed to the premise which you and I realize only too well, that “money is not the foundation of all evil, it’s far the love of money which is”. Or in different phrases, whilst financial wealth is proper, it due to what it brings to our lives, not the objective.

The conference that’s a primary of its type can be an exceptionally crucial landmark inside the force to change the way we do commercial enterprise.

If you haven’t but heard of “The World Happiness Report”

By means of Jeffrey Sachs et al; upon which the summit referred to of their discussions, then you could want to get yourself a copy of this. The record makes the hyperlink among economic growth and the effect on happiness and wellness, that is speedy (it seems) turning into a measurable commodity.

The subject of the record centers on the premise that happiness is a derivative of growing wealth is now not sustainable. From a global perspective, in phrases of sustainable improvement, we want to pay attention to ending poverty, environmental sustainability, social inclusion and proper governance.

Most leaders recognize and understand that monetary reward isn’t generally pinnacle of the list to assist encourage personnel. The usual message from the convention and file is that the following elements are essential to people in the international of labor and as a size of happiness.

“Working hours, top possibilities for development, process security, interesting job, permits to work independently, lets in to help other human beings, and beneficial to society: A experience of ordinary reason for the activity, a diploma of autonomy in discharging it, and the competence to do the task – a right match among employee and activity. Allied to this human beings needs support and popularity for his or her efforts. In addition, extra non-public elements include mental and physical fitness, education and family revel in”.

As a people manager for many years, I usually knew thru enjoy that satisfied employees were productive employees. But it is extra than that. As people, if you smash down any motivation for any motion we take, it’s also to assist ourselves grow to be happier. We have an inner pressure in the direction of happiness and health. That is due to the fact happiness and well being are our herbal country.

While I suppose the convention is merely a starting, and it’s going to remain to be seen whether the situation of happiness is taken significantly or no longer with the aid of international leaders; as a minimum, it’s for a beginner. So at the side of me, watch this space!

Do you consider happiness is essential? What would possibly this recognition on happiness mean for leaders, managers and HR specialists within the destiny? What are your views? I’d love to listen from you.

Debunking Three Myths About George Washington

George Washington, our kingdom’s first president is one of the most distinguished figures in American history. For many Americans, he is called the “Father of our Nation” because he has become the finest American legend worried in the freedom and development of our united states of America in several approaches: navy hero, first president, a signer of the American Declaration of Independence, simply to call a few. What passed off to such men like Washington is that myths had been created that more desirable fame and honor. However, most myths come to be such tall tales they turn out to be exaggerations or lies. Such is the case with 3 of the most popular myths approximately Washington’s life.

1. The Cherry Tree: Young George Washington used his new hatchet and chopped down his father’s prized cherry tree. When his father found his tree were reduced down, he asked his son if he becomes the culprit. George stated that he did certainly chop it down and his father embraced him as an act of forgiveness. This tale is probably the maximum popular delusion approximately Washington, but it is a fantasy. This tale originated in a book written via a minister named Mason Locke Weems, or “Parson” Weems who turned into an American writer who wrote numerous biographies of historic figures. His most famous biography changed into The Life of Washington, written in 1800. Weems also wrote about different lesser-acknowledged myths about Washington. Most who read the e book idea they had been absurd.

2. False Teeth Made of Wood: Washington’s false enamel have been now not made from timber.

Our first president seemed to be cursed with chronic troubles together with his enamel maximum of his existence. He wore dentures manufactured from human, and probably cow and horse enamel, ivory, lead-tin alloy, copper alloy (possibly brass), and silver alloy. So, it seems he wore pretty much every opportunity kind of detail that might be made into a tooth. At his home in Mount Vernon, site visitors can see a show of his closing set of dentures, apparently product of ivory. Interestingly, those dentures are the most prominently displayed objects there.

Three. The Silver Dollar Thrown Across the Potomac River: Did Washington throw a silver dollar across the Potomac River? The width of the river runs from 1,300 ft to eleven miles. It is humanly not possible to throw a coin from one aspect to another. Also, the colonial government did no longer mint silver “dollars” till 1794. Before that date, the Spanish dollar, or “Piece of Eight” had circulated in the original colonies. Besides Washington became 67 years old whilst he died in 1799. So he could have been a reasonably antique guy, at 63, while the primary dollar changed into launch.

Myths about well-known women and men are invented to make their lives seem more and greater exciting than they already are. Whether myths start as stories written in books or are created amongst drunken men in taverns, it is useless gossip. Washington was such a well-known American parent, growing myths did little to enhance the deeds that made him this sort of mythical American hero. These three myths unfold about him truly faded in assessment to his full-size listing of accomplishments.

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