#yes I spend my time intellectualizing my emotions how could u tell

[emomosquito]

This is originally from a comment I posted on r/autisminwomen on a post asking why autism is celebrated in media but not in real life. However, I really really like my answer and wanted to post it here, ESPECIALLY since I talk about divergent so much on my blog. So, here you go:

I think part of the reason I really liked the divergent series so much is because tris's voice in the books is so... Autistic??? I can agree that the book isn't... The best piece of literature ever.... But I think that there's some part of me that will always love that book because it made me feel weirdly normal.

(Oh and while we're at it for 2012 dystopian ya novels - katniss from the hunger games was just an autistic slay.)

But back to divergent. I think this is also why people didn't like the books and (in my opinion) acted like they were worsely written than they were. People are happy to accept autistic characters/autistic coded characters in an act of performance and weird savior fantasy. But, when someone actually has autism (or a character is portrayed with more realistic, less "black and white" autism), this weird internalized ableism comes out in a very subconscious way. I remember hearing about a research article talking about how nts subconsciously notice autistic people almost immediately by a sense of uneasiness or "uncanny valley". People are all too happy to watch the guy on atypical and infantilise him to the point of feeling like they're rooting for a kid in a coming of age movie, but are very happy to jump on characters like Devi in Never Have I Ever for being "too weird" and "too grown to be acting that way".

The celebration for autism in media is a show. The more you realize it, the more you notice it.

[ohshcscenerios]

hi!!!! i think my request didn't go through:( i sent it a long time ago and didn't wanna ask cause i Fu igured u were busy!! but u said ur askbox was empty so i m sending it again if it's alright!!! i would like to request a one shot where kyoya breaks up with his gf and the awkward and sad middle (cause she's friends with the hosts) and how they get back together!!! thank u ♥️❤️♥️❤️♥️

Oh my goodness I’m so sorry your ask was lost! I’m so glad you asked again! I hope I can make it up to you! I hope you don’t mind but I made the girlfriend Haruhi because I favor writing in third person and having two solid perspectives really helps me write the story freely. I have no idea if this is going to be good because I tried to write this as fast as I could for you! I hope you enjoy this one-shot!

Kyoya absent-mindedly checked the Ootori stock market on his laptop as hosting hours came to a close for the day. Their guests were beginning to pack up their belongings and head towards the door in pairs. Within minutes the last pair of guests left; officially closing the club for the evening.

“Finally.” He sighed, relieved to be rid of the noisy bubble-headed heiresses. He cared for his friends and he cared for their club but he couldn’t care for their guests on the same level. Sometimes Kyoya envied Tamaki for his unique personality that allowed him to love and appreciate everyone at the same standard. It certainly made entertaining the ladies much easier. However Kyoya couldn’t see past their trained smiles and greedy eyes. His guests in particular craved an intellectual, a man who could balance their emotions as well as a checkbook, but his guests weren’t any better than the rest. They still gawked at him with high expectations. They still waited for his smooth words and innocent smirk to swoon them. They didn’t care to know the real Kyoya, only the façade he offered. They didn’t want to know the real Kyoya. There was nothing for them to gain by knowing the real Kyoya.

But she knew the real Kyoya. She fought tooth and nail to peak at the man hiding behind the mask. She had known him… and accepted him… once.

He didn’t want to think about that right now. He never wanted to think about that – her. He ended their dangerous connection, corked the bottle, and stored it away where she would only live in his memories. That’s where she belonged… if only he could fully convince himself that was true.

“Hey Kyoya, we’re going to leave a little early today. My dad wants to go over graduation details and the twins want to pitch their ideas.” Tamaki casually said as he collected his jacket and school satchel. The twins were waiting at the doors, a few steps ahead.

Kyoya only nodded and stood up to collect his things. He really should be leaving as well. He had to meet with his father tonight to further discuss his arrangement.

Tamaki and the twins silently left, leaving Kyoya seemingly alone in the music room. Mori and Hunny didn’t attend club today due to having late university classes so he should be the only one left.

“Kyoya.” Her voice…

.

.

“What are you saying Kyoya.” Haruhi asked; her thin patience evident in her gravel voice. When she agreed to meet Kyoya at his hosting couch after club hours she didn’t expect to have the conversation they were now having. Her only clue to his true intentions was the emotional distance today. He rarely looked her way, rarely spoke to her, and when he dismissed their guests he made sure to turn his back to her.

Now it all became clear. At first she thought he was stressed out because of school work or his father but she had been horribly wrong.

“I apologize Haruhi but this our best choice. We should break up now while our relationship is still young. If we continue it will only hurt worse in the end.” Kyoya gently explained behind his cool composure.

“Exactly, our relationship is still young. How can you end our relationship now? You’ve only gotten your feet wet.” Haruhi felt a pressure growing in her nose as the swell of tears threatened to spill over. She wasn’t necessarily angry with his choice but rather his timing. They had a solid friendship between them but their romantic feelings were still in their infancy. They hadn’t explored their feelings for each other yet. She had so many thoughts and desires she’d eventually need to unpack and she had hoped to do it with Kyoya. Unfortunately it didn’t look like that would happen now. Kyoya was willing to walk away before they delved into each other.

Did he truly find no merit in her? Was there not emotional merit or relational merit? Were they better off as remaining strictly friends? She would probably never know and yet those questions would haunt her for weeks to come.

Kyoya adjusted in glasses which gave off their signature glint, “I apologize for ending this courtship so early but it is for the best we end it now.”

“And why is it best? Why should we break up?” Haruhi argued, hungry for an explanation.

“There is no use for us to continue romantically. Your intelligence doesn’t outweigh your commoner status and unfortunately the Ootori family cannot overlook that. It is best we remain friends and move on.” His voice nearly cracked when he said the word friends and though it was barely a warble Haruhi caught it. Kyoya wasn’t telling her the entire truth. He was lying to her… but why?

“Kyoya, I understand you’re graduating at the end of this month.” Haruhi said wearily, as if skeptical.

Kyoya arched an eyebrow, “Yes I am, as is the rest of my class. What is your point?”

Suddenly, it clicked. There was only one reason why an Ootori son would need to be single before his high school graduation.

“Your father is ordering you to enter an arranged marriage.” The hushed words were spoken in one breath. They sounded like silk but speared Kyoya right through his pride. Without looking her in the eyes he reluctantly nodded.

“You’re going to let your father dictate your happiness?” She was beginning to grow angry now. Not only was Kyoya blindly obeying a greedy dictator but he was willing to throw her – their happiness and affections – away so he could continue to chase his inheritance.

If that was how Kyoya wanted to live his life… then…

“Fine.” Haruhi stood from the couch.

Kyoya reached to grab her wrist but she swiftly pulled it away just as his fingers grazed her.

Haruhi please, don’t do this -.”

“I’m not doing anything Kyoya. Matter of fact, you aren’t either. You’d rather roll onto your back to appease your father than fight for yourself.”

Kyoya stiffened, “That isn’t fair to say. You and I live in very different worlds. You still do not fully understand the obligations I’m expected to fulfill. You wouldn’t survive in my world.”

Haruhi turned to leave, “And yet you wanted to court me.” With her final statement ringing in his ears she took her leave; letting Kyoya drown in his damning thoughts.

.

.

“I didn’t know you were still here.” Kyoya said honestly. He watched her shuffle her feet, uncertain whether to approach him or gather her things and leave him behind. Her hesitation felt nice to him. He liked that she wasn’t sure how to think of him.

She once abhorred him, called him a coward, and couldn’t look him in the eye. It was the lowest he’d ever felt. His father’s insults, his brother’s taunts, and his classmate’s gossip couldn’t compare to her disappointment. She was the only woman to ever understand, accept, and love him… and he threw it all away for his family’s name. It was almost ironic; he fought most of his life to prove himself worthy of recognition and respect and when he finally obtained that… he turned her away. Although his fight was waged against his father he found what he starved for in her; her deep chocolate eyes, her contagious smile, and her genuine words. He had found it all within her as if all of his desires were neatly wrapped up in one person. Yet… he turned her away.

She was right to call him a coward.

He was a coward.

He was too afraid to fight for his own happiness – for them – for her – and in consequence he would spend the rest of his days sharing his bed with a stranger. He threw away his only chance of a happy marriage, a happy family, and a happy life just to fulfill the Ootori’s needs.

What about his needs?

As the third son, his needs weren’t important.

But she made them important.

She made him important.

“Haruhi, may I ask five minutes of your time? I’d like to discuss your debt balance.”

.

.

Haruhi felt a pair of arms snake around her waist from behind which nearly made her drop the tea set she was carrying on a silver tray. The kitchenette was empty, as so was the host club, and she knew exactly whose nose was snuggling into her ear.

“Kyoya, darling, you almost made me drop this expensive tea set. You can’t surprise me like that.” Haruhi sighed.

Kyoya only chuckled and kissed the shell of her ear, “Maybe I wanted you to drop it,”

“And why would you want to me to destroy this collectible set from Loitre?”

“So I can make you pay for it later.” Kyoya trailed his mischievous kisses along her neck and down to her shoulder; smiling at feeling her sudden goosebumps.

“Kyoya please do not be ridiculous. You wouldn’t risk however much these costs just to tease me.” Haruhi scolded with a hint of deviousness which Kyoya firmly noted.

Kyoya loosened his grip around her waist and grabbed her hips; pushing his thumb into her skin right above her bottom. He smiled at her gasp.

“Kyoya… you really shouldn’t-.”

“Shh… Haruhi… No one is here. There’s no need to be so uptight.” He teased.

Haruhi decided to concede and carefully set the tray on the counter. She couldn’t risk dropping the fragile set. Even though she was dating the shadow king and somehow earned his affections she wasn’t above earning another debt. In fact, her current status in his life made her more vulnerable to debt. Kyoya would use anything to keep her tangled in his web.

She spun herself around and draped her arms behind his neck. Kyoya smirked and dove in, taking advantage of her submission. He greedily tasted her luscious lips as he pushed her into the counter.

.

.

“I’d rather not today Kyoya. I told my father I would come home after school.” She responded with a tint of disgust. Her once indifferent demeanor turned cold and it hurt him. It hurt Kyoya to see her erect her own mask before him.

Before they dated she didn’t hide behind anything. Haruhi wore her heart on her sleeve and willingly spoke her mind. It wasn’t her fault that others couldn’t decode her thoughts and emotions… but Kyoya could. He could read her like a book. Page after page he savored all that made Haruhi so delectable and pure. He honored her honesty and rewarded her authenticity with his genuine self. He gave her the real Kyoya in return for her unpolluted love.

He was a fool to give her up.

He was a fool to surrender their beautiful future for his family’s name sake.

Yes, he was a fool.

“Haruhi, I beg you to listen to me.” Kyoya stood from the couch and joined her where she stood, taking her hand in his before she could pull away. “Please give me five minutes of your time.”

“You’re begging me?” Haruhi asked in disbelief. Her questioning eyes exposed her cautious spirit to which Kyoya understood and prepared himself for the rejection. He hurt her too much for forgiveness. He gave her a taste of true love and yanked it away just as quickly.

He suffered alongside her but he couldn’t confide his emotions and thoughts to her. They understood each other’s pain yet they couldn’t even look at each other.

“Alright, you have five minutes.” She said.

.

.

“Kyoya, I need to ask you when the host club is hosting their spring ball. My customers aren’t sure if the dates.” Haruhi asked as she stood behind the entertaining shadow king. His guests were polite to keep quiet while Haruhi spoke though they didn’t appreciate the stolen minutes.

Kyoya cleared his throat, “Haruhi, it’s important for each host to be updated on hosting affairs. I recommend glancing at the calendar after club hours. The spring ball is the third Saturday of March.”

Haruhi nodded, satisfied with the answer, and was about to walk away when a thought struck her odd. She turned back around and asked, “Which calendar Kyoya? I don’t remember ever seeing a calendar in the music room.”

Kyoya adjusted his glasses and spoke again, this time with a little more growl, “The calendar in the second dressing room. It’s in the very back behind the storage shelves… far from wandering eyes…” He glanced at Haruhi, willing her to understand his silent proposition.

A few awkward seconds ticked by before Haruhi realized what Kyoya was exactly saying. She smiled, quickly nodded, and returned to her table looking forward to seeing that calendar.

.

.

“I apologize for hurting you so badly.” Kyoya conceded, daring to stare into her deep chocolate eyes. He saw strong emotions flash across her irises; agitation, confusion… hope. Her eyes quickly disregarded her hint of faith and quickly displayed her anger.

“Why are you opening old wounds? Can you not let sleeping dogs lie?” She was very angry. Almost too angry. The strong emotionally display was a clear disguise for something else. There was something else clawing her throat but she continually swallowed it back. Kyoya developed suspicions but he needed to be certain. He needed to know if she really could be his again.

He needed to know before he gave his life away to another woman.

“I love you Haruhi.”

The words spilled into the room before his mind could comprehend their merit. His unspoken truth – the burden that crushed his confidence day after day, forced him to painful writhe in bed, mocked him for his cowardice – was now floating in the air between them. Whether she would accept them he couldn’t be certain.

“Yet you won’t be with me…” Her voice cracked along with her faux strength and Kyoya watched her cold demeanor crumble around her ankles. Tears threatened to spill from her glossy eyes as she fought the quiver in her lip.

Kyoya couldn’t bear it any longer. This woman – this woman – was supposed to be his and he’d be damned if he made the same mistake again.

“I will. I will be with you.” He croaked out, a little surprised that his magical spell also collapsed.

Their naked emotions exposed their trembling hearts and Kyoya couldn’t stand one more second of it. He stepped forward and grabbed her nape, pulling her to him as he leaned down. Their lips crashed together. It was electric like fireworks bursting free from their cardboard shells. Pleasurable pulses raced throughout his body as he welcomed the familiar taste of her skin.

“Kyoya.” She barely mumbled in their kiss.

He pulled away but held her head firm in place with his two hands, “I love you Haruhi Fujioka and I want to be with you.”

He kissed her again but pulled away just as she began to reciprocate.

“I don’t give a damn what my father wants for me. He doesn’t want to account for my happiness. You are my happiness.”

He placed another peck on her lips before leaning his forehead against hers and whispering, “Marry me Haruhi. Be with me. Be my wife.”

“Your father has already arranged your bride.” Haruhi said, sounding very regretful.

“My father made the arrangements but I didn’t.”

“What about your family Kyoya? What about bringing merit to the Ootori name?”

“I was a fool for having you believe you do not bring merit. Your merit far outweighs any business proposal. You are worth more than any bride my father presents me. I need you. I need you Haruhi. Marry me.”

Haruhi pulled him back and kissed him for all she was worth – for all her love was worth – and Kyoya couldn’t help but smile as he kissed her back. He faintly heard a whispered yes amidst their nips and nibbles, encouraging him to wrap his arms around her slender waist and deepen their affections.

Every boat needed an anchor. Every bird needed its wings. Every turtle needed its shell.

Kyoya needed Haruhi.

.

.

“Haruhi, can you please stay after club hours? I would like to discuss your current debt balance.” Kyoya asked without looking away from his laptop. Haruhi quipped a soft yes before returning to her clean up duties. Hikaru and Kaoru offered to stay behind and help her clean in exchange for coming to her house for an hour after school. Haruhi was dreadfully tired after the chemistry exam that day and accepted their offer, although it pained her to think about the two devils inside her apartment.

Now that Kyoya demanded her attention the twins were forced to take a rain check. Unfortunately that also meant their help was cut short. After she agreed to stay behind they grabbed their bags and left disappointed. Apparently they were only willing to help as long as their reward stood firm.

Haruhi finished packaging the last clean teacup into their cardboard boxes when she heard Kyoya’s laptop click closed. Haruhi thought that weird considering her debt was on his laptop, unless he simply wanted to tell her a number in which he only needed his memory. But why would she need to stay behind for a measly number?

“I’m finished Kyoya.” She announced as she walked over to his hosting couch.

He patted the cushion beside him and adjusted himself to sit slightly diagonally. Haruhi sat down where he indicated and looked at him with bright expectant eyes.

“Haruhi, you and I have been good friends since your first year and I’ve enjoyed our friendship immensely.” Kyoya began confidently. “You and I get along very well. I enjoy talking with you and sharing ideas with you. I also enjoy your companionship. I think you and I would make a good pair, don’t you agree?”

Haruhi blinked a few times before she croaked out a timid yes. Kyoya smiled and interpreted her silence to continue.

“I would like to court you, Haruhi. I’ve already spoke with your father and he gives his blessing. I would very much appreciate the opportunity to formally court you… if you’ll have me.”

Haruhi felt she was choking on her shock. Kyoya’s boldness stripped her of her voice, leaving her utterly speechless. She’s had romantic feelings for Kyoya for a while not but accepted the fact he would forever overlook her due to her social status. He had grown more handsome as time went on, teasing her ever growing feelings for the shadow king. At first she convinced herself to keep it as a harmless crush but time proved her weak. Her feelings grew stronger with each passing day. He slowly became more human; a man with emotions, insecurities, and faults. He slowly let his guard down around her as they developed a deeper friendship. He was soon no longer the heartless shadow king but a strong-willed Ootori trying to balance the world on his shoulders. Haruhi surprised herself when she grew to wanting to help bear his burdens.

To hear those words roll off his tongue made her want to smile. And so she did. She smiled.

Her smile said it all. She didn’t have to say anything. Kyoya knew her long enough to know when she offered a genuine smile it could only mean good news.

So he offered her a smile of his own. 

She hoped this would be the beginning of a beautiful relationship. 

[resilientreader]

You already know how we work. 1 through 97 with the asks!

1. What’s your middle name? michelle  (mic-hell?)

2. What are you listening to right now? can’t help falling in love by haley reinhart

3. What was the last thing you ate? poptarts

4. Who was the last person you talked to on the phone? u (haha mobile tumblr)

5. Do you drink? no

6. Do you smoke? no

7. What is the first thing you noticed in someone? the way they carry themselves/portray themselves to others

8. What is your hair color? dirty blond

9. What is your eye color? grey-ish blue

10. Do you wear contacts/glasses? yeah i wear glasses

11. Dogs or cats? give me all the fucking furballs

12. What’s your favorite animal? i wouldn’t be able to decide, there are too many good ones.

13. What’s your favorite television show? modern family is neat

14. What’s your favorite movie? uh,,i rlly like pitch perfect actually, from what i remember it was neat

15. What’s your favorite band/singer? i can’t really choose on a favorite, considering there are so many good ones, but mcr, relient k, mindy gledhill, and regina spektor are all near the top.

16. How old are you? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

17. Do you have a crush on anyone? My girlfriend

18. What’s your sexual orientation? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

19. What’s your favorite color? gray

20. What was your most embarrassing moment? existing in itself is embarrassing

21. Do you ever wish you were someone else? yeah sometimes

22. What were you like when you were a kid? i was,,,immature

23. What would your dream house be like? books literally everywhere, rlly cozy and warm, soft colors and plush things literally everywhere.

24. What last made you laugh? a shitpost

25. What is your favorite word? perpetual

26. What is your least favorite word? can’t

27. What turns you on? a light switch

28. What turns you off? hey what do you know, it’s that same switch

29. What is your star sign? capricorn

30. What are your favorite books? harry potter series

31. Do you have any siblings? yeah, 3 of them

32. Do you like to dance? not often

33. What is your definition of cheating? being untruthful and going behind another’s back for personal gains and/or doing it out of fear

34. Have you ever cheated on someone? no

35. Do you regret anything? my existence

36. Do you have any phobias? yes plenty

37. Ever broken any bones? yeah, i snapped my femur in half once bc an old tv fell on it

38. Ever come close to death? yeah, when i snapped my femur in half bc the tv could’ve fallen on my head or w/e if i didn’t pull a sonic move

39. What is your religion, if any? i dont really have a set religion, i’m more just gonna let fate take the reins on what happens after i die and accept that really any religion could be true

40. Have you ever been to a psychiatrist/therapist? no

41. Are looks important in a relationship? not at all

42. Are you more like your mom or your dad? i’m pretty neutral on both of them, because i have some of my mom’s traits and some of my dad’s but i’m also like neither of them so

43. What is your favorite season? winter

44. Do you have any tattoos? no

45. Do you have any piercings? yeah

46. How many boyfriends/girlfriends have you had? like,,,2-3

47. Have you ever had a crush on a fictional character? not really

48. Who is your celebrity crush? no one

49. Are you a virgin? yeah

50. Do you get jealous easily? not really i dont think

51. What is your favorite type of food? dessert 

52. Do you ever want to get married? sure, if i find the right person for it

53. Who was your first kiss with? i still haven’t had a kiss yet lmao (my girlfriend is like,,,online so?)

54. Have you ever been cheated on? i’m too oblivious to know

55. What is your idea of the perfect date? spending an evening/night just sitting w my so and talking to each other about everything. listening to them tell their life story, telling me their favorite things, things they think, really anything about them. we’d be cuddling and just having a nice conversation until the early hours of the morning, or even just laying there together in silence.

56. Are you an introvert or an extrovert? introvert

57. Do you believe in aliens or life on other planets? fuck yeah

58. What talent do you wish you’d been born with? being able to draw or like sing

59. What is your saddest memory? frankly would rather keep this one to myself

60. Do you believe in love at first sight? yes

61. Do you believe in soul mates? yes and no

62. Have you ever dyed your hair? no

63. Has someone ever spread a nasty rumor about you? not that i’m aware of

64. Would you go against your moral code for money? it depends on what i’d need the money for

65. What are three things most people don’t know about you? i’m lactose intolerant (but completely disregard the fact and gorge on ice cream haha), the last time i drew something was months ago, and no one i don’t think has ever heard or experienced the full extent of my emotions/issues/being

66. Who are you jealous of? i’m not really jealous in general??? like i can’t name anyone who i’ve specifically been jealous of before????

67. Do you sleep with a stuffed toy? sometimes

68. How long was your longest relationship? the one i’m in, actually

69. Is the glass half empty or half full? why do i have half of a glass anyway

70. What is the sexiest thing someone could ever do for/to you? flirt with me

71. Who is your most loyal friend? not too sure

72. Are you in a relationship? yes

73. If you have a boyfriend/girlfriend, what is your favorite thing about him/her? she’s so kind and enchanting and jfkfkjgk you don’t understand i don’t have a favorite thing there’s too many wonderful and amazing things about her, saying one good thing about her feels like it’d just omit everything else about her

74. Are you a bad person? i’m not the best judge for that

75. Are you a lover or a fighter? i think a lover, i’m not too sure

76. What did you do on your last birthday? stayed lowkey

77. What is your favorite quote and why? i don’t have a favorite quote, but i enjoy quotes that explore topics that are more spiritual rather than intellectual or anything

78. If your best friend died, what would you do? i would die inside along with their physical death

79. If you had to go back in time and change one thing, what would it be? that one answer on that one test (aka ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

80. If you only had 24 hours to live, what would you do? send messages to everyone i value telling them about how much i value and appreciate them before writing some last words

81. What is the strangest dream you’ve ever had? uh one time i dreamed that my family had a plushie contest in my old house and i had a python plushie that turned into an actual python, then at some point it started raining and like,,,,nutcrackers and giant gummy bears attacked my house???? and i lead???? some sort of attack against them?????? then woke up???

82. Are you happier single or in a relationship? it depends on who i’m/i’d be in a relationship with

83. Who were you in a past life? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i can’t remember

84. What is your happiest childhood memory? this one christmas when i got a dog plushie bc it was,,so pure (i still have him)

85. Have you ever experienced unrequited love? like,,,once

86. Have you ever had an imaginary friend? yeah, lots of them

87. If you were the president, what would you do? implement new policies on equality and help square away the country’s budget, along with working towards making the government more unified and,,,you know, stuff like that

88. What is your ideal career? either being an author or a psychologist, both are really neat

89. What is your political affiliation? lmao idrc about politics

90. Are you conservative or liberal? again idc about affiliating myself with one or the other

91. Is the male or female body closest to perfection? both are beautiful, no matter the shape

92. Do you like kissing in public? yeah i’m fine with it

93. If you could change one thing in the world, what would you change? the fact that people can’t accept that people and opinions can differ from their own views and/or values

94. Where would you like to live? scotland

95. Where would you go on your dream vacation? alaska

96. Describe yourself in one word. conflicted

97. Describe yourself in one sentence. a mess that won’t change.

[supershrinkingviolet]

I’m the Thing That Needs To Be Fixed || Self

Today was an awful day to go to therapy.

Violet could feel the pulse of the full moon in her blood, and it made her antsy and frustrated as she often was on this day. Her buttons got pushed so much faster, and that was without adding the fact that therapy had always been one of the biggest button pushers of all for her. So basically, this was about to be a fucking train wreck, and Vi wasn’t entirely sure she’d still have a job after this. What happened if Dr. Hayes didn’t ok her for work after all? Would she have to continue this ‘mandatory evaluation’ for the rest of her life?

Wouldn’t it be ironic if that was what finally drove her to end it all?

No. Stop thinking like that. That’s a bullshit thought and you know it Violet. Just open the damn door, get this over with, and you can put this all behind you. Then you could go back to spending your life the way you always do.

The last few days at work had been uncomfortable. Violet had barely spoken outside of what was explicitly required by whatever case they were working on, and even that had to be dragged out of her. Gardner apparently took the hint and responded in kind. They’d never been particularly chatty or anything, but the change in situation showed exactly how much they had talked before. Or at least sat in companionable silence, instead of a silence humming with everything she was feeling and his frustration.

But her rebellions had never extended far enough to make her stop going to the therapy other people insisted she needed, so she was here right as the clock was striking 11.

It was a pretty enough little place. It looked like a comfortable house, close enough to public transport to make it easy to get around the center of town, far enough away to give a feeling of settled privacy. All the benefits of the city without the noise. It didn’t have the look of a lived in house though, so this was just a more elaborate office. Huh. It probably made people relax. If they were interested in that sort of thing.

She went up to the forest green door and knocked briskly, trying to sound more confident than she actually felt, and less annoyed than she really was. Moments later, the door swung open.

Staring at her was a pretty woman, probably in her 30s if Vi was to take a guess. Her rich brunette hair had something done to it so it seemed to lighten it and make it seem like it shined without actually taking away from the color. Clear chocolate brown eyes stared at her out of a chiseled face that looked like it was from one of the movies Gus was endlessly introducing her to. She was dressed in a very professional deep green dress with a short cream colored jacket over it. All in all, she gave off the impression of stylish and competent, which was probably the goal. She gave a friendly smile and opened the door wider. “You must be Violet Parr. Please, come in. I wasn’t sure if I would see you today since I didn’t hear from you.”

“You said mandatory. I figured it would be worse if I didn’t show up when I was told. Besides, Gardner obviously knew about it, so its not like I’m skipping out on work.”

“Yes of course. Still. Not everyone would put so much stock in the rules.”

“What, is this small talk or are we on the fucking clock already?”

Deliberately, Vi threw in the swear word to see how the other woman would react. It wasn’t professional, but nothing about her outfit was designed to give that impression. Violet was wearing what she thought of as her ‘home’ attire. A black turtleneck was covered up by a ratty old black hoodie that had been washed way too many times to still provide any kind of warmth. The black jeans were worn nearly white at the knees and were pocked by dozens of small tears from wearing them as she wandered around the woods. Her hair was down and half covering her face, and she had her hands firmly in her sweatshirt pockets. Most other people would consider a look like this a risk, especially considering the high stakes of this ‘evaluation’.

Vi saw it as armor.

She’d worn variations on the same outfit to every therapy session she’d ever had, and she saw no point in breaking tradition. After all, therapy was all about babbling your feelings, giving up parts of yourself to be judged by someone else. This way Violet could remind her of who she was. Herself. Only herself, and no one else had any right to that.

But the woman didn’t appear the slightest bit ruffled, only nodding slightly. “Why don’t you come inside, and we can get started. I’m sure you’d rather we finish as quickly as possible.” She stepped back and Vi stepped past her into the house.

The inside gave off that same comfortable professional vibe as the outside and the woman herself. It was all designed to be non-threatening without having the hospital green effect. Comfy chairs, tasteful art, thick carpets that muffled sound. It was supposed to make you relax. For Vi, the recognition of the effect only made her tenser.

Vi dropped into a chair before she could be told to sit, and looked over as Dr. Hayes sat across from her. As always, feeling this uncomfortable and defensive had Vi launching into attack mode before she lost too much control.

“Is there any point to this? I’m sure you’ve read the files all my other therapists have made about me. I doubt they’re going to say anything new. This is a waste of time when I should be working.”

“Actually, I haven’t read any of your other files.”

That made Violet pause. They had always read her files. They always referred to things other people said, or made notes on things to dive in deeper. What did this professional mean she hadn’t looked at them? “What?”

“Oh, I know that you’ve had them. Your relative medical and psychiatric history was passed on to me. But I never like to read other people’s notes. I find it changes how I see the person before I have a chance to form my own opinions – and I rarely agree with other people.” She said all of this in the same pleasant tone she had greeted Vi in, as if the whole thing were of no consequence.

It left Vi feeling off balance, so she hunched slightly in the chair and glared out at her. “Well that’s a load of horse shit. Don’t you all get the same kind of fucking training after all? ‘What’s wrong with this person. How can I fix them. What happened when they were three years old that led to the anxiety attack last week.’ Clear cause and effect as if that matters changes all the messy shit that happens along the way.”

“Maybe. But sometimes two people can look at the same thing and come away with something completely different. Isn’t it like when you’re at work, and Mr. Gardner points out something in a case that you missed?”

“That happens because he’s better trained and has more experience. That’s different.”

“What about when you look at a case and see something he didn’t? Something he missed that you found because you bring something new to the table?”

Violet snorted and shook her head. “Now you’re fucking reaching. I’ve been in the job for 6 months, and the only training I got before that was my DADA class and an interest in mystery novels.”

“So you like to read.”

“Yeah I do, but that has fuck all to do with this.”

“It does?”

“Of course it does! I’m not reading books at my desk. Criminals don’t get caught because Agatha Christie wrote interesting locked door mysteries, and Sherlock Holmes’s methods are only good if you’re him because he always fucking tricks you. What the fuck has this to do with anything?”

“I told you, I like to make my own opinions. This helps tell me a little more about you.”

“Oh yeah? And what do you know about me?” Vi’s voice whipped out, challenging the woman. If she was going to be so bloody cool, she could do something to prove it. Prove that she was the fancy shit she thought she was.

Quietly, Dr. Hayes looked at her for a moment. Then she crossed her fingers and began. “You’re a young woman who’s been disappointed so many times, its become easier to attack first rather than risk hoping for something better. You have a very low opinion of therapists, and considering you never kept one for more than a few months, I’d say you made it a point to be difficult in all your therapy sessions. You didn’t want them, so you weren’t going to let them help. But, you still went to each of them which tells me you have a deep appreciation for rules and structure. You have a history of self harm and symptoms of malnutrition, which tells me that you have struggled with depression for a quite some time.

You like to read, so it is clearly not people as a whole you dislike, just people with the potential to hurt you, because you assume that they will. Also, the people in books can’t be let down by you, and so they are inherently safer company. But, you have become an auror, and your work matters to you. You want to do it well, and any hint of something otherwise feels like a much deeper failure. So, each case isn’t a purely intellectual problem for you. It’s a human problem. Just like your interest in books, your interest in these cases shows a deep valuing of human life you don’t know how to handle when combined with the lack of respect you have for your own.

You clearly respect Mr. Gardner on a professional level, and you value his opinion. Yet, while you kept the appointment, you aren’t willing to be cooperative with the therapist he recommended to you. So once again, you have a deep dislike for therapy, which seems out of touch with the respect you have for people and emotions otherwise. That says its something particular about being here that bothers you.”

She paused as Violet stared at her, completely tensed and frozen as the words washed over her. How? How had she gotten all that from a few words? How had she seen so much when Violet tried to give her so little? “How the fuck did you figure all that out?”

“Because while I didn’t read the reports, I can see the dates on your therapy attendance. Because I paid attention to the casual affection you use when talking about books, the admiration for Mr. Gardner, and the casual dismissal you use of yourself. So the biggest question for me is why do you dislike therapy so much when you have so many people around you who think it will help?”

“BECAUSE NOBODY EVER ASKED ME!” Violet hadn’t intended to say that, hadn’t intended to say anything at all, but suddenly she was on her feet panting as she stared at the calm woman across from her. “Everybody else sits across from me, so smug, so convinced they know what’s best for me and how to fix me. As if by shoving me in the path of the right person they can make me who I was before. Gardner didn’t even fucking tell me he was writing you, just did it and waited for your letter to show up before talking about it as if it was the simplest thing in the world. As if just because this time it’s work, that makes it so much better that he’s fucking forcing me. But its my life. And nobody’s guilt, nobody’s plans, nobody gets to take that away from me. They can make me go, but after that they can’t make me do a damn thing because its never been my fucking choice.”

Vi paused, shaking as she realized what she’d been saying. She hadn’t realized that was part of it, but that was true. First her parents had panicked and tried therapist after therapist to see if they could get their old daughter back. Mom had driven her to the office and picked her up, and each week had tried to talk cheerfully even as it was obvious she was anxiously waiting for something to work. Then the school had mandated that she work with Clyde. And he’d been so earnest, he’d tried so hard, but she had always known that neither of them had been given the choice about working with each other.

So if she’d been forced to go, why couldn’t she decide how to behave inside it? Sure, she could have cooperated and worked with them and maybe that would have done some good. But that had felt too much like being forced to go along with their plans, and she’d had too many people messing with her thoughts for her to be comfortable with a professional doing it. So she had acted out, pissed them off, and then felt incredibly bitterly satisfied when she proved once again that none of them were going to stick it out. Maybe it had meant she was still broken, but hey, at least this time the breaking was on her own terms.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting Dr. Hayes to do as the angry words rang in the air. What she hadn’t expected was to see her pull out a pen and notepad and look away from Violet.

Snarky bitter words were already on her lips as her heart began to twist, when Dr. Hayes spoke. “In that case, we can consider this session terminated. While you will still need to be seen by an auror approved mental health professional, I can give you the names of several on staff who should have space in the case loads to see you. You can pick one of them and see who suits you the best.”

Of all the things Violet had possibly expected…that wasn’t it. The casual acceptance of Vi’s point of view and the active steps to try and fix it to make sure it was exactly what she wanted. It was – something. She was sure there was a word for it, but she couldn’t find it with her system reeling the way it was.

Dr. Hayes paused and looked up at her, as if waiting for her to say something, and Vi found herself sinking back into the chair. “No. No it’s ok. Um, I’m already here anyway and I think I’d rather just get this over with. This is supposed to be about the case anyway, right?”

It was the closest to a peace offering Vi knew how to make, but Dr. Hayes seemed to understand as she put the paper away. By giving her the choice to walk out, Dr. Hayes had allowed Vi to make the choice to stay. And that made all the difference.

“Tell me about the case.”

Violet walked her through it step by step. She started with Andy’s visit, the visit to the grocer’s and the feeling that something was wrong, the journey outside town, and the discovery of the body. She followed it up with the fruitlessness of the work since, and the fact that she knew something was wrong, but she couldn’t get it to work, she couldn’t move forward. She glossed over Andy saying he hated her, because she didn’t want to focus on how much that ate away at her. The only thing she left out was the way she’d used her wolf senses to find Lara in the first place. While everything here might be confidential, she wasn’t sure if that extended to the technically illegal.

Dr. Hayes nodded carefully through the entire recitation. She didn’t take notes, but Vi knew she didn’t really need to. Maybe later she would write it all down. But in this moment, she remembered it all. She was focused. And that made it easier for Violet to keep going, hoping that maybe somebody else would be able to point out something she and Gardner had missed. But Dr. Hayes surprised her one more time.

“Why did you want to take this case?”

“What?”

“Why did you want to take this case? It was only 3 hours later, no one would have blamed you for taking a full 24 hours to be sure something was wrong. And you said that you insisted to Mr. Gardner that you wanted to follow through on this, despite his warnings. So why did you want to take the case?”

“Because Andy was scared. And it was real.” She paused, looking down and fiddling with the edge of her sleeve. “Most people don’t listen to kids when they feel something. They brush it aside, as if by being younger they don’t know what’s going on. But sometimes kids see more clearly, and they need to be taken seriously like anyone else. I needed him to know that someone was listening and trying to help.”

“So, a child comes into the aurors looking for their missing sibling and wanting help.”

Vi felt like there was some significance behind the way she’d phrased it and nodded carefully.

“Yeah, I guess you can put it that way.”

“Perhaps because when your brother was missing, you wanted there to be an auror who would help. Who would bring him home to you.”

“What the – no. No that’s not – it was about him, its not like I was trying to – “

“To rescue your brother since you didn’t get the chance before?”

“I was going to try. I was. If he’d been gone any longer, I would have gone looking for him myself, and I meant to go earlier, but Dash was actually talking to me and we weren’t screaming at each other, and I didn’t even know where to start, so I just – I didn’t do anything, and I know Jack-Jack doesn’t blame me, but that’s not the point because – “ Violet pressed her hand against her mouth, trying to stop the flood of words she had barely acknowledged even to herself.

Dr. Hayes sat quietly, letting Vi sort through everything she was feeling as she tried to pull herself back together. “But that’s not the point. That’s about me, and this case isn’t about me. Even if it started that way, it isn’t.”

“Why would you say this isn’t about you? You are the investigator. It’s your knowledge and your strength that will allow you to reach the end. So why isn’t it about you?”

“Because I don’t matter. Lara is the one who matters. She spent the last moments of her life clawing at her own neck to try and breathe to survive that much longer. She kicked back at her attacker, probably hard enough to bruise. She fought to survive, to make it home to the brother she had looked after devotedly, even getting special permission to come down from the school to do so. And Andy, the brother who risked everything to talk to someone he thought could help, no matter the cost to him. He matters. They matter. After that, I’m nothing special.”

“But you are special. Can’t you see that? You’re the one who listened to Andy, when you yourself said that most people wouldn’t. You were willing to risk Mr. Gardner’s displeasure to do something you thought was right. You found her faster than anyone could have imagined. And you remember them both. That is something important.”

Violet heard her, but she couldn’t really believe it. Maybe it wasn’t what everyone would have done, but how could she do anything else? He had needed her, and so she’d tried to be there. She’d failed him. And that fact overruled everything else.

“What does Jack-Jack think of this?”

The shift in topic had Vi scrambling to find her feet again, trying to figure out the right thing to say. “He worried. But he always does. I guess I’ve given him reason to, but that’s not really the point –“

“Not the point that you’re killing yourself to try and save him almost a year later?”

“Why do you keep fucking saying that? It’s not about me!”

“Every case you take is about you. It always will be for you. It will never be just a case, just a puzzle, because you look at the faces and the feelings, and you care. Even the simple ones will be about you because you are the one to argue for extenuating circumstances. The law isn’t black and white to you, because you care about people and people are full of shades of grey. So if you don’t learn to accept the part that is about you, you’ll never be able to work through it.”

A moment passed and then another as Violet tried to find some way to reply. The part of her mind that was curious and rational took in the word and found that they made a certain amount of sense. It matched enough of what Gardner had said to resonate. And didn’t her stance on the laws around werewolves prove that idea that she was interested in circumstances and grey areas? Hadn’t she been drawn to Gardner because he’d told her that he would teach her the work, not the flashy politics? That he would show her the spirit, not the letter of the law?

The clock struck the hour and Violet jumped, staring up at it. Dr. Hayes sighed. “I think we’ve done enough for today. But think about what I’ve said, all right?”

Violet nodded and started to walk quietly to the door. At the last minute, she paused. “Um, could I come back? And talk to you again?”

For the first time, a small genuine smile bloomed on the other woman’s face. “Yes you can. Why don’t you send me an owl with what time works for you?”

“Ok. And. Um. Thanks.” Before she could think too much more about it, Violet turned and walked out of the house, struggling to control her breathing.

Maybe today hadn’t been such a bad day for therapy after all.

[mojput-mypath]

Naughty is allowed! / Zločestoća je dozvoljena!

SCROLL TO THE END FOR RANDOM PHOTOS / NEVEZANE FOTKE PO CIJELOM BLOGU

My tongue has no more restraint, I became naughty. Naughtier than usual. More open in expression, one could say.

I got cold feet with this new attitude. I say everything openly, I move strong through problems and challenges, but. But when I amass emotional strain, I hold it and hold until I pop. Not too abruptly, more like a popcorn in a slow motion video. I am struggling between the desire not to hurt others and self-empowerment. I developed the balls to say whatever I do not like, without the usual fear that I would be labelled as a bad person. Hard is the life of a spiritual seeker. It is super easy to have the concept how everyone should be exclusively good, which results in suppressing naturally occurring emotions, and then popping like popcorn in the end, leaving everyone in disbelief. Well.

Out of business reasons, I searched for various sources of spiritual jokes/expressions/posts, only to discover that most of them sound like self-help for sad people. My deepest apologies for the rare few that are truly smart and quite deep as spiritual expressions, but. But there is so much clichéd trash out there, it should all be banned.

I commented with meine Schwester Katina how people speak only to hear their own voices, intellectualising their conclusions, when rarely one honestly shares. Remember all those unforgettable and hilarious hillbilly stories on TV? Why are those so funny and why do they stick in our memory storages for ever? Because those people are truthful, simple and original. Guru says that whoever spends a lot of words and repetitively emphasises the same conclusions, actually shares from the intellect. While a heartfelt sharing transfers the meaning clearly by the mere presence of the other person, and in few words, if any. When people speak only from the intellectual level, they keep explaining to themselves something they most probably do not agree with from the bottom of their heart. The more often they hear themselves saying the same, the deeper they suppress the intuitive and honest thought/feeling.

Sun is shining wonderfully in Germany / Sunce sija k’o tepsija u Njemačkoj

It is difficult to see one’s own holes, one’s own disadvantages, our own smallness. Even more difficult is to admit it to ourselves, and the hardest is to show it to others. ThetaHealing taught me well by digging in one’s psyche and subconsciousness. You get a broader image of what is happening with the other person, and you can easily see what they are hiding from themselves. What it is they are trying to justify to themselves to protect their ego. You can read a person like an open book, but you cannot force them to see how their own pattern serves them. While the person sees the same pattern as something imposed from the outside. At the same time, you need to gently steer the person to go deeper and deeper into what they really do not wish to see.

Everyone creates their own world. Me and you look through the window and see a situation between two people. We hear the same words, we see the same gestures – and we both have an entirely different interpretation of what just happened, in accordance to all the impressions that made us into the people we are in this moment.

That same situation, can already tomorrow be different for both me and you, it can be seen and judged in another way. Everyone creates their own world. Or if it feels more comfortable: nature created these beautiful eyes through which we see the world as we do, as our inner nature tells us to: “It is not possible that I am responsible for everything that happened in my life!” Hmmmm. Essentially yes. Only our small mind, as it is not at all times connected to all that is (the cosmic intelligence, All That Is etc.), considers that something is being imposed on it, and that it is not possible that we create it all ourselves. Everyone creates their own world, by choosing to see it as we do. I repeat: four eyes, two pairs of ears, and two hearts can perceive an objectively identical situation as far as even diametrically opposite, through the filter of all we know, what we have experienced and our genetic material and yes, I will say it, oh yeah: OUR KARMA.

As we all know, karma, yup, she’s a bitch. Even the same, identical karma (if there is such a thing as identical karma) or the cause and consequence effect of this existence, can be differently interpreted by different people. Someone might say something is a blessing, the other person will say – a curse. Everyone creates their own world.

Jokes aside. I never could understand the need to evict certain people out of one’s life. I found it hard to understand why people stop communication forever with a person they dated. After having shared the good and the bad, even saliva, man – bye bye! My parents made this kind of decision (actually my mom did, dad had no choice in the matter), and maybe that is the reason why I kept making an effort not to burn any bridges. I did not like how things turned out between them. I guess every child wishes their parents to be always together and super happy. Plus I really love to dig into the past, so I always go back to what was, probably too often (three retrograde planets, what to do). Some bridges I have burned, not on purpose, and I regret I have.

Autumn never ends in my city / Jesen u mom gradu ne prestaje

Here I go again with the Guru, but what to do, when he really has a handful of super intelligent conclusions. Anyhow, the Guru says: let go of regrets this very moment. Regretting is redundant and unproductive. The past happened, what you can learn from it – learn and move on. He also says something else: See your past as your destiny, and your future as free will. How smart! I wish I could do that. At least I have a teacher who shares a few good ones with me, instead of relying on non-authentic, quasi-spiritual akka self-help diarrhoea-style empowerment crap (positive quotes, yeah right).

Going back on topic: Maybe I am completely wrong, and I will hopefully find  out if I was in a couple of years, I realised I need to leave some people behind. Consciously, decisively and intelligently. To protect myself, and to give them an opportunity to detach, to experience their own worlds without me in it. For me to experience a life without them.

Firstly, a logical reason for separation would be hurt and anger, resentment and similar. Yet, unusual, but true (or maybe I am the one justifying my ego by intellectualising) – my current reason to put a veto on any communication with certain people is because I CHOOSE not to accept, spiritually said, certain energies in my life. A small dose of doubt is surly there. Have I made the right decision? Did I have to do it in that particular way? I definitely had the last word, and I liked that, heheee. Even so, curiosity killed the cat. What is the person thinking now, what are they feeling, do they hate me? Sometimes I can feel/hear the emotions and thoughts of those people. Voodoo! Also, I can more or less guess how they could feel, as I know them well. A person you do not know, there is no reason to put on ice, right?

Let us see where this will take me. What I feel now is I do not wish to give space to some people, their thoughts, opinions and behaviour. Because it does not suit me, because it tires me, because it does not enrich my life. I still do not have enough strength and unlimited powers, nor the greatness to be there for them out of the bottom of my heart and help. I am still young and small, and I need to shut down the unlimited source I share with others, and take some of it for myself. So I can be more useful where needed, without unnecessary exhaustion.

My next action point: to stop using food like drugs. A bit brutal, yet, quite true.

I discovered what I really feel comfortable eating, but from time to time the rhythm gets spoiled, so I start eating everything like a hungry kid after a day’s play. Like letting a dog off the chain. I have such amazing discipline and attention to what I eat, and then my guard falls, and then it is a mess. The thing is that I am using diet as a health option (instead of popping chemicals into the body, I am restoring the balance naturally). So, every time I get stranded, I suffer quite badly. Cos I’m a sensitive flower… Please don’t offer me bread, cheese or sugar chocolates, but let us rather boil a goulash and share a spoon of honey. Everyone creates their own world, and that is why in my world mozzarella is pure evil and for someone else pure heaven.

Now for real. Out of reasons unknown, I spiked my breakfast with chilli oil, had tabasco for lunch and for dinner, completely innocently, I bit into, properly chewed and swallowed: a whole chilli pepper. After dinner, I had a fight with my new roommate (the better half of the well-known K&G sisters tandem), claiming how the tension has been growing for days, while she was not on the same page, really. Wishing to say that the chilli brought anger into the relationship! So now, whether the chilli came to me, cos I was already angry, or the chilli was the cause of the unexpected anger? Chicken or egg first? In any case, whether it was the chicken or the egg, one of the two surly was and that confirms my theory that food drastically influences the quality of our life. Just to remind you that: everyone creates their own world.

Reminder of the coolest sistahs in da Uni-verse / Podsjetnik na najfora sestre u Sve-miru

The people I am not speaking to at the moment are my dad and my ex (connection?). If you want to know the juicy details of the divorce papers, message me. I would say more for sure, but I do need to respect the privacy of others. Long live freedom of speech! I will type all this down, and then it will be digitally opened in 50 years, because the people in the future would be super interested in how we lived, and have special interest in gossip from the life of a junge Frau. I hardly wait to see all that from the heaven and observe my grandkids forgetting all about me!

The story of my life.

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Evo mene opet na naškom. Naporno mi prevoditi blogove, pa sam ih par samo na engleskom ostavila, bez objašnjenja, a što ću. Snalazite se vi što ne govorite engleski, ne zaboravite da vas volim bez obzira na jezik.

Šalu nastranu. Khm. Na stranu. Razvezao mi se jezik, nešto sam postala „zločesta“. Zločestija nego inače. Otvorenija u izričaju, reklo bi se.

Bila sam se malo stisla zbog toga. Sve kažem otvoreno, snažna prolazim kroz nevolje, nedaće i izazove, ali. Ali kad se skupi malo emocionalnog napora, više ne mogu, pa puknem. Ne pre-naglo, više kao kokica na usporenoj snimci. Borim se između želje za nepovrjeđivanjem, a s druge strane sam razvila muda da kažem sve što mi se ne sviđa svakome, bez straha da ću biti procijenjena kao loša osoba. Težak je život duhovnog tragaoca. Lako se stvori koncept da trebaš biti isključivo dobrica, i onda potiskuješ prirodne osjećaje, da bi na kraju puk'o ko kokica, pa se svi čude šta ti je. Uh.

Iz poslovnih sam razloga potražila razne izvore duhovnih šala/izraza/postova, i otkrila da ih većina djeluje kao samo-pomoć za jadnike. Ispričavam se onim uistinu pametnim, pronicljivim i duboko duhovnim izričajima, ali. Ali ima toliko isklišejiziranog smeća na slobodi. Trebalo bi to sve zabraniti.

Komentiram s Katinom kako ljudi govore da bi slušali svoj glas, intelektualizirajući svoje zaključke, dok rijetko tko iskreno dijeli. Znaš sve one seljačke priče u TV reportažama koje se ne zaboravljaju? Zašto su toliko smiješne i zašto ostaju vječno urezane u našim memorijskim skladištima? Jer su ti ljudi istiniti, prosti, originalni. Jer dijele nešto što su čuli/osjetili/doživjeli. Guru kaže da netko tko nešto nadugo i naširoko, repetitivno razglaba, dijeli iz intelekta. Dok, ako dijeli iz srca, samim svojim prisustvom ili uz vrlo malo riječi, prenese jasno ono što želi prenijeti. Kad ljudi govore samo iz intelekta, sami sebi objašnjavaju nešto s čim se vrlo vjerojatno iz dubine svoje duše ne slažu, te što češće sami sebe čuju da nešto govore, to valjda dublje potiskuju intuitivnu i iskrenu misao/osjećaj.

Taught a Happiness Program in Baden-Baden / Vodila tečaj u Baden-Badenu 

Teško je vidjeti svoje rupe, svoje nedostatke, svoju malenost. Još teže je to priznati sebi, a najteže drugima. ThetaHealing me tome itekako naučio. Kopanje po psihi i podsvijesti. Dan ti je uvid i šira slika onoga što se s osobom događa i vidiš što od sebe skriva, što je to što sebi pojašnjava, zapravo opravdava, braneći svoj ego. Vidiš osobu kao otvorenu knjigu, ali ne možeš čovjeka natjerati da vidi čemu njemu služi vlastiti obrazac, kojeg on vidi kao negativno nametnutog izvana. Istovremeno, moraš osobu nježno navoditi da vidi sve više i više ono što u suštini ne želi vidjeti.

Svatko stvara svoj vlastiti svijet. Ja i ti gledamo kroz prozor i vidimo scenu koja se odvija između dvoje ljudi. Čujemo iste riječi, vidimo iste geste – a oboje imamo drugačiju interpretaciju onoga što se dogodilo, u odnosu na sve ono što je utjecalo na to da budemo osoba koja jesmo upravo u tom trenutku.

Ta ista slika, već sutradan može biti, od obje osobe, drugačije viđena i procijenjena. Svatko stvara svoj vlastiti svijet. Ili ako ti je lakše ovako: priroda nam je stvorila ove lijepe oči kroz koje vidimo svijet onakvim kako nam unutarnja priroda nalaže. „Nisam valjda ja odgovoran za sve što mi se u životu događa!“ Hmmm, u suštini jesi. Samo naš mali um, pošto nije u svakom trenutku povezan sa svime što jest (kozmičkom inteligencijom, svime što jest itd.), smatra da se njemu nešto nameće izvana, i da je nemoguće da to sve sami stvaramo. Svatko stvara svoj vlastiti svijet, birajući da ga vidi onako kako ga vidi. Ponavljam se: četiri oka, dva para ušiju i dva srca npr. doživljavaju istu objektivnu situaciju čak i dijametralno suprotno, kroz filter svega što znamo, što smo doživjeli, genetiku i reći ću, da, o daaaa; KARMU.

Kao što svi znamo, karma, yup, she's a bitch. Čak i ista identična „karma“ (ako uopće postoji „ista karma“!), ilitiga uzročno-posljedično djelovanje ovog postojanja, može od dvoje različitih ljudi biti drugačije interpretirana. Netko će reći da je nešto blagoslov, a druga osoba će za to isto reći da je prokletstvo. Svatko stvara svoj vlastiti svijet.

Šalu nastranu. Nisam nikad razumjela zašto ljudi imaju potrebu druge izbaciti iz svog života. Bilo mi je apsolutno nerazumljivo zašto ljudi nakon veze s nekim prekinu zauvijek svaki kontakt s tom osobom. Nakon dijeljenja i dobrog i lošeg i čak i sline – ćao! Pretpostavljam da svako dijete želi da su mu roditelji vječno skupa i sretni. Moji roditelji su tako odlučili (tj. mama, a tata nije imao izbora), i možda je to razlog zašto se ja cijeli život trudim iz petnih žila da ne bih slučajno spalila koji most iza sebe. Nije mi se svidjelo kako je to bilo među njima. Plus što volim prčkati po prošlosti, pa se uvijek vraćam svemu što je bilo, vjerojatno prečesto (tri retrogradne planete, šta ćeš). Neke mostove sam nenamjerno spalila, i žalim za tim.

My mom is picking olives in Croatia / Mama bere masline u Hrvatskoj

Opet ja s Guruom, ali šta ćeš kad stvarno ima zeru mudrih, uglavnom, kaže Guru da se ostavim žaljenja istog trena. Žaljenje je suvišno i neproduktivno. Prošlost se dogodila, što iz nje možeš – nauči i idi dalje. Kaže još nešto, što se tu super nadovezuje: Vidi svoju prošlost kao sudbinu, a budućnost kao slobodnu volju. Ma kako je samo pametan! Kad bih bar ja tako… Ali eto, bar imam nekog da mi podijeli dvije pametne, da se ne moram oslanjati na neautentične kvazi-duhovne akka self-help proljeve o samoosnaživanju.

Povratak na temu: shvatila sam, i možda sam potpuno u krivu, ali to ću valjda saznati za koju godinicu, da neke ljude MORAM ostaviti iza sebe. Svjesno, odlučno i pametno. Da bih sebe zaštitila i da bih njima dala priliku da se odvoje, da dožive svoj svijet bez mene. I da ja doživim svijet bez njih. Isprva, logičan razlog odvajanja bi bio povrijeđenost i ljutnja, zamjeranje i slično tome. No, neobično, ali istinito (ili, ponavljam se, možda ja to samo sebi sada tako intelektualno objašnjavam, ne bi li samu sebe/ego opravdala) – moj trenutni razlog stavljanja veta na pretjeranu ili bilo kakvu komunikaciju s nekim ljudima je isključivo, jer BIRAM ne primati određene, duhovno rečeno: energije, u svoj život. Mala doza sumnje svakako postoji. Jesam li donijela dobru odluku? Jesam li morala to napraviti baš na taj način? Svakako sam ja imala zadnju riječ, to mi se baš sviđa, ehehe. Ipak, znatiželja me kopka, što sada ta osoba misli, što sada osjeća, mrzi li me? Nekad osjetim/čujem osjećaje, misli tih ljudi. Voodoo! I otprilike znam kako bi se mogli osjećati, što bi mogli misliti, jer se dobro poznajemo. S nekim s kim se ni ne poznaš, nema ni potrebe da je/ga stavljaš na led, zar ne?

Vidjet ćemo kako će se ovo dalje razvijati. Ono što osjećam sada je da ne želim davati prostora u svom životu nekim ljudima, njihovim mislima i mišljenjima, njihovom ponašanju. Jer mi ne odgovara, jer me umara, jer me ne obogaćuje. Nemam još dovoljno snage i neograničene moći, niti veličine da im iz srca budem na raspolaganju i pomognem, jer sam još mala i mlada, i trebam malo zatvoriti svoju pipu za druge kako bi nešto ostalo i za mene. Da mogu biti korisnija gdje treba, bez da me se nepotrebno iscrpljuje.

Sljedeća akcija: da se prestanem drogirati hranom! Jako bitno kad odlučiš izbaciti kemiju iz života i liječiti se prehranom. Malo brutalno, ali rekla bih, poprilično istinito. Otkrila sam što mi uistinu besprijekorno odgovara jesti, ali s vremena na vrijeme mi se poremeti ritam, i navalim na sve živo kao gladno dijete nakon cjelodnevnog landranja po vani. Kad pustiš psa s lanca. Imam tako dobru disciplinu i pažnju na sve što jedem, ali popusti mi gard i onda se satarem. Ne bi bilo problema da nisam tako prokleto osjetljiva, da ne doživim svaki taj izlet s poprilično kobnim posljedicama. Zato me nemoj nuditi kruhom, sirom ni čokoladom, nego radije skuhajmo varivo i podijelimo žlicu meda. Svatko stvara svoj vlastiti svijet, zato je u mom svijetu mozarella sendvič najveće zlo, a nekom drugom milina.

Divine chocolate! no dairy no sugar, no gluten, just pure delight / Božanstvena ćoksa bez mliječnih sastojaka, šećera i glutena, samo čisto savršentsvo!

Sad za fakat: iz nepoznatog razloga sam posegnula za čili uljem za doručak i tabascom za ručak, a za večeru sam, zbilja nenamjerno, zagrizla, dobro prožvakala i progutala oveću čili papričicu. Nakon te večere sam se posvađala sa svojom novom cimericom (svima dobro poznata iz K&G tandema, Katinom), tvrdeći da se stalno peckamo već danima, dok njoj nije baš bilo jasno o čemu ja to trabunjam. Želim reći da je čili zaljutio odnos! E sad, jel' čili došao jer sam već bila ljuta, pa je bio kap koja je prelila čašu ili je čili naljutio? Kokoš ili jaje? U svakom slučaju, bila kokoš il' jaje, jedno od to dvoje zasigurno jest i to potvrđuje moju teoriju o tome da nam hrana DRASTIČNO utječe na kvalitetu života. Da ne kažem: Svatko stvara svoj vlastiti svijet.

Ne razgovaram s ocem ni s bivšim momkom (hmmmm). Ako te zanimaju sočni detalji rastava, slobodno mi se javi u inbox. Puno bih ja toga više rekla, ali ne smijem, moram poštovati privatnost ljudi s kojima sam u interakciji. Živjela sloboda govora! Sve ću ja to zapisat, i onda će se digitalno otvoriti za 50 godina, jer će ljude u budućnosti živo zanimati kako se ranije živjelo, a da ne kažem što će uživati u detaljima tračeva iz ranijeg života jedne djeve mlade. Jedva čekam sve to promatrati s neba, i gledati kako svojim unucima već ja i moj život padaju u zaborav.

Priča mog života.

[turnback-kick]

And Then/That’s It

I recently asked my dad for help getting further information regarding my mom’s 1998 murder.

When my brother and I discovered the truth, when I was 10, we were told the case was not entirely “closed,” that the killer, upon killing himself, left behind a note that implicated the existence of an accomplice. That note was something that the police would release to me and my brother upon turning 18. Until then, Dad said, it was a “cold case.”

I’m 23 now. 18 came and went for Robert and I and we never once discussed going to the police. Partly because college, I think, kept us so busy, and saying goodbye to our first loves for what we thought was forever… we had little else on our minds. Partly, I think, because we didn’t discuss it much, with dad, mom or anyone. Mostly with mom, which both was and wasn’t odd. But also I think because, for me at least, I couldn’t tell if it was real.

Apparently many stories I remember from that time, from 5 to 10 years old, aren’t real– or so my mom says. I made them up. I can see that. I’ve always liked having good stories to tell. So, I wasn’t sure if the whole thing, about the suicide note and the 18 years old, was something I dramatized, to give some sense of presence to the whole case, and thereby agency to myself, to one day being able to interact with my mom’s murder on an adult scale. Cuz the story definitely smells dramatic. It does. It reeks.

But I live in San Jose now. I feel strong, now. As strong as I ever have. And, yeah, “adult.” So I figured, with only a few months guaranteed living here, I might as well look into it.

I texted my dad.

It was weird. All I wanted was a name, a phone number. Do I call San Jose Information or San Benito Sheriff’s Office? Coroner’s or Record’s? That’s it. Not some whole big thing. But these “files.” I felt like I’d seen them before. And didn’t really need to see them again.

Dad was so weird about it. He was. He kept asking me when I wanted the “files.” I kept saying “whenever.” I figured just one autopsy report with a case number on top to give to the cops would be good enough.

I went up to Berkeley Friday night, hung out with Robert and Chase and Tito at Tito’s place, then with Eugenio, then finally, with Robert, at home, at Dad’s.

I woke up early Saturday, hid in Nani’s room til Dad and everyone left the house. Mom called. She was surprised to hear I was in Berkeley, since I’d been spending Saturday mornings in San Jose to go to free therapy my job had offered.

“Do you talk with your therapist about your girl problems?”

“That’s actually her specialty, so yeah, all the time! It’s really great.”

“Does she tell you that you keep choosing these terrible girls because you’re depressed and self sabotaging?”

“No, she actually has a theory that I am drawn to hyper-emotional and somewhat involved, dependent women and relationships because of the complete emotional distance and abandonment by the other women in my life.”

It’s not fair to say, even if it’s true. I know my mom’s wincing on the other side. The phone’s quiet.

“Richard–”

“That wasn’t fair to say. Well– it was, but– I mean, she wasn’t even really talking about you. Really she simply identified that having a mom who chose a life of drugs over her kids– then, y’know, died– must’ve been really hard for me. And just, the little she knew about you, the little I had shared, folded into that.”

“What have you shared about me!”

“Nothing!”

“Rich…I tried, Rich!”

“I know!”

“You were just very hard for me. Some things about your personality, I just couldn’t deal with. Not now, though. Now, you’re just rude, and don’t do what I tell you, and think you’re smarter than everyone.”

“… That’s what you hated about me then when I lived with you!”

“No, no, no! Well, yes. But also, you were very… anxious. I’m talking about when you were really little. I guess… cuz of everything you’d, you know, been exposed to. But you were very anxious. Like, sometimes you would just shove your entire fist in your mouth, just because you didn’t want to speak–”

“No… no, no no. You– you keep saying that and it’s– it’s not…! Whatever.”

“What? What’s not?”

“I’ve told you. Dozens of times, I’ve told you, like… I, I’ve said so many times, that’s not why I did the fist thing. I did it because a character in Grease, which I watched literally every day as a kid, did it, and I mimicked it, cuz I thought it was such an odd and like, interesting gesture. That’s it. And I’ve said this, repeatedly.”

“No… no, this was waaay back, when you were 3 or 4, like–”

“Yes, I know, and like I said, I was watching Grease. Every. Day. You know? It’s… I have an active memory of this.”

“Ok. Ok. Well… whatever.”

By the time I come downstairs Dad is gone. Robert, Nani and I spend the rest of the day chilling  back at Chase’s. God, we had fun! N64 Pokemon spinoff games and Pokken and Wii U Party. Then dad texted:

So we went. But instead of everyone seated around the table, there was just cold meat on a plate and thick stiff corn cakes, Marisa upstairs putting the kids to bed and Dad who knows where. I remarked to Robert that it was stupid.

“Why.”

“Cuz– I dunno, when you get invited over ‘for dinner,’ I guess the expectation is, like, dinner. Like all together. Like I dunno why we had to come back for this.”

“Whatever.”

Robert and I heat up some more meat and eat. Then he heads to the living room and lays down on the couch while I sit. Eventually, little Johnny, my youngest brother, comes downstairs with his mom, Marisa, whining for food. She produces a plate she’d hidden away somewhere for him, mini corn cakes and veggies and some soy protein instead of the meat my brother and I ate. She goes back upstairs for some reason and I cut up some meat for Johnny, who smiles.

Dad comes in.

“Do you want those files now?”

“Uuuh, sure.”

He’s loud. He clunks into the laundry room and comes back with a padded manila envelope. On the back is a sticker:

RICHARD AND RHODA GOLDMAN SCHOOL OF PUBLIC POLICY UC BERKELEY

Richard Raya ____ Martin Luther King Jr Way Berkeley, CA

I blink, and smile at the folder. Seeing it is a trip. It’s like a time fold, like hearing those facts– Oxford is older than the Aztec Empire. Cleopatra lived close to the present day than to the construction of the pyramids.

1998. It always feels like there’s a before and an after, a here and a not-here. Before was San Jose, and living with my grandparents, and Dad with a cholo moustache, and no Leah, and after 1998 is Mom dead, and Dad as an intellectual, an auditor, and Leah as Mom, and life in Berkeley.

But that’s not how it actually was, was it? They were concurrent. They were both alive. Both my moms were alive. Dad was well on his way to getting custody even before Mom died, and we already lived in Oakland, and…. And it was just a trip. To think of all that. All happening at once. My dad, the grad student, the father, the guardian of two motherless children, the up-and-coming radical, the boyfriend to Leah the future lawyer, my future mother. A total trip.

He opens up the envelope and shakes it out over the table, among the shredded corn, among spilled cold meat. Folded newspapers clippings and grainy online article printouts spill out. Across the table Johnny gurgles happily.

“This is everything I could find about it,” says Dad, rifling through the papers, splaying then stacking them like a 12 year old who just learned how to shuffle cards. “Most of these articles aren’t really online anymore, nothing is really online cuz that’s just not how they did things at the time, you know? But, there’s this… and this…”

I blink. Some of the articles I recognize from my own late night research. Some of the documents I recognize from files Mom inexplicably has. But many are new to me. And some don’t seem to be police,court, or news documents at all, just simple typed black text on white printer paper.

“My own personal notes,” Dad says, not looking up from the table but anticipating the question. He turns over more papers, and I see his handwriting– so like my own, loopy, blue– scrawled across news articles, post its, the inside of manila folders. “I wrote all these, you know– years ago– just for myself, you know… it was all sort of shorthand, I guess, but if you wanted, I could sit down with you, help you sorta decipher, y’know, what I wrote—”

“It’s OK. I think I can figure it out.” I picture dad typing up his notes on the family desktop, the same Mac we used to play Reader Rabbit and Math Blaster. When did he have the time to do all this? Who did he talk to about this?

“I just wanted to find some information,” he says, loud, fast, still fingering the papers. “For you guys. We didn’t know anything. I wanted to tell you and Rob something, you know, give you some information, just cuz—cuz I felt you deserved to know. I did. That’s just me. I did.”

I tune him out. It’s hard to listen, plus, I can tell he’s not really talking to me. His voice is high, tinny and tight. He’s not really pausing for breath, he doesn’t stop flipping around the papers. He talks and talks and talks. He reshuffles the papers, flips them over, flips them back, rifles through. Pages flip by—tiny type on government-pink paper… faded green ink from a direct printout of an online article, the layout unmistakably clunky and 90s… a grainy picture of a man’s face, white dude, late 20s, dark hair in a close crew cut.

“The guy who did it, he tried to say, it was in self defense… it took them a while to identify the body as hers, because around the time there was this little girl that went missing, around that time–”

“I know.”

“Christina Marie—”

“—Williams, I know.”

“She went missing walking her dog—”

“I know.”

“Anyway. At first they thought the body they found, might be hers…”

He shuffles back through to the picture of the white guy and stops, folds papers back over it as quick as he can—which isn’t that quick—and looks back at me.

“Had you ever seen a picture,” he asks, “of the guy who… the murderer?” He bites into the word. Murderer.

“I mean… not until today, like, a few minutes—”

“Hooooo, Rich,” he says, shaking his head, looking back at the table again. “This… this is gonna be a lot to handle, man, reading all this…”

“I know.”

“His picture’s in here.”

“I know.”

“Have you ever read the police report?”

“You mean the coroner’s report?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah—”

“Cuz there is some… it’s graphic. It’s pretty graphic.”

“I know.”

“You read this?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

“Mom showed me.”

“Your mom showed you?”

“Yeah.”

“You read this?”

“Yes.”

He pulls out the pink coroner’s report, then pushes it back into the stack. He hands me the whole stack—then takes it back.

“It’s graphic, Rich.”

“… I know.”

He thumps his index finger on his folder full of files. “There are still some images in here that I can’t get out of my head, that come to me in the dark, graphic things I’ll never forget.”

I think. Why is he warning me? I’ve read this before, or at least think I have—a surgical slash, lengthwise, along the entire torso? Or was it multiple stab wounds, to the front and back. A body partially decomposed. Detrophagic deterioration from squirrels, birds. I knew all that. Remembered all that. Or… I think I did. Why is he trying to scare me?

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yes.”

“OK.” He looks at me, eyes a little wide and a little wet, smiling his little smile. It’s the same face he made when he thought Robert was lying to him about having sex in the back studio, the same face he made as he chuckled his way through me saying I wanted to stay at Mom’s house through the end of  senior year of high school.

He strides past me, loud, into the living room, where Robert lay belly-down on the couch, thumbing his phone. Hearing Dad walk in, he buries his head in pillows.

“Rob.”

Nothing.

“Rob.”

“What.”

“Robert.”

“What?”

“Can you hear me?”

“What.”

Dad stands straight, as tall as he can, and thumps his folder once more. “I’m giving some files regarding your birth mom’s death to Richard–”

Robert speaks into the pillows. “OK.”

“And I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“I knew.”

“You knew?”

“Yes.”

“How.”

“Cuz I heard you.”

“You heard me?”

I step forward, a little snort, a little smile. “Yes, Dad, we were just over here, not that far away, not hard to hear—”

Dad takes another step toward Robert. “I wanted to make sure you had the chance to look at them, before I gave them to him.”

“No.”

“No?”

Robert shakes his face deeper into the pillow.

“You don’t wanna look at these?”

I’ve been looking at Robert, but now I look at Dad’s back, brow furrowed. I suppress a snort. What?

“Nope. Can’t.”

“What?” Dad does his little wrinkled-forehead-smile again.

“Can’t.”

Dad’s smile widens to his canines, he steps in again. “You can’t?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Cuz I can’t.”

“Why—”

“Dad!” I say. I take four steps forward, stand between the couch and him. “It’s ok.”

Dad tilts his head, his little fucking smile face frozen. “It’s ok?”

“Yes.” I reach my arm out, for the files.

“… OK…” He looks from Robert, to me, to Robert. He walks back toward the kitchen, pauses. “You gonna look at them now? Here?”

“Probably not,” I say, still standing by the couch.”

“You going to Chase and Tito’s?”

“Probably.”

“OK. Bring those files back, when you’re done.”

“Sure.”

He retreats. Robert turns his face toward me, keeps his eyes at my knee level. I bow my head.

“Hey,” I say. “I’ll probably head out. Tito’s, maybe Amy’s—maybe just home cuz I got work tomorrow. Cool?”

“Yeah.”

“OK.”

I take the files and leave.

Next morning, I’m at work, some B.S. career development shit—the kids don’t have school so we’re all crowded in the office downtown, doing some dumb fucking salary management seminars. But before and after lunch there’s “free work time,” so I go alone to the room with the little tables behind the kitchen and sit in the corner.

I take out the files.

People drop in, every few minutes. They ask about law school, or try to crack a joke while their lunch microwaves. I look up, smile, but then snap my head back to the files. Other co-workers even come in and sit at my table, eat their food and laugh loudly, but I stay reading. Stay quiet. Soon, they leave.

The pages are stuck together in weird ways, dog-eared and paper-clipped. That must be why, as I flip through, I don’t happen upon the picture of the man. I don’t end up looking at the coroner’s report.

I look at the articles, though. And I read dad’s notes. And I laugh, and shake my head. I lean back and rub my eyes.

Dad is so fucking stupid. Mom too, for letting him get way over his head. She’s a lawyer, damn it, she should’ve known better…

Dad wrote a summary of his meeting with Undersheriff Curtis Hill. I think back to when Dad had yammered on and on last night, to when I’d tuned out—Dad had mentioned that Curtis Hill was acting “like a big guy,” tough, like a big shot because his small county finally had some action. He said Hill gave him the runaround. Maybe it was because Dad was acting like a melodramatic macho man. Maybe it was because, as became clear through even reading Dad’s own notes, that there really wasn’t shit Hill could do for him.

Dad wanted access to the suicide note, for some reason— “for us,” he wrote on his paper. Wanted to unravel some big fuckin mystery. Hill informed him that was impossible, a) as the note was under the purview of law enforcement in Arizona, where the murderer had fled to by car before killing himself, alone, in a parking lot, with a single bullet to the head, and b) because the note was being held as classified evidence given the possibility of accomplices still being at large. Not wanting to compromise potential further arrest and prosecution, law enforcement refused to let certain information go public—standard. Yet Dad still seemed miffed that they wouldn’t release the info to him as “the boys’ guardian.”

Hill also informed Dad about the 20 year statute on criminal cases, noting that the case would stay “open” at least that long. Dad must’ve taken that to mean… well, I don’t know what he thought that meant. But what he told us our entire life was, again, over dramatic and factually inaccurate.

Yes, Robert and I could access evidence about the case when we were 18, but so could Dad, as well, or anyone, really—provided the case was closed. Or, even if it remained unsolved, we could all access it as soon as the 20 year statute period expired. Which means that if Dad really wanted to emphasize some age where the truth would be revealed to Robert and I it really should’ve been 25, not 18.

None of it mattered at all, though, because from what I could piece together from the articles, the case was pretty cut and dry. By 1999, Dad himself had already collected articles noting that two other San Benito county residents had been charged with aiding the murderer in disposing of the body. There was even mention of a third potential accomplice, some 19 year old girl, who the murderer had confessed to but then later told that it was all some story made up to “test her loyalty.” Weird shit, but nothing that had anything to do with what happened to our mom, and why. Law enforcement, both in Arizona and here, seemed pretty satisfied that they had found out just about everything they could about the matter. Which means the cases are probably closed. Which means all those years Dad worked to keep a secret from us, all those years he sat stewing  believing only his precious sons could unlock the truth upon turning men—he could’ve just called up now-Sheriff Hill and went to read the damn note himself. Or, even if it somehow was still open, all we had to do was wait two years, til 2018, and then we could look at as much evidence as we wanted.

I laugh to myself. The sound, echoing off the yellow walls, makes the tiny room sound hollow. I run my hands through my hair. This is it? This is all there was to it? The past 18 years. This is all it’s been? There was no “mystery” here, not really—even the contents of the note itself seemed known, cuz that’s how the police were actually able to track down the confirmed accomplices. It took me, some kid who won’t even go to law school til next fall, about 30 minutes of my lunch break to set everything straight, to interpret all dad’s files with some modicum of clarity. I know mom could’ve figured it all out in a second. In a snap. Had dad been so obsessed with this case, with our birth mom’s death, with being the star of some sordid little narrative, that he’d kept his cards that close to his chest, that he hadn’t thought to ask his lawyer wife for help? Or did mom just not care?

Stupid. Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid. Dumb. 18 years thinking this was the case to end all cases, the mystery of mine and Robert’s life. And any one of us could’ve open and shut this thing, the entire time. Nothing was hidden; closure was right there in the daylight, easy to find if only we had cared enough to look. And now, here I am—I can call Hill right now, if I want to, and put to rest the last little piece of mystery in our lives.

I don’t, though. Because here’s what I’m realizing: I don’t really give a shit. Neither does Robert, I’m sure. I don’t know that we ever have.

Everyone wanted it to be some big story. My mom’s murder—everyone needed it to be this drama. That’s why everyone wanted it to be Christina Marie. The news, even some pop stars at the time, all sounding off on the discovery of the body. They needed it to be this big, juicy thing—they needed this fucking story. And when it turned out to be some drug addicted, oft-unemployed, fat Mexican woman, instead of some beautiful little girl, they tried to keep it interesting. She left behind kids! The killer’s fled the state! There might be accomplices!

Dad, too, spinning some web for himself to get lost in, some conspiracy that only he and his intrepid man-children had some hope of solving. Mom, too, in her own way, always treating me and Robert like we’re broken.

I get it though. My parents were so young, when it happened. They were kids.Kids taking care of kids. They didn’t know what to do. How to feel. They were stupid. To keep going, they had to tell themselves stories. About our mom. About us.

The reality is those stories aren’t true. None of them are. The reality is that there really is no “story” there, at all.

Robert and I—our mom died. Her killer—he died. That’s it.

So what. So what if we never read the note. So what? Hell, so what if there is some unknown, fourth accomplice? Who cares? What, they’re gonna go to jail? Me and Robert will kick their ass? Who cares? No accomplice killed our mom.

And honestly, believe the dude, that to some extent it was self defense. Reports indicate he had recent lacerations on his body as well, consistent with being attacked with the very knife he used to kill our mom. I knew my mom. We all did. I really don’t doubt that, high and angry, knife in hand, she tried to hurt that guy. She made him fear for his life.

I’m ok with that. It reminds me… Last August, when I first moved back in with my grandparents, my grandpa—my birth mom’s dad—and I drove around San Jose, looking to buy me my first car. Driving home we talked about his oldest son, my uncle Moochie. Moochie is undoubtedly an asshole.  We laughed, commiserated, fell silent for a bit. Our car crested Tully’s final hill, paused, for a bit, hot in the San Jose sun. My grandpa chewed his toothpick. Squeezed his eyes. Said:

“Yeah, we weren’t the best parents. Messed up. Our kids… do some bad things. Moochie… your mom. But… They’re bad, yeah. But I don’t think bad things should happen to someone, just cuz they’re a bad person.”

The killer, yeah, he was a bad person. Or did bad things. But so did my mom. So do all of us. Finding some sense or semblance of “justice…” that won’t bring her back, won’t fix anything. Throwing someone else in jail, hurting someone else—that won’t heal me or Robert.

And that’s the thing—I don’t think we even need healing. Need anything more to become whole. Because me and Robert? We’re good people. Good people. Not good like, so good we’re not “bad.” Cuz everyone is. But good, like, we have a lot, a lot of love. The way everyone can, if they try. My brother and I—we take care of our family, look after our little brothers. We’re nice. When someone’s in trouble, we help them, put our own time, bodies and reputations on the line, like when as a kindergartener I fought a sixth grader who was beating us up after school, like how despite the car crushes, the stealing and the drug use, Robert never stopped sticking up for Mateo. When kids bullied us, or bullied our little brothers, we don’t just use our fists, we use our words, our hearts, like when that one kid at that stupid little park near our house was hitting Nani, and I took him aside to talk to him about how important his choices were, and Robert sat with the other kids in a circle, talking in a low voice, making sure they were ok. We make friends for life. When those friends leave us, we don’t let heartbreak turn to anger. We stay open. We take them back, like how I still was ready to be Lawson’s best friend after she told me she never trusted me, like how Robert, after flying across the country to visit a girl, and seeing her spend the night with another man, didn’t take it personally, let her go.

Much as it might be hard for the parents and friends and family and therapists and social workers throughout our life to believe, me and Robert are good. We’ve dealt with it, and grown. We’re good fucking people…! And no one taught us to be this way. Not even Dad, really, and sure as hell not Mom. We taught ourselves. If there’s any story here, then that’s it.

Wasn’t worthless, getting those documents from Dad, though it may’ve been more trouble than it was worth. But I found some cool things. Found out, in an eerie non-coincidence, they had the same middle name, those two missing women: Candelaria Marie Elemen and Christina Marie Williams. Also found out that my mom, who I always remembered as tallest in the family was, according to the coroner, only 5’4”. Turns out she was small. Just like the rest of us.

There’s no “end” to this story. There’s nothing left to seek, or need, or find. I just want to go back to my mom’s grave, sometime soon—just the two of us, Robert and I. Lay on the grass, quiet. Watch the jets go by in that clear blue sky. And then that’s it. That’s it.

[russellthornton]

Attracted to Intelligence? 10 Clues You Might Be Sapiosexual

“Attraction is only skin deep” might work for some. But, for the sapiosexual, being attracted to intelligence is a much sexier thing than the physical.

Okay, so I am from a completely different dating era. I am going to blow your mind here, but when I was first out on my own and looking for something lasting, there was no such thing as the internet. I know, yes, that day did exist. There was a time when you didn’t create a life on social media; you actually had one. No one took pictures of themselves and, even if they did, they hid them because it wasn’t cool. In the day, you were attracted to intelligence.

Attraction is a funny thing, and even more curious is why we love people. In a day when everything is about instant gratification, Tinder hook ups, and internet dating sites, finding someone “real” is becoming increasingly difficult. The notion of sapiosexual is nearly a thing of the past, or is it?

What does it mean to be attracted to intelligence?

Sapiosexual means you fall in love with someone for something other than the way that they look or the external beauty they display to the world. It isn’t just about falling in love with their intelligence. It is about finding a connection with someone that goes beyond the physical and is in the realm of the real. Sapiosexual relationships have things to offer besides something fun to look at.

There are still some of us who find that love is truly more than skin deep. Loving someone for their wit, charm, or even their intelligence, is a special quality. Do you have it?

10 things that signal you might be a sapiosexual

There are many reasons why finding someone based on what they have underneath their smile and dashing looks makes for a much deeper connection and lasting relationship. Sometimes those people who make our hearts go pitter-patter aren’t the best people to have in our lives.

Attraction is undeniably a very important part of a relationship, but it definitely isn’t everything. Sometimes intelligence, support, and knowing who someone is on the inside, is far more important than liking what they look like on the out. [Read: Why inner beauty is far more important than outer beauty]

#1 Your favorite foreplay is bantering. The phrase “they have a good personality” doesn’t frighten you. Typically, something someone uses to cover up the fact that a person might not be so kind on the eyes, to you is a good personality and the reason to meet someone.

After all, what else is there? Beauty fades, and although senility might take some of your mind in old age, you age intellectually together. [Read: Ready to charm? How to be witty and win over anyone]

#2 Your notion of the best date ever is having coffee while discussing the complexities of life. When you think about your first date, it isn’t about a fancy restaurant or a concert. You know that those are the types of places people go to meet each other without ever really getting the time to get to know them.

A cup of coffee, perusing the bookstore, or sitting on a park bench discussing the meaning of life, is a much better forum to know if they are the one you want to put any more time or effort into getting to know.

#3 You understand that intelligence isn’t about grades on paper or the higher learning degrees you receive. Being attracted to someone’s intelligence isn’t just about the list of books they absorbed, their degree, or what they read in a book somewhere. Intelligence comes in many forms including emotional intelligence.

Being attracted to someone because of their intelligence means you are on the same emotional level. They are intuitive, kind, thoughtful, and caring. All things that make your heart swoon. The way they look takes a back seat to their inner beauty and heart. [Read: 15 highs and lows of dating someone smarter than you]

#4 You don’t want a resume, just someone to love. You aren’t impressed that someone is a Fortune 500 executive or that they come with all sorts of anagrams or titles. You look for someone who you can have a witty conversation with and is too cool with who they are to be a walking resume billboard.

You know that when people use their background to tell you how smart or worthwhile they are, they really don’t believe it themselves. Otherwise, they wouldn’t feel the need to let their titles talk for them. [Read: What are twin souls? 16 signs to know if you found yours]

#5 You are looking for someone who can work a room, not by having all eyes but all ears. Instead of walking in with the prettiest date on your arm, be it, boy or girl, you want to enter the room knowing that when you two separate they can hold their own. No one will be scratching their head wondering what the two of you have in common or what you see in them.

You know that their intelligence and ability to adapt says it all. They don’t have to have a high cup size or bench lift a certain amount. They can talk to anyone from fifteen to ninety and in between.

#6 You look for someone who isn’t about cutting corners… even in communication. You are slightly, if not altogether, turned off by a text message from someone you consider dating using the wrong “there, their, or they’re” when they text.

U isn’t a word in your vocabulary, and, if you are going to write it on text or paper, you think “for goodness sake, use proper grammar.” It isn’t that hard… or is it? [Read: How to read people: The 12 secrets to figure anyone out instantly]

#7 Going to the theater is not even in the realm of what you want to do together. When you date someone and are attracted to intelligence, you find you don’t even consider going to the movie theater until well after you are a couple.

The first few of months are filled with exploration of the mental kind. No shortage of challenging topics to talk about, or theories to test with one another, the last thing you want to do is waste your time staring at a screen when you could be meeting minds.

#8 You would rather discuss Pythagorean theorem than what’s on the cover of “Us” magazine. Not into what celebrities are doing, or the latest fad, whatever it is, you are more comfortable talking about things that are intellectual and real.

No time for gossip or shallowness, you look for a deep emotional connection with the person you are with, not one that you can have with the person next to you on the train ride home.

#9 When you do go to the movies it better be meaningful. When you do decide that you want to go to the movies, you choose something with a major plot, is complex, or a psychological thriller.

There is no entertainment in watching a sequel, a comedy that is all bathroom humor, or a remake of something crappy to begin with. If you spend your time at the theater, it better be a mentally worthy two hours. [Read: 22 things to do on a date that aren’t Netflix and chill]

#10 Questions aren’t irritating, they are thought-provoking. Not everyone likes the endless questions that can come from getting to know someone. A sapiosexual is someone who wants to stay up all night debating religion, politics, or even Aristotle. The more questions, the better.

That doesn’t mean they can only be emotionless questions either, talking and sharing about your goals, desires, and dreams, are all within the realm of attraction for the sapiosexual.

[Read: Sapiosexual types and their 16 clearly defined fantasies]

All about a meeting of the minds, being attracted to intelligence is about falling in love with what makes someone an intellectual, both book-wise and emotional. A deeper than skin attraction, it is about finding the inner soul that matches yours.

The post Attracted to Intelligence? 10 Clues You Might Be Sapiosexual is the original content of LovePanky - Your Guide to Better Love and Relationships.