#and i am profoundly grateful to the friends who have listened to me air them via group chat so i have not tormented anyone with them on main

[workingforitallthetime]

maybe the most fascinating thing about the entire babcock debacle is the SC crew recognizing that inspecting a player’s camera roll could be a particularly fraught situation for a player who’s in the closet. somehow somewhere in their stunted misogynistic warped-by-hockey-culture brains, they perceive a realistic possibility that there are gay players in the NHL. and they are willing to casually refer to this possibility on their podcast. truly, a rose can grow in a swamp.

[kentobb]

PRESAGE | CHAPTER SIX

Characters: Ushijima Wakatoshi x Female Reader

Genre: Angst ANGST Angst

Warnings: Foul Language and LOTS OF ANGST.

Author’s note: There’s a lot of Angst in this chapter. Beware.

Ushijima sat at the bar, his broad shoulders hunched forward as he nursed a glass of whiskey. The dim lighting cast shadows over his usually impassive face, revealing lines of worry and a vulnerability that Tendo had never seen before. Tendo, perched on the stool beside him, watched his old friend with a mixture of concern and curiosity. He had always known Ushijima as the unshakable pillar, a man of few words and even fewer outward emotions.

Tonight was different.

"Hey, Ushiwaka," Tendo began, trying to sound casual despite the knot of worry tightening in his chest. "What happened tonight, man? I've never seen you like this."

Ushijima took a long sip of his drink before responding, his voice a low rumble. "I kissed her.”

Tendo blinked in surprise. “Are you guys back together?”

"No, I just…" Ushijima said, his eyes fixed on the amber liquid in his glass. "It was a lot of things. Lots of emotions. I wasn't there when he was born. I wasn't there for any of it. I wasn’t there for her. And she only keeps pushing me away.”

Tendo let out a slow breath, trying to process the gravity of Ushijima's words. He had always seen his friend as an impenetrable fortress, someone who carried the weight of the world on his broad shoulders without so much as a flinch. But here he was, baring his soul in a way that was both heartbreaking and profoundly human.

"Listen, Ushiwaka," Tendo said softly, placing a hand on his friend's arm. “Everything may seem disastrous. But believe me when I say that things will get better.”

Ushijima looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don't know if I can do it, Tendo. She hates me, doesn’t want me to met him. What if he doesn't want anything to do with me? He's out there, growing up without knowing who I am. And I... I feel terrible about it. He deserves to know. To know his father."

Tendo squeezed his arm reassuringly. "You can't think like that. The important thing is that you try. He might be angry, confused, maybe even hurt at first. But kids are resilient, and they understand more than we give them credit for. He deserves the chance to know his father, and you deserve the chance to be in his life."

Ushijima nodded slowly, the weight of Tendo's words sinking in. "You're right. I have to try.”

Tendo smiled, a rare moment of seriousness in his usually playful demeanor. "Exactly. And remember, you're not alone in this. I'll help you however I can. You're like a brother to me, Ushiwaka. We'll get through this together."

Ushijima's stoic facade cracked, a small, grateful smile appearing on his lips. "Thank you, Tendo. I... I don't know what I'd do without you."

Tendo chuckled, the tension in the air easing slightly. "Well, you'd probably be a lot less entertained, that's for sure. But seriously, everything's going to be alright. We'll figure this out, one step at a time."

The next day, Ushijima stood outside your apartment, his heart pounding in a way it never had before a volleyball match. He raised his hand to knock, hesitating for a moment, then rapped on the door. Moments later, it swung open, your eyes widened in surprise, jaw nearly dropping. The argument you had the night before was still fresh in your mind, tension lingering in the air between the two of you.

"Ushijima," you said, voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you," he replied, his tone earnest. "Is this a bad time?"

You glanced behind you, into the apartment, then back at him. "No, it's fine. Asami took Asahi to school. Come in."

He entered the apartment and quickly settled into the living room. Ushijima sat on the edge of the couch, his hands clasped together, while you sat across from him, expression wary.

"Y/N," he began, his voice low and steady. "I'm sorry for the outburst yesterday. I was overwhelmed... I didn't handle it well. But I need—“

You nodded slowly, eyes fixed on him, waiting.

"I want to meet my son," he said, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. "I need to. Whether or not I deserve it, it’s my right as his father."

A heavy silence fell between the two of you, one that made him shiver. He could feel the weight of your gaze, the conflict in your eyes.

"I'm scared," You finally said, voice soft but firm. "I'm scared of how Asahi will react. I want to protect him. He's... he's everything to me."

"Don't you think I want that too?" Ushijima's voice was raw with emotion, his eyes pleading with yours. "He's my son too. I want to protect him just as much as you do."

You stood firm, arms crossed protectively over your chest. “I understand that, Ushijima, but it’s not that simple…Asahi…Asahi is only five. He doesn’t know you. Bringing you into his life suddenly could confuse and scare him.”

“I can protect him, too,” Ushijima countered, his voice rising. “I’m his father. I have a right to be in his life. You don’t get to decide that on your own.”

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “I’m not trying to keep him from you. I’m trying to protect him. He’s been through so much already. I don’t want to disrupt his life.”

Ushijima took a step closer, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Do you think I want to disrupt his life? I want to be there for him, to support him, to love him. But I can’t do that if you keep shutting me out.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his eyes, but your fear for Asahi was stronger. “You don’t understand what it’s been like. I’ve had to make all the decisions on my own. I’ve had to be both mother and father to him. And now you’re here, demanding to be part of his life, but you haven’t been here. You haven’t seen what he’s been through.”

“And whose fault is that?” Ushijima shot back, his voice breaking. “You never told me. You never gave me the chance to be there.”

Your tears spilled over, voice shaking with emotion. “You left me to make your dreams come true, you would have done the same thing with Asahi.”

Ushijima's frustration had reached its breaking point, and the words tumbled out before he could stop them. “I would have stayed for Asahi, not for you.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You stood motionless, eyes widening in shock. Your face crumpled as the weight of his words sank in, the heartbreak clear and devastating. You looked away, unable to meet his eyes, body trembling with the effort to hold yourself together.

The room seemed to shrink around the two of you, the walls closing in as the voices echoed off the surfaces. Your heart pounded in her chest, a mix of anger, fear, and sorrow.

In that moment, Ushijima realized the gravity of what he had said. The anger and frustration that had fueled his words evaporated, leaving only a hollow regret. He wanted to take it back, to tell you he didn’t mean it, Fuck, but the words lodged in his throat, refusing to come out.

Both of you stared at each other, the tension thick in the air. After what felt like an eternity, your voice, was barely a whisper. “If I had told you back then… you would have stayed, but not because you loved me. You would have given up your dreams, and you would have resented me. You would have resented us.”

Your words cut through him, each one a knife to his heart. You wiped your tears with a trembling hand, your eyes still fixed on the floor. “I wanted to protect Asahi, but I also wanted to protect you. I didn’t want to destroy your dreams. And now… now I don’t even know if I did the right thing.”

Ushijima’s throat tightened, his chest constricting with unspoken apologies. He had never felt so helpless, so trapped by his own emotions. The realization that his words had caused you such pain was a weight he didn’t know how to bear.

You took a deep, shaky breath, your voice steadier but still filled with sorrow. “You’re right, Ushijima. You need to meet your son. But it has to be slow. We have to do this carefully, for his sake.”

You finally looked up, but your eyes didn’t meet his. Instead, they focused somewhere over his shoulder, as if you couldn’t bear to see him. That avoidance cut deeper than anything else, a silent confirmation of the hurt he had caused.

“I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work,” you continued, voice devoid of its earlier strength. “But please, understand that this isn’t easy for me. I’m scared for him, and I’m scared for us.”

Ushijima nodded, though you weren’t looking at him to see it. He had gotten what he wanted—he would be able to see his son. But at what cost? The pain in your eyes, the heartbreak he had inflicted, made the victory feel hollow and tainted.

He wanted to say he was sorry, to reach out and comfort you, to take back the words that had caused so much damage. But the apology was stuck, the weight of his own guilt and frustration silencing him.

"I think it would be best if it happened in a place where he feels comfortable.” You began, voice steady but soft. “There’s this ice cream place he loves. It’s his favorite spot."

Ushijima nodded, sensing the importance of the suggestion. "That sounds like a good idea. I want him to feel at ease."

Your eyes softened, and for a moment, the tension between the two of you seemed to ease, or at least he thought. "It's called Sweet Delights. It's just a few blocks from here. We go there every Friday after school. Maybe... maybe you could meet us there this Friday?"

Ushijima smiled, a rare warmth in his usually stoic expression. "I’d like that. Thank you, Y/N.”

You nodded, "I'll talk to Asahi beforehand, let him know that there's someone special he’s going to meet. But I want you to understand... he's still a child. This is going to be a lot for him."

"I understand," Ushijima said gently. "I'll go at his pace. I just want him to know who I am."

"Alright," You said, voice shaky and painful, "Friday, at Sweet Delights. Around 4 PM." The pain in your tone was unmistakable.

"I'll be there," Ushijima promised.

Your face was turned away, but he could see the tension in your posture, the way your shoulders hunched as if trying to protect yourself from further hurt. The silence between was heavy, laden with unspoken words and raw emotions.

He took a hesitant step closer, his eyes never leaving your face. He could see the tears brimming in your eyes, ready to spill over at any moment. The sight of your pain was almost too much to bear. "Hey…” he began, his voice soft, laden with regret and desperation.

But you didn't look at him. You stood still, face turned away, every line of your body taut with tension. Ushijima reached out, his hand trembling, and tried to take yours. The moment his fingers brushed against your skin, you flinched and pulled away, the rejection hitting him like a physical blow.

You turned and walked to the door, movements slow and deliberate. When you reached it, you opened it wide, the gesture as clear as any words could be. You wanted him to leave. Without saying a word, you had dismissed him from your presence, from the fragile moment you had shared.

Ushijima took a deep breath, the air catching in his throat. His chest felt tight, constricted by the weight of everything unsaid. He took one last look at you, hoping for a flicker of something—anything—that would tell him you both weren't completely lost to each other. But you remained still, her eyes refusing to meet his.

With a heavy heart, he turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind him. The finality of that sound echoed in his mind, a poignant reminder of the distance.

Standing in the hallway, Ushijima felt an overwhelming emptiness settle over him. He had come here seeking a connection, hoping to start building a bridge to his son. Instead, he had inadvertently widened the chasm between himself and you.

He took a deep breath, the air feeling cold and thin. The emotions he had kept tightly controlled now swirled chaotically within him—regret, sorrow, anger at himself. He wanted to turn back, to knock on the door and say all the things that were trapped inside him. But the memory of your tear-filled eyes and the way you had pulled away from his touch held him back.

<3 Let me know in the comments your reaction. Comments, notes or reblogs are appreciated 🩷

[utterlyinevitable]

Do We Have A Future?: April

Part 1 | Part 2: November | Part 3: January

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 2.1k Warning: Adult themes, mental health triggers, themes of depression, pregnancy complications and termination Summary: Rebecca told Ethan and now they have to live with the aftermath of their decision.

Author’s Note: Sensitive subject matter means I really suggest only reading if you are 18+ years old. 

Taglist: @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @aylamwrites @binny1985 @ramseysno1rookie @interobanginyourmom @queencarb @imactuallytheceoofthecompany @rookiefromedenbrook @eramsey28 @choicesficwriterscreations

________________________________________

They seemingly had put this event behind them. The couple moved through the motions of daily life as shadows of who they used to be. They kept a routine and followed it to a T - Ethan profoundly thankful for the false sense of normalcy for which it gave. He could rest easier knowing they were almost in sync again. But unbeknownst to him, Rebecca thought about their unborn child and the life they could have had every single day. 

Becca’s pride still kept her from seeking help. She didn’t want to bother Ethan anymore with the what-ifs and could-have-beens. She believed he truly had moved on and forgotten - he didn’t seem weighed down by their decision anymore, his eyes weren’t as heavy as hers anymore. 

She had gotten very good at pretending she wasn’t being swallowed alive. Every morning she dressed herself in her best clothes, would put her makeup on carefully over her weaknesses, and paint a smile on her face all the while thinking of the little imaginary bundle sleeping in their pristine second bedroom. In her mind she and Ethan turned the spare bedroom into a pink and white haven of a nursery after days of arguing over textures and color schemes wanting everything to be perfect for her. The thought of her baby’s peaceful, scrunchy face gave Becca the courage to continue on.   

At work Becca tried very hard to avoid the overgrown concern of her friends and the other members of the diagnostics team but there was no escape. She had been back at work for nearly four months and they’ve all seen her destructive and desolate actions - from not sleeping to overworking and constant avoidance of any sort of personal actions. One day at lunch Sienna and Kyra tried to get her to open up but Becca put on her curated mask and distanced herself further. 

“Hey,” Sienna said with all the courage she could muster. “How's life at Ramsey’s?” she asked as she sat down across from her best friend whom she spotted alone at a corner table and staring at the wall. 

Becca’s eyes were void of emotion, just hollow spheres staring back at two of her dearest allies. Her chicken and avocado salad remained closed and untouched with not even a fork in sight. Between Sienna’s uncertainty and Becca’s disinterest the air around them was cumbrous.  

“Are you gettin’ it all the time?” Kyra tried to lighten the mood with an eyebrow wiggle as she took her seat next to Sienna. 

Becca took a second to contort her features before answering, needing to muster up enough strength so her voice didn’t sound as weak as the two pairs of concerned chocolate eyes boring down on her made her feel. 

“It’s good,” she forced through a weak smile hoping her friends bought it for joy. “Weird...but also in a good way?” 

It was weird in the sense that Becca still knew Ethan didn’t believe in marriage or children, and yet he made the leap. He pushed himself and solidified her as his partner - his life partner with a set of keys, name on the bills and all. On paper as far as litigation was concerned Ethan and Rebecca were on their way to a civil partnership. Although she doubted they would make it that far. It’s only been a few months. We could still break up… 

On edge, Sienna took a big gulp of air in hope that she worded her next question just right, “Are you happy?”  

Her eyes searched her broken friend’s features for any indication of the truth. 

“Yes,” Becca replied meekly. 

“I’m worried about you,” Sienna whispered back. 

Kyra broke the trance between the two hurting girls and added just as softly, “We’re all worried about you.”  

Becca shifted her weight towards Kyra. 

“I’m fine,” with great effort she etched a small convincing smile into her features. 

Her eyes met Kyra’s and for a second she felt guilty for keeping this a secret - for worrying her one friend that should be enjoying her new lease on life. Kyra has been in remission for the last six months after undergoing a risky and experimental surgery last year. On top of her shallowness, Becca now regretted not being able to let Kyra lead the carefree life she battled so ruthlessly to get. 

“Just busy with everything going on. Ethan’s been having me shadow tough cases,” Becca lied. Ethan didn’t want her anywhere near the most disastrous of cases for fear something would set her off and she’d crumble back into that dark hole once and for all. But Becca didn’t listen. She would tag along with June and Baz, Ethan unable to stop her without letting the cat out of the bag. 

Kyra didn’t waver in calling her out, “Becca, we’ve barely seen you since you moved out.” 

Looking down at the table, the insecure friend with a weight permanently lodged in her chest said, “We have a lot going on.”  

“Can we talk about it?” Sienna all but begged, “I’m sure it’ll make you feel better.”  

Becca brushed off the notion with a shake of her head, “It’s nothing.” 

Kyra’s hand reached across the table for Becca’s, “You know you can tell us anything, right? We’ll still love you.”  

They may still love me but they’ll never look at me the same way. They’ll never see just Becca, they’ll see me as the failed mother that I am. 

Becca folded her hands in her lap and sat taller. Looking between the two before her, she responded, “I love you too.” 

  The only person not throwing a pity party at Becca’s expense in the slightest was Dr. June Hirata. For that she was actually grateful for the arrogant and manipulative doctor on her team. Although psychological behavior is her trade, June did her best to keep her questions and analysis of Becca to herself. No point in igniting that fire again, June thought as she reminded herself of the time Becca scolded her for reading her employee file behind her back way back when. 

June knew ever since that encounter that Rebecca regarded her with extreme contempt, however one day she just couldn’t stop the gnawing desire to know why Dr. Rebecca Lao so adamantly avoided working on cases with her boyfriend after watching the two not-so-subtly stare each other down at daily briefing. 

“What’s going on with you lately?” June so casually asked as they walked in stride through the illuminated walls of Edenbrook to their next patient’s room - a four year old boy who hadn't had a bowel movement in weeks and the warning signs of vertigo.  

“Nothing,” Becca muttered firmly before dismissing, “Don’t worry about it, June.” 

“Whatever you say, Dr. Lao.” Although Becca wasn’t looking at her she could feel Dr. Hirata’s harsh eye roll. “Trouble in paradise?” the British doctor added, shooting her shot. 

Not only did June make notes of Becca’s recent behavior, she noticed how Ethan had changed over the last few months as well. At one point the hair on his chin was longer and more unkempt than she’d ever seen. His facial features were older as if he carried a burden - one much bigger than his previous hardship of holding onto Naveen’s secret years ago. Dr. Hirata never thought she’d seen this statuesque man crumble any lower than when he thought his dear friend was on death row. 

June observed how Ethan was on edge and snapped easily during those early weeks of the incident. Then he seemed to tiptoe around Rebecca at work, secretly reassigning some of her cases or running the tests himself behind her back. Now more recently she noted that the pair avoided working one-on-one. He was protecting something and the thought of not knowing irked Dr. Hirata to no end. 

I know I’d want to work closely with my boyfriend every chance I got. 

It wasn’t a secret Ethan and Becca were dating, Elijah let it slip to a few of the nurse’s by accident once long before. Even if he didn't, anyone who spent enough time with the two doctor’s could feel the undeniable chemistry that radiated off of them - the pure unadulterated adoration they shared even in the darkest of times.   

“It’s none of your business,” Becca snapped as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from letting her emotions take over. 

Rebecca knew her relationship with Ethan was far from what it once was. They didn’t have the same banter anymore or playfully debate to get in the last word. They found it increasingly complicated to challenge one another now; neither wanting to push the other too far. They were fragile. They were a window - the thick glass of their relationship looking ahead but also peeking back into the other side, constantly and simultaneously staring back at what once was and what’s to come. One small stone could break them - only having to find the spot with the most tension and they’d shatter. 

Ethan and Becca continuously strived to bring back the passion they once shared. She would take him out to dinner or to his sacred box at the opera, things she knew were convivial and released his stress. Ethan would plan dates to Naveen’s cabin where they could spend some time enjoying the outdoors, or he would spend countless evenings looking for new and trendy food trucks to drag her too, just like her friends used to do back before. All they wanted was for the other to be happier. 

Sometimes a little gleam would pass through their features, though not long enough for either one to relish in it. 

***

They laid in their king-sized bed wrapped in each other's arms after a grueling day at the hospital. Becca’s head nuzzled in the soft nook where Ethan’s bare chest met the crook of his neck - her favorite spot. The rain poured down sideways outside rapping on the large window with monotonous ticks. Ethan’s eyes stared blankly at the bare ceiling cherishing their comfortable silence while absentmindedly tracing circles over his ratty t-shirt on her back. Both were thankful for the peaceful closeness found in the simplistic nature of snuggling, the intimacy found in the warmth of the other. 

In the safety of their dark bedroom, shielded by Ethan’s embrace and cloaked by the late hour of time Becca found the courage to speak from her heart, 

“What do you think our life would be like if we had it?” 

It’d be six weeks til due date this week.  

“Becca…” Ethan warned. 

A quick surge of unencumbered courage kept her going, “It’d be due in June… Would we be looking at houses or turning the second bedroom into a nursery?” 

He let out a sigh. At least she’s finally talking about it. 

Finally Ethan let themselves indulge in bringing up their future. 

“I’d imagine we’d buy a townhome nearby,” he rationalized, furrowing his brows as he thought of the logistics of making room for baby. He moved his hand up from her back to run his fingers through Becca’s messy hair, still looking at the blank canvas ceiling as he painted the picture. “I like this area; it’s quiet and close to work. We would need a couple more rooms definitely and a backyard for Jenner and…” His hand ceased all motion. “it to play in.” He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge a child - their child. That’s not what the universe had planned for them. 

Letting his words give her security she smiled into his chest and continued the fantasy, “My mom would definitely want to come stay with us the first few months.” Her hand on his chest searched for his free hand in the dark. 

“My dad as well,” he told her matter-of-factly as he laced their fingers together. Ethan let out a preemptive chuckle, “Hell, Naveen would probably move himself in,” he joked and she could hear the happy smirk adorning his lips. She felt his chest rise and fall a little quicker as he laughed to himself at the thought of his mentor being consistently present throughout their children’s lives. In this moment - wrapped up in the dream - everything made sense. 

None of this would be possible without her, he thought with a small shake of his head, thinking of their beginning and how she made all his days all the more bearable. How, through her weaseling, she was able to give Naveen more years than he could have imagined and a family Ethan never thought possible. 

Although the springtime storm raged outdoors the atmosphere around the couple was light and airy. A curated happiness circled around them, begging them to fall into the future.  

“The more the merrier!” she noted happily. Cuddling further into Ethan, needing him to be so much closer. “It takes a village after all.”  

Without thinking Ethan responded with a grin and a kiss to her head, “Our kids won’t be lonely, that’s for sure.” 

Her heart leaped. 

Is he coming around?

____________________

A/N: Whelp. We only have one more part left... i’m not ready for it to be over 😥

like/comment/reblog i need the validation

[fractal-fourcube]

8/2/18

If I remember correctly, around midnight tonight is the second anniversary of a walk I took in the woods.

After reading @hollycrowned ‘s musings, I have my own thoughts about what CipherHunt meant to me. At the end of the day, yeah, it was a strange, cool fan thing Alex threw together, but… I think everyone who was there know that it was also something more. The further it retreats into the past, the clearer it becomes to me that I was profoundly affected.

So... some kind of cross between creative nonfiction and inane ramblings to follow, with a little candid talk about my own mental stuff. I don’t know. It just turned out to be a very, very weird, personal event in my life that I hang on to.

...................

Two years ago, I was a pretty different person. I’d just moved back to Oregon after about nine years away, and it was unexpectedly hard to deal with the fact that I’d left this place where as I was born as a child, and returned as a young adult. I was eighteen and grappling with that weird sense of upheaval and stasis you get after graduating high school, and other things I carried with me from where I was before. Meanwhile, I was watching cartoons.

Gravity Falls ended a handful of months before I started watching. I don’t have any crazy fandom stories from back when it was airing. But I still really appreciated seeing Oregon the way little kid me remembered it lovingly depicted in a fantastic story, at a time when I didn’t feel at home anywhere. There were a few things that helped me feel more anchored, and that little town west of weird was one of them. I wanted to live there. Still do. And I remember the little thrill of mystery when I learned about the single hint we had of statue’s existence, the mysterious image in the show credits, the code in the last episode, rusty gates and secrets. I remember many people doubted the statue was real, but somehow I never did, even when it started to look like we’d never find him.

I didn’t have Tumblr yet, so I was mostly in the Reddit side of the fandom when the Hunt started. Words can’t describe the initial rush when that first clue went live: LET THE GAMES BEGIN. No one knew what was going on either, but I don’t remember feeling confused, if that makes sense. I knew immediately: something big was going down. And then I spent the next two weeks glued to my phone, refreshing the Megathread over and over, feverishly cracking codes, waiting for the next update. I go back there, sometimes, and reread our collective descent into near insanity. And I’m really only half exaggerating—as far as I am concerned, anyway. I was practically consumed. I didn’t sleep. I was hardly able to. But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so exhilarated. That was the best part of it: we had no idea what was happening, but we all knew we were taking part in something bigger than ourselves. Half the time I couldn’t quite believe it. It felt like any moment, I should have been waking up from some dream.

So I was there for the nun debacle (sorry Sister Mary!), the post office storytime with Ariel and Jason, and Puzzle Hell. I watched streams, listened to Stan’s voicemails, put forward theories, and mostly just reveled in the event itself. I met one of my best friends through the Hunt. And when the time came and we cracked the last code, I realized: I could go.

I was going to go meet Bill.

I was streaming, too. I never quite managed to save the footage, but I don’t mind, given that it’s about 30-45 minutes of me deliriously mumbling into my phone and tripping over things in the dark. I remember there were a few other people there, all the way from Portland, and we ran into that cute little family from Bend. They left us a sign that it took forever to find. We got lost a lot.

Around midnight, we found him. As soon as I saw him, I broke down into hysterical laughter.  I think I was expecting something small, and for some reason, discovering otherwise felt like a rug swept out from under me. At five feet tall, I stand eye level with the brim of his hat. I had to catch my breath. I ended up taking a 50 ruble note from the box. I regret not taking some of the plastic coins or gems, but I’m still glad they went to other Hunters. And, of course, I shook Bill’s hand.

I had to do it. There was no other choice, really. I knew I was never going to have the chance again, and if I didn’t do it, what would that mean? That I was scared?

I remember being weirdly struck by how long and thin they’d made his hand. If it had been alive, it would have been able to wrap all the way around mine. I was so caught up in two weeks of building suspense and so addled by lack of sleep that in the moment, it was honestly a little scary. It really did almost feel like any moment, his fingers might tighten and his eye might blink toward me, and smile.

I’ll do anything, I said in my head, if the way I feel right now lasts forever. I never want this to end.

And then I went home, and slept like the dead.

Bill’s a cartoon triangle. It’s just a game. But... I like to think he kept his promise.

There are certain times in your life where, down the road, you realize that it was a turning point. The end of one chapter and the beginning of another. I don’t know what happened in that clearing in the forest, but something did. One of me went in, and a different me came back out. I cannot express enough how grateful I am that I was able to be part of the Hunt, especially at the time in my life when it happened. I was depressed and lost and often afraid that I was an embarrassment, and that nothing was going to get better. And I still am, but now I have how I felt to hang on to. I wasn’t scared of being myself during that time, I didn’t care if I was weird. Everything was weird! I fit right in!

It’s so hard to articulate how being in that forest was, to me, but I remember this feeling like: “Life really can be magical after all.” I’m still holding out hope that someday, I can return to who I was during the Hunt, when I was brave and unreservedly full of joy to be part of this unbelievable adventure that I will never forget, as long as I live.

If all goes well, I’ll be visiting Bill again soon, in his new home. I can’t wait. It’s a journey that’s long overdue.

[septembersung]

It’s been a long time since I’ve talked about how I came to the Traditional mass, so since the topic is on anyway: The long and short of it is the TLM was instrumental in my conversion and I wouldn’t be Catholic without it. All my words fall short, but I would dearly love to be able to tell the world with any kind of accuracy why it is so incredible, and why the world needs it.

I was baptized as a toddler and attended a typical tiny backwoods Novus Ordo parish for most of my childhood. There were maybe six kids, lots of elderly, a couple parents, and two or three high schoolers. There I learned such insightful theology as, there’s not really any good reason for women not to be priests. I did, however, have the benefit of reading the Bible a lot more thoroughly than was typical - even if I didn’t have anyone to explain it to me. On the verge of my teenage years we moved and our new parish was bigger, though with still (proportionally) tiny youth engagement. Our religious ed teachers were well-meaning but had no idea what they were talking about. Their idea of a retreat was to sit in total darkness and listen to sappy music. I quit going to mass, got confirmed, and continued not going to mass. But, praise God, I went to an orthodox Catholic college. There was a lot of Catholic Lite culture in the air, which I avoided studiously, correctly identifying it as a quasi-Protestant emotion-fest - the sugar-high version of what my high school parish was trying to instill in us. But my theology professors were the real deal. For the first time there were people who could tell me what the content of the faith was, show me its history, actually answer questions, and identify and shoot down wrongheaded lines of inquiry. It was a revelation. I promptly spent a solid year and a half studying interreligious dialogue - entering the study of truth by the back door, as it were. At the end of that, having run up against the un-negotiable “stumbling block” of Christ, whose claim to be Truth and have given it in fullness to his Church cannot be watered down or explained away, I gave up, signed on as a theology major, and got down to the business of figuring just what this “arrogant” Church had to say for herself. I was still not going to mass. My saving graces - and I mean grace literally - were a fear and awe of the Eucharist, and an emotional devotion to Our Lady.

By my senior year, I was, personally, six kinds of a wreck (which is a whole other story) but also convinced that if Catholicism wasn’t true, nothing was - whether or not I could learn to live it. Into that latent conviction, a total unwillingness to deal with its looming consequences for me, and my generally wrecky life entered a new boyfriend, stage right: he was very smart, very handsome, very stubborn, and a convert. I knew within weeks that we were destined for each other. (Spoiler alert: we got married a year and a half later.) Our arguments about politics, culture, and religion shook walls. We were both wrong, in different ways, and helped make each other more right. That Holy Week, he asked me go to the Traditional Latin Triduum and Easter Vigil. I reluctantly agreed. It could no longer be put off: I had finally come to a reckoning with the Person behind all the theology. I got my sorry butt to confession, the start of a long and painful ongoing process, and we went.

I didn’t like it.

But I was also not happy - and never had been - with the NO. 

Fast forward: We were engaged and in grad school - in different states, but within driving distance. I was the only one with a working vehicle, so I was the one who traveled. It was very important to us that we prioritize seeing each other face to face during our engagement, so we sacrificed a lot of time and money to make it happen regularly. Being apart was very hard on our relationship. One Saturday night when I wasn’t visiting, he told me he’d found a new church to check out tomorrow, he’s excited to visit it, and can’t wait to tell me about it. 

I waited. all. day. All day. It was late, after dinner time, when I finally heard back from him. Turns out it’s way in the middle of nowhere service is spotty, and he stayed from the morning mass all the way through dinner. He was excited about the great group of people, the hospitable priest who hosted regular come-as-you-are, quasi-potluck Sunday dinners at the rectory - and the priest offered the Latin Mass. 

Thus began my love affair with the usus antiquor. He went every Sunday, and I went as often as I visited. I started going to the monthly low mass at my own local church. He bought me a missal, and I learned how to use it. I started comparing the old and the new rite, both reflectively and analytically. I started reading about the changes and went down all the rabbit holes regarding Vatican II. (I’d studied Vatican II in college, but it was strictly the texts. Looking back, I see that the professor very carefully walked a fine line of subject matter that allowed him to neuter the “spirit of Vatican II!” version of history without actually getting into what happened before and after the Council. But I digress.) I had to engage, body and soul and mind, with the mass, and my own faith - not just an intellectual study anymore, or something to be endured because that’s just what Catholics on Sunday, I was confronted with the foundational questions: What’s the point of the mass? Why, why any of it? It was a humbling process, a spiritual crucible. All at once I wasn’t just a disembodied intellect asking probing questions, but a soul face-to-face with her Creator, Judge, and Redeemer, applying theology to my own life: what do I owe to God? how do I fulfill that obligation? Where do I encounter Him? What is being asked of me? And miracle of miracles, I had this wonderful community to help me as I went through this process.

Fast forward a number of years: that little church is where we got married, in the old rite, and where our first child was baptized, also in the old rite. Since then we’ve moved twice and had more children, but wherever we go, travel, or plan to move, we go to the TLM. It’s the solid foundation of our family life. Our kids are growing up inundated with beauty, reverence, and a sense of the sacred. We’re very lucky; in our current city, the TLM community has the use of a beautiful church and a rotation of pastors, one of whom also runs the most successful and reverent parish in the city, who offer mass for us every Sunday, some weekdays (at various locations), and most holy days. (And for Holy Week, as a church can have only one holy week and not two in different rites, we are able to make a pilgrimage, as it were, to an FSSP church.)

The ancient rite opened up the presence and person of Christ for me in a way that nothing else, certainly not the NO mass, ever had. I finally understood the point and purpose of the liturgy, and therefore of the whole Christian life. I had to check my pride and my assumptions and my self-satisfaction at the door and be broken open in a brand new way. I had to take Christ on His terms, or not at all. The old rite embodies the truth of the Catholic faith - it lives them, and for the person who embraces them, makes that person to live them. It’s not an add-on to our lives, it doesn’t fit in neatly with the rest of our modern existence. It makes itself the foundation and center of everything, because it is the dwelling place of Christ, and we are meant and made to dwell with Him. 

The old mass and everything that goes with it, all the things that were cut out of the new order when it was invented, the prayers and the obligations and the seasonal markers and the theology, the way of seeing God and ourselves and the Church and the world, is the living tradition of the Catholic faith, our unbroken link to all and everyone that has come before us. In the old calendar, we celebrate feasts on the same days that the great saints of the past did; we sing the same chants and say the same prayers; it’s bigger than we are, and because it’s focused on God, exclusively, and not on ourselves, it heals us and helps us and transforms us in a way that anthropocentric styles of prayer never can. The old life of the Church doesn’t bring God down to our level, but transforms us, raises us up to Him. 

So much of what we take for granted today about the mass, about the faith, so many of the attitudes and assumptions that we have absorbed or been taught, are wrong. Point blank, they are wrong, they are in conflict with what the Church taught for millennia, they are not “of the mind of the Church,” and they have been wreaking havoc on Catholic life for going on a century now. I have made a special study of this history of ideas and their effects over the years, and it is ongoing. The more I learn, the harder I find it to summarize to others just what’s wrong with the way contemporary Catholicism is practiced, and the more profoundly grateful I am that I was brought - by human love - into the fulness of Catholic tradition. Now that I have the benefit of nearly five years of almost exclusive TLM attendance, I wonder how I ever lived without it. I have very strong feelings about it; it’s the driving force behind my desire to evangelize because now I understand what I’m inviting people to share. Not a set of intellectual propositions, not a feeling, but a way of life that boldly and unapologetically has Christ enthroned at its center - a tangible way to see and worship that involves the whole person, body and soul, that makes demands on us. I wish I could bring all of my friends, Catholic and non-Catholic, to a glorious high mass at a beautiful church with all the smells and bells. Because the glory of Christ is there, and His glory is ours.

I went through some tags to find some things I’ve written before: Latin in mass, “NO vs TLM feels”, why I came and stayed for the TLM, book recs, Latin and the vernacular.

If you want to understand more about the TLM, the new books I’m recommending to everyone are Kwasniewski’s Noble Beauty, Transcendent Holiness and Fr. Jackson’s Nothing Superfluous.

[bookspoils]

This month I went back to rediscover some more favorites in the nonfiction genre. From feminist collections to essays and short stories, I tried my hand at a handful of them. In total I read 19 books in April:

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/10/review-bad-girls-throughout-history-by-ann-shen/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/18/review-note-to-self-by-connor-franta/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/07/review-the-best-we-could-do-by-thi-bui/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/17/review-ivy-and-the-lonely-raincloud-by-katie-harnett/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/03/review-the-beauty-queen-of-jerusalem-by-sarit-yishai-levi/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/05/review-the-sound-of-the-world-by-heart-by-giacomo-bevilacqua/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/14/review-the-good-immigrant-by-nikesh-shukla/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/26/review-this-is-really-happening-by-erin-chack/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/25/review-giant-days-vol-5-by-john-allison/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/09/review-does-my-head-look-big-in-thisby-randa-abdel-fattah/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/06/review-america-2-by-gabby-rivera/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/22/review-good-night-stories-for-rebel-girls-by-elena-favilli-francesca-cavallo/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/16/review-the-moth-presents-all-these-wonders-by-catherine-burns/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/28/review-leaf-by-sandra-dieckmann/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/21/review-the-refugees-by-viet-thanh-nguyen/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/11/review-stolen-words-by-melanie-florence/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/12/review-what-it-means-when-a-man-falls-from-the-sky-by-lesley-nneka-arimah/

https://bookspoils.wordpress.com/2017/04/29/review-dancers-among-us-by-jordan-matter/

Favorite current listen:I’d been looking for the perfect podcast for awhile now when I gratefully stumbled upon Rookie’s announcement of launching their first ever podcast at the start of this month. It premiered on April 4th, and I’ve been hooked and tuning in every week since.

Description: On the Rookie Podcast, hosted by Tavi Gevinson, we’ll interview people we admire: artists, writers, musicians, filmmakers, activists. We’ll also have teenagers ask semi-qualified grownups for advice, feature work by our readers and listeners, share some life skills and pop culture recommendations, and discuss the human experience through the teenage lens. Then, we’ll all know how to be people! Or at least not know, together.

Not only is Gevinson’s voice eerily soothing and relaxing, the wide range of evergreen issues and topics discussed ring true than ever for me. I also cherished the addition of the interviews in here. We get to hear people from all walks of life talk about those aforementioned subjects and add in their own point of views. From Lorde and Hilton Als to Heben Nigatu and Tracy Clayton of Another Round, Rowan Blanchard, Winona Ryder, Olympic medalist Ibtihaj Muhammad, and so many more influential individuals that graciously imparted their wisdom.

New episodes release on Tuesdays via iTunes and the Panoply platform. You can subscribe to the podcast and listen to it here!

Honorable Mention: The one thing I’ve been anticipating for months and months has come back into my life: Skam with its brand new season.

http://bookspoils.tumblr.com/post/159520073773/skamdaily-401-squads

This newly released (and sadly last) season revolves around one of my all-time favorites: Sana Bakkoush. And I truly couldn’t have been more grateful and joyful. I hold a special place in my heart just for her, because she was the one that made me initially interested in watching this phenomenal series, as I mentioned in my December Wrap Up.

To give you some context on the atmosphere and themes being explored in this new season I’d like to voice this on-point post: up until now, sana has been painted as this incredibly fierce, strong, unapologetic girl who doesn’t tolerate any kind of ignorance. she’s consistently portrayed as confident and outspoken throughout the past three seasons. then BAM. s4 airs, we’re seeing things from her perspective, and there’s this dramatic shift, almost instantly. 

she’s still the same sana. she stares down the woman on the bus. she snaps at vilde when vilde won’t shut up about how much sex she’s having and corrects her when vilde says “you can’t have sex”. she tells the girls that she thinks it’s their responsibility to tell noora about william’s new girlfriend considering william won’t tell her himself. these are all very sana-like traits. 

but now, we see just how much she has to put up with, too. it’s the more subtle things. the rushing to silence her phone when she was on the bus because shit shit shit, it’ll freak some people out. the fact that yes, her friends ordered another pizza without any pork on it, but the meat was still haram. but it was a kind gesture of them to think of it in the first place, right? so she doesn’t complain, she just silently picks the meat off, not wanting to seem ungrateful despite the fact that really, don’t they know by now?

…

and it’s so subtle. things that we would only get from seeing life through her eyes. but it’s chipping away at her, bit by bit, these little instances of being excluded, of her friends not quite getting it. and it’s so heartbreaking to see, but so, so clever, too. because suddenly i just feel like we – like the characters on the show – have misjudged sana completely. she’s still strong, she’s still fierce. but she swallows a lot down, too. she’s hurting more than we originally thought. she feels more misunderstood than we originally thought. and i am so impressed that in a clip that was less than 8 minutes long, we have already seen a completely different side to sana than we got throughout the last 3 seasons.

http://bookspoils.tumblr.com/post/159637343273/aminyard-insp-x

Getting to see things from Sana’s perspective profoundly changed my outlook on so many things. I started to become aware of all the cracks and the constant little hurts that she has to put up with almost daily, especially those from the girl squad. Also, now that I got to see it all play out from Sana’s pov, I quickly started picking up on how inconsiderate and at times even ignorant people – strangers, classmates, etc.- came to be around her. Sana Bakkoush deserves the whole wide world, so it continually crushed my heart to see her being under appreciated.

But I was interested to see how the show – a known barrier breaker – would handle said situation with the utmost care and expertise, as it has done with significant topics in the past three seasons.

Which leads me to the next point that I want to talk about: Skam portraying their Muslim main lead. Religion is such a crucial part of my everyday life as a practicing Jew, so I was beyond ecstatic to have a young Muslim woman of colour represented in this season. And it defied my exceptions in all aspects, to say the least. The utter respect and admiration I have for Sana Bakkoush – played by the effervescent Iman Meskini – is difficult to articulate, so I think it’s best if I let this next post sum it up:

http://bookspoils.tumblr.com/post/159590440178/imansmeskinis-because-this-right-here-needs

It made my heart soar to see this on television.

And just a few more things I’d like to vent about:

I adore the fact that I became smitten with Sana and Yousef before they’d even spoken more than one sentence to each other. Their eye contact alone was reason enough to give me butterflies.

http://bookspoils.tumblr.com/post/159883830118/aleolightwood-i-dont-want-to-be-rude-now-but

So you can only imagine how utterly alive I felt when those two finally had some dialogue. I was living vicariously through them, to be quite frank.

I also feel compelled to share this next gifset because there’s no going back with my love for Sana and Yousef:

http://bookspoils.tumblr.com/post/159966591298/yousanas-sanas-crush-on-yousef-is

thumbs up while choking back tears This is how I like my flirting.

Also, Sana’s season had barely even started and it was already the most iconic Skam season for me. That first episode alone covered so many vitally important topics, which consequently reminded me exactly why this remains to be my favorite tv series. Nothing quite compares to it.

The soundtrack is as always eerily on point with the characters.

An uplifting and healthy mother-daughter relationship represented between Sana and her mom had me all that more enraptured.

Sana Bakkoush is an incredible positive influence in my life. Just seeing her be herself genuinely inspires me. And if I am half the person she is, I’ll consider myself to be fortunate.

The balloon squad (called by that name because the first time we saw them was in a behind the scenes photo and they were holding a bundle of balloons) are the ultimate #squadgoals.

http://bookspoils.tumblr.com/post/159590843938/skamedits-fy-faen-fy-fy-faen

They come off like a bunch of funny, loving, handsome, wholesome, complex characters. And I was won over one line at a time. Also, I high-key cherish the fact that they have a Youtube channel where they post videos throughout the week.

I love the intricate attention paid to details in Skam. Absolutely everything is there for a reason; things are never as simple as they first seem. But then this also leads to me overanalyzing each episode. Oh, and the fact that this was the first season where I kept up with the release of each clip and episode only added to the immense thrill and excitement.

Honestly, I could go on and on about how season four has quite quickly become my favorite Skam season, but I think you get my point. Plus, I’m still in denial that it’s the last one… I can’t quite wrap my mind around the fact that they’re ending it on such a good season.

http://bookspoils.tumblr.com/post/160053775603/nalle-cishet-drama-bonus

P.S. since we’re less than a handful episodes into season four, I wasn’t anticipating to write so much but hey, what can I say? I love this show with all my heart. And I imagine I’ll have a lot more to say about the remaining episodes left, so if you’re interested in keeping up with my fangirling you’re more than welcome to follow my Tumblr here or my Twitter here.

That was my April wrap-up, thank you for reading!

April 2017 Reading Wrap Up

[scarsbrother]

Time and Reflection

Riza Hawkeye leaves Ishval. (Oneshot. Gen.)

ao3

Riza Hawkeye leaves Ishval right before dawn. Her watch reads 4 AM and, as she stands in the sand-covered station, she experiences as acute pain in the pit of her stomach. She boards the train taking her to Risembool at 5 AM and spends the time between then and 7 AM fighting nausea that she knows isn't the product of motion sickness. She boards the second train taking her to Central at 9 AM and she finally throws up at 10:00 AM in that train's bathroom. When she has nothing left to expel, she presses her forehead into the cool metal of her watch and feels somewhat grounded. She spends 10 AM to 11 AM passed out in the cramped train bathroom, leaning on the toilet she was sick in. She wakes up at 12 PM when someone pounds the door demanding to know, "when will you be done in there?!" She slinks back to her seat and politely declines the lunch that is offered to her at 12:30 PM. She stares out the window at the vast greenery until a man tells her, "You have done a great service for our country." She then spends 2 PM to 3 PM trying not to cry as she recalls those great services. She gets off of the train and steps onto the smoky platform of Central Station at 5 PM.

"Riza!"

She stiffens and reaches for her gun before registering that she needn't do so. She turns and is surprised to find that the sight of Rebecca Catalina does nothing to ease her nerves. "Rebecca, it's been a while."

Rebecca looks taken aback for a moment and it occurs to Riza that she probably looks as bad as she feels. She wonders if there is vomit in her hair. "Riza, babe, did you sleep at all on the train?"

"I slept."

"Ok… Good – that's good. Well," Rebecca's face scrunches up into a smirk. Riza remembers that Rebecca smirked a lot. She remembers that she used to find that rather charming. "I hope you're awake enough to thank your amazing best friend who showed up to take you home even though someone didn't tell me – "

"How did you find out when my train was arriving?"

Rebecca looks deflated. "Well, if I'm being honest, I just happened to be close to the train station and heard a gal talking about troops arriving this afternoon, I mean, well – now. I heard that troops would be arriving now and figured I'd see if troops included you."

Riza stares at Rebecca and wonders if she should be touched that her friend took the trouble to see her. Riza stares at her and wonders if she's a bitch for not feeling especially grateful. Riza stares at her picks up her luggage. "Where did you park?"

"Oh. I didn't drive. Didn't I just tell you? I was walking around this area and heard someone say troops were arriving. How exactly would I have heard that if I had been in my car?"

There is a playful lilt in Rebecca's voice. Riza forces a smile that she knows looks like a grimace. "Are we walking then?"

Rebecca definitely read her attempted smile as a grimace. "My apartment isn't far from here, babe. Let me take your stuff."

...

At 5:30 PM they walk to Rebecca's apartment. It is painfully awkward. Riza does not attempt to be good conversation. She lets Rebecca talk through the tension and concentrates on her surroundings. The Central air is thick with smog and cigarettes and it contrasts profoundly with Ishval where the air was thick with gunpowder and disturbed sand.

They reach her apartment at 6:30 and Rebecca drops Riza's luggage in the guest-room, which is really just her sparse living room, and leaves her whilst declaring that she needs a bath. Riza sits down on the couch, "your guest bed!", and looks at the patterns in the wood of Rebecca's floor. The textured swirls remind her of patterns the ashes from Roy's fires made when they were picked up by the wind. She looks up from the wood. She wonders when Roy would be leaving Ishval (maybe he had already left?) and whether he would be going to Central as well. She wonders if he has a friend to stay with. Hughes and his fiancé spring into her mind and she feels guilty for forgetting Hughes, he was a nice man. She remembers hearing of the proficiency and efficacy that Hughes, the nice man, demonstrated while slaughtering Ishvalans. She shakes off the thought and spends the rest of Rebecca's shower staring at her watch, counting along with the second-hand.

Rebecca finishes her shower at 7:00 PM and looks surprised to see Riza awake. Perhaps she thought that Riza, who was now sure she looked terrible and exhausted, would have taken the silence brought on by her shower to sleep instead of ruminating on the dark susceptibilities of nice men.

Rebecca makes a noise and Riza looks at her. Rebecca is not dressed for bed. "Well, Riza, I gotta be honest with you, babe, I didn't really expect you to still be awake. Why are you awake? You look like death, if 'm being honest."

Riza shrugs, "I didn't try to sleep. Why're you dressed up?"

Rebecca smiles in a guilty way. "I told you, I didn't technically plan to pick you up, I just happened to find you. I kinda planned a date tonight." Rebecca immediately cringes, evidently thinking Riza would be affronted to be viewed as second priority to her date. "Not that I won't totally cancel if you don't want me to go!"

"No, go. Honestly 'Becca, I don't want to talk to you."

Rebecca's face collapses for a second before she reconstructs it. Riza is confused for a second before realizing how unkind her words are. Riza tries to bring herself to care that she hurt her best friend's feelings. She used to care about hurting her best friend's feelings. "Rebecca – "

"No, it's okay. I get it, you're caught up in," Rebecca makes some vague hand gestures. "But hey! Why don't you just –erm – clean yourself up a bit and we can go out together!" Rebecca finishes on a smile.

"Rebecca why would you want me to come on your date?"

"Well, maybe not for the date, but Riza you don't need to feel obligated to stay cooped up in here! It's your first day back from wa-work! Go out and I don't know… celebrate? Get fucked up! God knows that the other soldiers are celebrating being back home. Just yesterday, I was in The Red Lion – that's a bar about two blocks from here – and this guy – and I knew he was a soldier because he was just built Riz' like, wow! – So this guy was wasted and – "

Riza stops listening. She actually considers it for a second – going out. Getting fucked up. Other soldiers who had the same experiences, who had to know what she was going through, who had killed people, who were just getting home, they were all getting drunk and celebrating the end of the war. Maybe it was a coping mechanism she hadn't heard about? She could use a coping mechanism. Riza thinks about leaving with Rebecca and drinking away her war-time troubles like those other soldiers. She remembers how her father would drink himself into a stupor when he was feeling especially disagreeable. That was reason enough not to partake. Besides, what would happen? Either she'd drink alone and lose herself in a black out or she'd drink with someone at the bar and spend a night with them, lose herself in their touch. Both ideas make her distinctly uncomfortable. "I think I'll pass on the offer, but thanks Rebecca."

Rebecca looks at her. "Ok, Riza." Rebecca left.

...

Riza stays at Rebecca's apartment. She pretends to be asleep when Rebecca returns and she pretends to be asleep when she feels Rebecca gently places a blanket over her. The city shines through the window in Rebecca's living room and illuminates Riza's watch. She sees that it is 3 AM and she watches the seconds tick by until she falls asleep at 4.

...

Riza wakes up and it is significantly darker outside. She squints at her watch, it reads 5 AM. Riza gets up and goes into the bathroom. Riza looks into the mirror. She does have vomit in her hair, which is longer than she likes and badly kept. Her eyes are red. She is still wearing her uniform; she hasn't even taken off her boots despite being in Rebecca's apartment for about 12 hours. Riza takes off her boots and her clothes and steps into the shower. She turns the dial to the hottest setting. She turns away from the spray so that it hits her back, her tattoo. The water is icy when it first comes down, but it gradually becomes hot enough that she yelps in pain. Her body forces her to turn it cooler. She wonders if Roy's fire would hurt the same way when he burns her back.

Riza suddenly realizes she had no way of reaching Roy. No phone number, no address, no way of making him deliver on his promise. The panic crawling up her throat subsides when she remembers that she can find him through the records at Central Headquarters. She resolves to stop dwelling on him until the time comes.

She lathers soap onto her body and rinses soap off of her body. She feels her ribs sticking out of her chest. This is probably the skinniest she has ever been. This is probably the least attractive she has ever been, she notices, as she steps out of the shower and once again meets her piteous reflection. In a split-second decision, she decides to cut her scraggly hair. She opens Rebecca's medicine cabinet and finds a small pair of scissors. She gathers up a clump of her hair and shears it off. She gathers another clump and another clump and another until her hair is resembling a crew cut once more. The haircut looks clumsy and misshapen but Riza finds the length comforting.

Riza starts to dress and, though her clothes are dirty, she feels cleaner than she has since stepping onto the station. As she drags her pants from her pile of clothes her watch clatters onto the floor, facedown.

Riza scours Rebecca's sparse kitchen and finds a mug and Rebecca's coffee brewer. She takes the coffee onto her guest bed (sofa). Riza looks out of Rebecca's window. The sun peeks out of the city's skyline. It looks rather beautiful, really. Very different from Ishval. Riza ignores the tight feeling in her chest that comes along with the comparison, she is determined to appreciate the moment. Riza glances down at her vacant wrist and notes that, for the first time since leaving Ishval, she doesn't actually know what time it is.

[czugwrite]

Particles and Waves: The Light of the Giving Keys

Published article for The Yellow Co.’s monthly member magazine. 

(Photo credit: The Yellow Co.)

For many years, scientists believed that light was a wave. It bounced and behaved with the personality of a singular ocean wave, and was independently characterized as such. But then, with closer observation, we noticed that sometimes, light surprised us. Sometimes it came and went, danced and disappeared. We had to realize there was more going on. As we learned, we saw light is also a teeming cloud of tiny particles. And a wave. We realized that, in fact, light moves and behaves as two very different things -- simultaneously. And the more we studied the brilliance of light, seemingly simple to access and appreciate, the more of a miracle it became.

For some, from afar, the GIving Keys is just light: “Creating employment for people transitioning out of homelessness.”  Bright, beautiful, and easy to comprehend. It’s a key on a string. A powerful wave of do-gooders.  Another lovely social enterprise shining truth, goodness and hope into the darkness of our world. And to say this of the Giving Keys is by no means an underestimation. What began as a creative side-venture from the mind of Caitlyn Crosby, the merch table of key necklaces quickly grew into a booming company with over 70 employees, with products carried in hundreds of upscale department stores. And along with all the cultural success, the Giving Keys has also assisted dozens of individuals in moving beyond homelessness, by providing them steady employment.

But what happens when you zoom in? When you examine that light on a smaller scale? You see it’s more than just a big, wave-like movement. It’s also many tiny particles, and demonstrates a rich, deep, miraculous complexity. Every day, The Giving Keys generates light, but it does so by bringing together very different groups of people, from different backgrounds, and putting them side by side in a daily working environment. And together, they illuminate lives by eliminating homelessness.

One sunny morning in Los Angeles, I was privileged enough to witness some of this happen.  I got to meet with several sweet souls at the Giving Keys headquarters, in order to better understand this magical mashup of diverse working professionals.

And like the duality of light, what I encountered there was miraculous.

(Photo credit: The Giving Keys)

An air of openness and strength greeted me at the door of their large, organized warehouse. Its worn, practical surfaces were accented with clean, monochrome design. Textured farmhouse tables and black communal desks rested side by side. It was a charming sensory overload, from the zesty ‘80s playlist, to the chiming of necklace chains, to the fingers tap-tapping away -- some upon keyboards, some upon actual keys. It had the energy of something like Santa’s workshop, if he were a millennial jewelry maker. It was that magical.

Even more than the aesthetics and the music, however, what really caught my attention were the people. Looking around the room, before I said a word to anyone, I could sense their culture of creativity and kindness. At first glance, their unity made everyone appear similar, like one a harmonious force of production. Particles and waves.

But as I stepped back and truly considered the people I was looking at, I was able to realize just how different they all were -- in every way! They were a rainbow of color, a spectrum of ages, a hodge-podge of human beings. Like the jewelry they were making, the place sparkled with stark diversity.

Wide-eyed and in love, I fought to stifle my glee as I shook hands with two glowing Giving Keys employees, Ashley and Pa. Ashley, fair and dainty, reminded me of a most sincere cheerleading captain, with her bright smile and pretty pin-stripe dress. Pa rocked a colorful baseball cap and Giving Keys choker, and  towered over her like a sequoia.  We settled into the company’s lovely refurbished Airstream, and enjoyed a discussion about their experiences related to our theme, “Come Together.”

Sitting side by side, Pa and Ashley couldn’t have been more profoundly different. And yet, their joy was the same. This is some of our conversation.

Ashley, who works in marketing, discovered the Giving Keys while hunting for a unique gift for a friend. Intrigued by the company’s message on the packaging, her passion for non-profit work led her to pursue a position there. Pa, now a production associate, found his way to the Giving Keys while on his journey out of homelessness. He left his home in West Africa, worked his way through the program at LA’s Union Rescue mission, and eventually became eligible for a job interview. This summer, both Ashley and Pa hit their one-year mark with the Giving Keys.

As the two sat, laughed and chatted together, the heart of the company beat loudly before me. I realized these were more than just two individuals employed by the same company. They were colleagues, authentic and caring -- true examples of two different people, working together for good.

Pa shared a bit of his story first. explaining how his work at the Giving Keys has shaped him so far.  “No matter where I came from, all the types of stuff I been through, they accept me for who I am. And I am very grateful for that.” He paused, almost reflective. “ I thank God, and I pray for this place every day. The Giving Keys, they help change lives.”

The gratefulness that Pa recounted also stirred Ashley to affirm the community element at their office. “But when we talk about who’s serving who, it’s literally a question,” she entreated with passion. “It’s not whether one population is serving another -- there is no line like that that exists here, it’s very much an all-together community, with all of us learning from one another. “

Particles and waves. We explored this idea further, unlikely individuals coming together to help sell and make key necklaces, of all things. I asked them about the challenges of working in an environment where they may be hesitant or afraid at first  to connect with someone so unlike them.

“I’m not really open; if I don’t know you, I close up, “ Pa laughed. A totally normal human reaction, and probably the reason why most people struggle to form new acquaintances -- even in a working environment where people are more externally similar!

“It’s not necessarily we want to run from people who are different from us, but how do I  relate to someone who is so different from me?,” Ashley sincerely posited. “What do I say to that person? How do you communicate on an equal level without sounding weird or awkward, or not cool?”

“Or offending them!” Paul laughed again.

He went on to reveal how opening up to people finally occurs for him. “Once I start talking, and knowing who [someone is],  I just want to embrace them and say, hey, like, you came from a dark, dark, dark time in life, like...” He searched for words. “I thought I had the biggest problems before I came here. But working with people who come from different sorts of backgrounds, experiences in life, from all types of problems -- [they’re] just like mine. Maybe little different, but they have beat them, overcome them, and they landed right here, next to me.”

Pensive and appreciative, Pa went on. “It’s like God was just telling me something all along, and I wasn’t listening. Then he put me in a place where I could see it all and feel it all. It’s weird.”

Ashley nodded. “We all look at our own pasts, and not all of us have experienced homelessness, but we have experienced rough things. I think at the end of the day, even though everyone comes from such a unique past and unique differences, we’re all excited to have a sense of belonging somewhere, and a sense of value to what we’re doing on a day to day...It would be a worse case scenario if we had to split our production warehouse and our admin into different buildings.”

She explained a little more about the environment of the warehouse, how it is working alongside various experience levels and personalities. “Having that kind of diversity in experience allows us to move at a quick pace, and have innovative ideas...It can make it challenging, but there’s such a culture here about accepting who we are in the present and not who we are in the past. Because in this present moment, we all want to be together. What any of us did in our past or the paths we came from [is] just part of our story, but not part of our existence.”

Pa echoed her sentiment. “We just have fun in here, and do the best we can. To change our lives, and change other people’s lives with what we do. I love what we do.”

Listening to the two of them share, my curiosity bubbled over, wondering how other other companies or organizations might be able to implement this beautiful model of the Giving Keys. “It can be a challenge at first,” Ashley noted. “But if your leadership team is behind it, and makes it a priority to work and continue to figure it out,  having that vision can be enough to create a space where it can feel more open and connected and more community oriented.”

Later, I had a chance to meet with Tina, a transitioning employee who currently works in customer service. She’s a tender, loving soul with dancing eyes. Her warmth was disarming.

She told me a story about coming to Los Angeles with no money and no plan. “I had a pretty good idea that I was gonna end up homeless when I got here...But [I thought], whatever it takes to get on my feet, I’m doing it on my own. I was scared, but I stuck it out.” She later discovered Chrysalis, the organization that partners with the Giving Keys to assist and prepare homeless individuals for job interviews and upward movement. “I worked their program for a couple of months, and finally got an interview at the Giving Keys.”

Tina worked in production for some time, even earning a promotion, before applying for her current customer service role.  “I had never done that kind of work, but they saw that I had it in me to learn the skill. They gave me that opportunity and I’m doin’ it, and doin’ it well!” She laughed goodnaturedly, and, again, I couldn’t help but note her infectious joy.

I asked if the Giving Keys’ diverse environment ever felt like a challenge for her. “I don’t see [working here] as a challenge, I see it as an opportunity to get to know people from different backgrounds. It’s an opportunity for me to learn. My department that I work in, I’m old enough to be all of their mothers. But they’re so cool... [My kids] are not here in LA with me, so the opportunity for me to bond with that age here at the GIving Keys is a mothering experience.”

“You don’t have that fear of being judged or treated  differently for expressing your individual view. It’s taken in, respected, and you’re moving on. You think it’d be awkward, but it’s not. Everything is very welcoming, and very comfortable here,” she added.

We sat for a few more moments outside, and a light summer breeze drifted between us. It had only been a day, and even I myself, a writer and an outsider, felt at home there.

As I was leaving, I caught one last glimpse of Ashley and Pa. I noticed the white key around her neck read ‘TRUST’ and the small silver one around his, ‘DREAM.’ Walking back to my car, I reflected on these words.

The light created by the Giving Keys transcends all people, colors, ages, and backgrounds. The simple key on a chain can pair with any outfit, dressed up or down, male, female, or anything in between. The different people working there, with their colorful backgrounds, weave a tapestry of diversity there that is beautiful and unique. But even after listening to all of their stories, I was still so mystified by this duality of people and cultures at the company. Particles and waves.

Maybe that’s the thing about light. The more you study it, the more it’s a mystery. And that’s ok.

[maelstrom-after-maelstrom-blog]

“It fits so beautifully and so profoundly. The fairy-tale castle itself is haunted by its own madness, and the Windswept Waltz echoes through every corridor; every eerie whisper a reminder of the madness that built this place.” 

- FJE, outside Neuschwanstein Castle, 16/09/2017.

18/09/2017

This past week has been a transitional period. A transition from day-to-day survival growing slowly to edge closer to a feeling of contentment and bequemlichkeit. It is still difficult and challenging but I’m developing armour through every hurdle I climb over every day. Spending the weekdays at school in front of countless students, I began to start enjoying the feeling of succeeding in front of a class; each improvement I make is a congruent step towards achieving the goals that I yearn for: self-confidence and self-assurance acting in an extroverted manner in front of others, as well as developing self-respect and the ability to create boundaries with other people - skills I have regretfully lacked in my earlier life. Going to Bad Duerkheim for the Wurstmarkt was great fun, an example of how rewarding it can be to simply say ‘yes’ to something that you originally said ‘no’ to. I was invited by two girls from my school who are training to be teachers and currently halfway through their Ausbildung (stud). The highlight of my week however was my brilliant trip to Munich. The journey involved walking to the station from my Wohnheim at 11pm and departing for the city on a surreal Flixbus journey at 12:50am. Eventually arriving at 6:30am, I staggered into the city and met my friend at 8am whose apartment he kindly allowed for me to stay in with him and his girlfriend. I am so grateful for them for their kindness, making me feel valued and incredibly welcome. After dropping my bad off I then spontaneously (possibly due to a sleep-deprived state of delirium) hopped on the train to the magical niched fairytale world of Neuschwanstein, a fantasy nestled in the crevices of the Bavarian mountains. It was a beautiful day, yet again rewarding because everything I did was congruent to my life goals and inner desires (visiting a Wonder of the World, travelling independently and utilising my developing German language). The most magical part of the day was sharing the experience with my sister back home, sending her live photo updates, and also the euphoric moment I decided to listen to Windswept and found how it just matched with the chaotic, mad and heightened atmosphere in which King Ludwig II’s mind was in when he constructed the castle. It was easy to visualise the skeletal dance within the castle walls, moving in time with the fabled Windswept Waltz (if ‘time’ still exists in this universe, that is). Surprisingly, the lesser castle Hohenschwangau, where Ludwig II grew up, was even more magical. The old-fashioned architecture, symbolic of an ancient Arabian palace, was almost as captivating as its surrounding garden grounds where a stunning array of exotic plants were blooming adjacent to beautiful fountains spewing royal water up in the air. The Swan, the Small Man and the Lions. Getting back to the apartment to then be greeted by the two hosts was lovely and we sat up drinking beer and watching TV. The next day we then went to the Hauptbahnhof and met my friend from back home in England, who was in Munich for the first day of Oktoberfest (Sat 16th). We bought beers at 11am and immersed ourselves in the tradition of the world-renowned event. Marching through the streets after the floats we then arrived at the Oktoberfest grounds themselves and stayed for a little while. The atmosphere inside the beer tent we went into was electric, a buzz of excitement and energy. We then got on the S-Bahn to the Allianz Arena to see Bayern Munich play - just as magical but in a different way! Seeing some generational talents who have sparkled during my late childhood years such as Robben, Neuer and Lewandowski was stunning - capped by two great goals by the latter which I have surely recreated countless times in the garden during my childhood. This moment of the trip was yet again congruent to my core values; a trip to see one of the best football teams in the world, a team with players that have stood on the Pantheon of sporting greatness that I dream about when playing alone. Afterwards I was drained due to my extroverted-introvert personality (which only allows me to be energetic and sociable for a limited amount of time before I need to recharge) so I headed home and said goodbye to my friend. Sat on the sofa again and bought the other two pizza as thanks for letting me stay and watched Rick and Morty. Got the train back home the next day at 11:47am and now sit here in my room having completed a day of teaching the following day.