#and in women's indoor i simply am not that good at my position (middle)

[pinejay]

rly gratifying to finally play beach with ppl i know from women's 9-man or indoor (so regular 6's) who play more grass, and finding out i can rly win against them at doubles. like these ppl might play organized grass tournaments all summer but i am really good at this beach thing. this guy i played with today said it's rly hard to read me he could not tell where i was going at all

[missmentelle]

COVID-19, Inequality, and You

This pandemic has been a bad time in a lot of ways, but one of the most devastating impacts we’re going to see besides the death toll is the economic impact - the economic impact on real, working people, not on stock index numbers. Unemployment rates are skyrocketing, and people are being thrown into financial chaos as a result. 

But for all the talk we’ve heard during this pandemic of “we’re all in this together”, and “we’re all in the same boat”, it’s important to remember that, financially, we’re really, really not. Job losses, evictions and health crises are not equally distributed; if anything, this pandemic has been a stark reminder of inequality as the wealth gap grows wider and wider. 

My own life has been a weird cross-section of the ways that the pandemic has economically affected different people in very different ways - my mother has completely lost her job at a seasonal tourist restaurant that will likely go out of business, my brother’s hours at his campus security job have been cut as the school moves online, my boyfriend is seeing his savings rise as he goes out less but makes exactly the same salary at his financial tech job, and I’ve fielded multiple job offers through this pandemic as government grants for social services boom in my region in anticipation of a coming homelessness crisis.  

The news has been reporting on unemployment numbers and shuttered businesses, but there hasn’t been a lot of in-depth coverage about the ways that this is really going to affect people’s lives. There will be a lot of unexpected consequences to this pandemic if governments don’t step in to provide relief, including:

‘Eviction freezes’ are throwing tenants into debt without protecting their housing. Many places have put moratoriums on evictions during the pandemic, which is great. You don’t want a sudden surge in mass homelessness during a pandemic. But “no evictions” does not mean “no rent” - people who are currently being protected from eviction are still being charged rent, and their arrears are growing every month. As soon as eviction protections expire - which is set to happen very soon in many places - landlords can move forward with evicting tenants, going after their back rent, sending their debt to collection agencies and destroying their credit scores. 

A lot of people are about to lose most of their possessions. If you get evicted, your parents or friend might have room for you to move in with them for a while. They probably do not have room for your couch, dresser, bed, table, desk, bookshelves, TV and an entire apartment full of stuff. Putting your things in storage is an option, but you need to be able to pack and transport all of your things to the storage unit and pay for the unit every month. You could try selling the stuff you can’t take with you, but it may be difficult with so many other people also struggling financially, and you may have to leave on short notice. A lot of people who get evicted will end up abandoning a lot of their stuff, which they’ll have to re-purchase all over again to get back on their feet. 

People with low wages are disproportionately likely to lose their jobs. If you work as a software engineer, you’re probably still employed. If you work as a hotel maid, there’s a good chance you’ve lost your job or had your hours cut to nearly nothing. The jobs that are most impacted by shutdowns are jobs in the service and hospitality industry, and they tend to be low-wage, hourly jobs that cannot be done from home - bartenders, servers, hotel clerks, and dishwashers are way more likely to have lost their jobs than lawyers, accountants, engineers and college professors. In many ways, the people who are getting kicked the hardest right now are the ones who could least afford it. 

Not every university will survive this pandemic. With a lot of universities and colleges scrambling to figure out whether to have in-person fall semesters, the future of a lot of post-secondary institutions looks bleak. Many students are choosing to take a year off or defer their admission rather than deal with online courses that have been haphazardly thrown together. On top of that, it’s not clear if international students will be able to attend university abroad this year, or if they even want to take the risk. This adds up to a whole lot of lost tuition money, leaving some universities with no way to keep operating - at least one American university has already permanently closed its doors because of the pandemic. The big players - Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Columbia - will probably pull through, but smaller colleges are at serious risk of going under, leaving their students in limbo and at risk of not finishing their disrupted degrees. 

A lot of people are about to go from “poor” to “disabled”. The people most likely to contract coronavirus are the workers who have to interact with the public every day - not only nurses and doctors, but grocery store workers, delivery people, ride-sharing and taxi drivers, transit workers and janitorial staff. Those who survive are at risk of life-long complications of coronavirus, including permanently reduced lung capacity - that’s not great when you need to work a physically demanding job. A lot of people are about to find themselves in a situation where they are no longer able to do their jobs due to a virus that they contracted because of their jobs. 

Many women’s careers may never recover from this. Daycares and schools are closed, and women are bearing the brunt of it. In a world where women still tend to earn less than male partners, it’s women’s careers that have taken a backseat when things get rough. Even when both partners are working from home, women are the ones overwhelmingly taking on most of the domestic and child-rearing chores, which hurts their work performance and leaves them more vulnerable to layoffs. And that’s a relatively privileged position to be in - without childcare services available, many working moms and single moms have had to quit their jobs, whether they could afford it or not, because they have no other options for their children. This kind of career disruption is something that these women may never totally recover from, especially as they try to re-enter an increasingly hostile job market. 

Black and brown people are the most affected by rising unemployment. People of colour - especially immigrants and women of colour - are facing higher rates of unemployment than other groups. Hispanic and Latina women are in particularly dire circumstances, which is alarming, as they are also the most likely to be dealing with an uncertain immigration status. People of colour - particularly women - are disproportionately likely to work in industries that have been impacted by the pandemic, like the hospitality, food service, retail, child care, beauty and personal care industries, and they face systemic racism that makes it difficult for them to advocate for safe working conditions or access adequate medical care. 

College and tourist towns are at risk of complete economic meltdown. A lot of towns or small cities depend on their local university or annual tourism to survive. A huge crowd of strangers flocks to their town for a few months per year and gives local businesses the money they need to pay for necessities year-round. My hometown is one of these places - most businesses are only open from May - September, and they make enough money during that time for everyone to scrape by for the rest of the year. Those tourists aren’t coming this year, which is something that locals have only learned as they begin to run out of last year’s money. You don’t need to work for a university or a hotel to be impacted by school and tourism shutdowns - the ripple effects will be felt by entire communities. 

Escaping domestic violence will be difficult even after lockdown ends. It’s not exactly a secret that domestic violence has skyrocketed since the global pandemic began, a fact that many experts attribute to the fact that everyone is trapped indoors together and under a lot of stress. But even as lockdown regulations start to lift in areas that handled the pandemic responsibly, victims of domestic violence will face higher-than-usual barriers to escape - many victims may have lost their jobs and burned through their savings, and may have difficulty finding a new job that can finance their escape. Victims with health issues may also be wary about going to shelters for fear they will be further exposed to the virus. 

Poor children will fall even further behind their upper-middle-class peers. I come from a part of rural eastern Canada where reliable internet access is simply not available. So for young children in the region, school effectively ended in March - they do not have the resources needed to connect to online learning. And children from rural areas aren’t the only ones missing out - more than half of all students in the United States aren’t accessing their online classes regularly, and marginalized kids are especially likely to be absent. Poor kids are staring down the barrel of an enormous education gap; they are less likely to have a stable internet connection and a device for their online learning, they are less likely to have books at home, and their parents are more likely to be essential workers who still have to go to work right now and don’t have time to teach them. Middle-class and wealthy families can afford laptops, educational software, tutors, books and time at home to educate their children - when schools are eventually back in session, the gaps between children from different socioeconomic backgrounds will probably be the widest they’ve ever been. 

Don’t get me wrong - I am not arguing that we should end lockdowns prematurely to ease the economic impact. Public health measures exist for good reason, and I don’t think any of us want to even imagine, much less live through, the personal, physical and economic devastation of letting a pandemic rage out of control and melt down our healthcare systems. Despite what many people seem to believe, managing a global pandemic is not about “health vs. economy” - letting the virus rage out of control and kill millions would devastate every economic and social system we have. The preservation of human life has to come first.

What we need instead is comprehensive action to recognize and address the issues that come with long-term quarantines and economic shutdown - we need rent relief, social safety nets and basic assured income programs to get our most vulnerable friends and neighbors through this pandemic. The world will probably never return to the “normal” that we knew before the pandemic struck, and it shouldn’t - it’s time for a new, better normal that doesn’t leave our most marginalized people behind. 

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer II: Project - Leviathan

I’d used my father’s Nibelungen gate to steal away with Johann for Hanami in Chizuru in the middle of the night, and felt much better for it. Johann had gone to Chizuru and sent me a picture as I instructed. I visualized the place in my head and stepped through the gate to be with him, wearing the blue and white kimono gifted to me by Caesar over a year ago. Chizuru was twelve hours ahead of Paris, it was the middle of the night. It was a lovely two hours in the sun and the glory of the flowers. Anjou was none the wiser.

Returning to my hotel room in the dark made it seem even more like a dream. My fingers ran across my lips. They still burned where Johann had kissed me. My body still reacted to the memory.

Master List

The room was huge and alien and it made it hard to get any sleep. I tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed. My thoughts turned back to my Chicago home, not to Cassell. That burned too, taking my whole foster family with it. It was the last place I’d truly felt at home. Ever since I left there, I’d never slept in so many different beds in my entire life. 

Back in January, Johann told me that after graduation he would find a place for us. I had thought it was just him being dramatic. He’d been upset and tired at the time he said it. But now as I lay in the dark, in strange surroundings yet again, I realized he might have been completely serious, that he picked up on the fact that we’d both been uprooted, and looking for a place to settle.

The sun came up and I was still tired. Dressed in a plush robe provided by the hotel, I spoke with Johann over video call. He was in an airport, preparing to return to Chicago.

“Do you know who you’ll be working with?” He asked.

“An Agent Robertson…” I yawned. “Sorry, still a little jetlagged.”

To this day, I was captivated by the strands of dark hair framing the golden eyes that peered over his dark glasses, his cool so-called expressionless face. It wasn’t expressionless to me any more. The subtle flicker of his eye lids, the inflection of his voice, the tilt of his head said far more than his words did. To me, they spoke to his quick wit and profound intelligence, the ability to sort and catalogue his thoughts to say and express exactly what he wanted to in a single precise motion.

“I know him. You’re in good hands.” Johann nodded his stoic approval. “He’s been with the Executive department for about fifteen years. His skill is called Desolation and will turn anyone who stands in front of him to solid rock to a distance of 50 feet. It’s an A-rank devastating talent I’ve only seen him use once. He’s also very conscientious and hardworking. He’ll keep the other agents in line.”

I rubbed my eyes and blinked. “Anjou said something about being concerned about the agents here.”

“There was a scandal about three years back. Robertson was assigned from New York to get a handle on things. But some of the people who were responsible for it still work there. I’d be cautious around the French Agents if I were you.”

“Noted.” I rested my chin in my hands. “Are you doing alright?”

His eyelids lowered and my heart skipped a beat at the ghost of a smile. My persistent worry for him never failed to provoke a reaction. “Don’t worry about me. I want you to have a good time in Paris.” The amusement left his face. “I mean it. You’re going to Fashion Week starting today. I want you to get lots of cute outfits and take pictures for me. Eat pastries at La Pâtisserie du Meurice par Cédric Grolet. Take pictures of those too. The pastries they make are very cute.” He ticked these things off as if they were a list of objectives on a mission. But that’s not what drew my attention.

What made me sit up a little straighter was his flawless pronunciation of the name of the bakery. “Johann… do you speak French?”

He tilted his hand back and forth, but didn’t comment. “I’ll send you a care package through Robertson. That way, you won’t have to worry about anything but having fun. Europe doesn’t have the same products that you’re used to.”

Johann had become well studied in the concept of black hair care. My braids and my curls were unique to me and he understood that these locks would accept no substitutions.

“I love you, Chu Zihang.” I said in Chinese.

“I love you, Bai Meixiu.” He said. “Call me again after Fashion Week. I’m interested in this mission of yours.”

“I have to get ready but… can I ask you something?” When prompted by a nod, I continued. “When you said you would find a place for us after graduation… did you mean it? What did you mean?”

He suddenly wasn’t meeting my eyes any more, a faint color coming to his face.

I explained, one hand running down a thin braid. “I was just thinking last night… how hard it was to sleep in so many different beds. It sounded nice to have a real home again. I think I’d like that.”

The color on his face suddenly deepened. “I’d prefer to talk about that in person.”

“Okay… I’ll see you again soon.”

*****

Apparently, the Paris Fashion shows themselves were so exclusive that you had to receive a personal invitation or be a member of the media to attend. Even so, the city was packed. Our ritzy accommodations were fully booked. The fact that we could stay where ever we wanted, eat wherever we wanted, and go to the shows all over Paris spoke volumes about the level of clout Anjou had. Never once were we refused entry, or had to wait. Our tickets of admission were immediately accepted by the staff.

He mingled about the immaculately dressed crowd at the show, shaking hands, giving hugs and leaning in to give little kisses on the cheek. He was introducing me to the people he knew. I suddenly realized that as the top student at Cassell, Anjou was showing me to his inner circle of friends, getting me acquainted with the top brass of Hybrid hierarchy throughout the world. Many were successful businessmen. Many were ancient families with a long history of wealth and power. Some were currently heads of state.

All of them were Hybrids.

I wore a long white dress with white gloves up to my elbows and a white fluffy hair piece in the shape of angel wings. It immediately attracted attention to me. I didn’t speak any French, but I didn’t have to to understand that they were very curious about Anjou’s little debutante.

We took our seats for the actual show. “Am I doing okay?”

“You’re doing just fine my dear.” Anjou, holding his own glass of wine, smiled. “Ah… this never gets old.”

“Can we buy some of the outfits?” It was the first time I had asked to buy anything.

Anjou laughed. “So you’ve finally come around to Paris! Just point to whatever you like!”

I rubbed my hands together eagerly watching for anything cute that I liked -- that Johann might like. With sudden motivation, I found myself spinning in dressing rooms, feeling the fine fabric on my skin. My dancer’s physique was perfect for the French style and the women there had more than enough fun dressing me up for my own personal fashion show. There was even a photographer. A burly African man leaned over with a camera to take pictures of me pretending to be a model. I noticed a familiar emblem on his jacket. 

“You’re from Cassell!”

His bright smile glowed on his face. “Agent Robertson at your service!” His New Yorker accent was obvious.

My eyes widened. “They sent you to take pictures of me? Someone as experienced as you?” 

He smirked. “Heh. I’ve been following you two all over town. My assignment is to be your security detail… but discreetly.”

“Are the other agents here too?” I asked. 

“That they are. Once fashion week is over, you’ll be off to work.”

“Johann Chu says hello.” I swayed in the mirror, making my skirt swirl.

“That guy…” He flipped through the photos on the camera. “Tell him to come back to Paris so I can beat him at basketball again. Nobody else here play.”

I turned to him the moment he said that. “I play.”

His jaw dropped. “Well, well, well… this is going to be a fun assignment.”

My security doubled as paparazzi as I made my way around Paris. I hung out in the first Arrondissement, admiring the parks, the fountains, and the Louvre Museum. I stalked A-list celebrities and got Robertson to take photos of them for me.

All the photos were sent to my social media account at Cassell. Johann Chu liked every one of them. He left comments of which clothes I should take home. When I asked if he wanted a souvenir, he simply replied. “No, this is enough.”

The heat rose in my face. “Sweet talker…”

When it was time for me to leave the hotel, Anjou left a final message for me on a gold embossed perfumed card. “Congratulations on your first assignment. May it be the first in a long career.”

Under a bright spring sun, we traveled in a convoy of black armored vehicles to the safe house. Men brandishing AK-47s opened the gate to allow us in. We drove down a winding narrow road through a forest to the massive chateau. 

Robertson grew quiet and serious, constantly on his walkie-talkie, giving orders and receiving feedback and updating our position. He referred to me as ‘The Asset’. I was escorted to the heavy wooden door. It opened. Four other men stood before me. They were all European, in suits and sunglasses despite their being indoors. 

“Agent Lavigne, IT. Monet, Logistics. Blanchet, Security. Garnier, Security.”

The French agents. I nodded to them politely. “Nice to meet you. I’m Charlotte.”

Agent Lavigne, lowered his glasses to reveal bright green eyes. He was pale with freckles and a shock of red hair. “Allow me to show you where you will be working.”

My heels clicked against the marble tiled floor. There were columns and statues and art everywhere. We went up the stairs to a large master suite. “This room has all the amenities you need. Unless required, you should be able to stay here and not leave it. There is a balcony in the back for fresh air.”

“Not leave my room?” I asked in dismay.

“There is an extensive amount of work you must do here. Your playtime is over.” 

I pressed my lips together, glaring.

“Don’t antagonize her. Anjou said she needs to be kept happy.” Robertson immediately placed himself between me and Lavigne. I glanced between them, unsure of why there was this sudden tension.

Lavigne cleared his throat. “I meant no offense. My English is not that good.”

Lame excuse, I thought, but I nodded. 

“The laptop you’ll be working with is directly connected to EVA. Your task will be translation and interpretation of the text. Nothing more.”

“Why fly me all the way out here if I’m just going to work with EVA?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it have been easier just to stay at Cassell? What’s with all the security?”

“That information is unfortunately classified.” Robertson said.  Despite his serious demeanor, he smiled a little. “I will tell you this. Sometimes, Cassell doesn’t want to show it’s directly involved in a project.”

“Oh… … Okay…” I said. I nodded once in determination. “I’ll work hard!”

“We’ll leave you to it.” The two agents shut the door.

I jumped up onto yet another strange plush bed and opened the laptop. “Agent Meixiu!” I declared. 

Immediately, the machine registered my face and voice. It spoke to me in EVAs vocal AI. “Welcome. I hope your stay in Paris was enjoyable.”

“It was! So what are we doing here?”

“We’re interpreting and translating the draconic text found underneath the slums of Mumbai. It’s a densely populated place, but the ruins are accessible through the sewers. Wells dug by Cassell are reaching even greater depths.”

Pictures of the locations of the dig sites and maps flashed across my screen.

“Your initial assignment will be to translate this document. It is composed of 15,000 symbols, 5,000 of those are unknown draconic.”

“Five thousand?!” I whispered. I sighed. “Okay… Let’s get to it.”

“Your acceptance of the mission has been logged. Welcome to Project: Leviathan.”

The reams of draconic script opened themselves before me. There were so many unfamiliar words mixed in with familiar ones. One thing was immediately clear. These weren’t ancient chants, prayers or curses. This was a history, a record of actions. What was stranger was that the actions weren’t of a dragon, but of a human man.

I stood up and looked around the room. It would take me months to translate all this and I was not interested in spending that much time away from Johann. There were several framed pictures on the wall. I got off the bed and pulled down one. Then I fished out a permanent marker from my luggage and drew a time dilation rune on the wall. When activated, three hours here would only be one hour outside the room. I rehung the picture over it.

I would not need EVAs assistance. As a supercomputer, she could only make guesses based on available information, and that was not always accurate. I had someone who had direct access to draconic script and was a native speaker. She spun out from my dragon scale necklace, floating there.

Ielia, a version of me from another dimension, appeared like a glowing ghost in the room. “Please help me translate this?”

She gave me a solemn nod.

[buttercupsfrocks]

Hey, Tumblr, did you know that there’s an Interior Design Police as well as a Fashion Police?! Strangely neither did I until I stumbled upon a listicle entitled 75 Things No Woman Over 50 Should Own on the delusionarily titled bestlifeonline.com. There, along with the usual arbitrary selections of sartorial crimes against humanity, (tracky bottoms, skinny scarves, bolero jackets), were the following:-

Tapestries. (What, even if one designed and made them oneself, comme ça?)

Neon signs.

A piggy bank.

Novelty salt and pepper shakers, (Oops!)

A vinyl tablecloth. 

Novelty pillows. (Dang!)

A rolodex.

Indoor wicker furniture.

A lava lamp. (Who doesn’t love a lava lamp? Not this fully paid up B52s fan, I can assure you).

A dish of seashells.  (D’oh! Missed the memo again).

Framed autographs (yep, got one of those too).

Talk about random. And there’s more; much more. It appears I should have jettisoned my giant pin boards at least twenty years ago, along with my magnifying mirror, stuffed animals, coloured pens, fairy lights, frameless posters, cheap mismatched silverware, decorations based on cartoon characters, mismatched towels, striped wallpaper, tassels, and elaborate keychains. (They’d have a blue fit if they knew that one of my keychains has both a twiddly fake key and a tassel on it). In fact the entire website is little more than an endless litany of stuff you should feel ashamed about owning, wearing, and in some cases, even saying. Like I totes can’t say “totes” – me, a writer, who loves slang so much she has at least a bookshelf-and-a-half dedicated to it. I also can’t say: “OMG”,  “humblebrag”, “talk to the hand”, “fauxpology”, “sorry not sorry”, “I can’t even”, “as if”, “sus”, (a term in common UK parlance among people of all age groups for the duration of my lifetime), “ship”, (fuck you; Spuffy forever), and…wait for it…”adulting”, even though I plainly know a good deal more about doing it than the embarrassingly embarassable twelve year old ninny who probably wrote the article.

And still on the subjects of lists that give me the right royal pip, there’s thelist.com. 

“If you are familiar with Dr Martens, you are too old to wear them.” 

I’m sorry, what now?! 

“We know those Crocs and orthopaedic shoes are super comfy, but they're not doing you any favours. There's something to be said for smart, sensible footwear, but you don't have to sacrifice your style and give away your age just to save yourself a few blisters”.

Unless of course you suffer with any kind of condition that dictates you  have to wear fugly orthopaedic footwear, as numerous older people do. And blisters are the least of my problems, bub. Believe me the bunting and party hats come out when I can persuade anything approaching normal-looking footwear to accommodate my orthotics. Doc Martens are one of the precious few options available to me. I am, incidentally, feeling especially “salty” (another word my age precludes me from using), about this right now as, having discovered I can sometimes wear sandals with a moulded orthotic-like sole, these Office sandals... 

...which I genuinely love and desperately wanted to rock this summer, damn near crippled me when I tried them on. 

For all the blather about older women being able to cast off the shackles of convention and wear what we please, (or whatever the expert du jour thinks is within reason), the same unspoken assumptions that prevail in mainstream ladymedia are present in spades on these websites. Nobody reading could possibly be fat, or if they are they’re assumed to be fighting their poor beleaguered bodies unto death. The only chub ever alluded to, (albeit soto voce), is “middle aged spread”, but only the vestigial kind that can be miraculously rendered  invisible by the belting of an “unflattering” oversized garment in the middle. 

“Show off your curves by adding a cute belt to that dress or coat. It will accentuate your shape and let you still wear those comfortable items in your wardrobe without looking like you're wearing a muumuu.”

Never mind that I quite like wearing a muumuu, far from showing off my curves, belting any of my coats would make me look like the Albert Hall, which while undoubtably a Look, is not one I’m after.  

“Balance is important when it comes to crafting a stylish look. Wearing oversized clothing disrupts that delicate equilibrium and unintentionally ages you.”  

What. Ever. 

The hectoring never lets up. 

“There really is no such thing as grown up glitter when it comes to apparel, so it's best to accept that fact and avoid glittery tops, bottoms, and everything else!” 

“Dressing like the '80s or '90s can be fun for a party, but being attached to a trend from your youth can look tired and disconnected and therefore can make one age themselves.” 

“Large prints, especially on a tight clothing item like leggings, are an avoid-at-all-costs look. They are just too loud and aren't a piece that helps you look your best”

Among the ten items everyday.health.com bans me from wearing on account of my encroaching dotage are “too trendy denim”. Apparently I’m “not in my element” with it so my hard work was all for nought. Also verboten are oversized, overly decorated hobo bags, cheap unflattering underwear; (fat chance of finding cheap underwear in plus-sizes anyway though apparently I should do like the Sainted Gwyneth and wear Spanx under everything. Because she totally needs to and I so enjoy colic); and…wait for it…wait for it...  

...“loud accessories”. This includes, horror of horrors, plastic earrings, which apparently I forfeited the right to wear at 35. (Do they count vintage phenolic, bakelite, and lucite as plastic I wonder? Because if enough rich older women get dissuaded from wearing it I might actually be able to afford some instead of faking it). Instead I’m exhorted to make a... 

“Stunning Substitute: think quality and quantity. Limit yourself to one funky accessory per outfit – as long as it’s well-made. Think a leopard-print scarf, thin silver bangles or a gold clutch to dress up nice jeans and a simple top”. 

Yeah, no. And, by the way here’s a picture of Helen Mirren in quite the loudest plastic necklace I’ve ever seen which, as you can plainly see, ages her terribly. 

*snort*

Which brings me neatly to the subject of role models. Dame Helen comes up a lot. Here’s Harper’s Bazaar with some more:

“Pay close attention to the way women like Robin Wright, Julianne Moore, and Kristin Scott Thomas dress. And revel in the moment when you can justify shopping for labels like Céline, Calvin Klein, Jil Sander, and the Row — because not all sweaters are created equal. The Perfect Length (not too long, not Rihanna short), with the just-tantalizing-enough neckline, is more than worth the extra zeros”.  

Wow. So much nope to pick apart in just three sentences! 

Firstly, while I’m sure they’re all perfectly charming, I look nothing at all like any of these women, so why would I aspire to their style? Secondly, they have allllllll the extra zeros in their bank accounts while I have zero zeros. Thirdly, even if I could afford any of those labels, (a sweater from The Row costs well over a thousand quid by the way), why the love of little fluffy kittens would anyone think I want to dress like this?

I mean I know I like an oversized garment but I’m good with Monki, thanks. If that lot doesn’t say, “this was the only shit I could find to fit me”, I don’t know what does. And quite what the tiny, terminally haggard looking Olsen twins, who dreamed up the wretched label, would look like in any of this eye-bleedingly expensive folderol I shudder to think. You’d probably need to send in the fire brigade to find them in all that fabric, poor loves.

At its root shaming-as-entertainment is a tool for capitalism, both simple and complex. Feel mortified for owning something age inappropriate? Buy something new and more grown up, preferably at enormous expense. Or, if pay day’s too far off, invest in some garbage gossip rag and bitch about the state of those richer and more famous than you are. It’ll make you feel great for all of five minutes, then you can fill the emptiness that follows in its wake with some cheap fast fashion or cake. Even though cake is naughty and unclean and fast fashion is killing the environment; but hey that’s what diet books (kerching!) and gym memberships (kerching!) and ethical fashion, (with a cut-off size of 16), are for, right? 

Ironically, in yet another catalogue of grievous mistakes to make once you’re over forty, bestlifemyarse.com includes “neglecting your mental health” and “basing yourself-worth on what other people think”. But how the hell are women expected to do that under a constant barrage of opprobrium, not least since also included in the aforementioned list is “avoiding the scale”?

Tumblr, I put it to you that people are just as likely to buy stuff if they’re feeling good about themselves than if they’re feeling shite. I fucking love stuff but there has to be an alternative way to sell it that’s less damaging to our sanity and self esteem. That’s in part why fat women created their own media. But, the more it edges into the mainstream, the more it it puts the wind up advertisers and those who rely on their sponsorship. So now our message – the one about self acceptance and being able to live unrepentantly in the bodies we have – has been appropriated, de-fanged, and rebranded as “Body Positivity”, an ersatz movement intended to reassure average-sized women fretful they might be a little bit fat, with the added proviso, “as long as you’re healthy”, (i.e not fat). And while the net abounds with token examples of older lady bloggers granted the status of fashion maven, they’re all slender as reeds, and most of them are ex-models. Big fucking whoop. Meanwhile anyone of any age who is objectively fat is “promoting obesity” simply by expressing our personal style in public.

My collection of shells incidentally, includes some my mum brought me back from the Channel Islands when I was a child; a conch a friend dove for  in the Virgin Islands and presented me for my 19th birthday; several beauties that held pride of place in a late family friend’s study for decades; an abalone shell from New Zealand plucked from the beach by my Kiwi pal Di; a sand dollar from Ocean Beach in San Francisco given to me by my dear friend Jude who died of secondary breast cancer a few months before Jane did; some pebbles gathered with my friend Lesley in literal sub-zero temperatures on a completely deserted beach one not-so-flaming June up north, both of us in hysterics over the utter bleakness of it all, and a load more shells from the Pembrokeshire coast contributed by my friend Steve’s departed mum back in the 1980s. Even the bowl itself was given to me by Karen, whose parents found it in the attic of their new house and thought I might like it. It’s a veritable a lifetime in shells; a celebration of love and friendship spanning decades. In short it has meaning, which is a damned sight more than you can say for any of these wretched lists.

Rise above the buzzkill, Tumblr.

[kingmaker-thac0hno]

The Kingdom of Thornvale: A Year’s End

The month of Kuthona, 4711 

By Kuthona, the cold winds of winter have settled across the lands, and most folk stay indoors by the warmth of the fire. The Lords of Thornvale announce their plans for the month, expanding the kingdom northwest along the Thorn River, and seeking to construct a horse ranch in the hills northwest of Haven. 

Evrin works with prominent members of the Haven militia to familiarize themselves with the newly constructed ballista, practicing the slaying of various tree stumps and old barrels. He speaks with Thefina about the construction of a swivel base for the weapon, which she promises to begin working on next month, as she is dedicated to building a school for Lord Stonewalker.

The halfling begins a series of drills at the nearby Stag Lord's fort, and though the weather is unfavorable, many of the militia dutifully trudge there for practice. A few comment on the halfling's desire to fish on the Tuskwater during middle of winter - in truth, Evrin was acting to sink the enchanted and fey-touched Thorny Crown to the bottom of the lake. 

Evrin speaks to Jubilost about the recent discovery of the Taldan burial site, and the little gnome is ecstatic. He immediately packs up his things and enlists the help of his gnomish companions to prepare for a journey to the site. Within a few days, the small group is able to reach the crypt and set up camp. Jubilost informs Evrin that he will likely stay here for some time to properly document and categorize his findings. At first glance, however, the gnome is able to explain some of the site.

Long ago, before the Golden Age of Taldor, the young country sent many explorations parties out to settle these lands. If my suspicions are correct, this site seems to be from that era. The markings on the walls and the arrangement of the burial site seem to indicate a person of some stature - perhaps a noble or warrior-knight. The sheer number of books here is astounding, which is indicative of a scholar. They are remarkably well-preserved, and the handful I dared to touch all appear to be written in old Taldan script. Some of these texts appear to be of a magical nature, and I have refrained from examining those in detail until I can be sure of their safety.

There are some interesting observations I can make, however. First, there appears to be a book missing from this crypt. Did one of your men take it? A surveyor perhaps? Something to look into, certainly: where it went, and why they took it?

Second, the deceased corpse from the sarcophagus, see it there? The crown on its head? It appears as though a gemstone once rested within it. Though I have not once seen a gemstone with such an odd, notch-shaped cut. It too, appears taken. At first I thought it may have simply fallen out in the battle, but no! Look there, and there - upon the gold, what do you see? Those little scrapes could only have been made by a knife or dagger.

Third, you are right. The shield here is indeed missing. You can tell by the depressions on the shield-arm here and here, where the shield straps were fastened. It would have been rounded, likely with a high or low grip as was commonplace at the time - not a center grip shield like we do now. Though I am confounded as to why someone would take the shield, and leave the sword. Or how it would have lasted all these ages, as the wood surely would have disintegrated by now.

Hopefully, these books will hold some answers, though I suspect the missing one is key. 

*** Karis speaks to Kimble the tailor and Quill the Blacksmith, setting them to crafting various outfits and wrist dagger-sheaths. They, along with Thefina and her hidden-compartment crates, set to working and by the end of Kuthona have suitable products for use. He directs Lathon to continue drills with the Aldori - now taking place at the nearby ruined fort. The sailor looks hale and much more resilient than earlier in the year, and his demeanor reflects it. 

Daily visits with his wyvern maintain the bond between the two, but the winter weather has made the creature lethargic and slow. It seems to sleep more and prefers the warmth of the fire.  Throughout the month Karis dedicates many nights to meditation, seeing to connect with his patron - but the Lady remains disturbingly quiet.

Much time is spent on training with the young boy Rhys in learning the elven language and the subterfuge tradecraft. Though a few grumpily shoo the boy, most commoners in Haven often laugh at the lad as he slinks about the town, playing at being a sneakthief. Karis sends the boy on several play-missions such as how many pints is Oleg consuming between breakfast and dinner, performing some infiltration exercises, such as lifting some of Saryn’s fancy boots and returning the footwear before he notices them missing.

Unfortunately, the lad stumbles, and is caught red-handed by the Lord Saryn With a wink, he offers a few unsettling words. Momma always told me taking things without asking was asking for trouble!  With that, sinewy elongated tongues jut forth from deep within each of the boots wrapping around the lad’s forearms as fangs tear through the fine leather cuffs and begin gnashing hungrily at his hands. Rhys, screaming in terror, yells, Lord Karis told me to do it! He told me to do it!

After a few moments, Saryn calmly explains, If you apologize to my mimic I am certain he will probably not devour you, but you should probably be far more careful in the future- especially when breaking into a house full of monsters!

Rhys, realizing he is unharmed, apologizes, and explains the exercise. He then sulks away sheepishly, returning to Lord Karis, who takes the opportunity to relay to the boy that failure and learning from these exercises within the confines of Thornvale is far more forgiving than far reaches of its enemies.

***

Upon returning to Blackstag from Haven, once well upon the waters of the Tuskwater, Odis says over his shoulder  Well, it’s getting better...but they still don’t think of us as equals.

After a moments pause, Arna responds, ‘Cause we are not equals. We’re yet to provide to the kingdom main  At this Odis actually stops paddling and turns to meet her  We now is it?

Arna ignores the jest, surprised herself at her choice of pronouns. We know their needs, needs they have been trying to fill, but have been unable...you’ve been trading with Mivon, tell me about them.

What, the eel eaters? Walled city built on a bog. Lots of folk, but short on resources, nasty bunch of gangs. Duels weekly right in the square, damned waste of good swordsmen if you ask me, came the reply. 

Let’s make a trip this month, take 3 or so of the fairest looking widows. See if we can convince some apprentice or journeymen to come to Blackstag in the spring. Men will come at the promise of getting their wicks wet or finding a bride along with the coin they’d make. 

And so Odis, Arna, and several other women from Blackstag head south to Mivon. The journey is cold and slow, as they paddle down the Little Sellen Rriver via canoe. There are remarkably few dwarves in Mivon, and the city smells vaguely of peat. Nearly everyone here seems to dress in the style of the Aldori duelists, and virtually everyone with a sword seems to have the colors of one house or another emblazoned upon his person. Finally, a warm tavern is a welcome sight, and within, Arna gets to know the folk around town.

Little do they realize that they have ended up in the lower quarter of Mivon, full of the un-desirables. Two near-fistfights and a bowl of spoilt gruel later, Odis and the dwarf end up in a quiet discussion with the waitress, a lass of maybe 15, curious as to why such foreigners would come to her town. After a brief discussion of their mission, the gal excuses herself, promising to return.

Later that evening, the small group is approached by a rough-looking gentleman, but one clearly respected ( perhaps feared?) by his companions. He's heard of Arna's story, and comes with a proposition:

I have, at times, a need to relocate people out of Mivon. Good people. People who shouldn't have to face bad things. It seems that you are looking for people with skills. These people, my people, often do. It seems we may be able to help each other.  Take your time, think it over. Have a meal on me - the good stuff, not that swill you’ve been eating. When you decide, let the lass know.

The man turns to leave, but as he does so, he speaks one final time, We never met, understood? 

*** 

Continuing their plans for a school in Haven, Thefina and Stonewalker enlist a number of idle folk to help with the work. The going is very slow, as the cold ground makes digging difficult, but by the end of the month, the school stands - doors open for new students in the new year.  

Regarding the position of instructor, Stonewalker speaks to many of the skilled folk in Haven, who all politely decline. Most - like Kimble Purling, Grutzner Brasse, Ardbeg, and Thefina herself ( among others) openly offer to take on younger apprentices to teach their trade, but most express that they have no time for classroom teaching ( and a few suggest that the classroom is no place to practice a trade).  As such, no full-time teacher is found to staff the school. One of the local mothers, Midge, volunteers as nanny. In addition, a missive is sent to Blackstag informing them of the opportunity for education for their youth.

Stonewalkers biweekly meetings of various tradesfolk in Haven have encouraged more and more residents to speak up regarding suggestions. Jubilost Nartropple, recently retuned to Haven, suggests that a library of sorts would be good for academics, and is willing to contribute the first book to it's collection: The Mysteries of Mivon: An Exploration of the Eastern River Kingdoms, by none other than himself. In addition, he would like someplace where he could buy some decent ink.  

Oleg mentions some warehouses to store surplus furs during hunting season, and one of the local farmers mentions that the cellar underneath Havenhall is getting rather full - suggesting that perhaps a granary is in order. A few of the fishermen in town suggest a establishing a curing house where they can salt excess fish for trade ( or a winter stockpile).

***

Saryn continues his tradition of aiding those in town, speaking words of inspiration to the departing surveying expedition and singing songs of rejuvenation to the workers at the ranch. By now, he has come to know the majority of the residents of Haven, and is able to quickly find and speak with the halfling seeking to create a gathering place for burrowing folk near the old sycamore. 

Furret Quickfoot explains that he would like to convert the hill under the sycamore to a home for all burrowing sorts - a haven ( near Haven!) for little folk, filled with amenities that suit their kind. Though not nearly as proficient as the battle-hardened lords, the little halfling seems skilled enough with the blade, and light of foot to boot.

Another brief visit to the giant finds him sitting next to a roaring fire made from uprooted trees and surrounded by empty barrels of ale. Munguk is cold and miserable, and very, very drunk.  Munguk walk see mommy, but she not home. Munguk wait. No come back. Mommy gone! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

After a bit, Saryn is able to calm down the sobbing giant, and Munguk agrees that sitting in the cold hills sucks, and would rather go someplace warmer - provided there's something to drink. 

Additional training with the owlbear and wyvern is difficult, as both creatures seem lethargic and slow. The young owlbear cub seems to just want to sleep all day, and the wyvern stubbornly refuses to leave the warm stone of the fireplace. As such, Saryn makes very little progress with any sort of 'training'.  

***

The end of the month brings the end of the year as well, and various small celebrations during Winter Week.  The Sootscale kobolds dedicate quiet moments to Aspu during their Time of Reminiscence.  Lady Garess is spotted during the Winter Solstice, performing the Ritual of Stardust by singing songs and dancing about a blazing bonfire.

during the last week of the month, with construction of the school complete and Arangin's Acerage finished, the surveyors from upriver return to Haven, happily chatting among themselves and declaring their job complete.  

Most Havenites stay indoors to mark the Final Day, waiting for spirits of the years' dead to pass by their doors on the Night of the Pale, and emerging the next morning to welcome in the new year: 4712 AR.

Turn 17; Abadius, 4712 AR

Petitions:

Cedrin reports that Jubilost has left Haven again, eastablishing a camp near the old Taldan burial site. 

Cedrin reports that the workers sent to construct the Graniteworks upon the quarry site still refuse to return to work, and are scared of the giant bird who attacked the site in the previous month. 

Cedrin reports that he has been able to process the many requests for land from the citizens of Haven. Virtually all of them are requests for small family farm plots in the outlying hills. 

Cedrin has collected the submissions for the name of the newly constructed road. A full listing ( sans duplicates) is as follows. 

The Kamelands Pass

Four Lord’s Road

Haven’s Trail 

Kesten’s Way

The Eastern Stolen Trail

Rue de Garess

The Stag’s Path

Handor’s Highway

Edicts:

You may issue two (2) edicts for the month of Abadius.

[allyroams-blog]

You Are Welcome, Muzungu

My dearest family and friends –

I’m alive and approaching the three day mark of my time here in Uganda (which frankly is slightly unbelievable…it’s been such a jam-packed 72 hours that I feel like I’ve been here for weeks already). Where do I begin?!?

Well, first thing’s first: it’s incredible here. I’m not sure I’ve ever received such a warm welcome to a country as I have to Uganda. When I first arrived at Plot 895 (which is in fact quite a nice building with an indoor shower and flushable toilet…GREAT SUCCESS) I was greeted with hugs from the staff as if I’d known them for ages. I’m quickly realizing that this warmth is typical of Ugandans. It’s led to quite a few awkward half-hugs on my part, as I still find myself misjudging someone going in for a hug as a handshake or a high five or what have you --- who would’ve thought that saying ‘good morning’ each day warrants full-on hugs?!? There’s also this funny tradition of handshakes in Uganda that I’m still getting used to. In the U.S. we shake hands for, what, like 2-4 seconds? Swiftly and firmly and then we stop. But that’s not how it works here. There’s this whole shake-grab-shake-hold thing that they do where you often end up holding hands with someone throughout your entire conversation. I almost cracked up laughing the first time someone did it to me – it feels très awkward at first, but it’s how they do it here so I’m trying to adapt and stop myself from giggling every time someone wants to hold my hand for more than a few seconds.

Another culture clash: when you arrive somewhere, Ugandans tend to greet you by saying, “You are welcome!” I found this extraordinarily confusing as first, as I couldn’t figure out what on earth I was meant to be thanking them for. Of course, what they mean is “welcome,” as in “welcome to my home”, or “welcome to dinner,” or whatnot, but it’s taken some time to get used to nonetheless.

My first full day here was July 4th – Independence day in the US of A. I spent it meeting a group of women who have what is referred to here as ‘incurable fistula.’ From what I can gather, this term is generally applied to women who remain incontinent despite having had often multiple surgeries to repair their fistulas. It seems like there are generally two reasons why this happens: (1) their fistulas are unable to be repaired surgically (I’m still working on figuring out the reasons why this might be) or (2) they have persistent stress incontinence from a bladder that has been irreversibly damaged from obstructed labor. But regardless of the reason, the women I’ve met are simply amazing. I am in awe of their positivity despite the hardships they have endured (and continue to endure). It was A Lot to jump into on day 1, but I feel so honored to have gotten to spend the day learning from them. There is a group of business students from Oregon State University here that are working on helping these women start sustainable businesses. One of these businesses is a small jewelry-making gig. Two women, whom I became quite close with over the course of the day (as is wont to happen here in Uganda), are involved in the business. I’m going to be purchasing some of their stuff to bring home. If anyone else is interested in supporting them, you can take a look at their stuff online here: https://www.etsy.com/shop/16xOSU. We closed the day by teaching them how to make s’mores (one of the OSU students had the brilliant idea of bringing marshmallows). None of the women had ever tasted a s’more before (or a marshmallow for that matter), so the whole ordeal was quite the riot. It was a perfect way to celebrate the 4th and a wonderful close to what was a really special first day.

I’m now at Mweya Lodge in Queen Elizabeth National Park, which is near the border of Rwanda in the southwest corner of Uganda. I woke up at the crack of dawn yesterday and spent 12 hours in a minibus driving here, but it’s been an awesome introduction to all the natural beauty that is Uganda. I just got back from a sunrise safari, which was simply breathtaking. We spent 30 minutes stopped in the middle of the savannah because an elephant had decided to chill out in front of our truck for a while – talk about a worthwhile reason to be stopped in your tracks. The safari trucks have roofs that pop open so that you can climb up and sit on top while they drive. It’s probably not the safest thing ever (sorry mom) but it feels INCREDIBLE. We saw lions, buffalo, hippos, antelope, water buck, baboons, Vervet monkeys and warthogs (aka Pumba). All in their natural habitat. So. Cool. Speaking of which, I’ve had The Lion King soundtrack stuck in my head more or less since I arrived at the lodge, which has been a Big Problem, since I’m bad at keeping songs in my head and out of my mouth, and  I’m also fairly certain most people are not interested in hearing me reenact the entire soundtrack at full blast. So I’ve been trying to keep my humming/singing to a respectable level (unlike our walks through the city @GNG). It’s been hard.

We head back to Kampala tomorrow, which, by the way, is a crazy city. There is –I kid you not- one main road and it is CONSTANTLY blocked up with traffic. Like, serious traffic. As in, it took me FOUR hours to get from the airport to where I’m staying…a 40 km drive. There is a lot of poverty there too, but also a lot of smiling, waving and shouting “Muzungu! Muzungu!” (the Ugandan word for white person). Kids seem to be especially into my muzungu status. For instance, I went on a walk my first day around where I live and passed a group of girls that were probably around 7 or 8 walking home from school. I smiled and said hello as I passed them, to which they all immediately burst out giggling. One of the girls slowly walked up to me and touched my arm, as if she wasn’t sure if my skin was made of the same stuff as hers. The rest of the girls thought was hysterical and quickly joined in, chattering on about me being a Muzungu. So I ended up with a bunch of young girls more or less petting me in the middle of the street. It was quite the experience. Not exactly your average walk around Murray Hill.

On Saturday I head out into the field (aka Soroti), where I’ll be doing the majority of my research. I’m not sure what the internet access will be like there, considering it’s already limited in Kampala, which is apparently far more built up than Soroti, but I’ll try to keep you guys posted the best I can.

There’s a million and one other things that I want to tell you all, but it’s far too much for a blog post, so I’ll call it a day for now. In sum: I am doing just wonderfully (no upset tummies to speak of yet) and adapting just fine. I’m really looking forward to getting the ball rolling on my project and helping out TERREWODE as much as I can. The more I learn about them, the more blown away I am by how truly remarkable an organization they are.

More to come soon. Until then, all my love!

Ally  

[debrasparling17-blog]

Astrology Contents.

However this actually doesn't matter how you spell that due to the fact that chaise lounges are actually classic pieces of furniture that will enhance basically any type of location - indoors or even out. This brings our company to the best from all the Nostradamus myths, which is the fallacy that Nostradamus created a manual of astrology prophecies. The manner by which Gayatri Concept preponderates is actually the exclusive attribute of word designing embedded in it. Due to unfolding of the analysis Rajarshi Vishwamitra was right away elevated to the growth from Brahmarshi.

There are actually indications that the word Kabbalah," the acquiring," right now the label from the whole entire religious beliefs, resided in earlier times the foremost label of guide that Nostradamus' publication covers. The Spring season Festival that occurs in China at the start from the Chinese New Year is just one of the moments when the demand from gold in China is actually very high as well as gold as well as jewelry purchases go up considerably. Another explanation early lifestyle spruced up in disguises was actually for objective of productivity. The ancient Romans believed that the Aquamarine was spiritual to Neptune, the god oceanic, having brokened coming from the gem boxes of sirens and washed onto shore. 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The thinkers which will certainly direct our team through these troubling but rarely apocalyptic times are going to be those who educate our company how to determine undesirable truths in the midst of problems and how you can show both care as well as cunning. However a considerable amount of historians have actually proved that the secret indicators from zodiac are actually pretty much older dating back to the early opportunities of individual creating. In reality, old women were all thought about more desirable if their hair were long and also thick. That was not that only Classical women had an enthrallment for hairstyles, the Classical men were certainly not also far behind either; one of the most typical hairdo that many Greek males in early opportunities sported was - brief and also curly. A spear factor, likewise known as spearhead, was actually rated as the chief item utilized in the battle of ancient Asia as well as Europe. The ancient storytellers from intimate fallacies the good news is kept the elegance from Celtic society. Historical Greeks additionally took advantage of saffron to lighten the shade of their hair, so about additionally boost the type. Old literature, artefacts and also buildings are being actually looked into upon and being actually studied to possessing any kind of proof pertaining to the conference from the historical individuals with these aliens. Angels are additionally aspect of Jewish and Islamic faiths and also a number of other religions and societies going back to old opportunities. Underneath Lake Baikal's mattress is actually an old cemetery matured around 5,000 to 8,000 years old. For this certain design, the old Classical females used to secure their hair all together and constituted a knot at the back. Buddha may be invested with a massive amount from details, effects and also definition; they develop and also they are actually provided lifestyle. In early times the word Dowsing was actually used just for the hunt of springtimes of water or metallics as gold. In old times, Sapphires were thought to be defensive against rivalry, as well as versus poisoning. However in Australia where the historical as well as the early division of mankind appeared the Aboriginal individuals do not have any type of expertise about the timeless doubles, the fallacies discussed by a bunch of societies were emerged off the north when the humanity stretched coming from Africa almost 75000 years back. The old Sumerians, one of the oldest societies which accentuated feet with arm bands, put on ankle joint links as an indicator for wide range of her other half. I am actually certainly not going to point out so much more listed here, apart from that this publication gones on my (very short) listing from ultimate must-reads for any person that is interested in spirituality and also our origins. In early opportunities this was actually essential to remove bacteria and louse coming from the heads from people utilizing the brush. Baseding on the historical kabalistic content, the secret from the five steels ring excellence is that at the particular time of the creation from the ring along with these five steels, Jupiter's effect is summoned forth. The beginning of pizzas actually started in ancient opportunities, and as mentioned previously, was actually a lot more for feature in comparison to exciting. The old people made use of points like weeds and also florals to earn top quality perfumes. Till you have lived in another nation, you'll possess no idea from exactly how fortunate our company remain in South Africa to have the gorgeous moderate climate we have got. However it is known that during the very same time, the twin superstars were actually recommended as Gilgamesh and also Enkidu due to the ancient Babylonians. Historic files signify that the historical Egyptians placed decrease blooms in flower holders. This write-up defines how the early globe watched water, from the flood beliefs of Assyria and the Bible, to the sustainably created water off artesian aquifers in Classical times. For more information regarding yellow pages london (my webpage) review our web-site. When there were actually no surgeons or procedure theatres folks made use of to experience with stones in their gall bladder or even renals, in early opportunities. Stylish methods of luck informing currently existed and dated back to venerable times when old ascendants simply relied on the positioning of the superstars, moon as well as the earths were actually the only noticeable methods from contemplating and reflecting the future. Gould decided on the 48 historical constellations and 40 that had been created mainly in between 1500 and 1800 to fill up spaces left behind due to the ancients. The Early Greeks were loaded with wonder when they to begin with beheld the splendid landscapes from the asian Persian Kings. Redford (Akhenaten, LJ 11/1/84) presents a research study of the political, cultural, and also spiritual relationships one of the peoples from Egypt, Assyria, as well as the Levant during the 3000 years coming from the Paleolithic duration to the devastation from Jerusalem in 586 B.C. What recognizes this study is the per spective of an Egyptologist which ap proaches the subject from historical Egypt and also Israel without the standard preconceptions and also emphases found in the research studies rising off scriptural research studies scholars.

[msannemills]

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How can I even begin to describe my time in Ethiopia? Every time I think about it, my heart overflows with nostalgia and I long to be there again.

Click here for a playlist of the music I listened to on the plane if you would like to feel as though you were there with me!

Also if you would like to see all of the pictures I took you can view them *here*.

It all started when one of my friends told me she was going to Africa in the next six months, and I immediately responded with, “You know I’m going with you, right?” I have made it a sort of personal commitment of mine to take every and any chance I get to experience new places and people.

So a bit of an introduction here: Her uncle had founded a non-profit organization back in 2007 called Crisis Aid International that provides safe houses for women both in the USA and Ethiopia who are victims of sex trafficking. This is the main goal of the organization, but in Ethiopia they also provide aid through food distributions in rural villages, have established an all girls orphanage, and have set up a girl’s home for those rescued from the red light district with nowhere else to go. There is also a vocational school where these women can learn trades such as weaving, typing, hairdressing, and entrepreneurship in order to support themselves in a productive, healthy and fulfilling way. While in Ethiopia, the founder of the non-profit was also with us, and was able to show us the future sites of a medical clinic, another girls home with a storefront they can invent and operate themselves, and a possible coffee plantation/organic farm.

“Ameseginalew” pronounced ah ma saht genalo, means thank you in Amharic.  This is the main language Ethiopians speak, but of course there are many variations and dialects depending on region. A couple of other phrases I picked up: Salamnew (salamno)- “Hello”   Endatnesh (inditnish)- “How are you?”  Dena negn (ning) – I’m fine

Betam ameseginalew- “Thank you very much” Chikuryelem- “no problem!” Ciao of course means goodbye  Odeshalew – “i love you”

As with any life-changing experience, my outlook and priorities progressed and fluxed during that week in Ethiopia. I kept a journal while there and I will share the entirety of my entries here along with some recent additions:

Friday, Nov 13th 2015

Being on a plane to Ethiopia right now is surreal. I keep getting these waves of excitement thinking, “wow, is this really happening?”

Going through security I thought I had removed everything that was not permissible, but I had yet again left my mini swiss army knife, one of my grandfather’s, in my bag. Of course they had to confiscate it, but for some reason it made me so upset. The way the man had no empathy or understanding of my position. Yes it was my fault that I left it in there and part of my frustration was with myself because I did not remember to take it out. Nevertheless, that little knife was a reminder to me of

  him, that’s why I kept it with me all the time. If he could be embodied in one single object it would be that. He carried them with him everywhere, using the toothpick religiously, or using the little scissors to cut open our toys we had just gotten from the Bass Pro shop or WalMart or wherever else he took us that day. I just felt like I was wronged somehow. How could that man take away something so precious to me and not care at all what happens to it or me? Not care that its just going to get smashed up and thrown away. It conjured up feelings I haven’t felt since he died. It was almost like it was happening all over again, hearing that shocking news. And there I am standing in the airport crying over a tiny pocket knife. How could I be so stupid? Why didn’t I just leave it at home?

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    Saturday Nov 14th                                                                             LONG. DAY.

Today was a lot to take in. When we first arrived I was excited to be in a new country and experience the people & places in this part of the world. I simply sat in the van silently observing, listening. The first thing I noticed was how quiet everything was. Almost eerily quiet. I think it’s incredible how accustomed we get to noise, it is constantly surrounding us and we are bombarded day in day out with it. I cannot tell you how calming it was to be in the absence of that raucousness. Something I value about Ethiopia is its pace of life.  No one is in too much of a hurry to forget what is right in front of them. Time is almost non-existent and life is simplified. Driving through Addis, the city was bigger than I expected it to be, but as far as economic development goes I had an idea of what it would be like. There is so much to describe, however, I am completely and utterly exhausted. I want to be able to accurately recall and document my experience…

This day seemed like it was two whole days packed into one. We started out in D.C., got on the plane there, after what seemed like an overnight eternity, stepped off into Addis and started the day all over again. When we were driving through the city I kept waiting to drive through a nicer part, like we were just in the especially poverty stricken areas. But then I realized that it doesn’t get nicer. Even in the marketplaces, shopping malls, and “5 star hotels”, there are beggars and children desperately trying to sell anything they can, following you and coming up to the bus. Their desperation operates every fiber of their being. The whole time we have been here, even back in D.C., we have been the ones receiving the assistance. The men who handle our luggage, the men who drive us around, the children and younger men who make sure we have our amenities and that our utilities are working. You know, its like, I came here to serve these people, not the other way around. And it just makes me feel guilty almost. I wish I wasn’t American. I wish my skin was not white. I wish that I could speak the language and truly connect with these people instead of communicating through smiles and waves. And I wish that I could fix it. All of it. The poverty, the sickness, slavery, oppression, and sadness. It’s just shitty.

I honestly wanted to go home. I felt like I had made a terrible decision. Who am I to pay thousands of dollars to see the every day lives these people live?! We drove to the red light district and walked through a couple of streets. It didn’t feel real. It was like some sort of sick tour. These girls are trapped. They have no way out. And here I am walking down the street with a bunch of other white people, seeing this sight. It’s awful. Some of them let us shake their hands, or give them hugs. I shook one girls hand, but mostly walked the rest of the way. I didn’t know what was happening. I couldn’t process what was going on. How could I be there, really there? It seemed like a bad dream or a scene out of a movie. I had never felt more surrounded by hopelessness. It just made me realize that these people live in this shit, day in and day out. Every. Day. And when I go back home, while I sleep in a bed, use running water, drive a car, live in a durable mess of objects I call home, go to a building to gain knowledge, they will continue to live here in these conditions. It doesn’t end just because I am not witnessing it.

Then you have the question, “Well how do you help?” Progress is a slow moving, stubborn creature. Especially when there are multi-faceted, complicated problems needing to be solved. It must be chipped away, time after time. It all starts with rescuing one girl from slavery, feeding one child, building one home. Just because the task is hefty does not mean nothing should be done. On a large scale, fixing the problems Ethiopia has is next to impossible, but on a small scale, lives and hearts can be fulfilled.

Sunday Nov 15th

There are no “indoors” in Ethiopia. At least not like there is in the States, where each store you walk into is its own little sectioned off, air conditioned box. Here everything is more fluid. The air moves throughout open space, homes, and stores alike.

The streets in the city are lined with corrugated sheet metal shantytowns and large concrete buildings, most of which stand unfinished, the wooden scaffolding abandoned as well. Some of the shanties are inhabited, others are used for selling various goods such as clothing, beverages, fruit, cell phones, and souvenirs. Some are cafés and some are photo centers. There are also a lot of hardware businesses along the street, selling house materials including large, elaborate metal gates, lumber, concrete, ceramic tiles, wooden furniture and mattresses.

The whole city is one big contradiction. There’s people living on the streets in makeshift homes, some of which are merely umbrellas or wooden poles with tarp stretched over them. Yet there is ongoing construction everywhere, landscaping in the middle of the roundabouts, trench digging on the side of the road for drainage, concrete skeletons, and railway construction. The paradox lies in this: the majority of Ethiopia’s population does not have enough money to use these facilities or to be consumers of these products. People don’t have the homes to put the tile in. They don’t have the room for furniture. The current system is clearly not working, at least not in favor of all Ethiopians. When I look at the city as we drive by, I think to myself with dismay and incredulity, “people LIVE here”

*Excuse my wobbly writing, I am currently on a long bus ride to a rural village.

Being in this country is the most surreal experience I have ever had. When I go to sleep, I am no longer in Ethiopia, but when I wake my brain must be retrained. I do not want to liken the situation here to the extremes of war, but there is a similarity in that sleep is a luxury: the simplest things can have profound meaning and value when great suffering is experienced up close and personal. There are moments where you forget all the pain and suffering in your midst, and in that moment you feel at home. I guess you could call it the intersection of truth and grace.

The party at Mercy Chapel was a happier note than last night in the RLD. Seeing all those girls raise their hands saying they want to dream, to have a better life. Hearing the stories of what these girls have been through and how their lives have changed for the better is just incredible. I am  so grateful to have the chance to talk with them, love them, and just be with them. They made me feel so welcome.   They hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. We took pictures together. They did my makeup, and it was a blast. As some of you may know, I have Alopecia and wear a head wrap as an alternative to wigs and other cosmetic “solutions”. The girls here in Ethiopia loved my head covering, and one of them specifically called me over to tell me that I reminded her of her grandmother because she used to wear something similar.  This girl’s name was Betty, her English was very advanced, which allowed us to make a connection that would otherwise be a bit more difficult. She was an extremely kind and upbeat person, fully accepting me for me and not questioning why I look the way I do. It was freeing to be received that way by not only her, but everyone. In Ethiopia, I was not constantly reminded of my disease with people asking what’s wrong with me or if I had cancer, but rather uplifted in my spirit and made comfortable in my own skin.

I knew that the girls who had just graduated were or had been in the RLD, but until after the party I was not aware that all the rest of them, the ones who were invited to celebrate were currently in the RLD. That just completely broke my heart. These girls were normal teenage girls! Some of them younger. I just could not wrap my head around the tragedy that was normal life to them. It was just what they had to do. They were so sweet, its terrible that they are not free. They deserve a better life. They deserve to be treated as human beings, not objects. It makes me feel helpless and angry because, what can I do for them? Meet and spend one day with them, and then completely disappear out of their lives? What good does that do? I wanted to come to Ethiopia to have a realistic perception of this country, but at what cost? To say that I have been to Africa, that I know what it’s like? This is not a vacation. This is not just another country to cross off the list. There are real people who live here with unique character and raw emotion. They are full of personality and for the most part, kind hearted. Not at all like I expected. In fact, this whole trip has completely thrown my expectations out the window.

It seems to me that some people where I grew up still view Africa as it was during colonial times, like it never developed past them. Like it has just been trapped in a vacuum for centuries, existing in nothing but darkness. To be honest, I kind of bought into this for a portion of my life. But then I realized that no culture or people exists inside a vacuum, and I wanted to experience the real Africa, the real Ethiopia, not the vague, fabricated version that existed in my mind. The land only characterized by lions and starving children (of which I was promptly reminded every time I failed to finish eating my dinner as a child) : the place I have been told about my whole life by people who have never even set foot there. I wanted to create an accurate, dignified depiction of these people so that no one may be ignorant, including myself. Because ignorance is the root of all action upon stereotypes which is rooted in prejudice and racism which in turn is an implicit or even blatant lack of desire to understand the people who are different from you. 

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Monday November 16th

HAH. I don’t know why I thought I would be able to journal every day…….it is actually Friday night as I am writing this. I am just going to start from the beginning and explain what I did each day chronologically.

One thing I left out about the first day we arrived was that we went to a child sponsorship party, and that was really the first time/chance I got to spend time with the Ethiopians. I realized that some things are simply universal, and that no matter how much of a language barrier there is, hand gestures, hugs, kisses, and games-especially soccer-can be excellent forms of communication. There is something innate in all of us that surpasses all forms of lingual communication: the desire to be in communion. We are social beings, and these people long to be loved, to be treated as human, to be told and shown that they matter. Getting to spend time with these kids and speak their language through soccer was a very uplifting experience. I think at that point everything was still very surreal and I couldn’t put down my rose tinted glasses. Then when we went to the RLD I realized the gravity of the situation, and the lives, true lives of Ethiopians became real to me. I saw the suffering, the desperation, the corruption. It all finally materialized in my mind, just how incredibly grim the situation is. And then there we were, jumping at the very first chance of wi-fi & coffee….

I think, in the midst of all this poverty, it can be easy to feel guilty for the things I do have, and the privileges I enjoy because I was born in America and my skin is white. But feeling guilty about it gets you nowhere. I think that is one important thing I have learned, is that it’s about the experience, that is what will lead to action. Use your anger and frustration in a productive way. “It’s ok to have fun”, is what Pat says, the founder of Crisis Aid. But at the same time, I think about these people, and I say to myself “they didn’t choose to live this way”. They were born into it. Just as I was born into my life without having any say in the matter. So why wasn’t I born into their life, or they into mine? Does anything really separate us? There is no reason we could not have just as easily been born into different lives. There is a common denominator here; we all consist of the same cosmic ingredients. What really breaks my heart is that it’s not their fault. They do all they can to provide for themselves and their family, which includes selling their bodies. Men will promise young women a job and a nice place to live, yet little do they know that these men are lying. These women do not choose to sell themselves; they are forced into it.

Whew ok kinda got off track there. I think I pretty much covered what we did Sunday. Monday we basically drove all day, so it was a good day to process. I did not journal much because the bus was bumping around a lot and my handwriting was becoming illegible. Anyway, the drive was beautiful, and that’s an understatement. We drove through lowland plains, mountainous hill country, arid desert stretches, and lush green forests. Ethiopia is the most geographically diverse place I have ever laid eyes on. It is simply breathtaking. (Also, side note: the crescent moon is “upside down” in the night sky of Ethiopia, which I appreciate as a challenge to conventional ways of thinking regarding the way we orient the world). As we were getting further from the city, I realized something about Ethiopians. The people in the villages will drop everything they are doing just to wave at you. Kids will come running, shouting “you! you! you!”and whistling at the bus. One thing I have noticed about Ethiopians is that they all have this hidden joy about them. Any time I would smile and wave at someone, they almost always smiled and waved back. They could have the most serious, sullen countenance, and then the next minute there is this brilliant smile on their kind face. It really made me think about my perceptions of strangers, especially back home. That if these people, whose living conditions are ten times worse than mine, can have that much joy towards a stranger, then I should be able to as well. Ethiopians will quite literally drop whatever they are doing to wave. I waved to one little boy, and as soon as he realized I was waving at him, it was like he put every ounce of his being into waving back, both arms outstretched, fingers spread wide, lunging forward. It was extremely humbling.

Another thing I noticed about Ethiopians, especially in the city, is their lack of censorship. Men will walk over to a tree or bush or wall and start urinating. You’re lucky if they even choose that route. There are also meat markets with slaughtered animals hanging right behind the counters. When we were driving to one of the villages, we actually saw a group of people dressing a cow they had just slaughtered. Everything is just out in the open. There are no taboos, no shame. Mothers breast feed their children without a cover. One little boy was peeing as he was waving to us. Some little boys only wear a shirt, or their pants have so many holes that everything hangs out anyway. People will bathe in rivers completely nude. But they don’t care. It is not something that is considered to be private or shameful I guess. This rugged, raw attitude is also seen with the way people drive. There are very few traffic lights, if any. Most of them are in downtown Addis. For the most part, driving is pure chaos. They use their horns to communicate. There are roundabouts everywhere. Little tiny three wheeled blue and white taxis maneuver in and out of traffic. Yet even in disorder there is order. It seems ridiculous, but they make it work.

WARNING: There is sensitive content in the following paragraphs that may be upsetting to some.

Monday night after a long bus ride we finally got to the place we were staying for the night. It was a college campus that was small, but beautiful. Just being able to sit outside the next morning and let the sun warm my skin was food for the soul. Tuesday then was probably the most difficult day of the trip. We drove to a stabilization clinic which housed the worst cases of starvation and other potentially life threatening health problems in assisting them to recovery. The bags of flour that were to be taken to the food distribution center were stored here. So we proceeded to take these bags and load them onto a truck. Once we got to the food distribution center, it really started to hit me. These people’s lives are mainly characterized by hunger, illness, and filth. Their living conditions are horrid, yet every single one of them can still smile. I find that incredibly humbling. There were hundreds of women and children waiting for us when we got there. The first couple things I noticed about them physically was that they were all barefoot, their clothes were tattered and dirty (probably the only clothes they owned), and a lot of them barely had toenails anymore. I specifically remember seeing one girl’s shirt that said “Don’t cry just say fuck you and smile”. This girl was probably six or seven years old, and there is no way she had any idea what it said. Most of the clothes I saw seemed like they came out of a Goodwill donation box. One man I saw had a D.A.R.E. t-shirt on, and another young man had a bright pink Victoria’s Secret jacket on. Again, the stark irony of affluent Western society superimposed onto the rest of the (starving) world.

As I am walking into the food distribution center, I greet as many mothers and children as I can; saying “salam” to each one, hugging them and shaking their hands. Pretty soon I am surrounded by a sea of faces. It was quite a sight to see that many people gathered together in this beautiful green courtyard. We had to make our way to the room they were keeping the children and mothers whose malnutrition needed to be measured and documented, photographed, etc. We went around the room and hugged each mother, greeting them with “salam”.

It’s funny how some kids just stick to you, they pick you out and never leave your side. One little boy kept grabbing my arm and kissing my hand. I decided to reciprocate after the first couple of times, and I did so for all the other children who kissed my hand. When it was time to unload the flour, something beautifully communal happened. All of the children lined up on each side of the gate, and started to clap, singing songs of rejoice as we were bringing the bags out of the truck. Ethiopians are the most gracious, appreciative, selfless people I have experienced.

After we unloaded all the flour from the truck, it was time to document the mothers and their malnourished children. This was the most difficult part of the whole trip. I didn’t know what to do, I felt so helpless. Everyone else had a job to do. Aiyana was measuring the children’s arms, Cheryl was writing their information down while Dawit translated for her. Others were blocking entrances making sure no one came in who wasn’t supposed to. And there I was, just sitting there. I felt so useless amidst all this suffering. One mother was sitting on the ground with her five year old son who was extremely malnourished. She said he has been unresponsive, and she has to chew up food for him and put it in his mouth. Seeing her sob and sob and sob for her son broke something in me. When the presence of white people is known, the worst cases come out of the woodworks. There was a blind girl who made her way into the area we were in, desperately looking for someone to heal her. Another woman came in with her baby who had a severe infection on his foot and some other places as well. They are desperate for help, to be healed, to be full. They look at us in desperation, their eyes shouting. And to see these children, with distended bellies and skeletal limbs, some of them so bad that their feet and face have started to swell, starving so severely that their organs have begun to consume themselves in a last attempt to survive. It makes me think “How can the government allow this?!” To think that this village center was just one out of hundreds of thousands just like it makes my angry. And sad. And determined to do something about it.

SAFE TO CONTINUE READING BELOW.

That night we stayed in a much nicer hotel than the ones we had been staying in. We were on the fourth floor, so we had a great view of the town and the hills in the distance. At dinner, we got to eat “American” food for the first time. I got a Mexican burger with avocado & fries that I only ate half of because it was so massive. We had the privilege of eating dinner with Pat at our table, and I asked him what brought him to Ethiopia. He said, “I was reading a newspaper with a headline that said “14 million starving in Ethiopia” and I knew I had to do something  about it. Next thing I knew I was over here with just a phone number.”

Wednesday rolls around, and we didn’t do much except go to a house where some higher risk families were being taken care of. I started to feel sort of useless because we didn’t really have a specific reason for being there as we did for all the other locations. I started wondering what good we could do for the people by just hanging out and standing around. But then something Pat said really struck me that day. He said, “I know you may think you’re just sitting around with them here, but they will remember this for a lifetime: that someone took the time to sit with them and spend time with them. So don’t think that you’re not doing anything worthwhile here, because you are.” That moved me out of my stagnation and stand-offishness into action and allowed me to make a deep connection with them. There were two people there that day that I will never forget. This one little boy, no older than two, was severely malnourished to the point where even his face was swollen, seemed like nothing in the world fazed him. I held him tight for a long while, and I think that was the closest thing to motherhood I could feel without having a child of my own. This boy was so quiet and calm, it made me sad to think that he might not survive much longer. I held him in such a way that all my hopes for him were channeled through my arms. In the same way, I compiled every ounce of empathy I had into the hand I placed on the skeletal shoulder of one young woman. I brought as much of my love I possibly could into my eyes to look at her with, so maybe she could carry it with her.

  The region we were in for the majority of the week is about eight hours south of Addis called Sidama. It is close to Yirga Chefe which may sound familiar to any of you who are coffee connoisseurs, and is where most of the world’s Ethiopian coffee comes from. In fact, it happened to be coffee harvesting season when we were there and I had the pleasure of walking through many gardens filled with coffee trees. Every time I drink Ethiopian coffee, I am grateful to have been to the source of those beans and to have met people who ensure the quality and safety of each one before its journey across the Atlantic. Because coffee trees grow like weeds in this region, it is not abnormal for people to grow their own coffee and use the harvest from one or two trees in the yard. I had the great pleasure of experiencing the most genuine cup of Ethiopian coffee through a traditional ceremony. Some friends of Pat’s who owned the house we were at had already harvested their beans and laid them out to dry in the sun. We all gathered around as the woman of the house made popcorn for a communal snack before roasting the beans in the same cast iron skillet over hot coals. When they were browned to her liking, she took them out and ground them up in a mortar and pestle. She then put the grounds directly into the jebena with water to boil. After the coffee was brewed, she got out about a dozen tiny ceramic cups and put a teaspoon’s worth of salt into each one before she poured the coffee in. She then passed the tray of cups around for everyone to take part, and needless to say it was simply delicious. I think what is so compelling to me about Ethiopians is their generosity and hospitality. It does not come from a place of subservience, but rather of genuine selflessness and desire to be in communion with everyone. I have yet to experience such a welcoming feeling from complete strangers in any other group of people I have encountered.

Coffee trees

Harvested coffee cherries

Whether it was genuinely smiling and waving out the window, blowing a kiss, giving a thumbs up because I knew it would make their day, playing soccer with the kids, letting the girls do my makeup, speaking to them in their language, or even simply holding them close, I know it made all the difference. That is something that is difficult for me to remember even to this day. I am such a pessimist that it blinds me from what is plain to see. Meaningful, genuine human interaction does not operate on a solely linguistic plane. People just want to be loved, to feel like they belong. I think if everyone held this truth and intentionally acted on it, the world would be a much better place.

So Wednesday night we stayed in one of the most remote places I have ever set foot. It was this resort/hotel of sorts called the Aregash in a town called Yirgalem. It featured bungalows as the living quarters and the food was all organically grown in their gardens on site. The water came from a well, so it was good to drink and use. They had the best avocados I had ever eaten. In fact, the whole meal was soul stunningly good. We even had a glass of wine afterwards. One of the main attractions of this place is the hyenas that dwell in the surrounding forest. Every night they come up to the fence to consume whatever scraps the staff has for them. Late at night their cacklings and “laughter” can be heard from inside the bungalow; what an eerie experience that was! In the early morning, one of the groundskeepers was our guide on a hike in search of them. On which I had the luck—or lack thereof depending on your perspective—of peering at what looked like either an abnormally large dog or small bear from a (somewhat) safe distance. There were also some lively monkeys chatting away in the trees. This spot on the map was one I will reminisce about for the rest of my life.

  Thursday we made the drive back to Addis. But about halfway we stopped at Lake Ziway to eat lunch and take a break. Simply beautiful, this lake was. The birds there were iridescent in color and feisty in personality. There were also some ancient tortoises, cactus trees riddled with carved initials and notes, enormous trees perfect for climbing, a ping pong table, a life size chess board, swings, and a diving dock near the shore. The restaurant we ate in had an open building plan where the birds could fly freely in and out for visitors to observe. Oddly enough, this lake was in the middle of a dry, desert land. We saw dirt devils and camels on the way back to Addis. At that point, I wanted to stay in Ethiopia forever.

By Friday and Saturday however, I was ready to return home. My heart had witnessed and expressed a whole slew of emotions within that week and I doubt it could handle much more.  Those were the days we visited the girl’s home and the orphanage. I enjoyed the time we spent there and being able to connect with the girls and form friendships was part of the whole reason I decided to take this journey.  As a woman, I wanted to fight for the equality of my Ethiopian sisters and show them that they have value and should be able to live a life they want to live. I didn’t want to continue to be part of the problem, sitting back and acknowledging what a shame it is yet never really doing anything about it. I had to shed my ignorance and interact with the living, breathing people of Ethiopia, not just the far-off suffering, poverty stricken people I heard or read about.

THE DEBRIEFING

When I came home from Ethiopia, I experienced a horde of mixed emotions. I was happy to be home again, but I became very depressed. At that point in my life, even before leaving for Africa, I was not exactly living purposefully nor did I have any sort of stable mindset about my life. I was looking for something to drown out my discontent so as any good college student would do, I turned to alcohol to solve my problems. Of course, that only suppressed them and made everything worse, but who thinks about that when the world is crashing down on you? I didn’t know what to do. It seemed like my entire life was an existential crisis (and still does quite honestly). But what woke me up from all of that was that I had to do better, not for me, but for all of the people I had met and shared moments with in Ethiopia and the rest of my brothers and sisters around the world that share in their suffering. To be better. To take my life seriously and appreciate the life I have been born into. Who am I to take my education for granted and complain about the many privileges I enjoy? I owe it to the underprivileged and exploited world to do everything in my power to help. If I can do something to make even the slightest bit of impact, make even the slightest improvement in one person’s life, I must because the world needs more genuine care and concern for other human beings.

  Thank you for enduring my book of a blog post, and congratulations if you’ve gotten this far because this is it!

THE END

            East Africa: November 2015 How can I even begin to describe my time in Ethiopia? Every time I think about it, my heart overflows with nostalgia and I long to be there again.