faecaeli · 2 years ago
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can not STAND the amount of radfem posts that have show up on my dash "based on my likes" because i've liked posts related to feminism. like what in the world. i should be able to like a quote from bell hooks or a post on reproductive rights and not have this wild and hateful terf shit pop up
#just had a post pop up where the OP was saying drag was similar to blackface#so now i have to deal with my anger about that for the rest of my life#all bc this platforms shit algorithm facilitates extremist thinking and radicalization#as if all women and transfolk arent struggling enough irl huh#fucking all these ppl need to go outside and see whats happening in the world to trans people like........ get off the internet and wake up#how do you look at the trans community and go oh yes! the reason for our oppression!#girl you are looking in completely the wrong direction#you have all the reason to be mad when it comes to the horrible endless misogyny in our world#but how is blaming this very small and widely unaccepted community going to help your cause#its the oldest trick in the fuckin book#u cant scapegoat the minority and make your problems go away#thats just a fast track to violence#like if yall are really interested in feminism why aren't you spending more time looking to men in power#vs people who are already struggling to be themselves in a way that DEFIES the gender norms that you claim to hate and rally against sfm??#gnc people are not threatening your 'womanhood' u just gotta fucking chill#dont u want to build a future BASED on your sex being of less importance? isn't that the whole damn point?#that our differences are acknowledged and celebrated and accommodated#not used against us#like... c'mon#so full of shit#show me the real feminists on this site who actually care about women and building a better future for everyone#and wanna have real convos rooted in compassion for one another
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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years ago
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[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Fifty-Four: Advanced ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Suigin Ryū ] [ SasuHina, blood ] [ Verse: Oil and Blood ] [ AO3 Link ]
She still can’t believe she’s doing this. One minute, Hyūga Hinata is taking what she had hoped would be a quick walk to clear her mind so she can get some sleep. The next, she’s stumbling across a man in an alleyway, beaten and robbed of his mods. And now, she’s hauling him a few blocks from where she found him in an effort to get him to a medical clinic: one for both biological, and technological aspects of humanity.
So much for getting to work on time in the morning…
But then again, work is the only reason she knows where to go. Given her position in claims for mods insurance, Hinata has grown...acquainted with this particular place for those she can’t help professionally. This place works...under the radar. Under the table. Not entirely legal once you look a bit under the surface.
Which is exactly why Hinata is dragging an Uchiha through alleyways to the building she has in mind. It’s probably his only chance. His family are almost all notorious yakuza. If she took him to a typical hospital, he’d just get thrown in a cell and probably left there.
Laws are a bit...finicky when it comes to people like him.
So, instead, she’s ignoring every instinct screaming at her to leave him and go home, pretend this never happened.
As if the gods are laughing at her (if there are even any gods left, given how far man has strayed from nature now), it even starts to rain.
Wonderful.
Thankfully, they’re only a block down when it starts pouring, Hinata struggling to keep the man upright while sparing a hand to knock at the rear door.
The door for...less than legal help.
“H...hello?” she calls, trying not to be too obvious. “Is a-anyone here?”
Silence reigns for about a minute, Hinata starting to feel the effect of this guy’s weight on her. His head is hanging, no longer having the energy to keep himself upright. Not that she blames him...looks like he was put through the wringer pretty well.
As she studies him, she can hear a series of locks releasing, looking back at the door just in time to see it swing open. Beyond is the typical doctor she communicates with for the clients she can’t help herself. “S...sorry. I, uh...have a bit of an emergency?”
Eyes widening, the practitioner wastes no time. “Here, let me help you - poor thing, caught out in the rain of all times -” Taking his other side, the woman helps heft him past the door, which swings shut of its own accord...and locks without prompting.
Here, in the rear end of the building, are the spaces reserved for those a bit beneath the law. Illegal mods are a booming business, after all...and someone has to take care of them. One man is asleep on a cot, curtain pulled closed by the doctor before she helps lay the Uchiha atop another.
“Goodness...quite the specimen you’ve found yourself, Hyūga-san,” she murmurs, gesturing for Hinata to sit as she starts examining the patient. As if knowing it would be there, she checks his collarbone for the tomoe crest Hinata already spotted. “An Uchiha...of course. I swear I’ve had half your lot through my door at one point or another,” she mutters. Practiced hands make quick work of his shirt, Hinata squeaking shyly and turning aside as she gets into the nitty gritty.
“Let’s see...bruising over the abdomen, might have some bruising on the ribs, but nothing seems broken.” With a mod of her own, the physician hovers a hand over his chest. As a light shines from her palm, a holographic rendering comes up from a screen along the top, displaying a real-time image of the bones. “...no...no cracks or breaks. Lucky,” she chides. Looking over the rest of him, she finds no skeletal damage. “You’re going to be sore, and purple as eggplant in a few places, but you’re not about to die.”
“His mods, are they…?”
Gently lifting the remaining stump of his left arm, she scans it with practiced, biological eyes. “Let’s see...fitting is a model seventy-four G. Fairly new, about six months out of date. Newest models are already into the seventy-sevens. Which means he’ll need an arm no older than a seventy-three J...I’ll have to check my inventory. Now...the more pressing matter is his eye.”
As she goes to turn his head, the man bats her hand aside, teeth gritting. “Don’t touch me…”
“Uchiha-san, you’re in good hands. Your fitting looks damaged. I need to see if I can repair it. If it needs replacing, I’ll -”
“Just...give me a minute to rest. I’ll be fine.”
“B-but…” Hinata murmurs, brows wilted in worry. “You’re in...very poor shape, Uchiha-san…”
“I’ve had worse. I don’t need you both fawning over me…” His words curl up with a grunt, muscles tensing against a wave of pain.
The doctor’s nostrils flare, expression set. “You have a damaged eye fitting. It’s bleeding. Infections in that area are unacceptable. Now, you can lie here and be patient...or I can knock you out and work in peace while you sleep. Up to you.”
For a long moment, he eyes her warily, seeming to weigh his odds. But when she makes a display of electricity between her fingers, he sighs and relents, going slack against the cot. “...just be quick.”
“I’ll work as fast as you’ll let me,” is her retort, moving to examine his eye socket.
“Um...do you want me to stay, or…?” Hinata fidgets. She really should get home and try to sleep...she has work first thing, and her supervisor isn’t very allowing…
“You can go, Hyūga-san,” the doctor replies, giving her a glance with a tired smile. “I’ll contact you in the morning. Odds are, he isn’t going anywhere for a few days.”
“You can’t -!”
“Hush,” she retorts, giving him a look as he struggles. “I told you, I’ve worked on your lot before. I can contact someone and let them know where you are. Until you’re stable, you need to stay here, rest, and let me get you back into working order. Now, what model was your eye?”
“...Rinnegan.”
That makes her own widen. “...you lot sure like your advanced tech - no wonder someone stole it,” is all she comments still working. Glancing back to Hinata, she nods. “You can head out the back door. I’ll call you in the morning. If he’s still here, you can check on him after work. I know you’ll worry, otherwise.”
Sheepish pink brightens Hinata’s cheeks. “...thank you. And...sorry for the late call…”
“Ah, don’t worry about it. I’m up late most nights working on owed repairs for dropped off mods. Consider this a nice change of pace.”
Still unsure, Hinata nonetheless takes her leave, jogging back through the rain. Well...that was a lot more than she bargained for, but...at least he seems to be in good hands. Apparently this woman’s seen Uchiha before...Hinata shouldn’t be surprised. There are, to her knowledge, only a handful of underground mod specialists. And most pick sides when it comes to the turf wars. Apparently this one tends to side with the Uchiha.
She makes a mental note never to bring her a Senju.
Once back in her apartment, Hinata crashes face-down atop her bed with a sigh. Part of her knows she definitely won’t sleep now...not with that man to worry about. She never even asked his name...but his attitude suggests he probably wouldn’t tell her anyway…
Still, she needs to at least rest, so she crawls into bed, mind wide awake.
Work is going to suck...but that’s what coffee is for.
Come morning, she goes about her routine, feet dragging. But a quiet ring in her ear reminds her of the doc’s promise to call with an update. “H-hello?”
“Hyūga-san, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know the Uchiha’s doing fine. I need to replace his eye mod socket, but otherwise he just needs bed rest. I got ahold of his brother and assured him Sasuke’s in good hands.”
“Sasuke…?”
“His name. Or at least, what he gave me. Might be an alias, but he was a bit too groggy to think much, so I’d wager it’s the truth. Anyway, you should swing by after work if you can. I’ll be done with the surgery by then. He might still be under, but I’m sure you’ll feel better seeing him back in...well, not quite one piece, but not quite so rough.”
“I understand...and thank you again. Really, I -”
“No need for thanks. I’ll be well-compensated, believe me. I have good enough rep with the Uchiha by now, they trust my work...and make sure I’m well paid for it, and my loyalty. If anything, I should thank you for the business.”
Hinata gives a quiet scoff. “All right then. I’ll s-see you later.”
“Mhm.”
Work drags on even worse than usual. Hinata rarely has something to look forward to after, and it makes each droning call even more unbearable. But thankfully nothing is too out of the ordinary, and she’s walking briskly back just after five.
This time she enters the front door, hearing the mechanized chime. The waiting room is oddly empty, only a few patients within. Side activities aside, this one does good work, and Hinata is usually hard-pressed to get anyone in during regular business hours.
“Ah, there you are! Come on back - he’s all done,” the doctor calls, letting Hinata through the lobby door. Her hands wring, a bit nervous.
“Don’t worry, he’s still out. He might rouse a bit, but he’ll be rather delirious for another thirty minutes or so. I plan to keep him overnight and release him back to his brother tomorrow when he gets here.”
“So soon?”
“Yeah...the worst of it’s about over - mostly I’m just waiting for a contact to get here with replacement parts. His arm is pretty simple, but getting my hands on another Rinnegan eye model won’t be easy. Other than that, he just needs to rest. And he can do that at home rather than take up one of my cots.”
Hinata nods. That makes sense...besides, he’ll likely be more comfortable at home. “I feel like I owe you, I -”
“No, none of that. The Uchiha will more than repay me. You did your part by bringing him here. If anything I owe you,” the physician teases with a small smile. “Now, go say hi - I’ve still got a few more patients to see before six.”
“Okay.” Left in the back room, Hinata notices that the occupied cot from the night before is now empty. Feeling a bit intrusive, she steps up beside Sasuke’s bed.
True to her companion’s word, he’s still asleep, and he looks so...different. Not nearly as exhausted, but still rough...yet far less grumpy. He’s been all cleaned up of blood, and changed into proper hospital attire. His eye socket is still empty, as well as his arm, but both are in good shape. New, shining metal glints in his face where the mod implant sits.
Done nosily observing, Hinata sits beside him...only to jump as he shifts.
“...back again?” he rumbles, tone dragging with exhaustion.
“I...w-wanted to be sure you were all right, Uchiha-san.”
“Told you, m’fine,” he retorts again, but there’s not nearly the bite to his tone this time. He just sounds a bit...exasperated. “Bunch of fuss over a bit of a bruising…”
“But...Suigin-san said you needed a new eye fitting…?”
“Tch...it was just a little bent...coulda salvaged it. She just wants more money…”
“I doubt that. M-most of her profits go right back into funding the people who can’t afford their care. She even lives in this building to cut costs.”
That earns a glance. “...you friends?”
“...sort of, I...I guess.”
“She called you...Hyūga?”
“Mhm.”
She can see the recognition in his eyes, but thankfully he doesn’t press it. “...well...for what it’s worth...thanks for dragging my ass out of the gutter.”
His blunt wording makes her jump. “I...I couldn’t just leave you there!”
“You also dragged me here...didn’t have to. A bit stupid, though...I could’ve hurt you.”
“...I doubt that. You could barely stand, and your m-mods are gone.”
He snorts. “...or the bastard who beat me could’ve come back.”
“...well, you’re here now. And you’re going to be fine, so...that’s a-all that matters.”
He considers her for a time, head turned to see her with his remaining eye. “...fair enough. But I don’t like owing people, so...you’ll get compensated, either way.”
“Oh, I-I don’t -”
“No arguing. Fair’s fair, Hyūga. And no one tells me no.”
Sighing lightly, she doesn’t argue.
“...well...no offense, but...m’not exactly in a talking sort of mood, so…”
“Oh, t-that’s fine. I just...wanted to check on you. Suigin-san says you’ll get replacements by tomorrow morning, and...you can go home.”
“Mhm. Aniki’s going to chew my ass out…” Sasuke sighs. “...could be worse. Could be dead.”
“Y...yes. That’s true.”
“Eh, I’ll deal with him...later. Until later, Hyūga. You remember what I said. And next time you find some cretin in an alleyway...leave him there, all right?”
“I’m not sure I could.”
“...well, leave him if he’s a Senju.”
Sighing again, Hinata doesn’t reply, just standing with a hint of a weary smile. “...I hope you have a s-speedy recovery, Uchiha-san.”
“Hn...I’ll try. Get along home before more trouble finds you, huh?”
“...all right.” Giving a small bow, Hinata heads back out through the lobby, finding it now empty. Walking home a bit slowly, she has to wonder how an Uchiha is going to pay her back. She doesn’t exactly need anything...and what on earth could a member of the yakuza have to give her?
...he might just be the trouble he’s warning her about.
                                                           .oOo.
     (This is a direct sequel to day 250, if you'd like a little more context!)      Anywho, more cyberpunk universe! Featuring an OC of mine cuz...well, I wanted to, honestly xD This verse is...very quickly growing on me lol - it's a neat twist on typical Naruto powers and abilities! Hopefully I'll get to do some more soon if another prompt fits! Poor Hinata...something tells me this little act of charity is going to lead to even more disruptions.      Buuut on that note, it's late, I'm sleepy, and I better call it a night. Thanks for reading!
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gianinnaczareena · 5 years ago
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How 24-year old Ninai came to realize who she is, and what she’s meant for.
I feel that some of you may want to know who is behind this “blog”, and I figured that the best way everyone can get to know me is by reading this personal essay I submitted for my Feminist Theories and Movements class in UP Diliman under the College of Social Work and Community Development--Women and Development Program.
Here goes:
My journey to self-discovery is rooted to feminism. 
 Way back when the word wasn’t even making headlines. Back when I didn’t even know there was a word for what I was becoming.
It started out with two important questions: 1) Will people never stop dictating what I can or cannot do for myself? and 2) Will decisions be made for me when I can make it myself?
Growing up, I used to think that freedom is a reward given to you when you: listen, behave, cooperate, and follow—which is ironic given that, well, it should be free. I grew up in a very patriarchal environment (both household and society), although before we didn’t know what patriarchy was or that it even actually existed. What I grew up knowing was already considered normal and natural. Patriarchy was “the way, the truth, and the life.” Pun intended.
I cannot exactly pinpoint when and where patriarchy began in our household. I was young and naive, all I did was behave, play by the rules, and follow the values being passed onto me without a second thought and without asking questions. Because then, asking questions meant you’re being disrespectful. But if anything, I think it started when my father told my mother, right when they got married, that she “need not find work” and to “just raise the kids” because he will “provide for the family”. If I were a damsel in distress I would probably sigh and swoon when a man tells me that I need not worry about anything because he will provide for me, but I am not a damsel in distress.
Let it be known that I do not blame my mother for saying yes and my father for offering her a “way out”. She got married right after college. She was only 21. My father was 26. They were simply a traditional Filipino family (husband = breadwinner; wife = housewife).
Cesar, my father, had nothing growing up. He was a farmer’s boy. He believed in education and fought hell and high water to attain it. And with hard work and determination, he earned his doctoral degree. He wanted to be better—to be able to provide when his parents could not. He did not want us to go through what he went through. That is why I know he meant well when he dictated himself as the provider of the household and Genevieve, my mother, the ultimate carer.
But the dictation did not end there. I have three male siblings which makes me the sole daughter of the Sumalde-Chavez household. And being the only daughter of a patriarchal household has never been an easy thing. Rules come off as either protective or downright oppressive. And in this case, it’s mostly the latter. And when household rules are strengthened and solidified by society’s standard of what is right or wrong, what is acceptable or unacceptable—to challenge it means you’re at the losing end.
When I was younger, my parents—Cesar, especially—have dictated what I can or cannot do. (Again, I know they meant well. I don’t hold anything against them.) I remember my father did not approve of my all too-short hairstyle (borderline boy cut) that Mom had imposed on me when I was very young--but in all honesty, I didn’t mind. And I, being a firm believer of comfort before style, do not cut my hair as a symbol of my sexuality—but a symbol of preference in comfort. He would also rarely let me leave the house for fear of my safety, but he would let my Kuya wander off late at night until 3 in the morning (to be fair, this was when he was still “young” now he really just stays at home or at work). We were only two years apart.
Other than that, I would be scolded for every time I do not “sit like a lady”. And I don’t, because what does “sit like a lady” even mean? Why am I not allowed to sit with my legs apart, to take up space, when all the men in my family would open their legs just as much and just as wide? How are my legs different from theirs? Even with the clothes I wear, sometimes there were rules laid out for me: no shorts, no sleeveless (unless I wear a sarong or a jacket), no spaghetti straps, no this, no that. They didn’t have to say it, but  I knew it was because they were afraid that I might become too “inappropriate” or be disrespected for wearing less.
More than the physical, there are things that I am not allowed to do like talking back or having an opinion. I guess it’s usual for kids to talk back to their parents—both female and male—during an argument but how come girls are heavily punished compared to boys when they do? Why are boys even expected to talk back and girls are expected to shut up and be quiet? Even apologize?
So, growing up stricken with all these “rules” I did what any perfect daughter would do: behave. I didn’t stay out late. I didn’t drink. I didn’t do drugs. I didn’t party. I didn’t “hang out with the wrong people”. And when I did do any of those things, it was rare and guilt would often follow me. (Except for the drugs part. I never did that.) All these for fear of not just disappointing my family but as well as society who is expecting a lot from women like me. In fact, all I did was go to school in the morning, train at night (as student athlete and leader) then go straight home. I played the part up until college was over.
As I said at the beginning of this personal essay, I thought freedom was a reward given to you when you: listen, behave, cooperate, and follow the rules. I did all those and still, the dictation never really stopped, at least not with society. My traditional, conservative parents are gradually becoming progressive as I grew older: lax and open-minded, accepting and trusting. They were slowly realizing that I am becoming a woman of strength and direction (I realized that communication is all we needed). But, overall, the rules (now controlled and imposed by society) are still there: “you’re not allowed to go home late because you’re a girl”; “you're not allowed to drink because you can’t keep up with the boys”; “if you cut your hair short again people might think you’re a tomboy”; and “don’t wear shorts when you go out strangers might disrespect you”.
I realized then, when I finally had enough of these limitations, no matter how insignificant or unimportant they may seem, that the rules that were being imposed on me were made so that the people around me will accept and respect me as a human being. 
And if I “misbehave” I became alienated. 
Disowned. These rules are making me adjust to people and situations, I am basically being unconsciously asked to behave a certain way for people and not the other way around: “don’t cut your hair people will think you're a tomboy”, “don’t wear clothes that are too short or revealing someone might rape you”, “don’t talk too much people will think you’re opinionated” and “if you cry people will think you’re weak”. All of these have led me to a conclusion: freedom is only an illusion when you’re oppressed.
My personal conquest to attaining my so-called freedom made me realize that my problem wasn’t just mine alone. 
It was a problem that majority of the women share together. Young and old. That was when I was slowly becoming aware of myself and my surroundings. I now see, with my own eyes and my own understanding, how unjust and unfair women are being treated at home, at school, at work, and most especially, at the streets. From the length of our hair, the size of our skirts, and the height of our heels, rules are being dictated. Rules that came mostly from the white and the male. It created a culture: a culture where women are less than men. Insignificant and irrational. Subordinate and weak. A second sex.
I understood what I wanted to do. I wanted to fight back. My aim wasn’t to make women better than men but be equal with them. I want the women, the marginalized, and the oppressed, to have the same amount of rights—without the double standards. 
I want women to be recognized equally, to be credited where credit is due, to be seen, and heard. I want our voice to be just as loud as men—important and valid, respected and powerful. I want the decisions made for women are made by women. I want them free from harmful limitations. 
It is a bold and ambitious dream—but a goal nonetheless.
Hence, why I decided to take a Women and Development course/subject. If I wanted to make a change, no matter how small, I had to be educated first. This, I am sure of. And I come in this course admitting that there are things I still do not know about feminism or things I am still unsure of, and I believe that WD 210: Feminist Theories and Movements is the right choice for what I wanted to do.
I want to learn what feminism was before it was even “invented”. I want to learn how feminism became from demanding equal rights to fighting for human rights. I want to know the extent of the influence of the #MeToo movement to our country and how it can raise social awareness most especially to victims of sexual assault in male-dominated industries. I want to challenge the local media representation of women: that women are more than just their bodies—the breast, the curves, the legs, and the nudity—that women’s bodies should not be an instrument and medium of salacious content. I want to challenge the ad industry for misrepresenting period blood because women don’t bleed blue. We bleed red. I want women to walk the streets in daylight and at night time without having to fear for their safety. I want more women leaders in government that can accurately provide solutions for women’s needs. I want to help erase the negative connotation the word “feminism” has: that feminism does not equal to man-hating. That it is not anti-men.  
And above all else, I want to understand the different meanings of feminism and how it differs based on sex, class, race, nationality, and demography. That women of color don’t exactly share the same meaning of feminism to white women. These are the things I want to learn if I want to make a change.
Because to me, feminism means that the women, the marginalized, and the oppressed are allowed to do whatever they want for themselves without having to worry how people would react. I want them to be provided the same amount of privilege and credibility that the white and the male have.
Women have been suffering for centuries and we didn’t even know it.
We stood, we watched, we followed because we thought it was right and normal. For too long, we have endured the pain of being silenced, controlled, dictated, and overpowered. Everyday, more and more women are opening their eyes to the Truth, and the possibility of a future where they can share the same spotlight with men. The fight for our voice to be heard is far from over but with an idea, with an initiative, and with the willingness to learn, to grow, to share and educate we can have a better a better country—a better world—where sex of a human being will not dictate a man or woman’s worth.
Feminism started out as a thought; an idea. Today, we will end it as a result.
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the-record-columns · 5 years ago
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Oct. 23, 2019: Columns
Ava Dowell — ‘My Journey’
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By KEN WELBORN
Record Publisher
Ava Dowell is truly in inspiration just to be around.
She speaks from the heart, a thankful and faithful heart, of her life with cancer. She has become a nationwide advocate for Breast Cancer Research and help for dealing with cancer and its survivors--which she proudly numbers at nearly four million women. 
A Wilkes native, Dowell has spent much of her life in Seattle, and her tireless advocacy and work on breast cancer awareness is celebrated during "Ava Dowell Day" there.
She is referred to by many as the Wilkes Face of Breast Cancer. This past Saturday she sponsored a Breast Cancer Awareness Luncheon at the Wilkes County Public Library in North Wilkesboro.  Among the various handouts was a copy of what she refers to as "My Journey," It follows below.
My Journey
During my annual mammogram in April 2011, the image did not detect a tumor that was in my right breast.  (As I have learned later, this was due to the density within the breast.)  However, three months later while showering, I noticed this lump-like knot grossly protruding from my right breast.  I was in total shock!  It had been lying dormant and unnoticed.
I contacted my primary doctor immediately, and she ordered a MRI and biopsy.  I was diagnosed with TRIPLE NEGATIVE BREAST CANCER, a very serious Breast Cancer diagnosis.  My awesome medical team recommended that I seek a second medical opinion.  The Seattle Cancer Alliance Center confirmed the original diagnosis. My next step was to meet with the oncology surgeon.  I knew that I needed support to help me navigate this important meeting.  I asked my girlfriend of 30 years to attend the meeting with me.  Also, the Director of the Breast Cancer Survivor Group (Angel Care), who is also a breast cancer survivor, was able to attend as well.
  As you would imagine, the whole situation was overwhelming.  All of us listened carefully and took many notes.  After many long exasperated hours of prayer, discussions, etc., I opted for bilateral mastectomies; followed by eight aggressive cycles of chemotherapy.  The chemo drugs felt like a human mass of fungus flowing though my body.
  Through it all, I knew that I would not let breast cancer, and the negative effects of chemotherapy treatment defeat me!  I was going to FIGHT this Cancer!  My medical team had explained to me about the daunting pros and cons of Triple Negative Breast Cancer.  I didn't allow my medical team, including my primary care doctor of 29 years, influence my thinking.  I was going to succeed.
  The diagnosis of CANCER has made me look at my life and how I want to live it.  I believe I have a God given purpose to be a change agent for spreading breast cancer awareness.  I am now an advocate for breast cancer research and educating women on the importance of early detection.
  I am committed to attending breast cancer symposiums and conferences to further my education.  My mission is to be a voice to women who need the moral support to fight this terrible disease.
  It doesn't matter what type of Breast Cancer or the Stage of your diagnosis.  The bottom line is making sure you get the best treatment possible, and that means EARLY DETECTION!!!!!  Please join me...not only get your examination, also talk to family, friends, etc., to ensure they do the same.
  Support one another with God in your heart.  Together we can find a CURE.
  Many blessings to you all.
   Ava Dowell
  “Attention Please: Halloween Has Been Cancelled”
By HEATHER DEAN
Record Reporter
The words in the headline of this column is exactly what some children across the nation are hearing from their school system administrations.
The reasoning is that Halloween is not an inclusive enough holiday.
Chicago school district said, “As part of our school and district-wide commitment to equity, we are focused on building community and creating inclusive, welcoming environments for all. While we recognize that Halloween is a fun tradition for many, it is not a holiday that is celebrated by everyone for various reasons and we want to honor that. We are also aware of the range of inequities that are embedded in Halloween celebrations that take place as part of the school day and the unintended negative impact that it can have on students, families, and staff. As a result, we support our schools that are moving away from Halloween celebrations that include costumes and similar traditions.”
The scary part? It’s not just in Illinois. This has been taking hold with Iowa, Connecticut, and New Jersey on the list, some cancelling parades, zombie walks, and even trick or treating citing safety issues.  Other states, including Delaware, Alabama, Missouri, California, Virginia, New York and Georgia, have strict rules for trick or treating.
Halloween has been celebrated in this country since the late 1600’s and evolved across the years from America’s melting pot of immigrant cultures. So, it’s under attack why, exactly? Avoiding hurt feelings? Slacking on the part of Educations system?  Nah, just follow the money and the people behind it…
Corporations continue to rack up. Halloween comes in second only to Christmas in spending, with an average $2.5 billion a year and gaining, and continues on the upward slant of becoming people’s favorite (guilt-free) holiday.  And why wouldn’t it be?  It’s the one day a year you can be anything you want, differences don’t matter, and everyone gets a treat regardless.
Halloween is firmly planted in our society; it’s as American as pumpkin pie for goodness sake. But that’s not what many in the Church want to hear.  In 2017, a poll showed that 87 percent of believers feel that Christians should not celebrate Halloween, while 13 percent believe it’s okay. I mean it’s got to encompass at least four of the seven sins, right? Some may consider that percentage low, but I can tell you first hand that many in this county refuse to be a part of our annual Halloween Parade, (even though it’s a fundraiser for a non-profit that benefits kids in this county) citing religious beliefs.  
My childhood religion was part of the 87 percent to the extreme. Growing up in what I fondly refer to as “the cult” we were not allowed to celebrate any holiday. During class birthday, Valentines Day, and St. Patrick’s Day parties, class field trips to see the symphony perform a Christmas show at the Walker Center, even making Mothers’ Day cards, we had to go sit in the library and do school work. Attending the school’s “fall festival” was walking a tight line, because many of the staff dressed up in costume and handed out candy. Even then, I would never consider it fair to cancel a holiday just because of us three kids who didn’t celebrate.
Here in Wilkes, I know of children who’s only Halloween celebration they will get is in the class, because families can’t afford costumes, or gas to take the kids out.  And what’s next, telling an entire class of elementary students that they can’t color handouts of Hanukah or Kwanza candles, and Yule logs because they are “not a holiday that is celebrated by everyone for various reasons?”  
Since North Carolina is not on this list yet, may I ask a small favor? Don’t be a Halloween Nazi.
If a kid comes to your door, festival or trunk-or-treat, and you judge them to be “too old for this” just give them the candy anyway. At least they aren’t in a gang, vandalizing, or doing drugs. They say it takes a village, so I admonish you to keep “building community and creating inclusive, welcoming environments for all” in your Halloween festivities, not the lack thereof.  
No Peace or Prosperity for the average "Palestinian"
By AMBASSADOR EARL COX and KATHLEEN COX
The Palestinian leadership is basically divided into two entities.  One is Hamas, an internationally designated terrorist organization, which governs Gaza, and the other is the PA/PLO.  The Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) is the national representative of the Palestinian people. It runs the Palestinian National Authority (PA), the semi-autonomous government tasked with managing the Palestinian territories (until it makes a deal with Israel). Fatah, the secular nationalist political party that’s dominated Palestinian politics for decades, controls the PLO and PA.  In practice, the PLO runs the government in the West Bank but not in Gaza, which is governed by Hamas. It also conducts peace talks on behalf of the Palestinians, but its authority to implement those deals has, in the past, been hampered by poor relations with Hamas.
Hamas, which won the last Palestinian election and controls the Gaza Strip, rejected the recent “Peace and Prosperity Plan” being discussed since Hamas is guided by the Islamic principle of “Jihad” – holy war against the non-believers – and openly rejects Israel’s very right to exist. Any plan that does not wipe Israel off the face of the globe is, was, and always will be, unacceptable.  For them to accept any plan that changes the status quo, the PA/PLO would have to give up their eternal narrative of victim-hood and accept Israel’s right to exist as a Jewish state with defensible borders.  Somehow the woes of twenty-five years of failed leadership for the Palestinian people are all blamed on Israel. It's time for the world to encourage a new path for those calling themselves Palestinians.  If the Palestinian people truly want a better life, it’s time they end their perpetual discourse which defines them as constantly facing adversity and suffering loss and blaming it all on Israel.  It's time for the Palestinians to move forward toward a future defined by dignity, integrity, honesty and a heartfelt desire for peace and cooperative existence. Their biggest enemy is not Israel nor the United States.  The biggest enemy of the Palestinian people is the evil dwelling within their own hearts, minds, culture and ideology.  For decades they have blamed the Israeli “occupation” for everything deemed wrong in their lives thus absolving themselves of any responsibility. Until the Palestinians change their mindset and embrace values conducive to nurturing an atmosphere of peace, they will never move an inch toward gaining a better and brighter future – with or without an independent state.
So, why has the Palestinian leadership rejected the Peace and Prosperity Plan?  To begin with, the plan demands accountability.  The reforms which the Peace and Prosperity Plan suggested to the Palestinian legal, educational, and health systems reflected deep-seated and wholly justifiable criticism of the failed, biased, and ineffectual systems of the PA/PLO, which has abused billions of dollars of donor aid. But the primary obstacle came when the US authors of the plan dared to state that the financial resources raised would not be given directly to the PA/PLO but rather would be “administered by a multilateral development bank” that would ensure its efficient and effective allocation so that “all the Palestinians – not just the wealthy and connected – share in the benefits of peace.” This is the real reason for the PA/PLO rejection of the plan. It's no secret that for years the Palestinian leaders have fed their own bank accounts with millions of dollars of donor aid. This is how the late Yasser Arafat, president of the PA, was able to maintain a residence in Paris on the Champs Elysees in which his wife resided most of the time.  The current president of the Palestinian Authority, Mahmoud Abbas, a.k.a Abu Mazen, has an estimated net worth of well over $100 million much of which is believed to have come from embezzlement. 
In order to maintain wealth, power and authority, it’s advantageous to keep the masses poor, downtrodden and agitated.  This, in a nutshell, is why the leaders of the Palestinian people have rejected a plan that would have given the average Palestinian a shot at a life of peace and modest prosperity.
The Cake Went Upside Down
By CARL WHITE
Life in the Carolinas
It was a busy weekend for on location productions. It all started early Saturday at the Taylorsville Apple Festival as we continued our search for some of the tastiest apple pies in the Carolinas. Cameras were on location early enough to see the morning come alive.  
We were aware of the reputation of two fried apple pie makers and were in time to witness the line of people waiting for the pies before the festival officially opened. It was a great visit with the pie makers and those who were in line for not just one pie, but 10 to 20 pies.
The fresh hot apple cider was also a big treat. We watched as the apples we put in a grinder and then into a crusher to make pure juice. It was heated and then served; No need to add sugar, Mother Nature added the perfect amount.
It was then time to join camera crew members already in Hudson, NC. This was the beginning of our two-day coverage and stage production around Jan Karon Days. Jan was born in the Dula Hospital in Lenoir and then lived with her grandparents in Hudson as a child.  
Jan Karon is best known and admired for her New York Times bestselling Mitford novels. Her accomplishments are significant and that’s why the first celebration of Jan Karon Days was so special.  
Our involvement started a few months prior with call from Hudson resident and Commissioner Ann Smith. It was during that conversation that I became more than a little intrigued with idea of doing a segment around Hudson and Jan Karon.
Little did I know from that call the story would turn into far more than a short segment. As our research developed, I filled my Audible book listening line up with Mitford books.    
As many of you know, I spend a great deal of time traveling the Carolinas for story research, development or on location production. All that translates to a lot of time for me to think and listen.
Father Tim and many of the Mitford residents became my traveling companions. There were many moments of laughter, reflection and consideration. While I enjoy reading, I love hearing a story come to life with the spoken word.
After many visits and calls with the dynamic trio of Ann, Cathy and Janice at the HUB Center in Hudson, we were ready for our action-packed weekend.
Everyone was in place for the 11:30 a.m., Jan Parade which featured a blending of local dignitaries and Mitford personalities. Jan rode in a red convertible driven by Father Tim and her car would slow and stop as fans approached.
The parade was delightfully charming with seemingly endless smiles.
And then it was time for a special lunch gathering. The lunch was preset and consisted of very healthy portions of a tasty chicken salad, pasta salad, assorted cheeses and grapes. The center piece of each table was a beautiful Orange Marmalade Cake.
All was going well. I shared a table with our crew and Hudson leaders. We were all enjoying our chicken salad but there was much talk about the cake. I decided that I would cut the cake. Some wanted smaller pieces, and some wanted larger pieces.  Regardless of the size, we all loved the cake and with almost half remaining, it was time for a few smaller second pieces. So…I went in to do my work once again. The thing that I did not consider was the fact that I had already cut half the cake and the weight of the remaining cake was mostly on one side. As I went in for the second round, I touched the side of the cake stand. I’m not sure how, but it was as if time slowed as we all watched the remaining cake turn completely upside down.  
Amazement and laughter ensued; everyone looked our way and the chef arrived with an offer to bring a new cake.
The rest of the day went well and ended with a dinner theater experience.
But one thing is for sure, the Upside-Down Orange Marmalade Cake is best enjoyed with friends and laughter.
Thanks for the memoires Jan.
I’ll tell you about Sunday next week. It was a grand day indeed.
Carl White is the Executive Producer and Host of the award-winning syndicated TV show Carl White’s Life In The Carolinas. The weekly show is now in its 11th year of syndication and can be seen in the Charlotte market on WJZY Fox 46 Saturday’s at noon and My 12. The show also streams on Amazon Prime. For more information visit www.lifeinthecarolinas.com. You can email Carl at [email protected]
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