#it's about societal pressure to be married its about desperately wanting to be married its about not wanting to be married at all

[backlogbooks]

anyone doing academic/literary analysis of the current touring production of company or do i just have to listen to the soundtrack on spotify and think about seeing the musical months ago

[frogfrizz]

Thoughts on Gap the Series after Ep10

I’ve been a silent observer of Gap the Series. Since Episode 8 streamed on YouTube, I’m astonished by the series’ acceptance across thousands (and by now millions) of viewers, especially in the Philippines. After Episode 10 streamed, with conflict across family and societal pressures threatening to crack both protagonists, I’m compelled to write about what it means to me as media representation.

Gap’s narrative represents my terror and despair when I was in my early twenties, and the dim but eventual stirrings of hope. The series’ acceptance by its captive audience rouses my jealousy, too, because it is media representation and acknowledgement that I wish I had when I was younger. I wonder how different life could have been if Mon, Sam, and their cadre of supportive friends on-screen ran parallel to the narratives of my own life, so I could feel less alone. This brings back the importance of media representation for me and many others, and what matters so much about Mon and Sam’s story, where they navigate different identities that intersect and collide.

When I was younger, the life I imagined for myself was not possible in the Philippines; it still isn’t, especially when parents and authority figures wield their social and financial power over me to coerce, threaten, overpower, or destroy. For my family, the wider community and their relationships to it came first. Decisions revolved around their dignity, status, and how they could safely and effectively relate to their social circles and their church.

All this came at the expense of my individual needs as a young, queer person, especially since my needs were so antithetical to society’s demands: to date and eventually marry a man, to bear his children, to blindly obey the Catholic Church’s homophobic and sexist strictures, and act like a compliant, conventional young woman.

Strangely, it was the women in my family who preferred to see me suffer or die than sully the family name. When mom found out about my partner and I, she wanted me committed to the hospital’s psychological ward. Only a young doctor with their wits about them stopped her. My sister still maintains that mom’s financial, emotional, and physical abuse was and is a “personality clash”.

In the end, it was my dad, brother, and a community of queer women who tried to distance me from their cruelty and also saved my life. In the plan to get me more financially independent, Dad told me, “It’s better if you left (the Philippines). You’ll be constantly ostracized here.” With Dad’s help, my partner and I left everything we knew, all our friends and family, for a country we didn’t know and to which we had no ties. Eventually, we settled there, a time and place that recognized our rights.

Gap the Series manages to dig out the scars of that trauma, but it also surfaces many hopes for Mon and Sam’s future.

I’m speaking from a position of privilege as I’m educated, I had access to resources, and I had loved ones who helped me change my situation. It is still my sincere hope that if young queer people in hard, desperate situations hold out for long enough, find good allies (or are found by them), and nurture what love remains, It Gets Better. Whether Gap the Series gives us that happy ending or it doesn’t, let me reassure you that in many instances, life can be fully and happily lived.

With its young audience in the millions, I don’t want a message that tells young people to endure pain for the sake of their families. I won’t want a singular implication that there is no other way than to sacrifice one’s needs for the whims of the many, that one needs to suffer alone, or that the suffering will last a lifetime. So, here are fervent wishes for Mon and Sam, and anyone experiencing something similar. These are the core attachments that have saved my life many times over:

A partner who will choose me every time, even when I don’t have the courage to choose my self

An ally, or two, or three who will love, defend, and give me reprieve, so hope does not burn out

A family member who uses their agency and power to help, especially when things go dark

The physical and psychological resources, external or internal, to find and eventually maintain a safe space

…and it’s all possible, crew. You are not alone, never alone, and I love you beyond and across these virtual spaces. These came true for me in some form, the last only recently, and I hope we see this enacted on the episodes that are about to be streamed. I hope the creators can shape this reality for you and me. I hope they acknowledge its importance for queer people everywhere, imprinting the possibility of a bright and wonderful future into the minds of all the young, queer people watching.

[aishiteru-kenshin]

Kuzu no Honkai | Scum’s Wish

I need to talk about the psychological anime Kuzu no Honkai (Scum's Wish) by creator Mengo Yokoyari. Looking for a new anime to watch, I was reccommended this title, read the synopsis, and was immediately drawn to it. Different from the usual romance anime, it tells a tale of two highschool students, Mugi Awaya and Hanabi Yasuraoka, who come together because the ones they pine for are in love with other people. I'll be honest: when I first watched the anime, it went from me thinking, "This is perfect... It's totally breaking my heart how I can relate to these feelings" to "What the fu--?" The characters' actions simply spiralled and became so twisted due to the desires of their hearts, mental illness, and/or trauma. It was depressing — haunting, in fact. All of the characters are awful human beings — scum, effectively — using each other for their own selfish ends. It was so uncomfortable to see that I wanted to stop watching, but I couldn't give up when I'd become so invested in the story. I relate to Hanabi Yasuraoka most of all. When I was in school, I was just like her: an introverted loner, having no friends to really speak of and an unrequited love. At that stage in life, it's difficult. There are all these societal pressures and raging hormones. What do you do when the person most important to your heart doesn't notice you, doesn't return your affections, and is being stolen by another woman? What do you do when you burn with desire for another person but you know that there's no hope of you ever being together? Most people would lock themselves in their bedroom, engage in masturbation while listening to Evanescence, and wait days, weeks on end for the tsunami sweeping over their heart to finally abate. However, Hanabi meets Mugi and they find in each other something better than that: a warm substitute to share physical intimacy with, a listening ear to their pain and worries, and a commiserating heart to what they are going through together. Again, all of the characters are “scum” except really for Hanabi and Atsuya Kirishima. For example, for the worst scum we have a psychopath named Akane Minagawa who poses as a benevolent teacher by day but who is really an unapologetic slut who hunts after and sleeps with men that she perceives to be desired by other women, getting a high from seeing the pain she causes. We also have a lesbian schoolgirl named Sanae Ebato who basically rapes someone who only sees her as their best friend at a sleepover, manipulates that person to think they are the one at fault, and then proceeds to sexually assault/abuse her in the school library. Then, there are the lesser scum such as Narumi Kanai who has a mother complex, dating/marrying a woman who he knows sleeps around and who tells him frankly that she will cheat in the marriage which he is perfectly okay with (Hanabi, he has many fine qualities, but you deserve better). So, yes, so much vileness, but also... so much realism. While I wanted to initially hate this anime, I was inevitably struck by its honesty. The human heart is desperately wicked and loves indiscriminately; it is only by conscious effort and striving to love purely that people can transform that muddy well into a fountain of limpid water. Loneliness, past traumas, and pain can hamper that transformation but it always remains possible. By the end of the story, Hanabi and Mugi are in a better place. I wanted them to forge a new bond made of the genuine love and care they obviously feel for one another, but that doesn't really happen. They do acknowledge their affection and respect for each other, but decide to part ways to reflect on things alone and eventually search for the true love they yearn for. It was the right thing to do, after the maelstrom they experienced. All in all, the anime was equal parts beautiful and grotesque. The music, composed by Masaru Yokoyama who some may know also composed for Your Lie in April, is exquisite and truly added to the melancholic depth of the story. My only gripe would be that they didn't give us an OVA epilogue for the very end of the series as depicted in the manga "Scum's Wish Decor." It's within that, that we discover how everyone's doing a couple years later and if Mugi and Hanabi ever find the love and purpose they've been searching for.

[cianishere]

why richard robbins is a king among men, or an analysis of the maurice (1987) soundtrack

hello, i am gay, a former band kid, and a slut for classical music analysis…… so i’ve been wanting to do an in-depth analysis of Richard Robbins’ absolutely breathtaking soundtrack for Maurice (1987) for some time. it’s an incredibly emotionally moving work of art, but i also feel like there’s so much care and thought and soul put into the pieces of the soundtrack, and Robbins absolutely deserves all the credit in the world for writing the perfect accompaniment to the film. the songs have lives of their own, outside of the film, but they also breathe a certain life into the scenes when paired with the performances of the actors and the cinematography and camera work. the soundtrack means so much to me, so i wanted to take a moment (or a few thousand words or so) to expand on all of its intricacies. i’m not a professional musician or a music student, i’ve j been playing woodwinds for over a decade and can find my way around a guitar and piano, so these are my thoughts and interpretations as a musician. feel free to share yours! this was a bit of an undertaking, so i recommend reading while listening, and i hope u enjoy!

(the pieces are listed in order of their appearance in the film, not the album)

PROLOGUE - THE LESSON

The opening piece is a very traditional overture, setting the mood for the film and foreshadowing the (musical) events to come. It begins with a mysterious, almost eerie sound with pizzicato in the low strings and high woodwind and harp lines before opening into the dominating melody in the high strings. Though the melody is grand and moving, it also has an air of hesitancy, almost melancholy, and in this moment, we’re introduced to Maurice’s musical signature, the clarinet (specifically, the low clarinet line). The low clarinet triplets and the sets of five recurring notes in the low flute and violin create a sense of impatience and forward motion, as we can sense young Maurice’s uncertainty in his conversation with his headmaster. This section transitions into a solo in the English horn, which Robbins uses to represent the idyllic, pastoral English countryside. Here, it seems to signal both the natural surroundings that the scene takes place in, as well as the pastoral beauty of childlike innocence. This solo honestly gets me EVERY TIME, it’s so gorgeous and the gradual layering of other instruments underneath is mesmerizing. The piece ends with shrieking upward woodwind scales, capturing the sense of impending fear that we can sense in young Maurice.

AT THE PIANOLA

This piece is a bit strange to listen to outside of the film, as it plays in the scene as Clive and Maurice play Featherstonehaugh’s pianola in his Cambridge dorm room. The piece captures Clive and Maurice’s pianola playing, which echoes the thematic melody introduced in the opening composition, but the single piano line is quickly swept away by a traditional string orchestra before moving into a call-and-response between the high strings and high woodwinds. I always thought this piece was so beautiful in its development, growing from a simple piano melody into a fully orchestrated concerto. The melody, particularly in its piano form, always struck me as very French, reminiscent of the French Romantic pianists with some impressionist elements as well. The transition from piano melody into the full orchestra is welcome, but overwhelming—it evokes the excitement and intensity of falling in love, as the film reaches the precipice of Clive’s confession. The instrumentation is also fascinating here: as I mentioned previously, Maurice is musically represented by the clarinet and/or woodwind melodies, but Clive usually comes through as high strings. This piece is pushed forward by the strings, as the violin and viola take on the melody under the piano and are followed by the woodwinds. The woodwinds follow the strings in a call-and-response pattern, musically establishing Clive’s lead in their romance, with Maurice following along with his advances, especially at first.

MISERERE (GREGORIO ALLEGRI)

UGH I have so much to say about this piece. I want to start with its origins, which is a setting of Psalm 51 to music, at first for the exclusive use in the Sistine Chapel during Holy Week (a nod to this scene taking place in the spring, around Easter). We all know this piece and the scene it accompanies, as those shots of Cambridge (and that wicker chair) are forever immortalized in my heart (<333) The lyrics are incredibly significant, as Psalm 51 is a confession of sin by David—specifically, of his feelings of lust for Bathsheba.

Have mercy upon me, O God: after Thy great goodness. According to the multitude of Thy mercies, do away mine offences. Wash me thoroughly from my wickedness: and cleanse me from my sin. For I acknowledge my faults: and my sin is ever before me. Against Thee only have I sinned, and done this evil in thy sight: that Thou mightest be justified in Thy saying, and clear when Thou art judged.

David is asking for mercy for his act of sin, and to be “cleansed” from his lustful act by God.

Make me a clean heart, O God: and renew a right spirit within me. Cast me not away from Thy presence: and take not Thy Holy Spirit from me. O give me the comfort of Thy help again: and stablish me with Thy free Spirit.

He prays for God to return to his life, and to give him salvation again.

I think this choice of psalm is SO fascinating, as it can take on two meanings. On one hand, it represents the feelings of guilt that both Maurice and Clive feel for their attraction to each other, knowing that their feelings are considered to be sinful in their (and the societal) understanding of Christianity. In a way, this piece can signify both Clive and Maurice asking for that salvation and asking to be saved from their desire. On the other hand, however, I think the choice to overlay this particular piece with Maurice and Clive’s first moment of physical intimacy is critical in interpreting its meaning. Rather than asking for salvation from God, the psalm’s lyrics could also represent Maurice and Clive asking for salvation from each other through their desire. There are a few points in the psalm that could be read in a rather different light in this context, particularly “Thou shalt open my lips, O Lord: and my mouth shall shew [show] Thy praise.” The “high spirit” that they are searching for, in this case, is not the forgiveness of sin by God, but rather the intimacy and physical affection of a lover. (As Forster points out in a later section of the book, one’s God and one’s lover can be equal “incentives to virtue.”) I feel like this psalm is being used in both ways: as a reminder of the internal and external pressure that Maurice and Clive face, but also to musically express the reciprocal desire they are seeking from each other as they begin to explore the physical side of their relationship. This piece is also just so damn beautiful, the high C just gets me every fucking time. The specific vocal arrangement—and the excerpt of that arrangement—that Robbins decided to use highlights a solo female soprano, sounding almost like a Greek siren. As her voice emerges from the varying vocal textures, there is a sense of seductiveness, but there is also a loneliness there, as she stands alone among the choir. The choice to center the soloist was a beautiful way to show the loneliness that Maurice and Clive feel as they both continue to hold that fear and hesitancy about their feelings and desire.

THE CAFE ROYAL

This piece plays during the infamous “to the ladies!” scene, during which the Halls and the Durhams are dining together, and Clive announces his decision to become a barrister and enter politics. This piece begins as a classic, grandiose waltz, representing the glamor and high society lifestyle that the two wealthy families live within. At the beginning especially, it seems almost overstated, hinting at the façade of British upper-class life that Maurice desperately despises. As the piece continues, a duet of low clarinet and oboe emerge with a woeful melody that is built upon on its repetition by a dark solo cello line. (I don’t play double reeds or cello but they’re two of my favorites, and all I can say is that Richard Robbins knew how to pick instruments that fuck, plain and simple.) The contrast in mood created between this grand waltz sound and the individual instruments emphasizes the trapped, isolated feeling that both Maurice and Clive feel as upper-class British men, expected to have careers, marry, and build families. Stuck in the middle of their constructed lives, Maurice and Clive are represented by the duet and solo lines, standing out among society and desperate for an escape.

IN GREECE / THE WEDDING

This piece opens with a haunting melody that sounds almost like a chorus—I’m still not entirely sure what the instrumentation of this section is, but it sounds like high woodwinds and strings layered together and/or an echoey, chime-like percussion instrument. The lone melodic line overlaid with harp runs (again, Robbins said I will exclusively highlight instruments that fuck hard, and ignore everything else) in the beginning brings the same sort of haunting loneliness as in “Miserere,” evoking the duality of the Greek siren as well as the hymnal church choir. Gradually, the piece builds into a waltz through the development of a pizzicato bass line as well as running woodwind and string harmonic lines. I think the use of a waltz in this section of the piece is a symbol of the bitter end of Maurice and Clive’s relationship, as the minor key and legato melody in the high woodwinds gives the waltz a mournful quality.

The opening section of the piece is quickly interrupted by the abrupt and angry sound of an organ. Rather than romantic, this interlude is loud and overwhelming, representing Clive’s overzealous transition into heterosexual marriage and family life. The interlude then transitions into a beautiful but incredibly sad melody, reminiscent of the music that might accompany a funeral service. This short but emotive section is probably one of my favorites in the entire soundtrack—as it plays, we can see Maurice exiting the wedding chapel after Clive and Anne, and that hidden pain and fear and loneliness is brought to life by this melody.

PENDERSLEIGH IN GLOOM

Simultaneously romantic and melancholy, this short piano interlude demonstrates the inspiration that Robbins took from classical French pianists. This composition reminds me of a transition section within a Debussy piece as the uneven tempo and dynamics exude emotion, conflict, and hesitation. In this moment in the narrative, between Clive’s marriage and Maurice’s meeting of Alec, Maurice is in a state of contemplation and uncertainty, and Robbins has reflected that perfectly.

MISS EDNA MAY’S SURPRISE / THE TRAIN

Though this piece is definitely not the most sonically appealing, I think it is the most texturally interesting on the soundtrack. The piano melody in “Miss Edna Mae’s Surprise” begins as a playful, jaunty, idyllic piece, but quickly builds drama and transitions into the surreal and eerie. The melody wavers between fun and nightmarish, never fully settling into one, but establishing tension through the contrast between the two. As the piece builds layers of woodwinds and strings, it continues this contrast between the expected, playful melody and something more sinister before suddenly merging into a screeching, forceful ending with high woodwinds and piano. Similar to “The Café Royal,” this piece represents the internal conflict that Maurice faces and his fear of settling down into the heterosexual family structure. While there is a sense of joy and happiness on the surface level, as Maurice acts the part to uphold societal norms, internally he is incredibly afraid of being trapped in a cycle of marriage and family that would be unfulfilling and dishonest to his selfhood.

The next section of this piece, “The Train,” is one of the most creative compositions I’ve heard in a long time, and I was honestly blown away when I listened to it closely (and LOUDLY). Rather than using train sound effects, Robbins uses the sounds of the orchestra to emulate the different sounds one might hear on a steam engine train. The rhythmic beat of the railway tracks underneath the train car are created by repetitive staccato notes in the strings and percussion. The airy, legato sound of the steam engine is actually created by single reed woodwind instruments played in a particular way. The woodwind players are blowing air into their instruments with a very loose embouchure, which is the muscle tension created by the lips around the mouthpiece that forces the wooden reed to vibrate and create sound. By loosening their embouchure, the players are blowing air into their instruments without the reed vibrating, resulting in a sound resembling air or stream escaping from engine pipes (can u tell im a clarinet player :-)). The melody of this piece emerges in the high woodwinds, including upper clarinets, flutes, and oboe. The melody line is eerie and tense, much like the mood of the train scene in the film, and the blended lines are erratic and dissonant. They seem to echo and fade in strange ways, mimicking the sound of an approaching or departing train whistle. Robbins is able to capture the sounds of a steam engine locomotive while also establishing the tension and conflict in Maurice’s character in this scene. As a woodwind player, I am in complete awe at Robbins’ creativity in building this composition, and I honestly think his ability to layer these sounds to create such a complex, textured sonic landscape is nothing short of genius.

THE MOONLIT NIGHT (a tiny bit nsfw, feel free to skip!)

Maurice’s nightmare of the “sinking ship” of heterosexuality is brought to life through an eerie, isolated English horn solo over tense string chords, eventually transitioning into a low clarinet melody, Maurice’s musical signature. Slowly, as Maurice’s nightmare fades away and he wakes up from his sleep, the low clarinet melody diminishes and is overtaken by low, warm chords in the lower woodwinds (bass clarinet, my beloved <3). These low sounds are interrupted by hesitant but curious flute runs, through which Robbins introduces Alec’s musical manifestation. The flute sounds grow faster in tempo and more intense in sound as Alec watches Maurice from outside his room but reduce to a single line of low strings, woodwinds, and percussion as he climbs through Maurice’s window. This ominous and minimal sound is gradually layered with sudden high strings, led by Maurice’s low clarinet, before fading away into near silence until the first touch suddenly takes the piece into swift motion. It develops into a beautiful and intricate waltz as Maurice and Alec embrace, representing their intimacy through the style of a partnered ballroom dance. The melody of the waltz, layered over staccato strings, is an ascending, fluttering scale that begins in the clarinet before finishing in the flute. Robbins’ choice to compose the melody as a shared scale between Maurice and Alec’s respective instrumental representation is a perfect way to express their first night together, and the airy, light, understated flute is a brilliant way to embody the spirit of Alec’s character. In the final section of the piece, as the melody grows irregular and begins to fade away, the ascending lines and rhythmic pizzicato strings begin to mirror the gasping breaths and soft moans of intimacy, constructing a gorgeously imaginative musical landscape for this critical scene.

ALEC’S FAREWELL

This short but expressive piece captures Maurice’s transition from dejected acceptance of Alec’s departure to a tentative hope as he realizes that Alec has missed his boat to Buenos Aires. Plucked bass and a fragmentary string melody overlay a tense, oscillating clarinet line, representing Maurice’s internal anticipation as he anxiously fidgets in the taxi ride back to Pendersleigh. At this point, Maurice does not have confirmation that Alec has purposefully missed his boat to reunite with him, but the suspense created by Robbins’ minimalistic composition leaves room for such a possibility, without completely revealing its certainty.

THE BOATHOUSE

This piece begins as Maurice makes his way towards the boathouse on the evening of Alec’s expected departure. He has just spoken to Clive, confessing his love for Alec, and now hopes to be reunited with his lover in the boathouse, the safe haven that Alec had promised Maurice after their first night together. Continuing where “Alec’s Farewell” left off with an oscillating clarinet line and minimal strings, the piece quickly erupts into motion as a solo clarinet begins a low triplet melody, accompanied by strings and a solo oboe harmony (the clarinet line is fucking FIRE and I would pay so much goddamn money for the sheet music). The clarinet solo moves swiftly, desperately, shifting between major and minor keys to represent Maurice’s restless search for Alec. As he enters the boathouse, the clarinet ascends a scale before lingering on a high A, as if he is calling for Alec. When the call is not answered, the clarinet line repeats, bringing Maurice’s anticipation to its height until he opens a second door and finds Alec resting within the room behind it. As the two meet and share a moment of reconciliation (“So, you got the wire, then?”), a lingering bass note (another one of Alec’s musical representations) swells into serene, legato woodwind chords that echo until their final kiss, and Alec’s “Now we shan’t ever be parted, and that’s finished.”

While listening to this song more closely, I was completely struck by its similarities to Leonard Bernstein’s “Somewhere” from the 1957 musical West Side Story. The final chords in “The Boathouse” are strikingly similar to the final high woodwind chords echoed by a low bass line in “Somewhere.” Bernstein also highlights clarinets throughout the musical, particularly to emphasize the vocals of the protagonist, Tony, while using flutes to underscore the voice of María, Tony’s love interest. Aside from the musical similarities, I think the thematic parallels between the story of Tony and María are worth mentioning as a source of musical inspiration for Robbins. A retelling of Romeo and Juliet set in 1950s New York, Bernstein’s West Side Story is a classic tragedy of an unconventional relationship that is unaccepted by society. Although not sharing in its tragic ending, Maurice definitely builds on the cultural trope of two star-crossed lovers desperate for an escape from a prejudiced society. Bernstein himself was gay, although he spent much of his career closeted, and West Side Story (particularly “Somewhere,” but also “One Hand, One Heart,” “Tonight,” and “Finale”) became emblematic of the struggles that gay couples face, especially with the popularity of musical theatre among American gay men. The lyrics (copied below, but I highly recommend finding the 1957 ballet version or the 1961 film version!) represent Maurice and Alec’s story beautifully, and the fact that Robbins was inspired by this piece of media that holds so much significance for queer people when composing the soundtrack for Maurice makes my gay little heart grow three sizes <3

There's a place for us, Somewhere a place for us. Peace and quiet and open air Wait for us, somewhere.

There's a time for us, Some day a time for us, Time together with time spare, Time to learn, time to care. Some day, Somewhere, We'll find a new way of living, We'll find a way of forgiving. Somewhere, Somewhere . . . There's a place for us, A time and place for us. Hold my hand and we're halfway there. Hold my hand and I'll take you there Somehow, Some day, Somewhere!

CLIVE AND ANNE

For Clive’s final scene, Robbins returns to piano and string instrumentation in the melody, representing a return to the traditional life that Clive now finds himself living with Anne. This variation on Clive’s signature melody, however, is significantly slowed down, almost to the tempo of a funeral march or dirge. As he shuts each of the windows, eventually stopping for a brief moment to reminisce on his time with Maurice, the melody grows increasingly loud and desperate as the high woodwinds are layered in. The sudden and dramatic development of this piece sound like a futile cry out for help, as Clive remains trapped in a prison of his own creation. The composition ends without a concluding chord, tense and unresolved. It’s fascinating to me that we can hear Robbins’ simultaneous resentment and pity for Clive—though the piece is deeply sorrowful, Robbins does not leave Clive with a satisfying ending, choosing to keep him suspended in the societal purgatory that he chose for himself. 

END TITLES

Are you crying yet? No? I don’t believe you. Robbins establishes the ending to the story by building the piece off of a gentle, pastoral variation of Maurice’s low clarinet melody. The legato chords and balance of high and low instrumentation recall Robbins’ musical sampling of “Somewhere” before the melody shifts into a call-and-answer duet between the clarinet (alongside an oboe) and flute. Much like the clarinet and flute duet in “The Moonlit Night,” the two lines blend together—but in this final composition, Robbins has written the two parts as complementary, yet distinctly different, rather than imitations of one another or two segments of a single line. The melody becomes a conversation between two harmonizing entities who are sharing in the creation of something wholly new. The duet tapers off into an English horn solo over a harp line, bringing back the idyllic English countryside that we first saw young Maurice exploring in “Prologue – The Lesson.” In this final piece, Robbins adds on to this solo with the clarinet and flute before the melody spreads throughout the full orchestra and builds to a grandiose and rousing finale. I think the English horn solo is the part that breaks me every time because of its introduction in the very beginning of the story— through this understated melody, Robbins is assuring us that Maurice did stay true to himself, and he did find his happiness, though it may not be what Ducie or anyone else wanted for him. Maurice and Alec in the clarinet and flute, alongside the English horn, managed to find harmony in each other and peace in a life built on a love they shared, and nothing more.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Worry

The Pool | The Difference | The Notes | The Fear | The Thought | The Question | The Walk | The Ordeal | Masterlist Pairing: Benny ‘Borracho’ Magalon x Reader Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Warnings: The next two chapters will deal with pregnancy, societal pressure around pregnancy, and concerns around pregnancy! I’ve CW’d them for that in the tags!! If you need me to add any additional tags, please let me know. I’m not a doctor. Just, you know. Disclaimer.

Also cursing; canon-typical violence Notes: Angsty and fluffy Summary: You don’t want to give a voice to your panic before you know that anything’s actually wrong. 

It’s been a question since before you and Borracho even get married: So when are you two having kids?  You just laugh it off when his sisters ask, and his mom, and Gabriel, that one time. When you were dating it was only once in a while - usually when you turned down the offer of a beer because you’d agreed to be the designated driver between the two of you for that night. Nadia or Megan or Isobel would sidle up to you and pat your stomach and waggle their eyebrows, and you’d just laugh and knock their hands away and screech, “I’m driving!” But now that you’re married… Well, it’s almost constant. And it’s not just from his family. You know that the guys have a pool going about whether or not you’ll be pregnant by the end of the year. The website that you guys used to register for wedding gifts is popping into your inbox every other week to set up your baby shower registry.

And you and Borracho have talked about the kids thing before, a few times since the weekend that you looked after Lissie. Thing is, you haven’t talked about it in a while, but you know that Borracho’s thinking about it. He hasn’t been smoking - he’s been using nicotine patches and chewing gum like a fiend. When you ask him about it, he just shrugs and mutters something about, “having to kick the habit some time”. He’s a little moody about it, sure, but you had been very clear when the two of you spoke that you didn’t want cigarette smoke about your child - “Besides,” You’d murmured when you’d talked about it, “It’s not good for you, Benny. And I want you around for a long time.” That fact that he’s doing that sort of signals a ‘soon?’ to you, but you don’t talk about it. You’re not sure you want to. Talking about it would make it real, and making it real might freak you out, and you really, really want to bask in your honeymoon phase for a little while longer. His family is still pretty pushy about it. When you get handed a kid at any family function, or you help of your own volition, you inevitably hear something somewhere behind you about, “practice,” and “it’ll be different when she has her own”. And you know that it’s because they’re excited for you and Borracho, but it’s starting to wear. There’s one day when you’re cleaning popsicle off of Lissie’s chin, and you hear Nadia coo about you looking like a little mother. And you’re so, so tempted to ask if she’d rather you just let her child make a mess. You’re not being a mother, you’re just trying to help. If Borracho were doing this, would he look like a little father to them? But instead you give her a tight smile and turn back to Lissie, and let the baby’s garbled speech make you smile for real. -- That night, you wait until Borracho has fallen asleep before you get up and do a little research. And a little research brings on a lot of worry. -- You still don’t talk about it. The talking will make it feel real. You don’t want to give a voice to your panic before you know that anything’s actually wrong. But the thing is you and Borracho have technically been trying since you got married. You’re not on the pill, you’re both clean, so you haven’t been using condoms. You’ve been tracking your cycle, you know your ovulation window, and while you did think, once after you came back from your honeymoon that you two might be-- Well, your period was just a couple of days late, so it didn’t matter anyway. You didn’t mention it to him. You read an article that tells you that 80% of couples conceive after 6 months of trying; the same article tells you that 90% conceive after a year of trying. You and Borracho have been trying for 8 months and-- nothing. So maybe there’s something wrong? Some irregularity with your ovulation cycle - or maybe he could have a low sperm count, you don’t think he’s ever gotten that checked out. All of this is in your head. It’s not on your mind, it’s just hanging out in the background. Occasionally it drifts to the forefront and you wave it back to its place, along with the worries that if, somehow, you ever managed to have a child, you’d be an awful mother and the kid would hate you. -- Borracho, bless him, waits. He doesn’t ask right away. Whatever it is that’s wrong, he can tell you’re not ready to talk about, and he’s got the feeling that the conversation will make him want a cigarette, anyway, so maybe it’s for the best that he lets you come to him with it. -- Your first anniversary should be sweet. It’s not. It’s actually kind of an ordeal. The guys have been working an art theft case for the last three months and you’ve been so consumed by it that you haven’t even had time to worry about whether or not you can get pregnant because the two of you have been so busy that you’ve hardly had time to have sex. After a particularly hard night, Borracho broke down and bummed a cigarette off of Connors, and you didn’t begrudge him that one. You’d just sat outside of the bar with him and rubbed your hand between his shoulder blades. “I’ll be back on the patches and gum tomorrow,” He’d sworn to you, and you’d just told him that it was alright, and that you loved him, and that you knew that this was hard for him. He’d flicked the cigarette butt away and practically pulled you into his lap, kissing your neck and murmuring that he wanted to marry you all over again. And then Nick had come out and threatened to arrest the both of you for public indecency. But you and Borracho spend most of your first anniversary getting ready for a sting. Nick’s managed to rope you into field work again (much to Borracho’s chagrin). You’re posing as a buyer, and meeting up with the man that had stolen the painting from the Kohn Gallery. None of the guys can do it - this dealer’s been busted by them before, he’ll recognize them right off. You’re the only one whose face he doesn’t know. When you show at the station, the guys let out little mutters; Connors gets out half of a wolf-whistle before Nick punches him in the shoulder. You arch a brow. You’re not sure what it is - the suit you’ve opted to wear, the pointed-toe heels, or the wig. This one isn’t pink, of course - it’s similar to your hair, but it has a loose, styled wave to it. “Why don’t you ever come to the office like this?” Henderson teases, even as Borracho stares him down. “You all never get dressed up for me, why the fuck would I get dressed up for you?” You retort. “She’s got a point. We’re rollin’ out in ten,” Nick adds. Borracho stands from his desk and walks over to yours, watching you reach under the wig to put in your earpiece. “You’re sure you wanna do this?” He asks. “It’ll be fine,” You glance at him. He purses his lips, and you reach out, cupping his chin, then teasing your nails through the goatee there. “Come on, this isn’t my first field op.” “We won’t be in there with you,” Borracho reminds you, though he sounds like he’s much more hung up on that fact than you are. “I know, but you’ll be nearby,” You say, “And the second I confirm the painting is the one you guys have been looking for, you’ll grab the guy and we’ll be set.” Borracho doesn’t look so convinced, but you lean up and peck his lips and murmur, “Relax, Benny.” And you expect hoots and hollers to go up from the guys, but you hear nothing. They’re giving you two this moment. They know what today is; they know how worried Borracho is. And the guys can be dicks sometimes, but you love them. -- Your first anniversary should be sweet. It’s not. It’s kind of an ordeal. You wind up sitting on the back of an ambulance because a bullet grazed your right arm - not deep enough to do real damage or hit anything serious, but bad enough to need stitches. Borracho is leaning against the ambulance, jaw clenched as he stares down at your pointed-toe heels. You’ve tried to engage him, and you’ve tried to get him to look at you, but he just won’t. When you’re leaving, you expect him to bum a cigarette off of Connors, but he doesn’t. Instead you drive home in silence, his hand territorial on your thigh, like the art dealer is in the backseat, like the bullet is hovering near your shoulder, but neither will be able to touch you as long as he is. He waits until you two are in your apartment to draw you into his arms and hold you tight against his chest. You go willingly, and you cuddle against him and hide your wince in his neck as your arm twinges when you take hold of him in turn. Some part of you is tempted to joke, to murmur, “Happy anniversary?”, but you consider how mad you’d be if he did that to you just now, and instead you murmur, “It’s just a scratch.” And maybe that’s not the best thing to have said, either, because his grip tightens on you, and he mumbles, “Scratches don’t need stitches, sweetness.” -- That night, he’s gentle with you, the way you were with him the first time the two of you were together after he’d been shot. He takes his time undressing with you, pushes your hands away from your clothes when you reach to remove them yourself. When you tease and ask him if he wants you to keep the wig on, he shakes his head and covers your body with his, and he nuzzles against your jaw and murmurs, “You,” sweet and desperate, “I just want you.” -- It’s a hiccup. A bump in the road. A reminder that what you two do is dangerous, that anything can happen. Time passes. The wound heals. The worry comes back. -- You wake up with cramps one morning. You go into the bathroom - you confirm it is what you think it is. You tiptoe around your bedroom, pull on sweatpants and head into the kitchen to make coffee. It’s been a year and a half now, and you are worried. Borracho never did say that kids are a deal breaker, but what if they are? What if he’s changed his mind? What if you change your mind? Your vision is blurring with tears as you pour water into the coffeemaker. You can hear Borracho shuffling around in your bedroom, and you let yourself sniffle before you scrub at your eyes. You set your hands on the counter, taking a few steadying breaths as you hear Borracho come out of the bedroom. You hear him pause before he cuddles up behind you, his big, rough, warm hands settling comfortingly on your hips. He presses a kiss to the back of your head, then to the side, then brushes his lips against the shell of your ear. “What’s going on, sweetness?” He murmurs. You should’ve known better; the man knows you better than anyone, you can’t hide from him, not well. It’s a wonder you’ve managed to go this long without saying anything to him. You lean back against his chest and mumble, “I got my period.” It takes him a few moments, but he nods a little, turning and pressing another kiss to your head. “Okay.” “What if-- Benny what if I can’t-- And we can’t--...” Your eyes are welling up with tears again; your voice is wavering, and your throat feels tight with worry. He slides his arms around your waist, soothingly rocking the two of you side to side. “We’ll figure it out, sweetness,” He soothes, “We can talk to a doctor, we can look into adoption-- Anything you want.” “What’ll your family say?” “Hey,” Borracho turns you to face him. He lifts one hand to your chin and tips your head up to look at him. “This isn’t their marriage, this isn’t their decision. It’s ours. We make this choice, you and me.” He reaches up and smooths away a tear when it escapes you. “And if that choice is no kids, then that’s our choice, sweetness.” You can’t stop the tears now; you surge up and bury your face in Borracho’s shoulder and curl into him and mumble that you wanna marry him all over again. -- Your second anniversary is sting-operation and bullet-graze free. The traditional second anniversary gift is cotton. The box you give Borracho contains a cotton shirt that says ‘I’m Going to Be a Daddy!’, and your (cleaned) positive pregnancy test. (You’ve got a matching shirt that says ‘You Can Stop Asking When We’re Having a Baby Now’.)

[lightinalexandria]

Love, Men, Women, and LGBTQ+ Life in Egypt

August 13, 2021 اغسطس ١٣

A good friend posed the question to me this week of asking “Where are you local?” Instead of “Where are you from?” I might even tweak that slightly to “Where do you feel at home?” For most of us, and in fact for most other places I’ve lived, the equation is a simple line graph. More time, more familiarity, more comfort, more feeling like home. I’m challenged here, at the end of my second summer in Egypt, with a different calculus.

The more I speak with my friends and teachers in their “heart language” of Arabic, the more I see how deep the generosity, sociability, and collective spirit run. Not all my friends are Muslim, but I see these traits represented in the 5 Pillars of Islam beautifully, and I’ve been told so in many different ways.

That’s the part that feels more like home. But of course, if it was all sunshine this would be a different story. This is not a happy post. I don’t have any female friends here who are truly, uncomplicatedly happy. I don’t have any queer friends here who are truly, uncomplicatedly happy.

Of course that doesn’t mean there are no happy females in Egypt; my internationally minded, English speaking group isn’t representative, I know, and I’ve had many conversations with more conservative teachers and friends about the contentment that can come from living inside a more rigid structure.

But…I don’t know everyone in Egypt. I just know my friends. And many of them are desperately, painfully unhappy, stressed, in ways that I understand more fully the longer I’m here. I think “right and wrong” or “good and bad” are wildly unhelpful terms, so when I’m trying to understand how I feel about these societal norms and systems, the right to happiness of my friends is my bellwether. Systems that make more people happier without hurting others are ones I want to support, period, which also means my anecdotal circle can’t be my only data points. I’m a little nervous where those conclusions might lead me, dancing around big questions of class and culture and religion, but more nervous not to draw a line in the sand with the best metric I know and explore from there.

Apparently sexual harassment has decreased a bit since the government put some teeth into a new anti-harassment law a couple years ago and they made an example of a few offenders. That’s nice. The street -especially at night- still does NOT feel like a safe or friendly place, and I just get tiny glimpses of that walking near female friends. Life is lived in the streets here, the pedestrian density like Times Square, always, so the sheer volume of people quickly makes crowd thoughts and judgement evident. Sitting with a female friend at anything but a super upscale cafe, I see the glances and catch bits of the conversation as they pass judgement on her for hanging out with me. What a wild thought, that any conversation I have with an Egyptian women starts with the brave act of her choosing to engage at all, know the subtle pressures that will start in from all sides. One of my friends who wears a hijab told me that when she went to Cairo, she brought extra wide clothes to walk the streets with, and it didn’t matter. She got just as many comments as when she was back in tights clothes.

Who gets the blame? Young men have so few opportunities to interact with young women outside immediate circles, period, but are still somehow supposed to meet a potential bride and move her into the new house that he’ll buy with cash savings from the extended family? Old black and white Egyptian movies show women in skirts and t-shirts, and Egyptian music videos show Western dressed Egyptian women gyrating, but aside from a few pockets of wealth and international society in Alexandria, those images of women don’t exist in the real world here. Men are allowed and encouraged to date casually, but women are called sluts for kissing someone who may not be an eventual husband. Women are supposed to protect their virginity, while men want to fool around with lots of women but settle down with a virgin bride. The math doesn’t work. My heart goes out to the working class men in an impossible, frustrating position, society and politics conspiring against biology, but while they have to worry about their reputation, women here worry about reputation AND safety, always.

And LGBTQ+? First of all, it’s just so difficult to have intimate relations here -every lives with family, you can’t be intimate until you’re married, you can’t be married until you own a house, you can be arrested in public spaces for PDA, and no one will rent rooms to an unmarried couple-. That means there is a SIGNIFICANT percentage of the men here who sleep with other men, feel shame, would never consider themselves gay, and would only consent to being a “top.” Honestly, it reminds me of what I know of the sexual politics in prison culture, except no one’s in a physical prison here.

Sexual health is also a huge challenge; access to STI testing apart from HIV is impossible for unmarried women and hugely expensive for men. Someone in my circle here had complications from a “Plan B” pill and wasn’t able to go to a gynecologist as an unmarried woman. Someone else was hospitalized for an unrelated illness, and jubilant that as part of the hospital stay, insurance would cover the full battery of STI screening before surgery, the first time in a very active sexual life they’d ever had that. Someone else just lost a friend to HIV; they told the family it was cancer, but were too ashamed to seek the HIV treatment pills, and died in a few months.

Mental health has its own obstacles. Someone I know was told by a licensed therapist they were going to hell if they kept sleeping with men, unmarried. I heard that from women and queer friends as well. How do you establish a relationship of trust in the first place if licensed practitioners in the country are able to say things like that in the privacy of their sessions without consequences?

So, full circle to the beginning of the post. “Where do you feel local?” or “Where do you feel at home?”

I feel infinitely more familiar and comfortable here than my first few weeks, no denying that. 95% of the time I can make myself understood in daily life (very different than understanding 95% of what’s being said to ME in daily life, but progress). I can call businesses here to ask questions. I can tell meandering stories. I can cross the comically busy and chaotic streets without an adrenaline spike. I run into friends on the street most days, and my last 100 meters from my neighborhood entrance to apartment involves a dozen different greetings and little conversations. I have my favorite….everything; food carts, Syrian sweets, juice shops, rotisseries, beaches, bars, cafes, and a good rapport with the folks working there. I have a lot of lovely but more surface level relationships, and a few real and intimate friendships. All that DOES feel local, does feel like home.

If feeling local or at home here means giving any kind of tacit acceptance to the norms that make my friends so unhappy, though, I don’t want to claim the label. I also don’t feel like I have any right or power as an outsider to do much more than listen, affirm, connect to resources when I can. I left China after staying in Xinjiang province and seeing the government’s cultural genocide of Uighur society, and I haven’t been back since. (You can read my writings at the time with the link here) What’s my path here in Egypt? Love the player, hate the game? Can I come back next summer and complete my 6 months of study plan, knowing I float through a golden bubble of American male protection I can’t extend to my friends here? I really don’t know yet. No wise or pithy ending sentence here. Just a lot of hurt, a mixed bag of emotions, and a whole lot of people who deserve uncomplicated love and happiness.

[bookenders]

Novel Prep Tag

Big thank to @stardustandnightsky for the tag! I did Heart to Heart before, so now I’ll do All Our Painted Colors. I’m super pumped about the world building for this story, I’m having so much fun with it.

More super cool stuff under the cut, long post is long.

General Guidelines: Answer the questions and then tag as many writers as you can or want to.

FIRST LOOK

1. Describe your novel in 1-2 sentences (elevator pitch)

(Still working on the full plot outline, but I do have some concept stuff to share.)

At 15, Teva is the oldest of the tribe’s children to not hear The Call, no matter how hard she tries; with the legend of the Wanderer - a man who was exiled for being in Teva’s position - looming over her, there is even more pressure on her to do the impossible. As the day of her sister’s wedding approaches, Teva must make a choice: wait for the tribe to kick her out, or take matters into her own hands and forge her own path.

2. How long do you plan for your novel to be? (Is it a novella, single book, book series, etc.)

Just one for now. If I figure out how to expand it I’ll consider more in a series, a la Discworld.

3. What is your novel’s aesthetic?

Earned sunburns, thick flaking body paint, cliff diving, wide open plains, campfire storytelling, local legends come to life, rain-soaked soil, tall clay pots. 

And, to quote directly from the story, the most aesthetic thing I’ve written in my life:

His home is full of the smells of seasons, divided into shades and hues. Jugs of dusky petals lay before shelves of vibrant stone that stole its color from the long sky. Patches of blooming grasses grow from the sun-soaked holes in the walls. Pots stacked as tall as my father hold what comes before the dyes and stains. Sarevo smells of sea and land and sky, all competing for his favor. They mix in brief moments of peace until he moves and I am struck by sea-salted summers and soft floral chills. In his home, the seasons exist as one.

4. What other stories inspire your novel?

Polynesian history and myth, the Codex Alera, super old oral storytelling traditions, and all sorts of ritual/spiritual practices. Basically, stories in general. This story is about stories. #meta

5. Share 3+ images that give a feel for your novel

MAIN CHARACTER(S)

6. Who is your protagonist?

Teva! She’s 15 at the beginning of the story. She is a younger sister, a stubborn artist, and extremely dedicated to her people and their traditions, unafraid of outside danger, and eager to confront the uncomfortable. 

7. Who is their closest ally?

She has two: Sarevo, her teacher and mentor, and her sister, Keema. Keema and Teva are very close, like twin-close, and are crazy supportive of each other and their stupid ideas. Sarevo is uncommonly understanding among the people of their tribe, and was the second person to believe in Teva’s promise as a ritualist (Keema was the first, of course).

8. Who is their enemy?

Well... herself. And the stories that made her believe the way she does. Technically, the Elders, too. If you wanna get very technical.

9. What do they want more than anything?

She desperately wants to belong somewhere that will accept her for her whole self. Unfortunately, she believes she has to go a long way to find that somewhere. 

10. Why can’t they have it?

#society. But, really, she’s her own worst enemy. The one thing she can’t do is the one thing she thinks the tribe will abandon her for. It’s a personal/societal culture clash. Her people will exile her if she can’t connect, and she can’t connect because she’s afraid of exile. 

11. What do they wrongly believe about themselves?

Teva thinks she’s broken, and that no amount of help will get her to where she thinks she needs to be. And that she’s totally alone because no one understands her.

12. Draw your protagonist! (Or share a description)

Here’s a better version of the pic I have on the AOPC character page. Fun fact, this picture is what inspired me to make the world and write its story in the first place.

PLOT POINTS

13. What is the internal conflict?

Teva thinks she’s broken, the worst person ever, and has some self-hatred issues at first. Her sister is getting married and won’t live with her or spend time with her anymore, her parents are always away on gathering trips, the elders don’t believe her, and after the events at the beginning of the story, no one in her tribe wants to even touch her. She thinks she’s a monster like the stories say she should be.

14. What is the external conflict?

Culture clash, enforcing certain stories over others, using stories to control people, where do you go when your world doesn’t want you, that whole protag vs. the world thing.

15. What is the worst thing that could happen to your protagonist?  

Hm... if people refuse to acknowledge her existence. It happens a few times in the story and every time, Teva breaks a little bit more and it hurts me. She’s a questioner, a learner, and very stubborn. Even though it looks like she’s fine, there comes a point when even the smilers forget how.

16. What secret will be revealed that changes the course of the story?  

What the rude Elder’s deal is and why she’s so distantly concerned with Teva’s plight. It’s significant.

17. Do you know how it ends?  

I know where it ends emotionally. That’s about it, though.

18. What is the theme?  

Make your own self worth. Stories have great capacity for change. Just because no one else sees the way you do, doesn’t mean you aren’t who you know you are. Don’t define yourself by another person’s dictionary. Art is a tool of the artist, not a slave.

19. What is a recurring symbol?  

Paint is a biggie. Colors, too. And the concept of rituals, and what they’re used for. And maybe birds. Teva’s culture is symbolism heavy.

20. Where is the story set? (Share a description!)

So I originally made this tribe/culture/area/world for my homebrew DnD game, wrote a story about it for class, and then my players moved out of the state. So I got a fair bit of world building done for it and decided to make it a book. 

Teva’s village is in an area called the Painted Cliffs. They’re named for the layers of sediment that make the cliff face look like those bottles of multi-colored sand. The buildings are laid out in a lollipop formation around a huge unlit bonfire, with one end opening to the cliffs and the other capped by the Elders’ Longhouse, where all the tribe’s elder leaders live. To the east/north is a mountain range where they send expeditions to collect flowers, herbs, and various other materials for painting and crafting. To the west is a great wide plain that is as vast as the sea to the south. Her people are pretty isolated from the rest of the world, but there are nomadic groups that wander the plains.

Paint and art is the pillar of her people’s culture. They paint themselves with important colors and patterns when they go to commune with the spirits, they paint their stories and history on the walls of their buildings, each member of the tribe places a hand print on the backs of a married couple during the wedding ceremony, and coming of age is marked by a young person painting their personal sigil (which is derived from what paint is left on your body after you cliff dive when you hear the Call) on the Namestone at the center of the village.

21. Do you have any images or scenes in your mind already?  

The opening is already written and the second clearest image I have. The clearest scene is the inciting incident, when Teva makes a choice and goes against everything she thought made her world. Keema’s wedding is already written and it’s pretty cool, if I do say so myself. 

22. What excited you about this story?  

Cliff diving culture! Body paint as a ritual ceremony! Stubborn character who questions a lot of things and makes writing conflict easier! Making up myths, legends, stories, traditions, rituals, etc. for a whole new civilization! Oh man, the myths and traditions are so cool you guys. I love making myths and legends.

23. Tell us about your usual writing method!  

Copying from the Heart to Heart post:

I get an idea that’s a little weird. Then I let it sit in my brain for like 3 months to make sure I’m interested, I can think of enough material to fill a story, and I feel like someone needs to read it. Then I think of a feeling I want my readers to have while reading this story or when they finish it. After that, I do concept work for a looooooong time. Like seriously, I have so many Scrivener documents full of rando rambling paragraphs of unused nonsense.

Characters come first, usually from a vague mental image, small action that rings true for a specific kind of person, or a line of dialogue I can only hear them say. Then I build around that, and adjust as the rest of the story/plot/other characters come together.

Then I think of the ending and the climactic scene. I work backwards. Ending usually comes first, then the Big Moment that gets there. This is when I playtest my characters. What choices do they make at this moment, how do those choices affect other characters’ choices, how do they affect the plot, and how do I get to the ending with maximum impact?

Beginnings are typically thought of in this part of the process, then I connect it and inevitably lose 80% of this work because I thought of a Thing that is Good and fits way better than my other stuff so I write from that point and finish the story in one big long writing session. As you can probably see, I am not a big planner. I like to think as I go, which is also how I edit.

Thank you for the tag! It was really cool to explore this story, I hadn’t given some of these things as much thought as I should have by now. 

Frodo Taggins: Since I’ve done one of these before, I want anyone who wants to do one of these to do it and tag me as having tagged you so I can see your beautiful work. 

[socialjusticeartshare]

For a mother forced to give up her child, decades of grief, shame and secrets

For years a woman named Margaret Katz had a recurring nightmare: From a dark alley, she could hear her young son cry out desperately for her, screaming that he needed help. She’d race toward him, only to wake before reaching the boy.

Again and again and again. She could never get to her son. Never wrap him in her arms, lay her cheek against his head, whisper that she was there, that everything would be okay. And for years she woke up from that dream only to remember that the nightmare was real.

In “American Baby: A Mother, a Child, and the Shadow History of Adoption,” Gabrielle Glaser tells the story of Katz and the boy she could never reach, whom she was forced, as a teenager, to give up for adoption. But really she tells the story of all parents and children torn apart from each other against their will.

Again and again and again. She could never get to her son. Never wrap him in her arms, lay her cheek against his head, whisper that she was there, that everything would be okay. And for years she woke up from that dream only to remember that the nightmare was real.

In “American Baby: A Mother, a Child, and the Shadow History of Adoption,” Gabrielle Glaser tells the story of Katz and the boy she could never reach, whom she was forced, as a teenager, to give up for adoption. But really she tells the story of all parents and children torn apart from each other against their will.

“American Baby” tracks the unconscionable losses incurred by one woman and child. But it’s a reminder of how routinely and ruthlessly this country has stripped its most vulnerable populations of the things that matter most.

Glaser came to Katz’s story by way of her long-lost son, an adult in need of a new kidney by the time the author met him. It’s not a spoiler to disclose that Katz’s son eventually locates his birth mother. Through interviews with both of them and members of their families, Glaser is able to meticulously re-create their tale.

Katz (born Margaret Erle) was a daughter of Jewish refugees who fled the Nazis and settled in New York. In high school she fell in love with a slightly older baseball player. She was 16 when she found out she was pregnant after having sex for the first time.

Immediately, Katz and her boyfriend, George, decided to keep the baby. He’d forgo his baseball scholarship, they’d get married. But as minors, they needed parental permission to wed, and their parents refused to give it. Instead Katz was sent to a home for unwed mothers, where she was visited routinely by social workers who pressured her to sign papers giving their child up for adoption. Katz was cowed but didn’t sign.

She was sedated against her will during childbirth and not allowed to hold her baby after he was born. For months, while the boy, named Stephen, stayed with foster parents, Katz resisted demands that she formally put him up for adoption.

Finally, when their baby was 51/2 months old, the couple was allowed to meet him for the second time. While they were visiting, a social worker asked Katz to step into a private room. There, the entreaties turned to threats.

“We can put you in juvenile hall,” the woman told her. “Think of how that will look for your parents. First your pregnancy. Want to get locked up now too?”

Katz signed the papers and began a lifetime of longing. All she had left of her baby was a couple of Polaroid pictures her boyfriend had snapped during their visits. “When she felt hopeless or angry,” Glaser writes, “she would pull out Stephen’s blurry little picture and kiss it.”

Throughout the book Glaser deftly pulls back from Katz’s story to set it in a larger context — the history of adoption in America, ideas about gender and feminism. Casual readers, eager to learn the resolution of Katz’s and Stephen’s saga, may find themselves racing through these sections, but it’s here that Glaser proves herself as a relentless researcher. The intimate story of Glaser’s subjects makes her book compelling, but the societal dots she’s able to connect make it important.

Glaser invests deeply in Katz’s experience, and she succeeds in compelling readers to do the same. (The sections that track Stephen’s life — his name was changed to David by his adoptive parents — feel slightly more removed, perhaps because Glaser had less opportunity for first-person interviews.) As Katz makes her way through the world, carrying grief and shame and secrets with her all the while, readers will hope for an easing of her burdens. They’ll hope she finds her boy.

“Sometimes on the subway, or walking down the street,” Glaser writes, “she’d find herself staring at a little boy who caught her eye. Did that one have a dimpled chin? Did this one have George’s ears?”

It wouldn’t be that easy for Katz. Reunion wouldn’t come via a chance encounter for her, just as it won’t for the parents of children who were taken from them at the Southern border. “American Baby” is a bone-deep exploration of the agony felt by parents forcibly removed from their child. It should serve as a reminder of those parents still experiencing that agony. And of the only thing they can offer their children, from such a painful remove.

“At night, after everyone was asleep, and before her nightmares interrupted, she envisioned her love reaching out from her heart to his, and hoped it was received.”

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[happymeishappylife]

Book #21 of 2020

The Scent of Sake by Joyce Lebra

When I picked up this book, I was hooked after the short summary that this was going to be an amazing story about a woman who rose through the ranks of men to establish herself in the brewery world, something that was forbidden in the feudal era of this society. What I got was a story about a woman who significantly propelled her family’s brewery to the number one seller in the country, but at the expense that she was still stuck in terrible situations between her husband, her adopted son, family and societal obligations and the fall of the samurai lords into the Meiji era. It was interesting for sure, but it just wasn’t the story I was hoping for, which is why I think it wasn’t as powerful to me. It was very informative of the societal procedures and pressures of Japan.

The story revolves around Rie and her life as the only heir to the White Tiger Brewery. This is because at a young age, she accidentally was with her younger brother when he had an accident and died, a failure and dishonor she carries with her from that day forward. This failure propels her to do better by the house to better it, though because women are not allowed to brew or conduct business, she tries to find the best way to do this in her early days. Especially when she is married to a man who while her parents would hope would be good for the brewery, ends up being a drunkard, spending all his time with geishas instead of at home. This is especially painful for Rie when Jihei ends up fathering several children through these geishas and she fails at first to produce an heir, her only real duty. Instead, she finds way to communicate business ideas with her father’s clerk and promote and train his replacement which later proves to be her ally in running the brewery.

What’s disappointing about the novel’s story is the storyline around children and marriage. As stated, Rie fails at first to produce a true heir in the brewery which forces her family to adopt the geisha’s son as their next heir. In revenge for this action, Rie seeks an affair and has a daughter with her true lover instead of her husband, who fathers a daughter at the same time. While looked down upon to adopt daughters, Rie convinces her father to do so and soon the house is filled with children, though only one is the actual child between Rie and Jihei. The disdain the two have for each other is hard to read through, because while both did not ask for their marriage since it was arranged, neither seemed willing to compromise their lifestyles and instead sabotaged each other. Jihei, resenting Rie’s presence in the business sours the sake one year which hurts their business. This forces Rie to kick him out, which only leads to his death by drowning after he drinks too much. This then creates a rift with his son, who knows of his heritage and Rie. And it never gets better.

I think that was the most disappointing part of the novel. Rie desperately wishes she could have married her real love instead of Jihei, but she still forces arranged marriages on her children, which leads to Yoshi following in his father’s footsteps and seeing a geisha who becomes the mother to his daughter. And even in the story of her grandson Hiro, she resents him for wanting to pick his own bride, until its learned that he’s pursuing a daughter of nobility. And then even Rie’s desire to become more involved in the business, still does not push her to break the hard gendered practices that she grew up with, only yielding to Yoshi’s wife after his demise because that was the only acceptable way. Heck, she forces her clerk Kinno to divorce after his wife is caught spreading rumors about the family to a competitor. It just seems harsh. But maybe that’s what life was.

Overall Rating: 6/10

[ladystylestores]

‘Indian Matchmaking’ presents painful truths about skin color and love in Indian culture but does nothing to challenge them

Written by Aditi Sangal, CNN

On Netflix’s “Indian Matchmaking,” marriage consultant Sima Taparia travels the world to meet with hopeful clients and help them find the perfect match for an arranged marriage.

The format of the show is simple. Hopeful brides- and grooms-to-be meet with Taparia — often with their overbearing parents in tow — for an initial consultation. Criteria are laid out, potential suitors are presented on paper, dates are arranged, and then it’s up to the couple to decide if it’s a match.

In some respects, the producers should be commended. This is a show that turns away from the “big fat Indian wedding” trope and offers something fresh: a look at how some traditional-facing couples meet through the services of a professional matchmaker.

The characters’ stories — as well as cringier moments — play out in entertaining ways, at times revealing the absurdities and awkwardness of matchmaking. I laughed when, for example, Taparia sought the consultation of an astrologist and a face reader.

Matchmaker Sima Taparia meets with hopeful clients. Credit: Netflix

At other points, the show presents brutal truths about Indian culture: the emphasis on being “fair”; the enormous pressure to wed; the focus on caste and class; the stigmatization of independent, working women.

But the show fails to contextualize or even question these problematic beliefs when they’re brought up by its characters, presenting them instead as the status quo.

With that, Netflix missed an opportunity to challenge a social system fraught with cultural biases, and also educate a global audience on important nuances. In Sima Taparia, the show found a regressive anchor who merely peddles flawed practices.

Colorism

Mentioned casually but frequently throughout the eight episodes is the idea that candidates should be “fair,” or in other words, have light skin.

The subject of skin color and, subsequently, social status in Indian culture is incredibly complex. While people with darker skin tones are subjected to harsh discrimination and prejudice, fairness is revered and associated with beauty, wealth and power.

Vyasar Ganesan (left) and Rashi (right) on episode six of “Indian Matchmaking.” Credit: Netflix

This cultural bias is engrained from an early age, with women bearing more of the societal pressure to have lighter skin. If you’re a woman, darker skin can be a deal-breaker for families seeking the perfect wife for their son. For men, fair skin is seen as a bonus but not as much of a requirement.

Colorism and the desirability of “fairness” is drilled into young girls. In my own case, it started when I was in middle school in India, when my classmates taunted me for having darker skin. Older women would also make unsolicited comments about my complexion, veiled as genuine concern for me and my future marriage prospects.

In India, the beauty standard is further perpetuated by pop culture and a booming cosmetic industry.

Fair and Lovely skin fairness cream at a shop in New Delhi. Credit: Sajjad Hussain/AFP via Getty Images

Skin lightening products are heavily marketed. Actors with glowing, pale complexions are the stars of Bollywood movies while their dark-skinned counterparts play poor, disenfranchised characters. Some dating apps even include skin tone filters.

Unspoken rules

“Indian Matchmaking” itself offers a window into the lifestyles of an elite class of Indians who can enlist the service of a top-tier matchmaker, and in some cases, fly them to the other side of the world. This is not something regular families do, so status is already built into the narrative.

Perhaps this makes it easier for families to avoid explicitly specifying fair skin as part of their match criteria. Taparia assumes it goes without saying, and constantly describes women as a “good person” or match because they are “fair and good looking.” Some of the families rely on this — it allows them to be politically correct and vague in their search for someone “good looking” without explicitly saying “fair.”

Pradhyuman Maloo in episode four of “Indian Matchmaking.” Credit: Netflix

Yet, they get exactly the kind of complexion they want to see. It’s the equivalent of writing “caste no bar” in a matrimonial ad — a suggestion that the person who placed the ad is willing to consider candidates regardless of social hierarchy — but in reality only going on dates with people from the “community,” which becomes a euphemistic catch-all term for people from the same religion, caste or class.

Take the young Mumbai-based Pradhyuman Maloo, who features prominently in the show, as an example. His well-to-do parents desperately want him to settle down and find a wife, but he seems mostly uninterested in the women presented to him, until he’s shown a photo of Rushali Rai, a beautiful model from Delhi. His eyes light up at the sight of her. Taparia describes her as “fair and good-looking, but also, she’s smart.”

When Maloo first sees her photo, he is elated. “Ahh, she’s so cute!”

“I’ll tell you that from her dressing style to her look and everything, how she carries herself, that I can meet her,” he said. “It’s going to be exciting. It’s going to be fun.”

Pradhyuman Maloo on a date with actor and model Rushali Rai on “Indian Matchmaking.” Credit: Netflix

Watching the two side-by-side on their date, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that, of all the characters in the show, they have the most similar skin tones. Their pairing does nothing to challenge the deep-rooted cultural notion that you should marry someone with a similar background.

Changing attitudes

As for women who don’t fit the “fair, tall and slim” criteria, we do see the show acknowledging a different fate. Businesswoman Ankita Bansal is sent to a life coach, with whom she discusses the insecurities she had with her body growing up.

“People would come and tell me that you’re never going to find anybody because you have to lose some weight,” said Bansal, adding that she suffered from “off the charts” anxiety. “So that played a very big part in how I lost my confidence completely in even trying to approach a man.”

The life coach acknowledges that such expectations can be unrealistic, and hurtful when it comes to a woman feeling her true worth. “I think it’s so — superficial, maybe, that they’re only defining us by the way we look.”

Nadia Jagessar on episode two of “Indian Matchmaking.” Credit: Netflix

But attitudes towards “fairness” and beauty ideals are changing. Young people — who are usually more social-media savvy and better educated — feel more empowered to go against the grain, and to put pressure on those who continue to perpetuate beauty standards.

There are several ongoing campaigns that call out celebrities who endorse skin-lightening products, and some Bollywood stars have refused to be associated with these creams.

The campaign “Dark is Beautiful” has waged its decade-long fight against colorism by creating awareness programs about skin bias. Others like “Dark is Divine” and “Unfair and Lovely” have also since joined the fight.

The show sidesteps signs of such progress, instead providing a platform for outdated clichés over cultural debate and context. Fittingly, in one of the final scenes, Richa, a young Indian American woman, who Tapaira gives “95 out of 100,” reels off her criteria for the perfect match.

It’s not the first point in a long list, but when she comes to it, it lands jarringly.

“Not too dark, you know, fair-skinned.”

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[thesinglesjukebox]

SEIKO OOMORI - DOGMA MAGMA [7.10] This certainly touched our yes.

Ryo Miyauchi: This relentless firestorm of a rock song musically compacts her entire kitixxxgaia album into a 5-minute pop single, so Seiko Oomori understandably had to cut a good portion of it for a late-night TV performance. Out went the year's best opening gag: "Moshi moshi, it's me, God. Wait, you don't know who I am? Proof? Hm..." But curiously, she also had to censor out "fuck you." A petty edit, not just because this aired on Japanese TV, but also every other lyric is far more radical for a frankly conservative public to hear. "Dogma Magma" follows Oomori, a deity who wakes up in the mortal form of a Japanese woman and discovers this society won't take her seriously without following certain rules. She shreds apart those rules in regards to gender, marriage, labor, beauty standards and any other societal pressures unabashedly as she blitzes through her sprawling rock music. Hearing a musician who vaguely looks like me (at least from a foreigner's eye) scream things like "I can't even go outside in this body without putting on make up," "I don't really want to get married, I'm content, so don't mind me," or "ugly or just a piece of shit, I want to change the world" in my first language shattered my world. Now, watching her do the same but for a live audience? It's a miracle any part of "Dogma Magma" was even allowed for broadcast in the first place. [10]

Katherine St Asaph: Like elevator music for the malfunctioning Tower of Terror that was 2017. It's better as song. [7]

Edward Okulicz: "Dogma Magma" has ambition oozing out of every corner of it, but at five minutes long it kind of feels like ten. The opening verse sounds suspiciously like "Itsy Bitsy Spider" and Oomori squeaks large portions of the song, struggling to be heard above musical theatre armageddon. Ambition not fully realised for mine, but an impressive racket anyway. [5]

Juana Giaimo: Probably not the right song to listen to after a yoga class. The desperation of Seiko Oomori is out of control and by the end, the sweet beginning is completely overshadow by the hellish end. "Dogma Magma" is a song that I can find musically interesting but hard to relate to. [5]

Will Adams: Given how much Seiko Oomori's voice sells the bombastic arrangement, the additional flourishes via phone chatter, whole tone dream runs, accordion waltz and blockbuster explosion feel unnecessary. Still, "Dogma Magma" is a rush to listen to no matter how up for the pyrotechnics you are. [6]

Josh Langhoff: This volcanic spew of ideas couldn't have been made by '70s Tubes or '80s John Zorn, but it seems like something they'd dig. The song opens with a gong. Other items of note include abrupt tempo shifts and mixed meters, catchy hooks, a drummer who's exceptionally proud of her cymbals, a double-time DDR hardcore bit for a bridge, two seconds of French cafe waltz, and the English command "touch my yes," which pretty much sums up the aesthetic here. [7]

Alfred Soto: Tour de forces impress and exhaust -- that's the point of them. This mishmash of the show tunes ethos, the wilder bits of Coltrane, and J-pop shouldn't be consumed at a single sitting. Play one section, pause, grab a glass of water, return, pause. [5]

Maxwell Cavaseno: Sometimes, life feels like a giant parody of a parody no matter how hard you try to point out its absurdities. Nothing's too special in pointing out the mundanity of life, and inevitably in trying to point out how the world's a fool, you look like a fool. So sometimes, the best way to go about is to mock yourself and the world all at once, so nobody's safe! JOKE'S ON YOU BUDDY, Seiko Oomori's in on the joke! She is the joke! You're the joke! It's all jokes! And the best way Seiko lands all of her punchlines is the scrape of sincerity with a will to disprove both, undermining herself thematically and sonically to make those bursts of seeming earnestness so dizzy; they could easily be real or yet another joke in themselves. When you spend enough time proving that everything bad is good and what's good is bad, you're never quite sure. [8]

Iain Mew: It's a big musical number, and there's one woman at a piano playing a brisk showtune, but the curtains are moving and there are all kinds of horrors and wonders hiding in the shadows, waiting on hidden cues to each pounce out for their moment. By the end the piano is probably on fire too. But the real trick is that, even amidst the ludicrous spectacle, it's impossible to turn attention away from her voice. [8]

Nortey Dowuona: A propulsive, energetic, brilliant pop song that skews between pillowy piano, simple, humming bass, scalpel sharp guitar and thick, gushy and solid drums and raspy, sparkling guitar, grim, unflinching bass and rapid, viscous drums.The singing is.../I gotta./Do it for the culture./////////#Blessed. [10]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox ]

[moiraineswife]

16 and 23 for ACOWAR asks.

16) Mor’s power - what would you like it to be?

I’ve made a theory about this before but I like the idea of Mor having some kind of foresight. The truth magic is more complicated but also interesting. Feyre has a few superstitions about the fae in ACOTAR and I think most of them are foreshadowing:

‘That was the first rule we were taught as children, usuallyin songs or chants: If misfortune forced you to keep company with a faerie, younever drank their wine, never ate their food. Ever. Unless you wanted to windup enslaved to them in mind and soul.’

This bit obviously foreshadows the mating bond and the way that it’s sealed - the female offers the male food and this seals the bond. So this superstition is definitely rooted in fact. 

‘And faeries couldn’t lie.’

I think this part might hint at the Suriel and its truth when captured (something Lucien mentions as a throwaway comment in ACOTAR before we see it) but I also think it speaks to Mor/the Vertias’ truth magic. There are a couple of ways I could see this manifesting - she can’t lie to humans if she’s invoked a certain piece of magic ‘You know I speak the truth’ OR: 

“You try to break the bargain, and you know what willhappen,” 

[…]

“He said there were consequences for breaking a magicalbargain.”

There’s quite a palava made over bargains in this series, specifically magical fae bargains. Rhys mentions several times the consequences of breaking a magical bargain - Tamlin seems incapable of breaking this one or finding a way to break it (apart from going through the King of Hybern) and Amarantha we saw was compelled to hold to her bargain - the magic broke when Feyre answered her riddle as she had no loopholes worked in there to save her. 

I wonder sometimes if Mor’s ability is something along the same lines - if she can compel people to hold to their truths, even if it’s not made in the form of an official bargain, or if breaking a bargain bonded by her carries even stronger penalties than Amarantha breaking her word. In that case the magic simply circumvented her will and granted what she had promised. 

I don’t think she can compel others to speak the truth to her (otherwise she’d probably have Azriel’s job tbh, magic is a heck of a lot easier and more reliable than torture) but maybe she can sense lies? Or maybe she can see/sense other people’s truths (the Bone Carver can do something like this so we know it’s possible) Or maybe she can state things/people exactly as they are - and the people she speaks to really do know that she’s telling the truth and that she isn’t lying to them. ‘I am the Morrigan, you know I speak the truth.’ maybe she’s literally told us what she can do. Or maybe she can compel people to believe that she’s speaking the truth even if she’s not (though I doubt that - she gets called out on lies and too much stock is placed in the Veritas which is said to carry a similar kind of magic to Mor) The truth is (ha) that SJM is so vague about this that tbh she could do pretty much anything even remotely related to truth, we don’t have enough to properly guess, or even have a reasonable stab at it. 

She probably also has a serious amount of power there too, beyond her truth magic, given that she survived a fight with Amren and that everyone was so desperate to breed said power into their bloodlines (ugh). And she’s a war veteran, she actively fought in the war and she’s more powerful than Cassian and Azriel and...entire armies of Illyrians SO. Someone give me the goods, please and thank you. 

23) Babies - yea or nay? If you had to pick one couple to have a mini, who would it be?

No. I have Strong Opinions on this topic. You didn’t ask, but you’re getting them anyway: 

Moriel: No. None. Never. Not now. Not in ten years. not in a hundred years. not in a thousand years. Never. A)- I don’t think either of them would actually want them? They want to be free, they want to just be with each other and enjoy each other and just be allowed to do what they want and neither of them really feels that urge. B)- I don’t think Mor actually can have children. (This is one of those headcanons were at this point I don’t care what canon does because this makes too much sense to me for me to let go of it.) But it just..it’s horribly fitting in a twisted way - she took away her value to Keir, her ability to marry Eris and gain him wealth and power by association, so he took away the only thing he saw as giving her any value or worth - her ability to bear children. Which probably upsets her a little bit when others start having smalls but...She and Az are quite sure. They are enough for each other, they don’t need children to be happy or to love and want and need each other. So. No babies here ever. Moriel are a baby free zone on this blog. 

Feyrhys: tbh....I can go with them never having any really easily. Like...they’re immortal?? They don’t need them in theory? I mean...Tarquin inherited his position as High Lord as the cousin of the previous one. So the previous one died without issue so it just jumped to the next suitable dude in the family. It’s not essential is what I’m saying. Rhys would never pressure Feyre into having them and to be honest...I can’t see Feyre wanting them. She parented her family for most of her childhood and every time she’s considered pregnancy/children it’s been a case of ‘do not want them’. She makes it very, very clear she’d have nothing to do with Isaac without a tonic ensuring that she can’t get pregnant; she implies she was taking a tonic while she and Tamlin were together (she tells Rhys at the cabin that she isn’t taking one anymore - implying that she was) despite Tamlin’s mentioning them having children/heirs some day. She deliberately speaks to Rhys about it after their sex marathon chapter 55 and makes it clear that the only way she’d thought about having them would have been as an obligation. If she’d been obliged to provide him with children as his mate which Rhys shuts down. She then admits that she wants Rhys to herself for a good few centuries. 

This is not a girl who can’t wait to have children and honestly, I’d like it if she never did. Yes, yes she might change her mind but tbh I hate that line of thinking the ‘oh you’ll feel incomplete without them some day!’ Fuck that. A woman can be entirely complete without children and without the societal pressure/expectation to have them..I honestly don’t think Feyre would fancy it. (They will probably have a baby in canon but in my head...they’re baby free.....at the very, very, very, very, very least for like 500 solid years. Maybe more. Probably more. But not like 50 years after the war just N O. Let the girl live.) 

Nessian: Nessian are funny. I can see them going either way but...I think I’d like them to have maybe one or two, actually. I think Cassian would be pretty up for it, with some proper talking and planning. It’s not something he’d rush into impulsively but...I think he would get quite broody and I think this would happen before Nesta. I think Nesta might feel a little guilty almost that she doesn’t want this at all but Cass, like Rhys, is very firm in that he’s not pushing her into this at all and that she has absolutely nothing to feel guilty about. He’d like kids, maybe, some day, but they are not necessary at all.

 I think Nesta has a bit of a turning point with them and she genuinely goes from ‘over my dead body’ to ‘Cassian knock me up immediately’. I think maybe elucien are onto their third, maybe fourth, and she holds this little one in her arms and she just...bonds with it. And then she starts feeling things that she’s never, ever felt before and she looks up at Cassian and she knows that she loves him so much and that....She wants this. She really, really, really wants this. She wants a baby. She wants to be a mother.  

I think the thought of it still kind of terrifies her and she bottles this up for a while thinking it might go away (it doesn’t. It just gets worse.) Finally Cassian coaxes it out of her and she admits she’s been thinking about it and he’s overjoyed and they agree to start planning and preparing and then trying. Nesta is probably quite insecure once she does actually get pregnant but Cass is very gentle and reassuring and it’s just something they both want so desperately after a few centuries together. 

Elucien: Probably get pregnant during the mating bond sex marathon tbh. No, no not quite but I do think they talk about it early on and both agree that they want it. They probably, very sensibly, agree that they have plenty of time, no need to rush anything, they can wait, just enjoy themselves, they don’t need little ones, they should just calm down. They probably give themselves a time restriction of like a century to just be. I don’t think they make it through half of that before they’re actively trying because they just...Need to be parents, it doesn’t feel right otherwise. 

They have a large brood, they just keep having more, it just feels right. And then once they get to the point where they stop having little ones of their own they just start adopting other little ones. (Right, listen, I’ve definitely talked about this before but I love the heck out of this headcanon so have it again: Azriel is grudgingly in the war camps for some time and while he’s there he finds a little baby girl being mistreated by her family. Obviously given Azriel’s history and his general...well self he’s not too happy with this so he just. No. I am taking her away (he really doesn’t think this through at all, bless him, but he’s trying to do the right thing) So he scoops the little one up and takes her away and basically Mor comes home like.........Azriel.....why exactly are you trying to quieten a screaming baby?? So Az explains and Mor is very touched but also a bit o.O Az we cannot keep her, this is a child, not that stray cat you adopted last week, okay, it’s a bit different. So, naturally, they do the only sensible thing and they send for Elain. Elain who has only recently found herself with an empty house that just feels entirely too empty and too quiet. She goes to see them and within seconds the baby is quiet and happy in her arms and she’s in love and taking her home. (Lucien is a little bit !!! about this plan because ‘uh, dove, she has wings.’ but Elain insists happily that they’ll just have to figure it out because they simply must take care of her. This sparks a little tradition of them taking in unwanted little ones from all over Prythian and taking care of them.) 

So, to summarise and actually answer the question: Moriel: no. Feyrhys: if you put a gun to my head. Nessian: after many, many, many centuries. Elucien: why do they not have babies already!? 

[bcimbatmandude]

The Search for Polaris-ch.2-The Night the Stars Went Out

A/N: Here’s the next chapter! I’ll have the next one out soon. By the way, this is an M rated fiction. There will be violence, cursing, blood, dark themes, etc. I will put trigger warnings on the particularly dark themes, if I feel as though they might affect people. Thanks for reading.

GOLDGOLDGOLDGOLDGOLDGOLDGOLDGOLDGOLD

"To live a life that is wrong for you is a form of dying. There are people who have lives that look perfect. They try to be happy, they believe they should be happy, they are trying to like it, but if it's off course from their North Star, they aren't satisfied."-Martha Beck

"Mrs. Connor, I'm leaving for the night!" I yelled out to my boss, who waved me on with a murmured, "See ya tomorrow kid!" as she continued to count the money we had made that day. I yanked off my waitress apron, throwing it on the chair next to the door. I grabbed my black hoodie and shoved it over my head, taking the time to untuck my medium blonde hair that had been caught in the process. I scowled at the damn annoying ding that the bell on the door gave off when I pushed it open, and walked out into the cold night air.

"Annoying noise," I grumbled to myself, putting my hands in my hoodie jacket as I began my trek home. The restaurant wasn't a huge distance away from my house, but it wasn't exactly close either. I didn't really like walking 30 minutes to and from work every day, but at least I got some exercise in. I hummed the One Piece theme song as I walked. It had been dancing its way through my head all day, and as much as I loved the show, I hated it when I couldn't get songs out of my head.

"Come on board and bring along, all your hopes and dreams…" To live the life of a pirate…that would be somethin' else. To not live within the restrictions of life or be held back by societal standards. To be able to travel the world with people who you consider to be family in search of treasure.

To travel the world in pursuit of your life's goals...

An amazing show, but definitely not a realistic one. Having that amount of freedom at your fingertips…well that type of freedom just didn't exist in the real world. Real life is about learning to live within the restrictions that have been granted to you. Living in the real world doesn't allow you the time needed to find your treasure. No one had time to pursue their reason for being, or their life's dream.

I shook away the depressed thoughts that came to me every time I trailed down that particular train of thought. I always tried not to think about the fact that I would more than likely be working mediocre jobs for the rest of my life. I would find someone to marry in a couple of years, maybe, settle down, start a family…..and then eventually, die.

And that would be it for me. A happy life for those that pursue it. A safe life. Stable.

Mediocre.

Taking a deep breath, I breathed out the negative feelings now bouncing around inside me, and tilted my head back towards the night sky. A smile spread across my face, and I immediately felt calmed. Looking at the stars always centered me. The beautiful bright orbs of light scattered across the sky represented my life's search for my one and only personal goal: freedom. Much like the stars though, that goal seemed more and more unobtainable with each passing day. I was 17 now, and I graduated next year. Soon I would be looking for colleges and working towards a career that would hopefully be able to support me for the rest of my life…

"Hey girlie!" A loud voice called from behind me, jolting me out of my musings. A stab of fear went through me when I realized that in my exhausted zoned out state, I had accidentally walked past the alley that I usually avoided at night, for this very reason. "Fuckin ADD," I cursed. My inability to stay focused on anything always got me into trouble somehow.

My feet continued moving but my ears were listening intently for any sign of danger. When the footsteps that I thought would be coming closer to me never came, I looked back, a bit confused.

"Hey girl I'm talkin to you!" The voice was coming from the alley I always avoided.

Of course it was.

An idea popped through my head, and I hesitated. Don't be stupid, Astra, I scolded myself. It's not your problem. You're gonna get yourself killed….

Then, I heard it. "Please, I just want to go home," the voice of a young girl pleaded out, to both her pursuers and myself. My resistance to help all but melted away at the desperation in her voice, and I broke. I turned around, slowly making my way back to the alley. I stopped at the opening and leaned against the brick wall, studying the situation in front of me.

One guy. Mid 20's. Hoodies and pants. Creepy looking as all get out.

Young girl. Probably a little bit older than me. Cornered against one side of the brick walls in the alley.

The guy was steadily walking closer to her, and I could see from my position that she was shaking and crying. He reached out, stroking her arm, and she cried out, trying to curl further into herself for protection. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the shit storm that was about to happen, and yelled out, "Hey!"

The guy jumped and looked towards my voice, therefore looking away from the girl. She bolted. The man cursed and tried to grab her, but she kicked him in the back of his knee, making him drop. He didn't even attempt to chase her, merely watched as she got the hell out of dodge. He growled, and then I had a very angry face glaring over at his new target.

"Shit."

I pushed myself off of the wall, creating momentum, and bolted as fast as I could away from the men. "C'mere bitch!" I heard him shout after me, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out in fear. Go, go, go, I repeated to myself like a mantra. Why do you get yourself in these fucked up situations…

I huffed out a breath and glanced behind me for half a second only to see that he was quickly getting gaining speed. Not too surprising really since he appeared to be at least six inches taller than me. Using the random burst of speed that came to my body now that it's realized we were in a life or death situation, I hauled ass around a street corner. The cold October air was hitting the back of my throat, making it painful for me to draw in a breath.

"What are you running for sweetheart? I just wanna talk to you!"

Yeah, right.

"Leave me alone!" I shouted back to them. I looked around in vain at the area as I ran, hoping that one of the cops that usually paroled would be around. "Help!" I shouted out to anyone. "Please!"

Suddenly, I found myself face down on the ground. I groaned out pitifully, my hand reaching towards the back of my head. I whimpered when I pulled my hand back to my face. In the dull light provided by the street light, I was able to see a dark colored liquid on my palm. What the hell?... He had thrown something heavy at me.

I heard footsteps running closer, and self-preservation kicked in. I tried pitifully to pick myself up, heart beating so fast my chest ached, but before I could, a heavy hand landed on my shoulder and flipped me around.

"You shouldn't have run, girl," the man said, holding me down. "It was real rude of you to scare that girl away from me. I just wanted to play with her." The light hit the man's face and I was able to see that he had a nasty looking scar trailing from his left eye, all the way down to his chin. It even crossed his lips, and for a split second, my mind wandered.

Smack.

The side of my head slammed into the concrete. I cried out and tried in vain to curl up on myself. "Are you fucking ignoring me bitch?" the man questioned me incredulously. "You've got some nerve to ignore me. I am after all the last face you're ever gonna see." My body froze at his words, but instead of becoming even more afraid, I was filled with rage.

I screamed and bucked, trying as hard as I could to loosen his hold on me. I was not going to let this asshole take me down…not without a fight anyway.

The man grunted and tried to get a better hold on me. "Hold still girlie," he ordered, and I sneered when his breath blew across my face, the heavy scent of alcohol assaulting my nostrils. "Get…the fuck…off of me!" I shouted, and kicked the man in the balls as hard as I could.

"Gah!" he gasped out. He instinctively released me to hold himself, and like the young girl I had saved, I fucking bolted. I painfully pushed myself up and began running away from my attacker as fast as I could. "You shouldn't have done that girlie!"

"Someone please help me!" I yelled out again, praying for some sort of divine intervention. I ran and ran until I made it to one of the allies. "Everything's fine. You're fine," I reassured myself, trying to hold back the panicked tears. "You're almost home and everything will be fine." I peered around the corner of the alley that I was in, looking for any sign of the man.

Nothing. It looked like I had lost him.

I let out a deep sigh of relief, and turned back towards the inside of the alley. Suddenly, all of the breath in my body whooshed out of me at the feeling of an insane amount of pressure hitting my stomach. It felt like someone had punched me in the gut, and I looked down, shocked. Tears began running down my face at the sight of a pocket knife embedded into my stomach, and as the blood began seeping out of me, the pain hit.

I slowly looked back up into the face of my attacker. The look he was giving me..it was utterly terrifying. His eyes were so dark they were almost black. They were filled with glee at seeing me in pain. His mouth was stretched out into a large, sinister grin, and I knew at that moment that I was going to die, and he was damn well gonna enjoy the show.

He pushed me against the wall, and I cried out. Holding a hand against my shoulder, making sure I didn't move, not that I would've been able to, he grabbed the hilt of the knife, and began twisting the knife. I opened my mouth to scream, pain flooding through every one of my pores, but I couldn't get enough air to yell out. This was the worst fucking pain I've ever felt in my life. My body didn't know how to handle what was happening to it, and I was almost overcome with relief when the world around me began to lose light and focus.

Just then, I heard several voices yell out in the distance. The man in front of me cursed and quickly let go of me. I listened in a daze to the sound of his footsteps running away from me. I slowly slid down the brick wall, my ass hitting the cold ground. My body was weakened and I was completely unable to hold myself up at this point, so I just slumped to the side. My hand instinctively curled around the hilt of the knife.

I sat there for I don't know how long, wishing I could just fade into oblivion. I had almost gotten my wish when the voices I'd heard earlier began getting louder. Then there was another man crouching in front of me. I could just faintly see a badge on his chest. I coughed out a laugh.

"Better late than never right?" I said to the police officer. His face was kind and his green eyes studied me, deeply concerned at my state. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, his mouth was tight, and he looked terribly affected by what he was seeing. More affected than someone else would be if they were watching an adolescent bleed out in front of them I mean. I wondered if he had a daughter at home around my age that he was thinking about.

Unnoticed tears continued pouring down my face and I sniffled, shifting my body a bit to find even the smallest amount of comfort. "No, no, don't move," the man warned, gently grabbing my body. "You can't move, you'll make it worse."

"I think it's as bad as it's gonna get," I let out a breathy laugh. The man didn't comment and instead worked on adjusting me. I was pleased when I was granted a tiny sliver of relief.

"It's gonna be okay, sweetheart," the kind man said. He took his large hand and smoothed down my hair soothingly. My throat seized up as the terrible realization came over me that I was more than likely about to die. "I don't want to.." I whispered out.

"What?" the man said softly, holding me up when I slid down a bit. "I don't want to die," I clarified for him, looking up at him with huge, glazed over blue eyes. I'd barely accomplished anything. I didn't even have a dream of my own yet. The man's eyes hardened now, and realized that I'd said those words out loud to him. A determined look came over his face, and I almost believed him when he said, "You're not gonna die. You're gonna be just fine."

I listened to him reassure me, appreciating his effort. Unfortunately, I knew it was in vain. My body had begun growing cold and the unending agony that had been reverberating inside my body had started to fade away a bit. Not a good sign, my mind managed to convey to me.

I heard sirens in the background and watched the man look to his right. "Look, the ambulance is coming," he confirmed. "You just gotta stay with me a little bit longer, kid." I nodded to reassure him that I was listening and slowly leaned my head back against the wall. I looked up into the sky and was again grateful that I didn't live in city limits. I wouldn't be able to look at the stars if I did.

Before my dad passed away, the two of us would take his old truck and ride down the road a little bit aways from our house. We would park in the middle of an old field, climb into the bed of the truck, and just count the stars together. We would cuddle together and speak of constellations and old star legends. He loved to study the stars. Hell, he even named me after his love for stars. Astra means "from the stars."

Always look up, he told me. You'll never find your way by looking down. The stars will guide you to your destination, wherever that may be.

"Now what, daddy," I whispered, my voice drowned out by the loud sound of sirens blaring near me. "The stars are going out."

"Hang on kid!" I heard a voice say, but it was distant, almost unintelligible. Paramedics surrounded me, picking my cold and limp body off of the ground. They called out to me, trying to keep me focused on them. Trying to keep me with them.

But I was already gone.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

At 30, I’ve Never Been in a Serious Relationship — and That’s Okay

http://fashion-trendin.com/at-30-ive-never-been-in-a-serious-relationship-and-thats-okay/

At 30, I’ve Never Been in a Serious Relationship — and That’s Okay

I’ve never had a serious relationship. By my count, I’ve never dated anybody for longer than two or three months. I’ve never called anybody my boyfriend, never introduced a partner to my family or friends and never said “I love you.” At 30 years old, I am the only person in my social circle who isn’t married or in a long-term relationship. And for the first time in my life, I am completely happy with that.

In my twenties, I developed a bit of a complex about my relationship status. The conversation would follow the same rough script each time. First, people would marvel at the fact that I was single, asking something along the lines of: “How are you not taken?” Which translates loosely to: “What’s secretly wrong with you that is undetectable to the naked eye?” I would shrug and say I didn’t know, because really, there is no satisfactory answer to that question. But that didn’t stop people from asking it, sometimes adding one word which would make it sting all the more: “How are you still single?”

It used to bother me. A lot. I’d think to myself: Well, what is wrong with me? I was attractive, clever, funny. It was just a case of waiting for the right person, I kept saying, both to myself and to those who kept asking. Of course, once you’ve said that, every person starts to look like the right person. Each time I met someone new, I would put pressure on myself to fall in love, to outlast the two-month mark this time, to finally make it into “serious relationship” territory.

In some instances, this sheer determination (which you can feel free to read as “desperation”) put guys off. In others, even my will to succeed wasn’t enough to overcome basic incompatibilities. This frustration was compounded by the fact that the world often feels as if it is designed for couples. Seriously, when was the last time you saw a special offer or competition for a meal for one?

But was I actually lonely, or was I just self-conscious? Did I really want to share my life with somebody, or did I simply not want to be an object of pity? When you’re single, the way you see your own love life is often colored by how you imagine other people perceive it. And it doesn’t help that movies and TV shows condition us to think about single people in specific terms, usually stereotypes: the lovelorn sad sack, the asshole bachelor, the crazy girl, the pathetic spinster.

With each passing year, my lack of baggage began to feel like baggage in and of itself. I used to lie and say that I’d once dated somebody for a year, believing a fabricated romantic history would be less of a red flag than the blank reality. What I didn’t realize at the time was that I was far from alone in being alone.

This experience isn’t an uncommon one among LGBTQ people, who until very recently were unable to openly enact the same romantic norms as their peers, often missing the formative dating milestones of teenage life entirely and coming to them much later in life when they finally found their community. Growing up in isolation can result in a kind of prolonged adolescence, with queer people sometimes entering adulthood ill-equipped to articulate their desires and unpracticed in conducting what we might deem “serious” relationships.

Of course, chronic singlehood transcends sexuality or gender. The social, cultural and economic shifts that have all played a role in defining the millennial generation have also reshaped the dating landscape. Women’s autonomy and fertility might still be considered public domain by many, but in many cultures the societal pressure to marry young and have children is lessening. And thank god, because late capitalism makes the old path to matrimonial bliss a rocky one. Our grandparents might have gotten hitched, bought a home and started a family by their early twenties, but a great many of us 20- and 30-somethings are hustling our asses off just to make rent — and that can sometimes get in the way of romance.

Charlie, 30, finds the pace and cost of life in London prohibitive to dating. “Dating apps have made people feel so disposable, and this isn’t helped by how busy our lives our now, how much we work,” she says. “It’s hard enough to carve out time to see your closest friends, let alone date. Sometimes I feel like I can’t afford to date; the idea of going out, spending money I don’t really have on drinks with a guy is so stressful. I have to budget for that, and honestly, I’m probably going to get more joy from a new skirt on ASOS.”

Meanwhile Chris, 33, says that a “lack of permanence” in his career left him without the mental or emotional energy to put himself out there romantically: “My jobs have never felt stable, and in my last job, I survived seven rounds of layoffs before finally getting hit myself. I was more comfortable having the ability to pack up and move if needed; any dating I’ve done since school has just been coincidental, not from actively seeking it.”

With all of this attention on our careers, maybe it’s not so shocking that we’re still more likely to meet a new romantic partner in the workplace than we are on a dating app, according to research by ReportLinker. “If I look at my friends who are coupled up in long-term relationships, at least half of them met through work,” says Charlie. “It feels like if you don’t meet through your job or through mutual friends, it just isn’t happening.”

As a freelancer who works from home, my chances of an office romance are slim. But spending so much time alone has been infinitely useful, helping me become more comfortable in my own skin. Working to build a livelihood out of nothing has been a core, at times all-consuming, objective, and creating something that is entirely for my own fulfillment has given me the kind of self-worth that I had been unknowingly seeking from external sources. Now that my professional life is at a stage where I can allow myself the temporary indulgence of sitting back and taking stock, I see that it’s altered both the way I think about love and how I look at my history of short encounters.

A two-month dalliance can have its own emotional value. It shouldn’t be deemed a failure because it doesn’t lead to something more long-term — just like a short story shouldn’t be judged as a novel. I’ve learned to take the pressure off myself and enjoy the company of another person. Even if it’s just a brief fling, I still often end up learning something new about myself. Like a holiday romance, but at home. (Laycation?) And in between dating, I’ve traveled alone, pursued my own goals and invested time and energy in the meaningful relationships I am already fortunate to have with my friends and family.

“Good idea,” a friend recently said, after I told them about my new worldview. “You’ll meet somebody when you least expect it.” This twisting of my intentions didn’t surprise me — I’ve heard it before — but I had to clarify that my shift in perspective has nothing to do with rebranding my loneliness for the sake of finding love. In fact, I’m not doing much to find love at all right now, and that shouldn’t be considered transgressive. So much of the modern language surrounding romance frames the pursuit of marriage as a foregone conclusion — a given. It leaves no room for alternatives and tacitly paints single people as victims even when that’s not how we see ourselves. I’ve worked so hard to become happy with myself that now I want to just sit and enjoy that achievement. Alone.

I’ve found this extended single life to be incredibly freeing. It’s given me a chance to explore different possibilities and consider less “conventional” criteria for fulfillment. Marriage, monogamy and parenthood are fulfilling to a lot of people, but there are all kinds of ways to be happy.

I’ve never been in love, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have love in my life. I might not have made space in my life for a boyfriend, but I have been there for any friend or family member who needed me, and they have done the same in return. A romantic relationship may well be on the cards for me at some point in the future, but I’ve stopped searching for it on the horizon. I am enough.

Philip Ellis is a freelance writer and journalist from the U.K. You can follow him on Twitter @Philip_Ellis

Collage by Madeline Montoya.

http://platform.twitter.com/widgets.js

[lessjuli]

hey.

haven’t used this blog in a fat minute. but i feel shitty. so here’s a rant post where no one can see it. 

current favorite songs: my r, hikaru station’s english cover; shelter, but this one specific nightcore version; another nightcore, this one of a cover of peace sign. i feel like maybe everything will be okay when i listen to them.

i started cutting again, more severely, because i don’t know any other way to cope.

it seriously helps so much, but i’m still driving myself crazy. 

i can’t focus or work on anything until the last minute. i feel like i can’t remember anything, and i’m always spacing out. it’s better than paying attention -- every second feels so boring and colorless.

my intrusive thoughts, especially regarding my sexuality, are maybe as bad as or worse than they’ve ever been. it’s like i can’t act like a normal human because i need to be something perfect and consumable. 

with it being pride month, there’s aphobia everywhere, which doesn’t exactly make it easy to think about the very significant probability that i’m aroace and have been all along (comphet or whatever the new term is). gender sucks too. its like i have to re-realize it’s okay for me to be nonbinary and aromatic and asexual, because i forgot or something. i gave in to societal pressure and wiped those things from my mind. 

now that i see again how intrinsic they are to me just existing comfortably, i have to go through the whole struggle of id’ing that way again. i can’t just slap the label on myself - i have to really think it through and make sure. and then think it through again, just in case. and again. and again. every day, i have to reaffirm my identity, because i feel as if i’m never really sure, even when i do have a solid label. 

i don’t want to be fluxsexual or aceflux or whatever. i don’t want to just be “me,” at least not when it comes to sexuality. 

when it comes to gender, that’s all i want. i like curling my hair and wearing eyeliner, but i don’t feel like myself when i do it. i feel like i’m pretending. 

until i wrote this out, i didn’t even realize how much this was affecting me. and that’s glossing over how much it stresses me out that i’m perceived as a straight girl. i mean, i guess that’s not the stressful part. it’s wrong, but not intrinsically anxiety-inducing. 

what’s stressful is what everyone expects from me based on it. i have to be cute. when i remark on a boy, i like him. when i have male friends, i like them - romantically, i mean. sexually (god, NO!). i’m supposed to be okay with getting hit on in a sexual manner, thinking about sex, thinking about romance -- i’m supposed to have had my first kiss, right? i’m sixteen. but somehow, that doesn’t sound good or appealing, at least not in real life. it sounds gross and unsanitary and uncomfortable and i can’t stop worrying about it. 

i want people to stop teasing me. i want my parents to stop acting like having guy friends means im about to get married. even fucking snapchat -- that smug little heart. i know it just means we talk a lot, but it feels like they’re rubbing it in. if you’re like this -- you, a GIRL, with a BOY, you’re supposed to be dating. 

god. 

i didn’t even think i was upset over it.

i thought i might really just be a straight girl.

do i have to be that way? even if it’s so uncomfortable for me? do i have to be that way? even if it feels wrong? do i have to be what everyone wants of me? do i have to be the default? statistically, it’s likely. 

well, FUCK statistics then.

thanks, confident voice in my head. you couldn’t have spoken up before now? like, ever?

wow, that was emo. even this is cringey. like putting an author’s note in the middle of a fic. MOVING ON. 

school stresses me out -- although maybe it was mostly that stuff and i just didn’t realize the impact it had on me. all these big tests and assignments -- i can’t find the motivation or the focus to start them until the last second. in fact, i’m procrastinating right now. impressive.

still, i feel i have to do perfectly. if i get anything less than a 4.0, i know i’ll regret it, but it’s so fucking hard. it’s been getting harder and harder, but this is genuinely so difficult that i want to give up.

i still worry all the time about how people see me. i feel ugly in skirts and fat in jeans and lazy in leggings. dresses mean i’m trying too hard. sweatshirts mean i’m not trying hard enough. t-shirts don’t flatter me, nor sweaters, nor crop tops, nor blouses, nor jackets, nor long sleeve shirts. actually, maybe i’m just ugly. 

speaking of, i can’t tell if makeup helps my features or if it makes me look worse. i’m obviously not particularly good at it. i feel like it makes my face look unbalanced -- not that i’d leave the house without it. i don’t even want to take it off when i sleep, because i feel that it changes my face so much. i hate living without eyebrows lol

i wish i had the self control to not eat so god damn much. i regret bragging about how little i eat. it feels like such a fucking lie. i hate myself for eating, so i swear to starve myself. then i give in and eat just a little. “for my metabolism,” you know? then i keep eating. “this is dinner.” then i give in and stuff my face, because coping. this is why i’m disproportionate and chubby. i feel like people don’t recognize me, i’m so much fatter. 

why couldn’t i have genetics like those twiggy girls who eat whatever and still have flat stomachs and little thighs and no boobs? that sounds pretty awesome to me. i’d never complain.

i feel like my life doesn’t have a purpose. everything seems pointless. what am i going to school for? to go to college. what am i going to college for? to get a good job. okay, well, this is already looking like a crock of shit. i’ll bite, though. why do i need a job? well, to make money, so you don’t die. but you won’t necessarily be able to get one. if you even do, you’ll hate it even more than you hate school. and since you went to school, you’ll never have enough money to do anything worthwhile, because DEBT, bitches. then you get marrie-- oh, wait. sorry. i guess not. no spouse, no kids, no pets. maybe a plant. then you die, never having done anything worthwhile or fulfilling or joy-inducing. 

all happiness is fleeting. contentment is a lie.

yeah. there you go being emo again, you dumb bitch.

lately, when i can’t fall asleep, i desperately wish for a hug. but in my day to day life, i’ve started flinching again when people touch me without a warning. i wonder what that says.

[zillowcondo]

170: Being Single is Luxurious Living

~The Simple Sophisticate, episode #170

~Subscribe to The Simple Sophisticate: iTunes | Stitcher | iHeartRadio

Having lived on my own most of my adult life, but significantly so these past five years, without hesitation I can say, I’ve loved every minute. Some people scoff in disbelief, but it was this time alone (not being lonely) that enabled me to cultivate my dreams and gradually turn them into my reality.

Even if you are not single at this moment, I would encourage you to listen/read this post because the more we understand any individuals choice, the more at peace we can be with our own.

Inspired by Mari Andrew’s recent illustration on Instagram synchronized with the return of my partner who has been working abroad for nearly six months, I have been contemplating the single life and then the life one shares with a partner significantly more than I have in the past.

In many ways, I have felt single these past 5-6 months with regards to how I go about my days; however, my heart is partially here in Bend and partially where he was temporarily working which meant my mind as well as my scheduling in order to communicate, definitely did not feel single. But as he returns home, I am grateful. Of course, most importantly grateful for his return, but as well, grateful for the time I had being single and the fact that I sincerely savored these past five years.

As I mentioned in 2011 in this post, and went more in-depth in TSLL book, being single is a beautiful opportunity; not something to run from. But rather directly into, embracing every moment. In fact, in my case, I wholeheartedly agree with Elizabeth Gilbert’s quote,

“Avoid romantic entanglements in your youth and focus on yourself. The amount of hours of time I spent with boys and men that I could have been … I could speak fluent Mandarin now in the amount of hours I spent . . . I wish that I had spent those youthful years just feeding this mind.” 

It was my twenties with regards to love, which I have shared in my first book that I wish my focus, my priorities, due to societal expectation and pressure and due to my ignorance until I rid myself of that ignorance, had been on myself and my journey, which is what being single (no matter what your age) enables you to do at a much deeper and more independent level.

Let’s talk about the luxuries of being single and demystify the derogatory notion that being single is a stigma. This stigma has been loosening its grip a bit as fewer women (53%, 18 or older are not married) are married than those that are single in the United States according to a 2015 US Census Report. And of all people 18 or older, 45% are not married. However, the media, communities and the online dating businesses would prefer if you sought out a partner to wed. After all, there is money to be made if you feel you are missing out. You will subscribe to their services, you will purchase their products in order to enhance what we all know doesn’t need enhancing (you are enough just as you are), you will fork over money for weddings.

Now, I am not advocating for single life and against being married, but I am jumpstarting a conversation about where the pressure to marry is coming from. If it coming from a sincere love and affection for your partner and they for you, beautiful. Dive in. But if the pressure is coming from an external force, inflicting guilt that you wouldn’t feel if society didn’t apply the pressure or expectation, then step back and recognize how luxurious living single can be.

Neither lifestyle is better than the other, single or coupled or married. We each make it simply luxurious based on how we structure our days, our time, our thoughts, our conversations and our priorities. But today, I want to pay homage to a lifestyle that has served me very well and a way of living that provided a haven for my dreams to materialize.

1. Fleshing out your dreams

Since I mentioned it in the introduction, I wanted to start with this benefit of being single: you figure out what you truly want. As you go about your life as a single person, you have the time to listen to yourself, focus on yourself without balancing your pursuit with another’s. And upon coming to better understand yourself, you begin to navigate a journey that leads you to new experiences, new people that are more in alignment with what you value, whether they will become a future business partner, a new client or a life partner potentially.

2. A trust in yourself is strengthen beyond expectation

As Mari mentions in her illustration, I couldn’t agree more. You begin to recognize how resourceful you actually are, perhaps more than you realized. Need to know how to handle a-locked-out-of-the apartment/house situation? You’ve done that, figured out a plan B for the next time that it happens, and brought yourself peace of mind in the process. Need to tighten your budget to save up for that dream of investing in your business? You’ve done that, been disciplined and found out you could live without so many dinners out.

3. Fewer heart worries

What I mean by this is as I have been going about my days these past months, I have been comparing how I felt this year versus last in which I was single. And one of the differences is in moments of worry that are completely out of my control, my heart aches. When you are single, your focus is on yourself, your projects, your job, perhaps more remotely your family, if you have children, they receive more of your time, your pets, and any idea that tickles your fancy. The unknowns are fewer, not entirely gone, just not matters of the heart, which we know are intense when we care for someone deeply and have made ourselves, and they to us, vulnerable with what we’ve shared.

Put succinctly, more of your energy (because emotions are energy) is free to use as we wish.

4. Meal time is anytime you need it to be

As someone who is a very regular breakfast eater and eats the same thing, I never think twice about what I will have because I know I will always have what I need, and I need it as soon as I wake up. When it comes to dinner, I eat when I get home from school or when I am done with a project with the blog. That time shifts and changes, but when I am done, I am hungry and I eat. On the flipside, when you dine with your partner, you want to share the meal with them, so your schedules need to be flexible, patience is sometimes needed, but it is certainly worth it.

5. Bedtime and wake time are yours to choose

Whether you are a night owl or an early bird, your day ends when you say it will end and it begins when you throwback the covers. No need to worry about being quiet, or keeping the lights low or off, the house awakes (if you live alone) when you awake and the day begins.

6. Vacations happen when you are able

With no need to check more than one schedule, when you are available and you have the funds, you can enjoy a much-needed getaway. While traveling with a partner is something I now eagerly look forward to, I also loved the flexibility of going when I needed to recharge. I would just look at my dogs and ask them if they were ready, and they always said yes (I think . . . I hope!) and we were off!

7. Change of plans can happen at the drop of a hat

If you are eager to see a movie, but at the last minute, you’re not feeling up to it, no worries, just don’t go. If you want to leave the party at a certain time or earlier than you expected, you don’t have to check with anyone, just leave.

8. You can be as frugal or as lavish with your money as you please (within your means)

Money is a funny and integral part of any chapter of our lives, but when we are single we are the sole captain as we don’t share a mortgage/rent, bills, investments, etc. Some may see this as a drag as we have to foot the entire amount and not split it. But I rather like knowing and have having complete control over my money (not to say you have to relinquish this when/if you become involved). As well, being secure in your money handling skills is a very attractive quality and something to look for in a future partner as well.

After all, you can choose the size and location of the house/apartment you want based on how much you want/are able to pay without agreement with anyone, you can splurge one a dress from the fall collections, but trust yourself to skimp on the money spent on an upcoming vacation. You get to make these decisions without explanation.

Now there is a flipside to all of these luxuries when we find a loving partner who just walks well with us through life. Each of these positives becomes heightened in a manner that often (at least for me) I didn’t expect but wholeheartedly appreciate and savor.

The gift, of which there are many, of being single is that we give ourselves time to fully become fluent in the language of ourselves so that we can then be the translator in the world as we work with others. Not only does our time alone enhance the quality of our lives professionally and platonically but when we do, if we do, meet a potential partner, we are more likely to find someone who enables us to keep the luxuries of the single life that we just don’t want to give up as well as reveal to us that the luxuries of being part of a couple are pretty amazing as well.

From my experience, having a positive experience of living single, embracing it completely, has enhanced my appreciation for the journey I have just begun with my partner. First of all, it was a choice of desire, fondness, affection and respect rather than an act of desperation, resignation and acquiescence. And secondly, I wasn’t looking for love, I was already in love with my life which is how we met, doing, seeking out what we each love about the life offered here in Bend.

  ~SIMILAR POSTS/EPISODES FROM THE ARCHIVES YOU MIGHT ENJOY:

~The Truths and Myths of the Independent Single Woman, episode #94

~Why Not . . . Be a Confident Single Woman?

~How to Live Alone Well

~Why Not . . . Live Alone for a While?

  ~The Audio Book is Now Available of Choosing the Simply Luxurious Life: A Modern Woman’s Guide (Audible, iTunes & Amazon), learn more here

~Subscribe to the weekly TSLL newsletter here

~2017 TSLL French Week Round-Up

Petit Plaisir:

~Headspace

Newly updated with more series options and mini meditation options when you don’t have a full 10 or 20 minutes to meditate but want to keep the daily practice.

~On August 4, 2017, Andy Puddicombe (the voice you hear on the Headspace app), sat down and meditated for 2 minutes with Jimmy Fallon and his audience.

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