#like i remember in high school i was in a nun-run youth group and there was this couple

[lilybarthes]

*

[lezliefaithwade]

Being An Actress

I remember the moment I decided I wanted to be an actress. I was walking across the parking lot of my high school after an undoubtedly stellar performance as Portia in an all-girl production of The Merchant of Venice when my father turned to me and said, "Do you think you might want to do this for a living?" At the time I remembered feeling a little insulted. My grades were excellent. Didn't my father think I could be a lawyer or a veterinarian or a psychologist? It wasn't that I didn't love to act, but everyone I knew who wanted to be an actress was either egotistical or unstable. Not that one was mutually exclusive of the other. What did this say about me? No one in my family acted, although my Grandmother often hinted of an unsubstantiated family connection to Hermoine Gingold. Occasionally my parents would take us to see a play or listen to a concert, but only to help make us well-rounded individuals. When someone would go on about the Sound of Music my father would roll his eyes and say, “How can I take a nun singing on hilltops seriously?” And I found myself admitting that he had a point.

When I was four I appeared on Romper Room for an unprecedented two weeks. At the time my best friend, Mary Lou, had been selected for the local cable network but her incredibly shy demeanor had her mother worried.

“She’s gonna sit there like a sack of potatoes.” Mrs. Dean told my Mother who quickly suggested that I accompany Mary Lou for moral support.

“What do I have to do?” I asked my mother as she was tucking me into bed.

“Just be yourself,” she replied. My mother knew exactly what that meant. Naturally loquacious I kept things hopping on the set by constantly commenting on the camera man kissing the teacher. When asked what my father had in his garage, I remarked that it was presumptuous to even assume we had one. There was some discussion about a third week, but Miss Dawson put her foot down and said I was stealing the show.

Soon I was taking dance classes and skating lessons. My first stage appearance was as a rabbit in the famous ballet, Bugs Bunny's Birthday Party. I was excited because we second tiered rabbits were going to eat sandwiches on stage. Then disaster struck. The sandwiches were going to be peanut butter and I hated peanut butter. Teary eyed I complained to my mother who told me to grin and bear it. “That’s acting,” she said.

In grade four I wrote a play about a pair of motorcycle lovers and sang Baby Driver while they straddled their desks and rode off into the sunset.

“Hit the road and I’m gone.

What’s your number?

I wonder how your engine feels?”

“Okay,” Mrs. Orcutt interrupted, “I think that’s all the time we have for that today.”

After my father gave me his blessing to pursue a career on the stage, I decided to explore all of my options. I auditioned for an amateur theatre company and played bird #4 in Aristophanes’ The Birds, and a milk maid in Galt MacDermot’s musical adaptation of Shakespeare’s Two Gentlemen of Verona. Not exactly earth-shattering roles, but I knew there was a pecking order (no pun intended) and that dues must be paid. In Niagara Falls, where I lived as a teenager, there were two amateur companies. The youth group that took over the Firehall Theatre in the summer months of July and August, and the adult group that staked their claim the rest of the year. The youth company was run entirely by a handful of 18 to 20-year-olds who took themselves very seriously. We stretched ourselves artistically, which is really just another way of saying that were out of our depth. I remember as Bertha in Pippin I had to say, "Men raise flags when they can't get anything else up." At the time I had no idea what that meant but I certainly enjoyed the response I got every time I said it.  

The amateur theatre company in the neighbouring city of St. Catharines were doing large scale musicals with professional directors and a cast of a thousand. Even I could tell the difference between Garden City’s production of West Side Story and the Niagara Falls Music Theatre Production of A Shadow Box. We told ourselves that we were doing something significant for the five or six audience members who sat in the dark to watch us perform. “At least they can appreciate art.” we told ourselves, ignoring the occasional snore beyond the footlights.  When someone who had seen our production complained in the paper that “…smut didn’t belong on stage.” I was devasted. “Some people just don’t know a good thing when they see it,” I ranted, “It’s a Pulitzer award winning play.”  I forgot that we weren’t Tony award winning actors.

Anxious to spread my wings and get a taste of the real thing, I auditioned for a one-act play festival at the nearby University and managed to get the part of an uptight bible thumper in an original musical called A Hundred Bucks a Week. It was the story of a topless shampoo parlourist who castrates a guy with her teeth. Did I mention that it was narrated by a cat? I still remember singing:

“We all must be as babies in the garden.

Smiling with our mouths all bright and new.

Innocently smelling lovely roses.

Not prying with our fingers in dog doo.”

Needless to say, my father was a little shocked when an actress appeared on stage topless while I sang my heart out in a futile effort to convert her. This time as he walked me across the parking lot to the car he suggested that perhaps I should seriously consider journalism at Carleton. “Impossible!” I stated dramatically, “I’m an actress.” And I actually believed it.

I arrived at University wearing vintage clothes with frizzy hair and John Lennon glasses. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to be Doris Finsecker from Fame or Janice Joplin. My dorm room-mate was an engineering student who was the first to know of a kegger and had never seen a play in her life. She often returned to our room late at night reeking of booze and sludge water after spontaneous dips in the Detroit River.

At theatre school I was told I couldn’t dance, I couldn’t sing, I had speech impediments and a wandering left eye that would completely destroy any hopes of a career in film “Too bad you didn’t have it looked at when you were a kid,”one professor told me, “It’s easily treatable if caught when you are young.” At the age of five I was a frequent visitor to Sick Kids Hospital for my eye and wore a patch over my glasses for a year. It didn’t cure me. So much for trusting the knowledge of my professors. Strike one!

I began to sink under the pressure of looks and expectations. While the rest of the women in my class wasted away proclaiming to have eaten nothing but broccoli over Thanksgiving, I gained seven pounds over a new found love of peanut butter and developed a bad attitude towards anyone who encouraged me to “feel space”. When my teacher overheard me mutter under my breath one day that I hated improve she called a class meeting to discuss why I hated her. Everyone stared at me shocked and disappointed. Why was I resisting the pu-pu platter of techniques spread out before me? “You’re a very stubborn actress,” the teacher announced, “but I’m going to break you.” That was strike two.

At my first semester tutorial I was told that I had talent, but I wasn’t tall, thin or pretty enough. “You have the face of Sally Field,” the department head told me, “but the body of Kathy Bates.” Strike three.  I went home for Christmas and announced to my father that I was dropping out to focus, instead, on getting into a proper theatre school in New York. After all, I reasoned, it’s where I really wanted to be anyway.

There is probably nothing quite as depressing as returning to your hometown in the middle of winter when all of your friends are away at school having the time of their lives. The overall perception is that you have failed. It didn’t help to think that I had willfully brought myself to this point in time. The phrase, “small fish in a big pond” kept going around in my head. While my best friends were acing all of their classes and dating interesting freshmen, I was eating cookies, and counting the days until everyone would return to amuse me. In the meantime, I moped around the apartment, wrote letters to theatre schools and read a lot of plays.

“You have to get a job.” My father announced and for the first time I was forced to slog my way through the want ads in a half assed attempt to find work at either a wax museum or a fudge shop. Completely unqualified for anything except theatre, I was forced to become a chamber maid at a tacky little hotel near Clifton Hill. Picking up after the kind of clientele that honeymoon in tacky hotels in Niagara Falls is enough to get one thinking seriously about their life choices. Maybe Dad had been right. A career in the theatre wasn’t looking so good anymore. Something had been tarnished from University and I couldn’t pretend that my trajectory to success was going to be one clear straight line to the top. I’d hit rock bottom and was picking up the condom rappers and dirty Kleenex to show it.

There have been many times in my career when I’ve been very close to throwing in the towel and becoming a real-estate agent or a tour guide.  At each one of those moments of genuine universal surrender something miraculous always happens. That year it was a letter of acceptance from the Neighborhood Playhouse in New York. By now my father, less convinced that I could make a go of it, made me a deal. If I could find a place to live in Manhattan within a week, he would allow me to go. So, I boarded the train in Buffalo and headed for the Big Apple.

I arrived in New York at around 2:00 PM on a very, very hot day in August. I walked straight to the library, took out the Village Voice, circled an advertisement seeking a room-mate for a four-bedroom brownstone on the Upper West Side, was interviewed at 7:00 PM and secured my living accommodations within twenty-four hours. It didn’t matter to me that I had no idea who the three men I’d be living with were. The place was nice and the price was right. I think I heard my father drop the phone when I called to tell him that I had accomplished the impossible. Studying in New York proved to be the best and possibly the worst thing that ever happened to me. I developed a philosophy of acting that has served me in every way, but it also created a high standard that hasn’t always been easy to live up to.

_________________________________________________________

A few years ago, I was invited to direct a production of Blue Stockings at the same University I had so unceremoniously departed from those many years ago. Parallel universes collided as images of my past kept imposing themselves on the present. There was the quad I had been initiated in. There was the building where I’d slept and laughed and cried. There was my window with the view of the cemetery and McDonalds. There was the library where I looked up the address of every theatre school in New York. There was the theatre I did my practicum in, all pretty much the same as the day I left it. The walls, hallways, buildings hadn’t changed, but I had. I didn’t need reassurance anymore. I didn’t need someone to tell me what I wasn’t or couldn’t be. If only we could teach students the value of tenacity and resilience.

I enjoyed directing that class. I hope I encouraged and inspired them. I was happy when they came to rehearsals in sweats and tee shirts, less concerned about how they looked than we had been. More confident in their choices. More involved. On Opening night after the cheers and flowers and the congratulations, it felt good to climb into the car and head for home. I’m not cut out for institutions. I don’t like the brick and the neon and the bureaucracy. Still, it was good to make my peace with that time in my life. On the four-hour drive to Niagara I was thinking about the young people I had just worked with making the transition from student to actor. Maybe some of them will end up in New York. Maybe not. The thing about acting is it can take you anywhere…from Romper Room to the stars with a few tacky hotels in between.

[it-all-gets-better-love]

It was November 2014, months before our high school graduation. Our school was invited to bring delegates for the 11th National Youth Congress in UP Diliman who had outstanding grades in Economics. I was glad to be selected as one of the delegates to participate on the said event.

We went to UP 2 times for the event. I remember I was late to board our service because our call time was around 5am and our house is far from my school. As usual, always late 😅 Good thing, we weren’t late for the opening ceremony.

Those 2 days are very memorable. We walked around UP Diliman. (That was my first and last visit at that university until now.) Our early service trip to QC and our late trip going back to Laguna. The UP facts and stories from the NYC organizing body. The activities which brought out my competitiveness. Lastly, people I got to meet and be my groupmates.

We were 7 in our team.

• There’s this quiet guy (forgot the name).

• This girl from Mindanao/Palawan who’s quiet too but nice (also forgot the name).

• This girl who can’t totally speak Tagalog (she’s quiet too and forgot her name as well).

• Chic! Omg this girl. So maarte pero kalog.

At that time, we rode a jeepney kasi malelate na kami for the next seminar and then she blurted out it was her 2nd or 3rd time to ride a jeepney 😂 And later that day, I saw na she was one of the models on the Starbucks sales manual. She’s pretty til now. Actually, what a small world. Nung internship ko sa FGI in BGC, after I finished my internship there, nalaman ko na interior designer siya dun. And yung dept. nila is 2/3 floors below ours. Small world! I didn’t get a chance to say hi.

• Xaika. Omg. The vibe we had in those 2 days way back in 2014 grabeee!

I think she came from Bicol? Not sure tho. And then grabe lang vibe namin I swear. I forgot about the things that we talked about pero there’s this one moment of us na I still remember vividly. That was on the 2nd day/last day of NYC. Nung awarding ceremony na for the Sparkonomics.

Nung 1st day kasi, we were tasked to come up with a creative and comprehensive campaign idea regarding our chosen subject galing dun sa 10 Econ-mandments. Good thing, my groupmates are all passionate and smart that we were chosen as the awardee for the Sparkonomics Competition.

Unfortunately, minutes before the awarding, naggoodbye na si Xaika samin kasi aalis na daw bus nila going back to Bicol and it’s getting late na. Ilang hours byahe nila. So she hugged each of us and ang sad lang din niya coz di niya maaabutan yung announcement ng kung sino mananalo. She went down na agad kasi parang nasa auditorium kami nun.

Sakto, nung nakababa na siya, tinawag yung group namin. I was so happy grabe. For us. Kaya lang kulang kami kasi umalis na si Xaika. Sooo we were walking towards the steps paakyat ng stage nung napansin namin pabalik si Xaika and we were calling here. I was shouting her name in front of everybody. And then grabe kasi she came running to me and hugged me agad. She was so happy too. They just took a photo of us on the stage and then umalis na talaga siya.

I dunno. I felt like she was my twin sister at that time kasi parehas kami makwento and passionate sa pagkwento. I think she went to Ateneo nung college and then si Chic sa UPD naman.

I just feel writing about Xaika right now kasi nakita ko sa post niya earlier na she’s boarding the plane today papuntang Scotland. To pursue her dreams. I dunno what it is but I’m proud of her and I’m happy for her too. We didn’t talk anymore kahit sa fb after NYC but that 2 days with her and my other group mates are worth remembering 💛

Sometimes, people are in our lives only for a specific season. We could have wished for it to last longer but even if it does, we can only appreciate their presence for that specific season or time that we spent with them. And sometimes, that short time is enough and worth more than anything else.

[pinktatertots99]

Nine Seconds

bleeeeeck consider this some rough as shit hs human au. i just wanted some cute signless content. long af tho good luck.

summary: pinch the bridge of your nose, inhale, exhale, nine seconds, it used to be ten but you suppose your weirdly magnetic interest in the number nine and getting better at your anger issues had you wanting to knock down a second as a show of progress on your, what fourty-nine years of anger management?

_____________________________________________

pinch the bridge of your nose, inhale, exhale, nine seconds, it used to be ten but you suppose your weirdly magnetic interest in the number nine and getting better at your anger issues had you wanting to knock down a second as a show of progress on your, what fourty-nine years of anger management? damned nines keep popping up. you spend these nine seconds looking back on your life, reminders of your progress in a life you never expected to get this far in.

9

an orphan dropped off at a nearby church, despite the movies they couldn't take them in. at best they could've dropped you off to an orphanage, but the nun who found you did no such thing. Instead she let go of her garbs and left with you in towe, a young mother at her age pulling two jobs and ushering anyone offering to watch you whether it was friends from her church or any babysitter she'd give the 100% okay with watching you. quite the hawk she is on caretakers, quite the flaw though having to go babysitter after babysitter for a while despite your lack of memory but things got better once finding a few that could be called upon more common.

8

Ever since you could remember, which might’ve been after five or six years, your helping nature carried on for your mother, trying to mimic her cleaning of your very small apartment she was able to afford. Despite your inability to get into schools at that time she took some of it to teach you your morals you still go by: not to judge, be treated as thou’d like to be treated, help when you can, etc. even if helping strangers or offering to help at your age got you disgusted looks or horrified expressions leading to them running away. You're not sure if it was just your genetic looks or if people were just not good with reacting to assistance. Granted you WERE seven you would be a bit unsure on letting a young child help you now, you least learned from Rosa later on the topic of stranger danger and mostly stopped, for the most part.

7

You were a late bloomer when it came to finally getting into school, but you surprised everyone by exceeding in most of your classes. You weren’t exactly thrilled by some, and granted the local children at them would tease you for your more, as mother put it, ‘unique’ attributes but you did it all to make her proud and stress less on your future. Course you can’t say you made it easy, once highschool came you may’ve been a bit of a short fuse for their local harassers, which looking at your sons’ you definitely know where they got it from even if you try not to act like that anymore. The school’s counselor least tried, of course you were a bit of a, well, hard headed to put it nicely. Another trait your darling sons’ got. You were able to persevere your last years and not get kicked out, despite how much of a, what are kids calling it tightass? You were you couldn’t let your mother down. That and the prospect of repeating the grade with new harrassars definitely got you to clean a bit of your act.

6

College was a lot easier surprisingly. Might’ve had to do with your roommate now turned best friend through your whole life hopefully thion. That and you had the ability not to be with too many people so a win-win even if you still got stares of discomfort on your slightly lighter but still tanned skin, soft and almost creamed natural white hair, or your brown eyes having the slightest higher tint that made them have a more velvet color like on the cake of the same name. Apparently the only one not put off was your roommate, mostly due to how he, in quote, “findth red alluring.” okay maybe you expunged some wording as he’s alot more blunt and not exactly shameless of which bat he swings; you hope you got that reference correct. Regardless you weren’t to judge, not even at nineteen at that time. Of course rules were definitely put in place after a few too many walk-ins on his more risque dates.

5

During those four years though you never expected to find such injustice. Not just to yourself but thion, anyone who was just slightly different than others. It definitely didnt help the current political air of those years, with your governor of your state being the one of most fault slipping in these ideas of the young and old before and after you came into this world. You wonder now what’s gotten that woman to think so abrasively to cause such an uproar but that’s for another time. During your years you got out of your shell slowly to talk to anyone who’d listen to you on these feelings, it seemed as though slowly they agreed, not everyone but a good chalkful. Enough to make peaceful protests as their leader, which you took in stride at your youth, your mother and thion helping in the process when you weren’t busy with class work.

4

After graduation you continued your protests, gaining a rather surprising amount of social media feedback for the time. Of course you couldn’t get paid for this stuff you did have to try finding a job at some point, which proved harder with many establishments considering you too much of a target for your governor’s ire. That is until one afternoon you’d gone into one of the few meat shops needing help on deliveries, where you met her. Covered in sweat and blood on her work apron and gloves from handling the carcas of cow flesh diane. Apparently you barely had to introduce yourself, she was quite the fan of yours, taking her time handling the meat to talk on and on about your escapades, speeches you made and the knowledge of when and where they were made. It...honestly freaked you out the first time. But you least got the job as she was the boss who put out that help wanted sign. Apparently the last delivery boy was squeamish she told you, not knowing why but you may’ve gotten a hint.

3

After a while of working with her and what you were doing you got more used to it, it soon became rather pleasing how much she looked up to you. You knew back then the protests wouldn’t be enough, and after bringing it up with her she insisted aggressively to help, how? By making pamphlets with your speeches in them, and ushering herself to be the one to help in those despite you wanting to not have her force herself into it. She’s quite the fighter you found out, and back then you were a bit ecstatic if not a bit on the side that had you ponder the worry on that. Unbeknownst until later it wasn’t just your actions for rights she was full blown interested in, it was that too, but you’d find later you were, indeed one that caught her vibrant hazel eyes.

2

You're honestly grateful in this time how much knowledge these kids seem to have on many things. History, feelings, even attraction has become a knowledge that you wish you knew back then. You wish you had those terms of attraction in that time, without the terms ‘broken’ and certain slurs you’d rather not repeat that started in highschool. Of course, you are glad though to have your family of five in your home as you stand on the small balcony that leads to the small forest portion of your backyard. Of course now you know, and now nobody would be too surprised on how despite almost nineteen years you and your ‘wife’ hadn’t married yet, which you're honestly almost grateful for. Not like you don’t love her, no you do, but her love reached such high levels you couldn’t keep up with. It reached enough to where when you all found she’d be having your daughter you immediately bucked up, handing the torch of this rebellion to a young man who you chose as he gave just as much spirit as she did. You ushered your family of four at the time to live somewhere else, live a new life away from the media even if the occasional newscaster came by but otherwise you were mostly forgotten.

1

You almost could regret it, but at the same time you're almost glad you don’t. Back then you would’ve continued head on, and back then you HAD your governor's attention, brutal hateful attention, and you're certain if you continued there would’ve been dire consequences. Of course, you didn’t stop fighting, not even now as you subtly and secretly talked about your ideals for a better place at the church you summoned at, when your higher up wasn’t there of course, you knew that elder enough to know his buddy buddy relationship with your governor. 

You gave a sigh, your counting was over but you still mulled over what you have now. A two story cottage in the woods, three bedrooms, three baths, and a garage you converted to make into your mother’s home portion. Of course you had to be talked out of buying her a new home or offering her one of the bedrooms as she didn’t really mind it at all, just a bed, kitchen and space for her crafts was all she needed. And her grandchildren nearby can’t forget about them now.

Even after all these years they were quite the mysteries, but you’d hope they’d open up to you on them someday. Least you hope so, you’ve done a lot to try and be as open as humanly possible, mother didnt raise you to be the type of old ignorant church workers she had to deal with in her youth. Of course not to say they don’t have moments where you do need to go outside to do a nine second breathing exercise. Anything to prevent from you snapping at them, which unfortunately might’ve slipped in some cases, only to lead you outside, then to usher them all to come for a family group hug cause you felt like absolute garbage for it, even if some like karke grumble bout it not being a big deal.

Then again you’ve always thought with your heart then your mind in some cases, might’ve overthought and become overemotional at the very miniscule moments where you felt anger or annoyance in some cases, like being mad at an elder who butted their nose into your business too much at the store and then when diane got home you’d need a half hour with her to cry over feeling bad, mostly when the kids weren’t home, but they’d be there sometimes and you’ve ever since been dubbed as the family softy.

Speaking of, you turn around to find your small horde of family behind the sliding door to your large balcony. You suppose diane got them all ready before you could send her a message to get them all as karke was busy on his gameboy, kanri was busy with getting karke’s attention, mulin was on her phone being poked lightly by diane to get her attention, and nepta waving at you excitedly.

You waited for diane’s gaze to get back at you to motion to open the door. Getting on your knee’s just in time for nepta to glomp you in a run hug, making you thankful for the bulk you’ve gotten over time to prevent yourself from falling over as you waited on karke to join, gaining a one armed hug while the other still played his game. It was the least progress.

After a couple seconds you let go, both running off before you stood up to wait for your eldest two, mostly kanri as you gave mulin’s her’s first for the most part, then his while being careful not to mess with his quaft, knowing he’d wiggle out to immediately mess with it for twenty minutes in the bathroom if you did.

Letting both go back to their usual evening routines you moved to diane, hiding in her mass of hair and lasting yourself as long as you could with her, knowing she’d stay as long as she could unlike your restless youngsters. You might message your mother if she’s up for you to walk to her garage home for one aswell. She wasnt related in any of this but you just missed the comfort of her long nails in your hairline giving a light scratch in her pets, hiding in her wrinkled long neck like your younger self used to and the humming of some soft hispanic songs in your ear from the spanish raido channel. Maybe you’ll call thion to have a guy’s night, have his twins stay over or with his twin stepbrothers.

Your name is santos valerius mariyam, and as you go back inside you hope for a new aspiring day will come tomorrow.

[thereinafter]

Dear Yuletide Writer letter below (warning, this is a very long text post). I’m requesting:

Magdelene & Terazin/Terizan stories - Tanya Huff  Midsummer Night’s Dream - Shakespeare The Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon The Ten Thousand Doors of January - Alix E. Harrow

Hello, Yuletide writer! Thank you so much! I’m also thereinafter on AO3. I like and am delighted to receive a wide range of things. Feel free to mix and match my prompt suggestions or come up with your own idea. I’m good with whatever rating of fic you want to write and any tense/person/structure. (And to cover other types of gifts, I think interactive fiction is very cool if someone happens to want to do that, and would be happy to get art treats.)

I’ve copied my signup below with a DNW list for each fandom, and those are followed by my long general fic likes list.

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Magdelene & Terazin - Tanya Huff Terazin/Terizan, Swan

(Note: this fandom tag covers a group of short stories by Huff that have appeared in a few out-of-print collections, and apparently the spelling of Terazin/Terizan varies by edition. I’m using Terizan, following the currently-available-in-ebook Swan’s Braid and Other Tales of Terizan.)

So, Swan’s Braid is a fun quick read about the master thief Terizan with a canon f/f ship that’s also quite fun (though the mercenary captain Swan only appears in a couple of stories). Some things I love about it: sword-and-sorcery-and-heist adventures, thievery competence porn, Terizan almost literally stealing Swan’s heart after having a big crush on her, the two of them being really into each other. I would like more of any/all of those. Fine to mention other characters like Terizan’s friend Poli, just not as the focus.

Prompts:

Terizan needing to steal Swan again from somewhere/break her out of somewhere?

Since Swan is away most of the time, do they ever write to each other? I like a good epistolary story. What if Terizan had to give thievery advice by letter?

A little shared adventure from Swan’s POV, since the stories are all from Terizan’s?

I missed nominating her, but these two interacting with Magdelene the lazy wizard from the other half of these stories (available as Third Time Lucky) could be fun, if you’ve read them/want to.

I would be easily pleased by something cute/humorous/fluffy about one of their reunions. Also not averse to PWP, although I do like a little plot.

Or use anything else from the long likes list at the end of this letter that strikes your fancy. A few that might be interesting in this world: holiday gifts, masquerades, magical accidents, time loops, bathing/caretaking, huddling for warmth, wilderness survival.

DNWs: setting AUs, pregnancy/parenting by requested characters, death of requested characters, unhappy endings, daddy/mommy kink, noncon, a/b/o, scat/watersports/vomit/spitting

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Midsummer Night's Dream - Shakespeare Helena, Hermia, Titania

(Full text of the play is here, among many other places.) This request was inspired by seeing the National Theatre Live 2019 production with Gwendoline Christie, which is sadly unavailable to buy/stream now. If you've seen it and want to draw from it, great, but entirely not necessary! Just going by the text is fine.(That said: one unusual element I loved was that it swapped roles/lines for Titania and Oberon from act 2 scene 1 on, such that Titania is the one ordering the enchantment of the others, so if you feel like making this happen as an optional detail, lovely.)

No need to include all three characters if your idea doesn’t. Other characters from the play can be mentioned, just not a focus. I’m interested in Helena and Hermia’s friendship/rivalry, and in what else it could be, given lines like Helena’s speech here: “ … Two lovely berries moulded on one stem; So, with two seeming bodies, but one heart; Two of the first, like coats in heraldry, Due but to one and crowned with one crest. And will you rent our ancient love asunder, To join with men in scorning your poor friend?” and Helena being generally over the top about Hermia’s beauty.

Prompts:

There’s a long tradition of setting AUs for Shakespeare and it’s one case where I like them a lot. If you want to translate the story to a nontraditional setting like “in space” or “knights” or “small insular college” or “bohemian artists” or “Amazons” (considering the presence of Hippolyta) or something else I haven’t just thought of, I would be into that. Or if you want to focus on Titania more than the humans, something variations-on-a-theme like “X times fairies interfered with human romantic entanglements”?  Along similar lines, I feel like there’s crossover potential with other “fairies behaving badly” stories like Goblin Market, Tam Lin, Sir Orfeo, etc. (so if you want to try that, other such unrequested fandoms are OK to include for this request).

Or for other gen ideas, could be a slice of life past or future scene or Titania looking in on what Helena and Hermia are up to in the past/future. does the magic on Demetrius wear off eventually? Or what if they went back into the wood again, as older women, looking for the fairies?

If you want to go with me on shipping Helena/Hermia, do they have repressed feelings for each other? Does the night make them realize it without magical encouragement? Or do they get the flower juice in their eyes and act on said feelings to whatever extent? (Open to going in a sex pollen direction with this, but I’m more into it for the disinhibition/magical sex aspect and would prefer no humiliation or regrets. Also open to including Titania if you do.) Do they end up running off together or with the fairies somehow instead of staying with Demetrius and Lysander? Do they go back to their lives but remember that night?

DNWs: death of requested characters, genderswap of requested characters, high school AU, underage sex, daddy/mommy kink, noncon (the canonical dubcon of the fairy enchantment is OK), a/b/o, scat/watersports/vomit/spitting

———————-

The Priory of the Orange Tree - Samantha Shannon Eadaz du Zāla uq-Nāra, Sabran Berethnet, Cleolind Onjenyu

(This is a standalone epic fantasy novel published in 2019 and can be found wherever you get books.) Things I loved about this book: canon slow-burn queen/protector f/f romance, dragons both evil and good, order of dragonslaying assassin mage nuns, court intrigue, sprawling world with lots of intriguing details. No need to include all three characters I requested (although if you think of a way to, that would be interesting). Fine to mention other characters, just not as the focus.

Prompts:

So, I loved Ead and Sabran individually and together and would be very happy to read missing scenes between them during the timeline of the book, or long-distance pining afterward, or time(s) they reunite.

I was really drawn in by the worldbuilding and all the varied places we see, and I’d love further exploration of any part of it through these characters. The dragons and dragonspawn creatures, the different mythologies/religions, the different courts. The trees: What happened to the hawthorn and mulberry? Are there other undiscovered ones/will new ones ever grow? Sterren: What else can it do? Can Sabran learn it given her ancestry?

I wished the book had spent more time at the Priory itself. What does Ead do when she goes back? What was her youth/training there like?

Following that: I requested Cleolind because I would just like to read more about her than the book gives us. Something exploring her more as a person, her experience being a sacrifice to/fighting and defeating the Nameless One, her rejection of Galian Berethnet, her relationship with Ead’s ancestor Siyati, her founding of the Priory, or whatever else would be great.

DNWs: setting AUs, death of requested characters (exception: Cleolind’s canonical death is OK), pregnancy/parenting by requested characters (Sabran’s canonical pregnancy is OK, mentoring successors is OK), daddy/mommy kink, noncon, a/b/o, scat/watersports/vomit/spitting

———————-

The Ten Thousand Doors of January - Alix E. Harrow Adelaide Lee Larson, Jane Irimu

(This is a historical fantasy/portal fantasy novel published in 2019 and can also be found wherever you get books.) When I read this I liked January’s story, but her intrepid portal-adventuring mother Ade and governess/protector Jane were the characters who most interested me. I’d love to see them develop a friendship. Or: they both have such compelling backstories that I’d equally love a fic centered on just one of them, before or after the events of the book.

I don’t really ship them with each other, so this is mainly a gen request, apart from wanting to know more about Jane’s past relationships. I was very fond of the Ade/Yule love story and it’s fine to mention him or January or other unrequested characters, just not as the focus.

Prompts:

A story from Ade’s travels: a Door where she didn’t find Yule (the St. Ours mansion, the selkie door, Toussaint Louverture’s door, Red Cloud’s door, the door to Locke’s homeworld, the door in Istanbul where she came back with dragon scales? and how did she learn about them all?), run-ins with the Society, building the boat, the time she spent sailing in the Written before finding him, the Doors she searched from there after she lost him again.

A story from Jane’s 22 years in her adopted homeworld of the wereleopards—her experience of discovering it and meeting the leopard-huntresses, or adapting to their society, learning to hunt monsters with them? Or she mentions having “two husbands and a hunt-wife” and I’m especially interested in the latter—what does that mean, how did they get together, do they find each other again?

Helping Jane find her way back: How does Jane get in contact with January’s family again? Does Ade decide she’s not done with adventure and go along if January reopens the ivory Door in Kenya? Or if that’s thwarted for some reason, use her knowledge to help Jane look for another Door? Does Jane visit them in the Written? Do the two of them help hunt down the remaining Society members or return Locke’s stolen collections?

I’m massively fascinated by all of the other worlds through the Doors referred to in the book, and further exploration/worldbuilding of any of them (even the ones only mentioned in a few words) would be great, whether from Ade’s or Jane’s POV as an explorer post-canon, or told in found documents or artifacts, or from the POV of the residents visited by these strangers.

DNWs: setting AUs, death of requested characters, unrelenting bleakness/hopeless endings, PWP for this fandom, daddy/mommy kink, noncon, a/b/o, scat/watersports/vomit/spitting

———————-

General likes

If something’s not on this (long and probably overkill) list, that doesn’t necessarily mean I don’t like it, but I enjoy these things pretty reliably. Take from it as you wish, all of them are good alone or combined. (It’s mainly a fic-oriented list, but if you do art for me for an exchange and want to incorporate something here, great!)

for both gen and shipfic: Friendships, partnerships, rivalries, and relationships between women, complex and powerful female characters, adult characters with some level of life experience Lighthearted fluff and humor Slice of life/ how the characters manage everyday life stuff in canons where the focus is more on big dramatic events Casefic if the characters do cases or missions: anything like another episode or chapter or adventure from the canon Epistolary or “found documents” stories, and other unconventional story structures Time loop stories, Rashomon-style stories, and other sets of variations on a theme (including “five times” fic) Canon divergence AUs, meaning “what if x event in canon went differently” Worldbuilding/exploration of the canon world and backstory, especially parts unexplored in the canon; also, in-universe stories, songs, mythologies, histories, etc. Holidays, rituals, celebrations; balls, masquerade or not; dancing, romantic or not Magical accidents causing weird things to happen Heists, rescues/jailbreaks, solving mysteries Court plotting, etiquette/complex social rules, intrigue, spying Road or sea or space trips, wilderness survival situations, exploring ruins/haunted places/caves/dungeons/etc. Swordfights, duels, tournaments, sparring, training for all kinds of fighting Monastic communities, priestesses, witches, hermits, anchorites Characters doing things in disguise, whether they’re good or bad at it; bodyswap as a subcategory of both this and forced intimacy Characters making things for others, whether it’s art or music or crafting or food or magic or whatever, and giving gifts Artists (in any art form), artistic rivalries, artist/muse dynamics, artists inspiring each other, artist or crafting communities Competence/being very good at what they do (but perhaps awkward or lost in other contexts); relatedly, learning/practicing/teaching others new skills

for shipfic (pre-relationship, get-together, and established-relationship stories are all interesting to me if I like the ship) Everything above plus: Pining and crushes, preferably requited in the end Intensely emotional romantic moments or cute fluffy/silly/playful moments Angst with happy endings Repressed feelings, extended UST, slow burn, revelations of feelings Loyalty/dedication/faithfulness/devotion, us against the world, knight/queen dynamics (either one-way or where both consider themselves the knight to the other), bodyguarding, protectiveness, love conflicting with other loyalties, noble self-denial and sacrifice, courtly love Longtime friends to lovers, partners in adventuring or work or crime, old friends meeting again, old enemies who aren’t really anymore and have to admit they like each other, rivals who respect each other (enemies to lovers is more likely to work for me if they become friends/allies first, and I love pairings with a long history together) Ascetic/hedonist or repressed/libertine or inexperienced/more experienced pairings Stoicism, bad at feelings but has a lot, good at feelings and good at hiding them “The grumpy one is soft for the sunshine one,” or alternatively the two grumpy/intimidating ones who are soft for each other when no one’s looking Secret/forbidden relationships as a source of angst and/or for the excitement of sneaking around (though I prefer infidelity not be the reason, unless it’s a forced/political marriage situation) Forced-intimacy-by-circumstance tropes like bedsharing, huddling for warmth, fake dating, marriage of convenience, handcuffed together, dreamsharing/psychic bonds, whether in a lighthearted or angsty way Hurt/comfort, fighting beside each other, facing external threats together, rescuing each other, tending each other Snuggling/bathing/dressing/playing with hair/other caretaking Moments where the couple just gets a break from everything to be together

for sex scenes: cuddling, kissing, laughing, eroticized hands and voices, clothed/semi-clothed sex, complicated undressing, talking whether emotional or joking or dirty, asking for things, curiosity/discovery, playfulness/inventiveness, eagerness/desperation, being overwhelmed by feelings, having to keep silent or hold still, interruptions and delayed gratification and intentional teasing/drawing things out, body worship, sex against walls, informal mild kink (e.g., tying up, holding down, blindfolding, taking direction, scratching/marking, tearing clothes, mutual roughness), sexy letter writing, one fantasizing about the other, decadence, voyeurism/exhibitionism, writing/painting on skin, sex pollen, magical or magic-enhanced sex

[dcbarba-blog]

GOSPEL OF MY LIFE (2008)

GOSPEL OF MY LIFE

Life is like a book

Everyday has a new page,

With adventures to tell

Lessons to learn

And tales of good deeds to remember

My friends, as I am about to leave this Earth, may this gift I am leaving you behind serve as a memoir for you to remember and keep me within your hearts forever. May you treasure this gift and hope you will also learn from them as I have.

CHAPTER 1 These things I have Lived For…

“What’s my purpose in life?” This question has always been hunting me since I have come to think about my future. Why, indeed am I here?

Now I can only give you five of these things I have lived for.

First is God. My life is my offering to Him that is why I have lived it as purely as I could to be acceptable for him and be called His daughter.

Second, I have lived for my purpose, whatever it could be, I wanted to live for me to discover why I am really here in this earth and I probably did discover it. ;-)

Third, I wanted to live until I reach my shining star, until I reach my goal in life, until I could take hold of my ultimate dream.

Fourth, I have lived for my family and my loved ones for they are my foundation to whom I can always depend on.

Fifth, I have lived for my life. I have lived enjoying my life fully so I may be able to satisfy myself of the love of God for me as His child, as a member of his family. And perhaps I had.

CHAPTER 2 These Things I have Loved in Life…

There are lots of things I have loved in my in my whole life. I love life so much and all the things that goes with it whether good or bad. They are so many to mention but I will tell you some of my favorites.

I loved reading, watching TV, and sleeping. If you did not find me doing the other, I was certainly doing the other. But I am more seen propped with pillows, sitting beside the window, reading. I like Dr. Robin Cook’s science-fiction books. I love Clive Cussler's Dirk Pitt adventures. I also enjoy reading inspirational books and leadership books by Max Lucado. Worth mentioning as well my number one book, my Bible. :) 

With regards to food, any was fine just as long as it will not cause me stomachache, allergies and asthma. The list is quite a lot but we can just settle on veggies and fruits.

I loved watching action movies as well as inspirational ones. I specially liked The Matrix Trilogy (Keanu Reeves), Avatar (Sam Worthington & Zoe Saldana), Titanic (Leonardo DiCaprio & Kate Winslet), Tears of the Sun (Bruce Willis), Artificial Intelligence: AI (Haley Joel Osmont), Pay it Forward (Haley Joel Osmont & Helen Hunt), Notting Hill (Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant), Fireproof (Kirk Cameron & Erin Bethea) and a lot more!

Sometimes, when I preferred something serene, I just watched the once-azure sky slowly turning into grey and darker as the evening sky approaches and perhaps listen to the small night sounds drifting from afar or simply listen to music.

I loved silence, too. Believe you me. Aside from the fact that I usually study when everyone had already dozed off to sleep, this is also the time when I had my quite times with God.

There are also times when I preferred to do nothing. Just sit and listen to the night sounds. I loved it when I hear the whooping sound o f the wind and the musical tone of the falling rain. Moreover, I sometimes wonder how life would be without them. So, so…boring. Don't you think so, too?

So there you have it, you now know some of my favorites but there is still one thing more. One should also treasure and love his/her life for it is the greatest gift one could ever give and also receive.

CHAPTER 3 These are My Life’s Achievements…

As young as I am, I wouldn’t probably say that I have achieved much in my life for there are still so many things I long to do. But for the 19 years, I could say that I have achieved more than I expected.

As a daughter, I hope I did all my best for my parents to be happy for I believed that being one of the sources of other people’s happiness is already a great achievement.

Being committed as a student, was also an achievement. Being able to bring glory to one’s school, division and even region is another one. Being a volunteer of Silliman Pathways Youth Group which supports fellow scholars, I can say, was one of my greatest achievement as of now and that being able to lend a helping hand is very satisfying.

Indeed, what an achievement it was to be a blessing to someone else’s life.

CHAPTER 4 These Experiences I have Cherished…

All of life’s experiences, for me, were really worth cherishing (whether they may be good or bad) for both are still essential to each and every being’s existence. I bet these pages will not suffice for the space needed to tell you the experiences I cherished. So please allow me to share only so few of them.

One of those was when I was in grade 6 and won, among all other elementary schools in Dumaguete City, the 5th place in Editorial Writing. The sad part though was I was not able to join the regional due to lack of funds. I felt quite sad about it but it was as if a whole bunch of me was happy to discover my writing skill. And so, I decided to develop it with the aim that, someday, I will reach the national level. It was quite an absurd idea though for a 6th grader.

When I was in high school, I joined  journalism workshops and eventually became a staff of our official school paper - THE HORN. And so it was during my 4th year when I became one of Region 7’s three Feature Writers to represent the region to the national level press conference. Truly, I really could not quite imagine how a young mind’s wish was realized. I knew then that if one really aims for something and focuses him/herself to it, and no matter what the obstacles were, are, and will be along the way, he/she will always be able to reach them with God’s abiding grace.

Another one of my experiences was when I was still in high school. I was then a Math Club member and we did an outreach program at one of the Municipality of Valencia’s (a neighboring town southwest of Dumaguete) orphanages. We brought food, clothing and other gifts for the kids.

Upon reaching the place manned by Nuns, the children were also their welcoming us with their innocent smiles. They were jumping, laughing and running around as if it was their first time to be visited. What I saw on my part though was the exact opposite. Hidden behind my smile was my sympathy for the children who were up to 10 years of age and there were also babies! My heart wholly went out for them. My heart was breaking.

There, we had a program and the children also presented their talents. We prayed, we ate, and then we chatted for hours. Upon hearing their stories, I felt a sudden rush of pain, fear and guilt. Pain because of what the children were going through. Fear of what they might become in the future. Guilt because instead of thinking that I am lucky, I sometimes am attacked with discontentment of what I had.

What I learned then was to be content with whatever I had while also working with what I do not have, be happy with it and thank God all the time.

CHAPTER 5 These Sufferings Have Seasoned Me…

Why me? Why do we have to suffer?  Why are we experiencing all these hurts and aches?  Haven’t you asked the same question yourself?  I had. Loads of times. But as I grew up, I came to realize that what I thought about and experienced as a “suffering” was no more than an inch to what others are struggling with.

Let me tell you one that had caused me and my family so much pain- a story from our past. 

Before, even when I was still young, I always ( I bet my siblings, too) notice this on-and-off strife of my parents against my father’s siblings.  I did not exactly know the reason, perhaps I was too young then. Then came the years of peacefulness.  But it was when my Grandma (father’s mother) died on the Christmas day of 2002.  I thought, with the loss of our beloved, we will become closer but it did not happen.  The next year, Eldest Uncle (Father’s eldest brother) passed away but instead of helping one another, this created a greater distance between his family and ours.  Then during the next year, next eldest uncle died.

Those three successive years was such a traumatizing one for our family.  Those three years took the biggest chunk of our ties as a family.  Those three years triggered our family ties with our father’s side to loosen up fully.  I was confused why, during that time of crisis, we happened to become like that—broken apart.

Now, our family has been living with ourselves alone. Though we had no one but each other, we go through each obstacle in life together.  Through these hurdles in life, we became stronger and prepared, ready for whatever might lay ahead of us.

So why do we have to suffer? I, with all my heart, believe that God wants us to have stronger faith, to become better and stronger individuals.  He wants us to know that He’s always there, that He’s waiting for us to call Him and that His strength is ours to lean on.  He wants us to realize that His compassion is ours to receive and even in times of our stability, He is always there. He is preparing our character to receive that gift we have long been waiting to have.

CHAPTER 5 These Lessons Have Taught Me…

In  my young and human  mind, I just could not quite comprehend why we, humans, were so vulnerable to mistakes and why we could not simply avoid and prevent ourselves from doing so. I will be sharing some of the lessons I have learned through the course of my 19 years of existence in this world.

Before, when I was still a child, I was really such a “kapayason” child meaning I was such a “crybaby” that whenever I was scolded, I cried. Whenever I had a problem that seemed to be out of control, I cried.  I sought out everything to crying.  But it was one day when my brother asked me what’s the use of my crying when everything’s already been done and could not be changed anymore. He opened my eyes then.  “ No use to crying over spilled milk.”  Why cry with such simple things?  Why cry when you could choose to pray instead?

Crying is neither bad nor is it wrong. Furthermore, I even read somewhere that crying is a gift from God. He gave it for us to have company whenever we are alone, it also cleanses the soul that full recovery and healing may do their part afterwards.

And I guess instead of relying only to crying, why not pray.  There, one will have every opportunity to communicate with God.

Another one of my very bad habit was what we call the “manana” habit. In Filipino, the “mamaya na” habit. I always did things at the brink of time.  And so it was in my 3rd year high school, we had a project making the basics of cross stitching.  Thinking that the deadline’s still hidden behind the pages of the calendar, I dillydallied.  Then all of a sudden, here comes the deadline! Cut the long story short, I made the project overnight and was not able to sleep just to finish the project and worse, my father would not allow me to go to school that morning because I had no sleep at all.

So that was it.  But God really is good because I was able to finish my project. I learned my lesson.  “Do what we have to do now before ‘now’ could be too late.”

Upon reminiscing, I remembered the day I was till about 5 when our Aunt scolded us for playing with her karaoke.  Feeling sad and ashamed about it as young as I was, I did not accompany her to church that Sunday as I used to.  My mother asked me why and she then told me that carrying a grudge within us is not good and that who’s affected is ourselves alone. I then apologized to my Aunt the next day. Truly what a great feeling knowing we have no hatred within us.  Always remember that sulking will cause no good but anxiety and paranoia. Looking back, I realized that though they may be simple, the above are very nice and foundational lessons for a youngster.

CHAPTER 6 These Ideas Have Liberated Me…

What I had noticed is the people’s misconception of the word “liberated”.  This word comes from the root word “liberate” which literally means “to set free”.  But people, especially teenagers usually associate this term with something we-know-what.

If we are going to take it figuratively, liberate means “to take us out from the dark cave of ignorance” for it’s through these ideas that we are able to see through the dark, see through our close-mindedness, see through our hard-headedness.

Let us take for example our “going to school”.  This is a means of liberating and preparing us to the world beyond.  The lessons in school are the ideas we need in order to be liberated, to be free from ignorance, innocence, and to, perhaps, help prevent us from sinning.

Our ideas from our values class about good and bad, our principles and formulas in Mathematics and Physics, our knowing about the what’s, why’s, how’s in Science and others are the ideas which sets us free from the grasp of naiveté. 

CHAPTER 7 These Convictions I have Lived by…

I had always believed that no matter how big the waves that pushes us back ashore, we should not stop rowing our boat.

One should not get discouraged when things go beyond his/her expectations.  But let us remember instead that the greatest glory is net life’s never falling but rising every time we fall.

A smile, too, does help.  Welcoming a new day with a smile on our face, love in our hearts and fine thoughts in our minds will surely usher a great day ahead of us.  Smile also means happiness but it isn’t found when we seek it ourselves.  However, when we give it to others, it will definitely find its way back to whoever gave it.

God never promised us an easy journey in life.  He sometimes delays His help to test our faith and energize our prayers.  He is always with us though.  All we have to do is to hold His hand tightly and He will lead us safely.

So why not focus our minds on things that are beautiful?  Life’s too short to waste on worries.  Let us think of solutions instead, and not of problems.

Lastly, let us forever engrave in our minds and in our hearts that “Life is a gift from God. What we do with our lives is our gift and offering to Him.”

CHAPTER 8 These Beliefs I have Outgrown…

My friends, why is it that we should not cut our nails or comb our hair at night? Why should we not sweep our house at night? Why should we wear polka dots on New Year’s Day? Why should we step on ashes before entering the house from attending a burial? I still have quite a list of questions in my mind but I might not have enough space. These are just few of the beliefs our folks have passed from one generation to another. I respect our elders. But, with all due respect, for me, they are all but superstitious beliefs with no scientific basis or explanations. Furthermore,  as I took a closer look to each one of the above questions I came to ask myself, “Why do we allow our lives to be run by such beliefs?” We should not, for though the future is unknown, we have a Known and an All-Knowing God.

CHAPTER 9 These Insights Have Arrived Through the Course of My Life…

Through the years, I came to realize the truth that God is the Best Lover of all time and of course, the also the Best Disciplinarian of all. He loves us so much that He gave us freewill to do whatever we want to do be it good or bad. He is the best disciplinarian because He allows us to reap the consequences of our actions whether they are good or bad.

Indeed, the world is God’s manifestation of that love. It is a place where He expresses His Love for us and as well as the place where we can do the same. Moreover, man’s nature of being vulnerable to sin should not be a license to doing mistakes. Why not prevent it from happening instead? That way, we would not be able to sin and blame ourselves in the end. Yes, there are circumstances where we are caught in sin’s spell-binding web making things out of control. I had been praying than we always ask God to lead us to the right path.

What is love, by the way? Love is described in so many different ways by so many authors but don’t you know that the shortest definition of love is just found in the Bible? God is Love (1 John 4:8). He is the Greatest Lover of all time.

Another insight I want to share is about prayer. Is it not that it is through prayer that we are able to communicate with God? It is the one and only channel by which we can talk to Him. Prayer, when done sincerely and wholeheartedly, can be so powerful for through prayers, He hears more than we say, He answers more than we ask and gives more than we desire. All He needs is our time.

Last but definitely not the least insight I learned is the truth that Jesus Christ is our only Salvation. He died in the cross and shed His blood so that our sins may be forgiven. The best Rabbi of all time,  He’s the bridge that connects us to the Heavenly Father.

CHAPTER 10 These Influences Have Shaped My Life…

My parents had always been the main factor of the development of my well-being. They were the ones who nourished, nurtured and protected me. They were my first teachers and I will never forget the lessons they taught me. That is also why I love them so much that I did everything for them to be happy.

Second in line are my siblings who were my supporters, fans and advisers. They are my collaborators, my mentors and of course, my tormentors. :) 

Next are my teachers who greatly added more to what I learned from home. They helped in broadening my knowledge and opening my eyes wide to see the real meaning of life and life beyond school and to live up to it.

In addition, all the people around me most especially my friends, also played a very huge role to my growth as a person and as to who I am now.

Being a wide-reader, books also influenced my life. I read different books with different genres. My number one book is my Bible for it is through it that my life slowly found its meaning. I also love my dictionary for it taught me lots of things I could not imagine. When I read, I always see to it that my dictionary is right beside me for whatever things that need clarifications especially words I hadn’t came across yet.

Truly, reading is a very wonderful habit and I suggest that you start doing it, too. The next time you do, you will be soaring to places you have never been, meeting people you have never met, and watching sceneries you have never seen. I can vouch for this!

CHAPTER 11 These Persons are Enshrined in My Life…

“No man is an island.” Exactly. Humans as we are, we are sociable beings always inclined to be in constant contact with other people. Well, who are these people from whom we learned about such? Yes, the people nearest us. As for me, they are my parents, siblings, friends, teachers and mentors.

But there is still someone who wants to have a relationship and fellowship with us. Jesus Christ. With Him as the center of our lives, everything will always be at bay. With our parents, we will be always assured with their love; with our family, we will always be secured with their protective embrace; with our friends, we will be assured that life is worth living with their caring smiles, with our teachers and mentors, we will always be lead to the right path.

Yes, believe me, get out of your shell and go out to the world that excitedly awaits you.

CHAPTER 12 The End…The Beginning…The Reality…

As a teenager, I still had plans to do, lots of things to accomplish, lots of things I wanted to have, etc. etc.

Yes, I did say that one should be content. Contentment is all about having Jesus Christ in our lives. His SHALOM in our loves. And Jesus also wants us to enjoy live and continue working and offer our everything to Him. 

Dream big. Dream for your family, for the orphans, for the street children, for yourself. I had lots of dreams. Yes, I knew, my dreams are still too far beyond for me to reach. I still felt like I am inside my small boat constantly rowing, not knowing where to go with this vast ocean of life. Though I may not know where this life’s current leads me, though I am unaware where this wind will toss me, thought the fog of insufficiency blurs my vision with uncertainty, I believed I did continue on rowing for I knew that God was (for me) and will (for your all) always be here, guiding.

These are just few of the marvelous things, which you can explore upon voyaging through this vast sea we call life. 

Bon voyage!

Adios, my friends,

Daylinda C. Barba

[letters-to-kate]

we-sorts

I started out in this life writing a novel and ended up struggling to survive addiction, homelessness, and outright insanity. 

 When I was born apparently I had breathing problems. I was taken from my Mother by the nurses, and I believe my Godmother (Aunt Barbara) was there. My Mother was under the impression I didn't make it, as she recalls. My Father arrived late to the hospital, per his memory, to find hospital personnel awaiting. He asked of my status, and they told him supposedly that I was a 'miracle' baby....and that I had made it. This came as an alarm to my Mother when he informed her; she was under the notion I had died. This was a prelude of many miracles that would occur throughout my life...from winning lotteries, to surviving incomprehensible  car accidents…to deathly overdoses…through the survival of stabbings and assaults…enduring police beat downs and the resolute of child abusive cults.

 I have this memory, clearly, of my Mother rocking me to sleep at age 2, I believe. There are other memories of that living quarters in Laurel, Maryland. In Laurel, on the campus of Cedar Knoll child detention center where my Father worked as a supervisor. Memories of slamming my finger in the door and being rushed to get stitches. Memories of good ol’ Thornbird, our black and white spotted dog, running along the car. Memories of my parents living in poverty. I believe my brothers were both in attendance in Catholic school then. My two older brother siblings, Mark and George, are both 6 and 9 years older than me, respectively. I remember my Father taking me to his work at Cedar Knoll detention center, where he was a counselor; seeing Black children locked behind doors and screaming and yelling 'Mr.George! Mr.George!' I remember those metal office desks...the aluminum tiled floors....the bars on windows....the smell of institution. 

 An odor I would soon know all too well, permanent and familiar within my nostrils.

 I remember my Mother and Father placing me in the back of the car at 4 am, driving my Mother to Spring Grove state hospital where she’d work as a nurse. I couldn't have been more than 2 or 3 years of age. At a young age, I was made to feel comfortable around the aroma of jails and mental institutions. These are faint dark memories....poor lighting...the ability to distinguish between human and animal urine; and this is the life I was born into.

 My Father was an honorable man...didn't chase women...didn't chase liquor...so we had some money. He in his spare time aside of counseling troubled youth, drove a taxi. As a young lad, prior to marrying my Mother, my Father studied for years in Seminary to become a priest. I would see these black and white pictures of him in his  Jesuit priest collar, standing at protest rallies in the 60's; always positioned with other Black folks.

 My Father is fair-skinned Irish; 2nd or 3rd generation I believe. My Mother is a brown-skinned Black Woman, originally from poverty-stricken Portsmouth, Virginia, but raised in the ghettos of West Philly. My timeline could be off, but he either met her and they subsequently left the Catholic order, and then got married. Or they both left the order prior to marriage. Though I know my oldest brother George was held in arms as they marched down the aisle.  I say 'order' because my Mother had previously been enrolled in a Philadelphia monastery as a nun. I have some images in my mind of black and white pictures of her in convent.

I realized at a young age, quite young, this emotion of pain. I remember when we moved to Columbia, Maryland…a suburb…that we lived in a low-income complex called Hannibal Grove. I recall my Mother having to tie the outside door handle of my room’s door and fasten it to another door across the hall, just to keep me from opening my bedroom door; I was that out of control. I was hyperactive; and looking back now, I realize I was in pain.

Pain is not just subjective (one man’s pain may be another man’s pleasure), but it is, in fact, exact.

It reveals so much about a person; perhaps that is the purpose of torture and why it is performed upon prisoners of war.

Take for example a pin prick. Elizabeth, an old junkie girlfriend of mine, who has since passed, had a severe phobia of needles. Yet she shot dope with the best of us in the East Side projects of Baltimore.

That’s one of the purposes of pain: to wake us up to the reality that we are all of God. It stings. God feels.

I was involved in People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA) when I was a teenager; had stopped eating meat…was into vegetarian extremist Industrial music groups like ‘Skinny Puppy’, and I practically worshipped Morrissey. I remember my Father introduced me to a co-worker of his who was active in PETA, and she gave me literature. What I learned from that school of thought is that animals have spines, nervous systems, brains… and they feel pain….so why eat meat? We are meant to evolve to a place in our World where eating meat will become unnecessary.

Throughout my elementary school years I was increasingly sensitive, and just bad. Stubborn behavior, hyperactivity, disobedience, and rage. I didn’t understand the judgement of the White kids I grew up around. Like so many kids, I was hyper growing up; mostly because I felt out of place. I grew up in the first (supposedly) planned multi-cultural suburb in America…Columbia, Maryland. I was born in Washington D.C.  

I grew up pretty interracially, amalgamated with a lot of rich White kids, Jewish kids, and a host of Black kids who were pocketed into the ‘”poor”’ neighborhoods….Rideout Heath is the first neighborhood that comes to mind. These were the public housing developments along Harper's Farm Road, Cedar Lane and Twin Rivers Road, known as Fall River Terrace, Roslyn Rise, Waverly Winds and Rideout Heath; we use to call these areas as "The Terrace", "The Rise", "The Winds" and "The Heath".  But c’mon man, what I saw in real poverty on the raw streets of  Baltimore years later, makes all that suburban stuff seem like paradise.

But you know what’s real wild, is that in the most integrated suburban community in America (at that time), we were still made to feel uncomfortable walking through the ‘Black neighborhoods.’ Don’t get me wrong, I ain’t live with the rich White kids or anything, though I ran with them. I grew up getting’ rejected by the pretty White girls; befriended, yet judged by the White kids I dropped acid with, and got my ass beaten by the Black kids. And that scenario stretches as far back as I can remember. I remember being in 2nd grade….kindergarten even…and walking back home and getting beat up at the bridge by Sterling Davis and Edward Simpson, and their crew. I know I was getting picked on because my hair was weirdly straight and curly. I knew they picked on me because I was a punk….who was frightened.

I just didn’t know what was going on around me! I mean, c’mon, imagine having a White father, where one of my earliest memories of him was winking at me across the kitchen table over dinner, and how weirded out I felt. My Pops talked Black and what not (what White folk term ‘Ebonics’), and acted uniquely urban. I didn’t get why my White father sounded like the Black kids who were beating me up at age 5, instead of sounding like my White friend’s parents. I even remember years later my the mother of my girlfriend, Maggie Bennings, upon meeting my  Pops, asked him, “Gee, are you from the South with that accent?” And my Pops answering, “Naw, I just grew up in the city and in Washington D.C. over the years.”

 So you see, color and pain became important to me, because my parents never stopped to explain it. I remember when I was in some uncontrollable state in my teenage years blaming them for making me mixed. But it’s all good. Why? Because they were pioneers man! My Father supposedly turned away from his fairly wealthy Irish family in Connecticut. He’s the older of his two younger brothers. He frickin’’ went and joined the seminary I believe at age 15 or so! Almost became a Jesuit Priest for Christ’s sake! And I can’t live down these pictures in my mind of him in his Priest collar. He was a part of this real secular sect of Catholicism, called The Josephite Fathers and Brothers. They are an Order of Roman Catholic Priests and Brothers serving the African American community. I mean, that’s wild, right?

I got these pictures of him standing in front of a segregated Black school in Prince Georges County, Maryland, like back in the early 60’s and stuff. He’s always surrounded himself with Black folk, and had what seemed to be a natural affinity to Black people.

 What’s real wild is this time he informed me of a particular community of Black folks in Maryland called ‘We-Sorts.’ Some Black folks take offense to it, but I just don’t know the proper ‘PC’ term. He pointed out these kids in the old black ‘n white pictures he had, and they were standing in front of an old segregated school house where my Dad would teach, along with my Dad and some other Black brothers of his Priesthood. These kids in these pictures I was referring all looked White!...in segregated Southern Maryland in the 60s!  I mean blue eyes, and blonde hair! My  Pops said, “Naw – them kids ain’t Black….These kids here are ‘We-Sorts. They’re Black folks who kept to themselves and would mate within their own families to keep light skinned.”

I was floored.

I mean, I learned in African-American history class at Atholton High about the ‘favored mulatto’ and all that. But this blew my mind. I remember showing the pictures to my brother George and trying to re-explain it, and he couldn’t believe it either. 

 My Aunt Essie, who is a retired nurse, told me stories of how these White kids would get rushed into the ER at the hospital she worked back in the day, and they would come in with acute sickle cell anemia attack. She said the doctors and staff knew right then and there, that they were ‘We-Sorts,’ and not White kids.

 I said all that to say this: color matters….and so does pain. And this age-old‘We-sorts’ practice of genetic emulsification of Black folks (saving the lighter skinned offspring of a family in order to mate with other light skinned family members), fascinated me to no end. My Mother would tell me how there were whole large families that were known to engage in this practice (The Proctors, etc.).

 I found out later through the teachings of the Honorable Elijah Muhammad that this practice was much bigger and critically more relevant to the Western color condition, and its associated pain of the masses, than I could’ve ever imagined…and it had everything to do with White folks.

I don’t know, just thanks for letting me write to you.