#so this kid knows they have to arrive with the quota their other parent will be waiting for them at the company

[comixandco]

concept: take your kid to work day but you work for The Company

[bluesparrow11]

This is a 1119 unedited blurb that I wrote last year and never got around to posting. The basic premise is that the sickness either kills the person or turns them into an animal shapeshifter. I’ve got no plans to continue it but wouldn’t be against doing so if anyone is interested in reading more.

/////////////////////////////////////////

Nolan is on the verge of smothering Travis with a couch cushion and leaving Kevin to find the body over some stupid twitter post about whether a poptart is a ravioli or not when he gets the call from G. Travis swipes his phone off the coffee table where it was vibrating precariously towards the edge and fends off Patty with a flailing arm while yelling at full volume into the phone,

“I promise you! A poptart is fucking a ravioli. It’s a fucking vessel with tasty shit inside!”

“Shut the fuck up and give me my phone you fucking fuck”

Nolan attempts to press him into the corner of the couch because even though he was decidedly out of his weight class, Trav was a scrappy fucker and wasn’t above going for the armpits when cornered.

Travis was still cackling with his stupid squinty eyes and his stupid patchy beard and Patty’s phone pressed to his ear, while he presumably ignored the pleas of the person who called him to give the phone back to Patty. Nolan finally got him pinned, sitting firmly on his stomach to keep him from kicking at him when the smile slipped off his face. In the sudden silence, he could hear the tinny voice say his name and then Travis silently handed him the phone.

“Nolan?”

“G? What’s going on?”

There was a heavy sigh from the other end of the line.

“The season has been postponed until further notice”

Patty slid off of Travis onto the couch.

“The virus a lot of people were catching in Europe spread into the league. A couple guys in Florida died before they could get to the hospital.”

“Shit”

He knew it was selfish but the first thought he had was that he just fucking got back on the ice. He had finally gotten his brain to get on board and now the world had decided it was the perfect time to end.

It, it being the virus, had started in somewhere in Europe but no one was quite sure where yet because it was so new. It had spread so quickly that it infected at least fifty countries before people started noticing and closing stores and schools and borders. Nolan hadn’t thought it reached north america yet but,

“Apparently, it’s been spreading undetected for weeks in the states and probably Canada too. The plan right now is to have everyone stay where they are and quarantine there until they're sure they’re not sick. No contact with people they don’t live with. Face masks if you have to go to the grocery store. After that, I know a lot of guys are planning on heading home until a plan to restart gets proposed.”

They talked for a little bit longer but it was mostly small talk about G’s baby and Nolan definitely staying on his meal plan until Claude had to hang up to call the rest of the team to let them know the news.

After he hangs up, Nolan chucks his phone onto the couch beside him to probably slide into a crack and be a pain in the ass to find later. Travis is unusually quiet next to him.

“What did he say?”

“A couple guys on the Panthers died from the virus and the season is cancelled. We’re also not allowed to go outside.”

“Fuck”

“Yep”

There’s another long stretch of silence before Travis apparently hits his quota for the day and starts badgering him incessantly to order pancakes off of whatever weird food app he’s been using instead of just using grubhub like a normal person.

When the pancakes and arrive they divide it between them (saving some for what Kevin likes to call the ‘roommate tax’), and lean over the coffee table to eat while watching whatever random crap was on the discovery channel. It was some show where a bunch of British people tried to make the best cakes or bread or whatever. Nolan was getting pretty invested in Sharon’s candied orange peels when Travis places a warm hand on his shoulder blade.

“Hey”, he turns and Trav is making an earnest face that he thinks is supposed to be comforting, “We’re going to be okay.”

Something twists in his chest and he nods. He looks back down at his pancakes that he’s been mostly just shredding with his useless bendy plastic fork instead of eating. Anything to avoid the way Travis looks while trying to be a good fucking friend with his face all backlit by the TV, cheekbones and the bridge of his nose almost glowing.

The hand on his back gives him a couple pats before it slides back to Travis’ side.

Later when they've trudged up the stairs and are about to part ways, Nolan to his room and Travis to the guest room next door that he sleeps in so much it might as well be his, Nolan catches him by the sleeve of his hoodie.

“Hey, thanks… for earlier. On the couch”

Travis looks confused for a second and Nolan is about to just turn around and go die of embarrassment in peace when he seems to realise what he’s talking about and he ends up with an armful of Travis.

It’s a nice moment. Travis is warm in his arms and must be standing up on his tiptoes because he can hear him very clearly say,

“Anytime Pats”

Before pulling away with a shit eating grin that is just so fucking him,

“Congrats on having a human emotion bud.”

“Ugh”

Patty rolls his eyes so hard they throb a little and speed walks into his room, slamming the door just to drown out Travis’ laughing.

While he sliding between his sheets and arranging his pillows to his likling he distantly hears Kevin yell at Travis to, “Stop making a fucking racket.”

He falls asleep still feeling warm inside.

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

How they decide to go quarantine in the cabin. Patty is kinda hesitant but wants to do anything but stay locked in a house and go crazy. Also really doesn’t want to accidentally take anything home to his sisters and parents. Travis convinces him to just quarantine with him at the cabin. At least at the lake there’ll be things to do and fish and shit.

The plane. It’s almost empty and the flight attendants look very harried. A kid several rows back sneezes and everyone flinches. They’re all wearing masks and Nolan is desperately trying to remain calm next to Travis. Maybe they hold hands???

They rent a truck from the airport and drive the hour to the cabin. Groceries are already delivered and are sitting in and next to a cooler on the front porch. They unpack and eat some rice and beans from a can because they can’t be bothered to do anything else for dinner.

They both get progressively more tired and start to show symptoms as the weeks moves along

Patty wakes up in the middle of the week, in the middle of the night, to his phone ringing. It’s Kevin and he’s tested positive.

[bigskydreaming]

The thing about “Good Dad Bruce Wayne” and “Bat-Dad” is....that’s the dream. I love any and all depictions of Bruce Wayne that prioritize him DOING THE WORK to be a good father to his kids.

I never look for reasons to criticize Bruce or his parenting. My frequent bitching and moaning about him and how he’s written comes from one place and one place only:

IMO a lot of the time, instead of writing Bruce putting in the WORK to be the PARENT, people just write him being 70% of the problem and only 30% of the solution and call that ‘good enough.’ Because hey, at least he’s trying to be part of the solution and fix his mistakes and be better for his kids, and isn’t that the most anyone can ask for?

Well, no. Its not. Especially since with the exception of Damian, Bruce chose each and every one of his kids with full knowledge of what he was doing. He doesn’t GET to do the bare minimum, even when his kids require more effort than the norm, like the situations with Jason sometimes are beyond the ordinary. There’s no quota to parenting. 

The thing about Bruce Wayne is he is pretty much the most competent individual in the DC universe. He has more resources available at his disposal than any other parent can dream of. He has excelled at every thing he’s ever put his mind to....

Except, often times....being a parent.

And parenting is not somehow inherently more impossible than saving the world every other week. Its just not. It literally is just: put your kids first. 

And that is what Bruce is written as failing to do, time and time again. That is almost unilaterally where every single one of his conflicts with his children come from.

When he puts his own fear of rejection over Dick’s fear of abandonment, and refuses to reach out to Dick, beg him to come home, ask him to stay.

When he puts his own moral choices over Jason’s need to be understood, to have a father who can coexist with him and his choices when that very same father has at many times reconciled working with heroes with vastly different moral codes and even body counts of their own.

When he puts his own discomfort with emotional conversations and expressions of affection over Tim’s need for concrete gestures and reassurances that his parent needs and wants him in his life.

And so on.

These things are all actionable. They are all based on choices Bruce can make, and at many times just chooses not to. They all demand one thing and one thing only, the one thing that is expected of parents who take on the responsibility of a child that they and they alone are responsible for the wellbeing of:

Put. Them. First.

And falling short of that, when there’s every opportunity to do the work...is Bruce’s failure. It just is. Its not on his kids. He is the parent. Always and forever, with each and every one of them. That is what he signed up for. THEY did not. Kids don’t have the same power and choices about where they end up as the parents do when deciding that where they end up should be with them. And that can’t be disregarded. Bruce’s kids, as much as they love and appreciate him, are not ultimately the ones who arranged to be tied to Bruce for the rest of their lives, even if they all accepted that and wanted that in their own ways. He was the one with the actual power to make those choices, and to quote DC’s competition:

With great power comes great responsibility.

Bruce’s kids will always have less power than him purely in the context of their relationships with him, because the yearning for a parent’s approval exists on a wholly different level than anything a parent can need or get from their child - especially when they have multiple children but those multiple children each only have the one parent they’re all desperately hoping for the approval of. As well as when each of those multiple children arrive in Bruce’s life already burdened with issues born of abandonment and abuse and neglect that aren’t Bruce’s fault....but from the second Bruce stepped up and volunteered to be their parent, still very much became his responsibility all the same.

Bruce’s kids will always, always, always have more to lose, when there’s any conflict between them and their father.

And the thing that frustrates me so much about how Bruce is written in both canon AND fanfics....

Is how often the narratives cut corners and emphasize the blame and responsibility of his children and make them settle....for just ‘good enough’ from him. For ‘well at least he’s trying.’ For ‘he’s not perfect.’ 

He doesn’t need to be perfect.

But he needs to be the parent.

And personally, I will never be satisfied by narratives that feel like they make more attempt to coddle him and say its okay to just do the bare minimum, as long as he’s making an effort...than they do to make him step up and do the work, put his kids before his own issues.

He’s not the child. So stop treating him like one. Stop writing his kids being more mature than him. Stop saying his children are ‘equally at fault’ for him refusing to make them a priority and any issues of insecurity and abandonment and hurt they feel because of this. Stop expecting his oldest children to act as buffers for his younger children and do the parenting he refuses to do at times, and stop only treating them like his equal when it allows for them to victimize him in some way, with the story treating them like the aggressors and him the misunderstood recipient of their emotional harm and neglect.

Bruce Wayne has more social power and resources and skills and intelligence than just about any other human in the DC universe....his children included. Please can we just start holding him to the standards that kind of power should entail? Instead of looking to his children to always make up the difference for the times he refuses to be accountable, or a narrative refuses to hold him responsible for his own behavior and poor choices?

I WANT Good Dad Bruce Wayne.

I’m just tired of seeing ‘emotionally stunted surly teenager who makes his family’s lives far more difficult than they need to be and then awkwardly hugs them and grunts out an apology in the last paragraph to make up for it’....and being told: that’s Good Dad Bruce Wayne too.

No. Its not. I know what actual Good Dad Bruce looks like, and that ain’t it. Do better. Make him do better.

[sikereviewdotcom]

strawberry shortcake s2 ep1 - horse of a different color

this one was suggested by someone who couldnt keep their mouth shut and not sing the strawberry shortcake intro theme in the middle of our economy class

no one wanted to hear that, but they  went ahead and then i actually followed up on that train of thoughts i remembered about the fucking cartoons and i knew it pronto: its a must-see shit its like slightly above the level of magical school bus series, but the final rating is for the fin not the beginning so lets begin this horseshit:

were reviewing “horse of a different color”, it focuses indeed on strawberrys horse, honey pie pony (its her entire damn name, how sweet right? like all of them, i got diabete from this review but its the cost of maintaining this blog anyway, the kids are playing together on a that tree having fun jumping around like chimpanzees hooba hooba but sadly our filly quickly realizes she cant play king kong with them and keep falling on her ass,

yet since theyre all retarded or young (id say its a fifty-fifty case for them kinda normal ig, i mean they ARE literal 6yo) they try several ways of getting her up on that tree, not thinking how to get her down if they ever were to succeed (good for them: aint happening) its child labor too btw, from an horse still same deal what if honey pie fell down on them? crushing them corpses with her mighty pounds? the findus company would be delighted to hear such news, im sure its some quality (sweet ass) horse meat

once it all fails she understands a horse isnt meant to climb a tree, too big too fat its four legged, not even entertaining the relationship giraffes have with trees

but it aint over, then (after a talk with herself) hp hears the laughters of a bunch of kids which catches her attention, it always does who can ignore that sorta noise? although she aint annoyed by it shes just into the idea of riding a bike now, shes even gonna get a go at it oh yea thats it we finally found her human hobby gogdamn shes a backward furry

of course it fails aswell since she has no hand for the handle and shes heavy so i guess its the reason why she rides into w/e and cant stop? because otherwise she couldve also just.. actually it makes no sense does it? i mean she couldve easily stopped the ride actually how is that kid bike even holding her? ive never tried putting a pony on a bike for 6 y/o but i doubt about its capacity in not being crushed aswell as i doubt in the kids bones not being severely damaged after a visit under honey pies horsy buttcheeks

but all of that really makes her sad: she cant play with her human friends and shes the only horse around strawberry land or whatever see me tearing it for her, theres so much emotions in this episode especially after that filly trynna get kids to get into some horseplay horseshit like dude theyre only 6, lets go easy on them, might have a problem with the parents of the kids watching this episode no one even thought how fucked up this one part is? sure horseplay isnt only sexual or w/e but it still is the visual of 6yos on all four jumping around and neighing together with their ass a little bit too exposed wow im going on a dangerous road here? aint i? not gonna sue the writers im sure it was their subconscious speaking probably got issues from their childhood, eventually got them sorted out since 2004 what do i know? aside from me not caring

back on track : after seeing horsey being so sad the kiddos decide to get her a horse friend but where the fuck? they got no idea, they are proud nonetheless and go tell honey the good new until they are like “wait but we have no idea where to find horses!” ofc we get a big reveal, some serious strawberry shortcake lore: actually all the horses, ALL OF THEM FROM THE ENTIRE FUCKING PLANET are on one (1) single island: ice cream themed to diversify it all they are just chilling over there in ponyland and for some reason this one here got lost or idk guys she took the boat and checked the rest of the world out as an even younger filly, found strawberry and her friends and decided now she was a centaur  slash humanrry furry human, idk you get it but shes their friend and so on to introduce the concept of an AWESOME island full of equestrian activity and ofc ice cream but its kinda lame because who cares? everythings already made out of food, also why isnt the ice cream melting? its one water? nevermind for the introduction as i was saying, hp sings an horrendous sounding song it deteriorated my ear drums they got pierced or something  or maybe im exagerrating? either case horses cant sing:

so to the ice cream land they go, huh

of course it wouldnt be a big adventure without an almost broken bridge oh no whatever shall we do? could we possibly cross it safely? lets try it out  guys: yay it worked good for us little stress and suspense it was wack how they got honey pie out of the hole her big ass hoove made im mesmerized by the power of friendship and sugar at this point, just in full awe for the rest of the episode probably over dosed on all the ice cream flavoured horseshit, i got some all over my mouth its dripping on my desk i gotta clean that later

next thing we know: horses its all this episode is about (aside from labor) but you see, so far hp would switch between normal human language and neighing well turns out her other fellow equines can only neigh and so they just neigh together while our english well-spoken mammal translates to the moronic kids who just smile smuggly

of course the animals are having a welcome party then, dancing around while the morons are just bored, harsh one being a cartoon character isnt it guys? w/e theyre gonna ask for honey pie to come back home now, convinced that her natural habit isnt her place and she loves them too much to just leave them and never come back and break any plans they ever had together- oh shit looks like shes leaving forever huh? what a plot twist mark that on the bitch quota for today

the first one to leave is the little boy btw, important thing to note: hes the biggest pussy he cant even face reality: oh no, no more pony back time before sleep thats quite a bummer, downer and man how are they going to survive now they got no animal to watch over them? jesus theyre soon, on the boat (idk where they got it from idk why suddenly theyre on a boat because then theyre once again gonna cross that bridge but ok) anyway yea theyre having a relationship crisis during that ship trip yada yada ah and the bridge, because (see i do not call them morons for now reasons obviously they deserve this title not only because theyre 6 but also because they are just daft:) they proceed, once in the middle of the bridge all 4 of them, to stop and wonder

“will the bridge be able to hold all of us? wont it break? damn i wonder if it will crack” and they talks without moving until vlam: a tree comes and breaks it (dont ask) so now theyre in trouble:

back to ponyland: bitch pie realizes how much she misses her actual friends and that she can speak english which her other horse friends cant do so she is special and probably abnormal, shes a big outcat of the pony society and has no other reason but to escape her incoming death sentence for fraternizing with the humans of course none of the second part is true, she just wants to see the kids again so she says asta la vista baby to the neigher team and runs away see, she hasnt taken the boat and yet also arrive to the bridge? why a boat sequence then? i will skip this for now but it WILL play in the rating, imagine im the parent of the youngster watching this crap and i have to endure it

if it sucks this bad and is this illogical i might just get bored and change the channel, idc my progeny aint gonna be watching this in either case, ill make them watch political debates then interrogate them on what they learned after what but it wasnt actual political debates just random furry youtuber venting with their fursona sprites animated and thats how you make your kids retarded, the kick of this joke is that i aint planning on getting any kids but totally gonna make them watch classics too such as the attack of the killer donuts as soon as they reach 6 so they wont be dumb and probably not getting diabete or w/e in their adulthood

then honey pie saves the kids btw all of them, heavy shit

and they all go back to strawberryland, happily after a big “wow i missed you sm, you are my real friends w/e if you dont look like me i aint speciest guys really!” theyre all vegan too btw so this works for them i havent watched enough strawberry shortcake episodes to know if they ever eat meat but i have doubts seeing how theyre into a very cannibalistic diet which include eating dessert when obviously thats what they are at least half part, this cartoon raises a lot of political questions it may have a deeper value than i first attributed to it

the end: another terrible song plays about horseshit and how tasty it is

thats all folks

so the rating: big 6/10, so you know 5/10 if its a decent kid show where im highly eager to click on the x and get back making jams but nah

surprisingly enough, i only wanted to stop watching half of the episode and not the entirity of it so credits for thats since im an adult and not a kid, imagining kids enjoyed this sweet childish cartooness or w/e now why +1? its because of how many political questions it raised, how it made me think about our society and cakes yknow its more than kids having a conflict with an horse it talks about veganism, specism, handicap, cannibalism, the management of the limited ressources were exploiting and so on yea really makes you think, its subliminal messages to make kids smarter: they watch their dessert-imbecile counterparts doing bs and then get it right irl: good  ah- it also makes it better for you when youre watching this with your kid, you suddenly transcend to another level of spirituality, existential crisis activated or at least reasoning mode or w/e youre willing to name this the point is you arent bored still despite all of this i rated it quite low for such a serious kid cartoon what couldve possibly made me tic? 1) kids are morons and cant understand all of this, not clear enough for the targeted public 2) projection onto the characters/dialogues from the writers of their childhood traumas (the horse play event didnt go unnoticed, karren brown) 3) my little pony ripoff 4) its controversial, our society, especially in 2004 couldnt understand the depth of this shit and finally 5) i got so much ice cream flavoured horseshit all over my desk god help me this is so filthy what a fucking mess i would totally recommand it to anyone who feels like being blown away by the statements made in this work of art 6/10 but really we all know in the future, itll be a 9/10, some ahead-of-its-time-crap

tg, out

[whifferdills]

" a cracked mask, late hangover, and a ragged suit " gomens, Hastur, Hastur/Ligur, ~1.2k words, mild gore and violence, snuff, necrophilia, Hastur is a pile of maggots, it could be grosser but also dead dove do not eat

alternately on the AO3

Hastur believes in the Cause, of course. He trusts Satan's infernal vision, Beezelbub's vile bureaucracy. He is the Duke of Hell, and he has his part to play in the eternal mechanisms of war.

So Armageddon approaches; if Hell needs more bodies and if there are quotas to be met, he will do it. If a privileged young man needs to turn his frustration into bigotry, he will use one of the shared accounts on the World Wide Web and encourage him to hate. If he must tempt a priest with the sins of the flesh, he will arrange it. If a guard must be made to watch as prisoners, who have done nothing wrong, die slowly from negligence and institutional cruelty, he’ll make a memo.

And if Beelzebub hands him a name, and says you know what to do, he does. He knows what to do. He stares at himself in the mirror for a very long time, one of the nice ones in the lobby (Hell's mirrors are cracked and dirty and will only ever show you the worst of yourself). He stares and he concentrates until the toad recedes; until the boils fade; even until his hair becomes less lank, and his eyes less black. A human's version of normal, average, bordering on attractive. Certainly not ugly.

(There are more recently Fallen demons who are more naturally beautiful, a whole department dedicated to sensual and sexual temptations. But Beelzebub trusts him, and he would never refuse.)

He stares at this version of himself, this nice and normal middle-aged man, and he sends the focus-grouped Grindr message to a particular politician. Poised for greatness, they say. And he would be - well, the projections say he’d be sort of average, in the grand Earthly scheme. But down in the trenches? Oh, the potential of this man.

So an hour later Hastur is in a Hackney hotel room, and he is being fucked. Two hours later he is still in the hotel room, and he is being murdered.

The politician, thirty something and wearing years of repression - a specific move by Leraje and an early nudge by Gaap - and anger, of course, that he built himself, that his parents gave to him, that his schoolyard friends shared with him, the impulse to hit the thing that is frightening him, hit it again and again and again - Hastur is gasping and crying and it’s a show of course but something about this is so very nice - to be brought down like this, used like this, snuffed out like this, and all in service of Armageddon. He smiles, he breathes the last breath he will take for some time,

And the politician’s soul was theirs.

Hastur plays dead for several days. He is dead in the hotel room in Hackney, listening as the politician cries and storms about and calls his secretary. He is dead as he is swabbed clean, as fingerprints are lifted, as alibis are made. He is dead when the housekeeper finds him, when the police arrive, when he is bagged and carried out. He is dead in the morgue, growing colder, bruising where the blood has settled. He is dead while another demon plays grieving widow, his body retrieved and sent to the funeral home. He is dead as they discuss options - cremation, embalming, caskets. He is dead as the fluids go in, as the makeup is applied, at the viewing where no one, aside from what hell provides, shows. He is dead in the cold hard ground, dirt piled high above him - the LARPing demons abscond and the cemetery sexton trundles away, one arm drifting a lit cigarette from the window of the cab of his backhoe.

(They fight, back and forth. Death is a big thing for both sides and there’s always something new about how to do it, how it comes, how it’s dealt with. Embalming was Hell’s idea, but built off of what Heaven gave; natural burials were Heaven’s idea, with enough pagan humanity in it that they couldn’t really lay claim. Humans, by and large, have a lot of sway over their grief. Not much of a home-field advantage for either team.)

Hastur is dead. He’s been dead for some time. And when enough time has passed, he exhales, and he swarms-

He arrives back in Hell, maggots coalescing loosely into shape. He feels odd. Uncertain, almost. Unconvinced of himself. So much time exploring Earthly pleasures. Still bruised and bloated around the edges. The decay of him keenly felt.

“It’s a trip, isn’t it.” Ligur says, face impassive but the chameleon winking. “Being killed.”

Hastur nods. Ligur nods. The air is heavy and fetid and this isn’t charged so much as regretfully required. Ligur takes his hand, and tugs him into the nearest unused general-purpose room. He goes willingly, pliantly, bones moving easy and wetly in his body.

He’d almost felt, not peaceful, not ever that, but at rest. A job done, and done well, and being currently unneeded, simply a body at rest. He’d been down in the earth as he festered and rotted, as the worms came towards him. And he is a body in motion, now. He is himself and he is falling loose, into decay and sloughing skin, into the maggot-mass that he is, as Ligur presses against him.

“How did it feel?” Ligur asks. He licks down Hastur’s neck, curling into the open sores, tickling the worms that live there now.

“Beg pardon?”

“Being dead. Being killed. Being murdered, in an act of passion.” Ligur’s hand between his legs, pulling the fly down and slipping into the swarm of him. The wet, crawling mass, enveloping Ligur’s fingers.

The frog croaks and the lizard winks and Hastur gasps and Ligur quirks an eyebrow - and Hastur bursts open, the fetid rush of him spilling out, the fluid and the flies and the worms and the maggots and the dirt, too, the grave-earth, the soil of humanity and that hits something, that nags at something, he’s become something else -

He chokes on whatever’s left in his stomach, as it comes up. Leaves it cool and drying on his lips, the stench of it. He can’t tell what he feels other than awful.

“I was the same, my first time. The way humans murder. Different, from discorporation. Easier and less, okay, you get less dead, but there’s something. Huh.” Ligur steps back, lights a cigarette that he’s waved into existence. “Makes you realize why the Department of Bodily Violence and the Sensual Temptation folks talk to each other so much.”

Hastur cannot nod, because Hastur is now a reasonably-sized pile of maggots writhing about on the linoleum. The computer in the corner showing a bouncing screensaver logo that will never, ever hit the corner.

Ligur coughs up something approximating a laugh, and ashes the cigarette into the center of him, stepping neatly over, letting the door close just a touch too loudly.

Hastur believes in the Cause, of course he does. This is what he’s been built to do. He stares in the mirror, one of the ones in the lobby because they’re almost honest: stares at himself until the maggots form features and the features form a face, until he has hair, and black eyes, and festering sores. He is the Duke of Hell, and he will play his part as Earth quakes and the stars align. He is, as the kids say, groovy with it.

He steps out into a busy SoHo street, with a name in his hand and a grin on his face. The mechanism ticks over, and he flags a cab, body shifting into place. He knows what to do.

[don-quixotine]

Hey so I literally gained 100 followers overnight because of this Field Notes thing (thanks guys!!) and realized the update got lost in the abyss so I thought I’d post the continuation here

Tidbit 1  Some clarifications before continuing, the fic is based on @my-miraculous-headcanons​‘s post about wanting an Oblivio rewrite, so, things that are different from Oblivio:

It takes longer for them to defeat Oblivio

They make it out Montparnasse Tower

They don’t manage to get ahold of Master Fu immediately

They walk into the Dupain-Cheng bakery without knowing that’s Marinette’s house.

They realize they weren’t dating.

There is evidence left from the Akuma attack

The memory-wipe is not entirely effective

^^ Oki. I’ll carry on now!

–

Field Notes

“I don’t know why I wrote that but uh… I was hoping that if I followed the instructions I left for myself, I’d figure it out– BUT I MEAN NO. I mean, uh… it’s not just because of that. I– I just… Uh. This played out in my head differently,” Adrien admitted, scratching the back of his head.

This was just Marinette’s luck though. By some divine providence she was too scared to question, the boy of her dreams magically asks her out out of the blue… On the very week her parents specifically asked her to help out at the bakery. The grin she sported washed out as she remembered this particular fact.

“I’d really love to hang out with you, Adrien. It’s just…”

Adrien, seeing her reaction, immediately regretted ever opening his mouth. For reasons beyond his understanding, he found himself dreading her excuse would have something to do with Luka, of all people.

“My parents asked me to help out in the bakery right after school the entire week because they have a huge order to deliver,” she said, with evident regret in her voice. For his benefit, she added in a whisper, “I also may or may not be grounded.”

Instantly relieved, he cocked his head to the side and asked with amusement, “How is someone grounded and not grounded at the same time?”

Marinette shrugged. “Apparently I must have done something while Oblivio was on the run. But they wouldn’t exactly tell me… So unless you want to make macaroons until your hands fall off, I think–”

“Making macaroons sounds great!”

“What.”

He beamed at her. “I love your family’s pastries. And those macaroons you always bring to class are delicious, Marinette. I’d love if you taught me how to make them.”

For the second time in the span of an hour, Marinette was beyond herself with excitement. “Really? Yes! Ok. Yes. Ha ha ha. You. Macaroons. I mean. Yes. Hah.”

Endeared by her antics, he asked, “So when can I drop by?”

“Every day–I MEAN. Frisarday. I mean, Friday. Or Saturday. Both, if you want.”

The bell rang, putting an end to the conversation. “Awesome! Friday, then.”

Adrien walked away, leaving Marinette wondering what the heck had just happened. Did Adrien actually asked her to bake macaroons with her just to hang out? A part of her did not believe it. It took for him to walk with her to her house after school to finally grasp the fact that Adrien Agreste actually was going to spend the afternoon with her.

Marinette’s mom was manning the store alone when they arrived from school. Mr. Dupain had left in the morning to cater at an event in Versailles, which meant Marinette was in complete charge of producing at least 100 macaroons by the end of the evening. Sabine did not want to think of the fact the number would probably be half of the quota due to a certain boy being there for dinner, but all things considered, Adrien was a child that was easy to have around.

“I’m home!” Marinette announced to the front of the shop which was temporarily emtpy. Sabine resurfaced from the kitchen and greeted her child with a kiss on the cheek.

“Welcome home kids,” she said cheerfully as the chiming bell of the bakery announced their entrance. “How was school?”

Adrien felt a certain, if allegedly misplaced, warmth by being greeted as if it was his own house.

“Hello Mrs. Cheng. It was alright. We don’t have too much homework for the weekend, so that’s nice. How are things with the bakery? Hopefully the akuma yesterday didn’t give you too much trouble.”

Marinette produced at tiny squeak and blushed bright red, while Sabine quirked a bemused eyebrow at him and her daughter.

“Ah ha ha, silly Adrien, always with your head in the clouds!” Marinette said in a way that was very unlike her, as she pushed Adrien into the house. “You were here yesterday, remember? Because you weren’t hit by the akuma!”

“Wha–”

“We’re just going in… rest a bit, have some food. We’ll be back in a while.”

“But–.”

“IN A WHILE!” She practically shoved Adrien into the staircase to the apartment building and closed the door behind her. She let out a heavy breath.

“What was that?” he asked, confused, baffled, and honestly a bit excited at Marinette’s sudden change in demeanor.

“I told you, my parents know you were here!”

“Sorry, I… I don’t follow.”

She moaned. “Apparently, for some reason that’s completely beyond me, you were here and acted–or at least tried to act as if you still had your memory.”

“What?”

“And uh, I was with you.”

“What?”

“Let’s just go upstairs.”

Marinette set the table with some bread, cold cuts, and jasmine tea, in an attempt to not go on a complete nervous breakdown. She had gone over Oblivio’s attack with Tikki, trying to piece as much as she could because she suspected her parents found out about her secret identity. But what’s more, judging by Adrien’s note from him to him, the accounts she heard from her parents, and the CCTV of the bakery, they probably also knew about a certain cat.

“So… we were both hit by Oblivio yesterday and somehow that ended up in you being semi-grounded and me… leaving a note.”

“Yup.”

“And how is this a bad thing?”

Marinette focused on swirling a spoon in her teacup, wanting to evade the question as much as possible. “Well, uh… I. I uh… my parents grounded me because they caught me sneaking out of the house the other day to go to uh… a concert. Yes. And I promised I wouldn’t lie to them anymore, and so when I got hit yesterday I lied and well, ta-daa, semi-grounded!”

Adrien gave her a deadpan look, which evolved into a smug smirk. “Are you lying about lying?”

“No!”

“Right,” he said, still smirking. “Pardon my language but that’s a ton of BS, Marinette.”

“It’s not!”

“It’s too!” He chuckled. “Well, either way it looks like you and I had a great time yesterday. It’s too bad we can’t remember it.”

Marinette laughed nervously. “Yeah… heh. Too bad we can’t…”

– Oki, that’s the end of Tidbit #2, which I posted yesterday. I was originally going to migrate this baby to AO3 but honest to god I’m only writing for the fun of it and I REALLY don’t have the time to do a proper AO3 fic :( So I’ll just keep posting tidbits and hope it works. I’ll post it on AO3 when and if it’s finished. So, hope you enjoyed and thanks to everyone who followed me over this silly thing! :D 

[emeraldspiral]

Real talk, the only reason Anakin had to go to Jedi school to git gud is because he needed to be a kid when he left his mom and an adult when he began his romance with Padme. If the plot had called for it, he would’ve been a Master Jedi in a week because the needs of the story outweigh the need for “realism”.

Just look at Luke. His training lasted maybe a couple of days or weeks at most because it just wouldn’t make sense for Luke to stay out of the fight for years and years. He could only train for as long as it took Han and Leia to get captured by Vader, but he also needed to not instantly lose to Vader when they fought. Therefore, the amount of time it took for Han and Leia’s storyline to play out was the exact amount of time Luke needed to get good enough to face Vader.

Afterward, in RotJ, supposedly there’s a timeskip of a year, but you’d be forgiven if you thought, as I did, that only a few days or weeks passed, since there’s 0 mention of a timeskip in the film and no reason to think it would take that long to get to Tatooine or plan Han’s rescue. In fact, it seems out of character for a dedicated Rebel like Leia to take that much time off for one person, no matter how she felt about him. But I digress. Regardless of whether it was really a year or only a few days, the fact remains that Luke didn’t have any additional training during that timeskip. He only returned to Dagobah after rescuing Han, and upon arrival Yoda was on his deathbed telling Luke he was already ready, no additional Force training or lightsaber combat instruction required.

In any event, however much training he received, it was definitely significantly under ten years and, from what we saw, didn’t even cover lightsaber fencing, at least not nearly as much as lifting rocks and reading minds and other Force skills. Yet, he still managed to overpower Vader, the strongest Jedi/Sith to ever live. Because the story required him to be that powerful at that point so that he could complete his arc by rejecting the opportunity to slay Vader.

Now, let’s consider Rey’s skills, abilities, and accomplishments, starting with the dumbest of the dumbshit things people complain about when trying to use the “she’s too good at too many things/gets too good too fast” argument for why she’s a Mary-Sue.

First of all:

Why does Rey speak droid and Wookie (as if that’s a particularly uncommon skill)? Because she needs to befriend BB-8, so BB-8 can bring her together with Finn and because someone’s got to be able to understand Chewie once Han’s gone and that someone should probably be the one who’s going to be spending a lot of time alone with him co-piloting the Falcon when they go to find Luke. The better question to ask is why anyone cares about shit like that? Like, is that on some Mary-Sue litmus test somewhere? “Is bilingual in a world where most people are?” If you’re going to complain about something that stupid I have to assume you think character writing should work like Pokemon where you have to drop traits in order to stay under a certain limit, even if half the stuff filling up the quota is stuff like “can ride a bicycle” or “doesn’t burn the house down when they cook”.

Second:

Why is she an ace pilot (as if half the characters in Star Wars, both Force sensitive and non-Force sensitive aren’t also Ace Pilots, and also as if Rey has more than ONE SINGLE flying scene or had any trouble handing over the spotlight to any of the other THREE ACE PILOTS JUST IN THE SEQUEL TRILOGY)? Because she has to be a pilot because Finn can’t be, because he had to need Poe so that he could get his jacket, in order to catch BB-8′s attention, so that BB-8 could bring him and Rey together. Also, because it emphasizes Rey’s major character flaw; that she is the architect of her own misery. She has the means to leave Jakku but doesn’t, something directly acknowledged immediately after her one and only flying scene.

Third:

Why does she show Han up on knowledge of his own ship? Well, for one thing, she fucking doesn’t. She only knows about one thing installed in the ship after it left his custody. But even if you wanted to make the claim that this was supposed to demonstrate that she was some kind of Superstar Mechanic (as if mechanics are something rare and special in Star Wars) and that the reason for her being a Superstar Mechanic is just to get Han to like her, even that has a story-related justification that isn’t just about wish-fulfillment or using a cool character to shill for her. Having Han take a liking to her creates another opportunity for her to demonstrate her character flaw when she rejects his job offer in favor of returning to Jakku to wait forever for parents that don’t love her when there’s a man she already thinks of as the father she never had right in front of her. Also, having her bond with him makes his death at Kylo’s hands more personal for her, thereby creating a greater hurdle for her to overcome in order to come to have compassion for Kylo, making it more satisfying when she does.

Fourth:

Why does she have the Force when she’s already a pilot, mechanic, and proficient stick-fighter (as if any of those things are unique or special. Or more importantly, ever used at the expense of letting other characters shine)? Couldn’t she have been a Badass Normal? If this were just about beating bad guys and winning the war maybe. But it’s clearly not. This is about the old heroes passing the torch to the next generation. The main character was always going to be Force sensitive, always going to become a Jedi, and always going to replace Luke no matter what gender they were, who they were related to, whether they were a scavenger or a stormtrooper or secret royalty or Born of the Force or who, if anyone, they were going to be romantically partnered with. Rey needs to be Force sensitive because, as the main character, her ultimate purpose is to define what it means to be a Jedi for a new generation.

Fifth:

Why can she do things with the Force without training? Well, the only reason Luke needed a training montage was because the Force was a brand new concept for him and he was limited by his own ideas about his capabilities, and because the audience was going in blind as well and needed to hear the Force 101 lectures just as much as he did. Rey meanwhile, has no reason to think lifting rocks or picking up a lightsaber hilt is hard when she’s grown up hearing stories about Luke doing much crazier things. Between that, having Kylo demonstrate all those abilities to her beforehand, and also being able to access his training through the Force Bond there is 0 reason for her to need a training montage in-universe. But more importantly, because the audience has already gotten a crash course on standard Force abilities from the previous movies, a training montage would be redundant. We don’t need the same exposition given to us again anymore than we need to see Rey repeat the same character journey as Luke. The Force Bond and Rey’s preexisting fighting capabilities may be a convenient workaround to explain why Rey doesn’t need a training montage, but they exist because a training montage would be dead weight that adds nothing to the story. And that’s just the Force Bond’s ancillary purpose. Its much more important function is getting Rey and Kylo to stop fighting and start talking.

Sixth:

Why couldn’t Rey and Kylo at least fight to a draw or better yet, have her forced to retreat in their first battle? Why did she have to beat him at the very beginning of her journey? Doesn’t that make her too powerful with no room for advancement and him too weak, leaving no tension for future confrontations?

Because Kylo’s defeat isn’t about Rey at all. It’s not about making her look good. Kylo’s supposed to be at his lowest point going into TLJ. He’s supposed to look weak, not because the screenwriters think it’ll make Rey look stronger in comparison. They know damn well that the way to write a villain is to present them as an impossible obstacle to overcome. To hide any semblance of vulnerability in order to keep you in suspense as to how the hero could ever prevail against them. But that’s not Rey and Kylo’s dynamic. That’s Kylo and Snoke’s dynamic. Kylo isn’t the villain, he’s the “other half of the protagonist”. He doesn’t exist for Rey to be afraid of him. She’s meant to sympathize with him, which means he needs to appear vulnerable and human in front of her. They couldn’t build the romantic (or even platonic) connection the film clearly intended for them if Kylo actually did come across as threatening as people wanted him to be. The appearance of physical or emotional invincibility would be antithetical to the entire story they’re trying to tell.

Also, Rey isn’t even that good with a lightsaber. Kylo had been shot with a bowcaster, injured further and tired out by Finn, and handicapped himself by not aiming to kill or maim since he wanted to recruit Rey to his side and Rey still spent 98% of that fight running and only won because Kylo chose not to kill her when he had the chance.

Believe it or not, some dumbasses have actually heard all this and still tried to argue that Rey shouldn’t be in any fighting shape after hitting a tree hard enough to lose consciousness and that should nullify all the advantages she was given. If you make this argument, you’re being an anal contrarian fuck and you know it. Getting hit in the head is NEVER portrayed realistically in fiction. It is completely standard and in no way exceptional for a fictional character to awake from unconsciousness with no impairments. It has fuck all to do with trying to make characters look cool. It never has been and never will be a Mary-Sue trope.

In conclusion:

None of Rey’s abilities or feats are just there to make her look good. They’re either there to move the story along, or to add to her characterization and character journey, or to add to Kylo’s. Furthermore, they’re nothing special in the context of Star Wars, the stuff she learns quickly has in-universe justifications and it’s not even unprecedented for characters to git gud enough to match someone more experienced in a very short amount of time with no in-universe justification.

[recentanimenews]

Re: Zero – 29 – Take Care, Natsuki Subaru

Having episodes end with Emilia unconscious two weeks in a row was a bummer, but returning to the real world and getting to spend some time with Subaru’s remarkable parents made up for that and then some. Right from the word go, we know we’re in for a ride: Subaru’s dad executes wrestling moves to welcome him to the morning, while his mom (who shares his “scary eyes”) insists he eat a giant mountain of peas, which neither she nor his dad like.

They may have their amusing quirks, but his folks are alive, present, and relatively normal…which makes them among the rarest anime parents out there!

Subaru is a shut-in; he has been since about three months after high school began. His dad manages to coax him out for a walk, and sakura-strewn park in which they have that walk is particularly dreamlike and bright, as bright as his bedroom is dark.

Also bright, to the point of blinding: his parent’s absolute unconditional love and support, no matter how far off “the prescribed path” he’s strayed. Like so many others, Subaru’s problems weren’t caused by a rough or abusive childhood.

When periodic stabs of pain in his head resolve to the spirit of Emilia thanking him for saving her all the time, his memories from the New World flood back in, and with all that amassed experience and wisdom, is able to look at his past objectively and wrestle with it.

Subaru’s dad is a gregarious renaissance man, which put pressure on Subaru to achieve a similar level of greatness in anything and everything he did. But as he grew, he became less than the best, and eventually not that good at those things.

He tried to make up for the lack of talent and ability by acting out, gathering people around him he called friends but who ultimately were only around until he got boring. High school was the rude awakening for which he was not socially or emotionally prepared, and he gradually just stopped going.

Even so, his mom and dad treated him with the same affection and cheer as they always did, despite his desire for them to punish him or even throw him out for being such a pathetic loser. At a couple points during their talks, his dad asks if he likes someone. That’s because as his father he must sense a positive change in Subaru; that he’d figured out to get back on his own two feet.

Without naming names, Subaru admits there is a girl he likes, and a girl who loves him. Rem once told him giving up doesn’t suit him. She and Emilia saved him from his own complex because they didn’t have to pretend he wasn’t the son of the great Natsuki Kenichi—obviously neither of them know his dad. Subaru didn’t know how bad he needed to know it was okay to just be Subaru.

After a little cry and hug with dad, Subaru puts on his school uniform and prepares to return to school, Starting Over from Zero just as he did on Rem’s recommendation…only with school. His mom decides to walk him part of the way there.

She reiterates the things Subaru and his dad talked about, and when Subaru tells her he’ll never let go of people who helped him get over his troubles, and be sure to make himself worthy of them later, she declares he’s definitely “his kid”.

While those two words once caused stabs of pain (and still do one more time), his mom assures him not to worry about being “just as awesome” as his dad. After all, he’s only half his dad, and half his mom, so half as cool constitutes a “filled quota”.

Subaru, knowing he’ll leave both his parents soon and may never see them again, offers tearful apologies for not being able to do anything for them before going off to do his own thing. Again, his mom tells him not to fret; she and his father didn’t have him so he’d do something for him, but so they could do something for him. And they have, just by being there for him, loving him, and never judging him.

Subaru’s dad may have cast a shadow that inadvertently, temporarily stunted his son’s development as an individual. But because his son was half-him, he was eventually able to make it out of that shadow. It’s why when his dad says “do your best” and his mom says “take care”, he can hold his head high, smile, and go to school.

In this case, “going to school”, and specifically opening the door to his homeroom constitutes the completion of the trial, and Echidna is waiting for him (in his school’s uniform!) when he does so, remarking how he made it there faster than she expected.

As we return to his trials in the new world, it was both instructive and at times downright emotionally compelling to see of the old world from which Subaru came. The struggles he faced before arriving in the new world underscore why ending up there and meeting Emilia, Rem and the others was not only the best thing that could have happened to him, but also meant to be.

By: magicalchurlsukui

[janakimurali]

The Silver Lining

(I wrote The Silver Lining for the teachers’ newsletter brought out by Orient Longman. It was published around 1992. Silver Lining is about a mother who blames her son for leaving her alone and going away to America. Even today, this is the reality of the Indian middle class, whose children migrate abroad, in search of a better future for themselves. Parents live on their own and build a life for themselves)

The Silver Lining

Janaki Murali

Another day, another week. Dull boring Monday.

‘I hate Monday,’ Bharati Sharma told herself as she pleated her cotton sari and tied her hair in a tight bun. She massaged her knees painfully. Her arthritis was troubling her again.

Bharati checked her handbag. Everything was in place. Pens - red, blue, pencils – sharpened; and the balm for her headache. She gathered all the evaluated notebooks and put them in a large plastic shopping bag. She checked her watch. Another ten minutes to go.

Bharati took a last look around to check if she had missed anything and then locked the flat. She took the short walk to the bus stop painfully, stopping every now and then to hold her knees.

‘Good morning, ma’am,’ a cheerful refrain of young voices greeted her. She nodded her head curtly. One of the children, offered to hold her bag, but she refused. She didn’t need their help. She wasn’t so old, she was only 53.

The school bus arrived, and the kids formed a straight line. They made way for her. She reached for the handle of the bus with one hand and held on to her bag with the other.  Her knees buckled and she stumbled. Her bag fell on the street and the handle broke and the exercise books spilled out of the bag. One of the senior boys rushed forward to help. She stepped into the bus and sat down on a seat, waiting impatiently for the boy to give her bag back to her.

‘Thank you,’ she said between her teeth, when the boy handed her bag to her.

‘The strap is broken, do you want me to carry it for you, Ma’am?’ he asked courteously.

 ‘No!’ she replied curtly.

‘Okay,’ he said, but his face lit up in a smile.

She looked at him suspiciously. Was he laughing at her? If he was, she would give him a dressing down immediately. But the boy had already turned away, chatting about the coming cricket match with the other boys.

She sneaked a peek at him. Tall broad shoulders; neatly pressed clothes; a little frayed at the edges, shoes worn out with small holes at the toes. However, when he smiled, his whole face lit up.

Bharati’s heart turned over. The boy looked a little like Vineet.

The school bus had reached the school.

Bharati picked up her bag and stepped out, going straight to the staff room. The other teachers nodded at her and went about their work. She returned their nods briefly and went to her table. She didn’t like small talk and fortunately her colleagues left her alone.

Bharati hated the school and teaching, and she couldn’t stand any of her colleagues either. All of them spent hours talking about their husbands and their children and the food they had cooked. Of course, even if she wanted to, she couldn’t join their conversation, for she had no husband and a son who had deserted her in her time of need.

***

Sundar, her husband, had died two years ago. Theirs had been a happy marriage. They shared the same liking for books and music and there was always a lot of laugher in the house. Their world was complete with the arrival of Vineet. All their dreams were now woven round their son.

Vineet should have the best of everything. The best school, the best toys, the best clothes. Vineet grew up to be a handsome boy and Bharati proudly began match making while Sundar mapped out his future.

‘Vineet you will sit for the TOEFL, GRE and look for a scholarship in America, your future is there,’ Sundar told his son.

Soon, Sundar’s dreams for his son came true. Vineet got a scholarship and flew to the US.  Bharati kept aside her match making efforts. She would look for a bride for Vineet when he came back. Then Vineet and his bride would live with them and there would be children’s laughter ringing in the house.

But it hadn’t worked out like that.

Sundar died of a massive heart attack and Vineet never came back.

With Sundar gone, something died inside of Bharati and nothing was ever the same again.

Vineet came for his father’s funeral, but he had to rush back to take up the job offer he had got after his engineering degree.  

Bharati had had no alone time with her son. There were the funeral arrangements to make and so many visitors to attend to. Soon, it was time for him to leave. She had so much to tell him, but couldn’t say anything. She couldn’t tell him that she needed him now much more than ever. She couldn’t tell him not to go back to America and look for a job in India instead. She couldn’t tell him because they were Sundar’s dreams for their son.  

Bharati watched silently as her son packed and then boarded his flight to freedom, while he left her alone to face the world.

Bharati never forgave him for that.

Vineet wrote every week, colouring his letters with his bright experiences and the people he met. She wrote back the shortest of letters, but never once did she tell him how lonely she was or how much she missed him.

When Vineet wrote about Annie, Bharati knew all was lost. Annie and he were getting married and he wanted her to be there.

‘Ma, I want you to be there, Annie would love that too.’  

Bharati read and re-read the letter and then tore it up.

Bharati never replied to any letters from Vineet after that. But Vineet never stopped writing. He filled his letters with interesting details of their life together and sent her beautiful photos of Annie and him together.

But Bharati didn’t relent.

Then there was that letter from Vineet asking her to sell the flat, quit her job and join him in America.

She didn’t reply to that letter either.

***

The bell rang. It was time for the School Assembly.

Bharati took her place along with the other school teachers. After Assembly, she went to her first English class. The time flew and she was already in her last class. Her knees hurt and she massaged them to make the pain go away. It had been a long, hot day and she was exhausted and tired.

She had just begun her class when there was a knock on her classroom door. She looked up to see a group of boys standing at the doorway.

‘Ma’am we have cricket selections today. We have come for Ajay.’

Bharati looked back at her class and saw a boy stand up. It was the same boy from the morning. He was smiling.

‘Can I go ma’am?’ he asked.

Suddenly, Bharati felt irritated. ‘No, you can’t. Can’t you see class is in progress here?’

 ‘But ma’am we have a match tomorrow and Ajay has to be there,’ the boys said in unison.

‘I don’t care if you have a match or not. This is the English class and I want you to leave and not disturb the class.’

The boys went away.

Bharati watched from the corner of her eye as Ajay sat down slowly, his smile fading away. Good, he wouldn’t dare smile at her again.

She went through the rest of the class, ignoring the whispering and Ajay’s ashen face. He was trying hard to keep his composure and looking straight ahead of him.

She closed her book as the bell rang and the boys filed out of class. Ajay took a long time packing his bag. He finally shuffled out, shoulders slumped and head bent.

‘Hunh, boys these days have their priorities all wrong,’ she told herself.  

But when Ajay did not turn up for class the next few days, Bharati covered her uneasiness with anger. How dare he miss class so that he could go and play cricket? She would have a talk with the principal about the boy. By the end of the week, when Ajay had still not turned up, she walked up to the Principal’s office.

 ‘Come in Mrs. Sharma. Any problems?’ asked the Principal pleasantly.

‘This boy in the tenth class, Ajay…’ she began hesitantly.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs. Sharma. I can’t do anything about it. I told him he had to qualify for the cricket team. The gall of the boy, he didn’t even turn up for the selections. I can’t do anything now. That was the only way I could convince the Board to waive his fees.’

Bharati sat down slowly. ‘Can…can you explain please?’ she asked, swallowing.

‘Look Mrs. Sharma, I had told him clearly that if he managed to get himself into the cricket team, I would put his name on the sports quota and give him a scholarship. Now, he has to pay his fees or quit the school,’

‘Wha…what?’ whispered Bharati

‘I’m sorry Mrs. Sharma, but that is the way it is,’ said the principal.

Bharati got up slowly and walked out of the room. That cheerful smiling boy? Why couldn’t he pay his fees? Then she remembered the frayed uniform, the torn shoes.

Oh god, what had she done?

She spotted a few Class ten boys and called out to them.

‘Where does Ajay live?’ she asked.

The boys fidgeted and looked at one another.

‘He didn’t get selected,’ said one of the boys, looking accusingly at her.

‘I know, I…I am sorry. I…please could you tell me where he lives?’

The boys hesitated and finally one of them nodded and told her.

Clutching the slip of paper with Ajay’s address on it, Bharati hailed a passing auto-rickshaw.

Ajay’s house was among a row of houses in a narrow and crowded by-lane. There were clothes hanging on lines outside the houses and children playing on the street. They looked up curiously at her as she got out of the auto.

Bharati knocked on Ajay’s door tremulously and waited for what seemed a long while, before the door was opened by an untidy and unkempt woman.

‘I came to see Ajay,’ said Bharati. ‘I am his teacher…from the school,’ she added, as the woman eyed her suspiciously.

‘If you have come to ask us to pay his school fees, we can’t. My husband has already told him to look for a job. We have six of our own to feed. When his parents died, they didn’t leave any money for him. Yes, my husband is his uncle, but we don’t have to pay for his fancy schooling as well.’

Bharati listened miserably. It was all her fault. She had punished Ajay because he looked like Vineet.

‘I have not come to ask you to pay the fees. I want to see him, please,’ she pleaded.

The woman sized her up silently and then yelled out, ‘Ajay, someone from the school to see you.’

Bharati stood at the open door for quite a while before Ajay came to the door. His shirt was crumpled and his hair was dishevelled.

‘Ma’am it’s you!’ said Ajay, confused. He quickly smoothened his shirt and ran a hand though his hair.

‘Ajay, I didn’t know…’ she had hesitantly.

‘Ma’am, it wasn’t your fault. I should have explained. But it was so difficult to talk about it. After my parents died, the only thing that kept me alive was the school and I was losing that too…’

‘Look Ajay, come home with me and we will have tea and talk about it and find a way. What do you say?’  

Ajay nodded.

***

Bharati watched as Ajay tucked into the samosas they had bought on the way for their tea. He had sat quietly while she boiled the tea and brought two steaming cups of masala tea.

He had reluctantly spoken of his dreams of wanting to study engineering, but when his parents had died, getting a sports quota had been his only hope of staying in the school. There was no rancour, just a resigned sadness. He was so like Vineet, so passionate when he talked about his dreams, yet ready with a smile, that lit his face.  

Before they had drained their tea, Bharati had convinced Ajay that she could afford his fees and that she really wanted to support his education.

After Ajay left, Bharati hummed a tune to herself while she cleared the table. When she went to check if her door was latched, she saw a letter under her door. Smiling to herself, she split open the cover and pulled out a letter with the familiar handwriting.

‘I know Ma, you haven’t forgiven me for marrying Annie and deserting you when you needed me. We are now going to have a baby and Annie and I want you to come visit us. No, I am not telling you to quit your job and come forever, just come for a short holiday. Please say yes, Ma.’

Bharati checked the wall calendar hanging in her living room. The summer vacation would start soon. She picked up her phone and booked a trunk call. A letter would not reach Vineet on time.    

Of course, she would say yes.

The End

[kekabumi]

Gulab Jamun

Gulab Jamun is a popular dessert in the Indian subcontinent and our personalities are just as sweet and lovable as the dessert.

In conjunction with the Festival of Lights, Kekabumi presents: Gulab Jamun, a photo journal of 4 very different gulabos*, each with their own unique twist and flavour as we explore their take on being a Malaysian Indian.

*term of endearment

GULABO #1: ANJALI NIJJAR VENUGOPAL, 22 Artist, Actor, Poet, Freelance Publicist

“Is your name inspired from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai?” I threw the first question to break the ice.

“No,” she replied with a sweet smile. “I was born before that!” 

Anjali, despite being young is a quadruple-threat. She’s an artist, actor, poet and a freelance publicist. Her artwork have been exhibited in Tokyo and she is as passionate as one can be. She also recently competed in SHORT+SWEET staged at Kuala Lumpur Performing Arts Centre (KLPAC) if she’s not performing at poetry gigs like ‘If Walls Could Talk’.

“I’ve always liked the stage,” she admits. 

Born and bred in Sabah, Anjali pursued her tertiary education in Film & TV. Her favourite film is Scott Pilgrim vs The World and she described her style as a fine line between pastel goth and sporty.

As a theater actor, Anjali said that she has to open up and be vulnerable when she is on stage in order to put on a good show. The intense training she had during Theatre for Young People (T4YP) had allow her to do just that.

“I’ve become much, much, braver.” she added.

A lot of people would never guess that she’s actually a Sikh because to her, there is not enough Sikh representation in Malaysia even though there are a few Gurdwaras in KL itself.

“It’s also unfortunate that the Vaisakhi (a major religious celebration in Sikhism) is not given Public Holiday here. Sometimes I had to choose between classes or work and going to temple. I wish that wasn’t the case.”

Anjali, whose dream home would be a studio apartment where she can turn into a creative space wasn’t afraid to speak up about the struggles she had growing too.

“I used to not like my name because people was making fun of it when I was a kid. They made me feel like I’m horrible and ugly for being Indian.”

“It was not until I see the representation (of POC) in the western media that I thought to myself wow, I could actually look good in that (outfit).”

Anjali’s play “TIGA” will be staged at Five Arts Centre from 23rd – 26th November. Make sure you don’t miss it!

Instagram/Twitter: @pertatos​ Website: http://pertatos.blogspot.my/

GULABO #2: AZAAD, 25 Videographer

Azaad was 30 minutes late to our shoot but his personality is so bright we couldn't be upset about it. Our conversation started when we went to 7Eleven together to get some drinks and snacks. He told me that one day, he wants to prank the 7E guy too. Throughout our 15-minute walk, we talked about a lot of random things - from car drifting, to parkour, to suicide.

"Every day I wake up to be a better person than I was yesterday," he told me. "That's what keeps me going.”

Born in an Indian-Muslim family from Penang, the Media Technology graduate from SAE International emphasized on the importance of family by saying that there will never be a place like home.

“Growing up, my friends are 60% Chinese, 30% Indians and only 10% Malays but I have never experienced racial clashing. I see it happening around, but never to me.”

When asked about his thoughts on the minority in Malaysia – Indians especially, Azaad said that he wish the Indians realised how important they are as the people here in Malaysia and that they should never feel sideline. Azaad speaks fervently of his dissatisfaction with the IT and Medicine stereotype often imposed onto Indian individuals as he hope to see more Indians in the creative line of work.

While digging deeper into his own heritage, Azaad also enlightened us about what it means to be an Indian Muslim in Malaysia.

“I think the Indian culture is amazing. The heritage is really something to be proud of and celebrated. And the colours are just so beautiful” said Azaad. “However, one of two things people often ask when they find out that I’m Indian-Muslim is either: Which one of your parents is malay? Or are you a convert?”

As Azaad explains about the Indian Muslim community within Malaysia, we learnt that it is a small minority that often get mixed up with Mamaks, who are individuals of mixed Indian-Malay heritage. Azaad laments on the interchangeability of the Malay and Muslim identity, which gives way to a form of ignorance towards others that don’t fall under the same label. 

Azaad notices that Indian Muslims are at risk of losing their unique culture due to the pressure of trying to fit into modern Malaysian society, but they may also be at risk of losing a part of their identity as well if they do not. As Azaad mentions, “If you can’t beat the rest, join the rest but of course there are those who still stay true to their roots.”

The enthusiastic 25 year-old who loves his current job told me that if not a videographer, he’d probably be in aviation as a fighter pilot or a professional motor sport driver if he ever runs out of creative juice. Well, I guess we have to wait and see what’s in store for this Penangite creative.

Instagram: @ahmedazaad

GULABO #3: VARSHA, 20 Musician, lawyer-to-be

When I first arrived at the studio, I noticed a girl with sharp face feature doing her make-up and I thought “Woah, she’s beautiful.” It took me awhile to approach her because not only she was doing her make-up, she also has this stern look that made me feel a little scared. But as the hour pass by and everyone was all warmed up, Varsha turned out to be a very pleasant person to have conversations with. And quite chatty too!

So when I had her to tell me a bit about herself, it was very surprising to know that this 20 year-old is currently pursuing her degree in law despite having a pure-science A-level qualification. So why the drastic change?

“Well, I’ve been learning science since I was 16 and the thought of having to spend the rest in my life in the lab is just not something I am quite comfortable with. I mean, I really, really, love Biology and all but maybe not as a professional.” she told me as we were hanging out at the balcony.

Three fun facts about Varsha that I learnt:

When she was 10, she had a skateboarding phase but never really got into it because she was just stoked to have Spiderman design on her skateboard instead of the actual thing.

When she was 13, her guilty pleasure show to watch is Keeping Up With The Kardashians (KUWTK)

She was obsessed with High School Musical (HSM) so much that she had posters all over her room that she has not yet taken down.

Varsha who views John Mayer as one of her sources of inspiration recently released two songs on her Spotify – ‘Real’ and ‘Fool for You’. But her achievements to this date definitely didn’t come easy.

“I feel like no matter how good I am, I will always have to push a bit extra in everything I do. For example, I did great in my SPM but not great enough to land me a scholarship because of the race quota. I totally understand that the majority should have more seats but yeah.” she explained.

To Varsha, Malaysia is a country where you have to conform to the majority. You are forced to follow the flow but if you are a salmon who swims upstream, that wouldn’t be too easy.

“Honestly, I don’t think coerce is good for you spiritually or mentally. I wish people can just be their own person regardless their preferences,” Varsha added. Well, we agree with you on that, girl.

Instagram & Twitter: @thatssovarsha Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/2X1RsyKi5IRhAPyKAa8o3m

GULABO #4: KEITH NOEL RAJ, 22 Musician

“Passionate. Rational. Naïve.”

Those were the words that came out of Keith’s when I asked him to describe himself in three words. Started playing music since he was 13, he told me he never learned how to read notes despite being able to play instruments well.

Throughout the photoshoot, Keith wasn’t the loudest person in the room but he exuberates this calm aura that made it easy to approach him. Young and talented, Keith believes that if you put in a lot of effort, time and details in what you do, you will be great at it.

Speaking of great, he will be releasing his EP really soon and we wish him nothing but the best!

“So what do you think about the Indians in Malaysia?” curious, I asked. “I do think that our representation in this country is a concern especially with all the stereotypes that people have on Indians.”

“But a way to rise above that than getting proper education. Those who are financially stable are lucky, but what about those who are not? They need to get out of the cycle and see the world.”

To Keith, the inability to see life in a bigger picture will restrict your reality. Which is why if he had to write a letter to his future self he would ask if the older Keith is okay and hope he is not having a stagnant life at that point of his life.

“Hopefully you don’t have a wife and kids too!” he added. 

This young musician who would like to visit Japan one day told us that there’s just something about the way Japanese do things that he loves. Contrary to the Western world, Japanese people don’t have problem with routine and he think it’s very interesting how they live life there.

Twitter/Instagram: @keithhateskids

We hope you enjoy this feature as much as we do. We had a really good time working with the personalities and super glad that we get to share their stories with all of you!

Love, Kekabumi.

[newstfionline]

This Is The Contract My Wife And I Wrote To Protect Our Work-Life Balance

By Neil Pasricha, Fast Company, Aug. 7, 2017

“Congratulations, Neil!”

I was sitting across from an HR exec at Walmart a few years ago. His hand was outstretched, and on the desk in front of us was a crisp sheet of paper spelling out all the terms of my new promotion. I shook his hand and left doing mental cartwheels down the hall.

This was it! The dream job: More money, bigger team, fancier title, more interesting work.

And more total work, too. A few more meetings. A few more hours. A few more business trips. A bigger job means bigger responsibilities, which would probably mean dedicating more time and effort overall--that’s just how promotions work, I inwardly shrugged.

Promotion letter in hand, I popped my head into the office of one of my mentors at the company: “Guess what! I got the big promotion.”

“Congratulations!” he said. “Are you going to accept it?”

What did he mean, was I going to accept it?

“Well, it feels like a slam dunk,” I replied, wondering what he was getting at. “Everything improves here--salary, benefits, title. Great for future employability, too. If I get turfed I have a nice top line on my resume,” I pointed out, adding, “I feel like I should sign this right now and head straight back to the SVP’s office.”

“Go ahead and sign it,” he said with smile. “But it’s a big job! You’ll be leading a large team and on the road a lot. So before you hand it back in, make sure you take the contract home, share it with your wife, and write up another contract, too--a family contract. One between you and her. The company is changing all your terms, aren’t they? So make sure you revisit all your home terms, too.”

He had a point. Many of us have contracts with our employers, but few of us have contracts with our partners.

So, strange as it sounds, I went home that night and pitched the idea to my wife, Leslie. We both agreed it was a smart move to think deliberately about how changes in either of our careers might affect work-life balance for both of us. So we sat down and spent a long time that night discussing things. At the end, we arrived at a short contract with four key bullet points whose terms are still in force today:

1. NIGHTS AWAY. As a parent, it breaks my heart to miss bath time. Combing my son’s wet hair. Reading books under the covers. Goodnight kisses. Knowing there’s a finite number of these nights in our lives, Leslie weighed approximately how many nights per year I might have to be away in the new role. We came up with a number that we could both live with. The we began tracking it.

The nights-away cap we’d agreed to was easy to break down per month, so if I had a really busy month (say, a conference out of town) then I knew I’d need to cut back on travel the next month to make up for it. No, I never actually told my boss, “Sorry, I’ve hit my quota, send someone else!” In fact, just tracking things helped me stop sweating every business trip. I simply counted them toward an annual number. Plus, if I ever fumbled this bullet point, I knew I’d have to make it up on one of the subsequent three (there’s only so much control you have when you’re working for someone else). And when I left Walmart to work for myself, it simply meant planning to miss certain out-of-town opportunities.

Can this hamper your career? Absolutely. Let’s not pretend you can have everything. Come up with a number that works for your family and stick with it.

2. FAMILY DAY. We decided it was important for us to have one family day every weekend--a full day with no cell phones, no extended family, no friends, nothing. Just me, my wife, our two little kids, and zero interruptions all day.

Before setting this down in writing, so many weekends would rush past in a blur of gymnastics, birthday parties, and extended family dinners. They were fun! But there was no deep family time for just us four. To be honest, sticking to this bullet-point has been really tough. Sometimes you feel terrible declining an invitation to an outing or get-together you know will be really special. But prioritizing one family day every weekend creates energy, and it helps you be choosier about your commitments. After all, there’s a real risk in saying “yes” to things reflexively.

3. NIGHTS OUT. The third item in our contract reads “NNO/LNO”: Neil’s Night Out/Leslie’s Night Out. This is a fun one. Once a week, we each get one night to do whatever we feel like. That can mean dinner with a friend, catching some live music by myself, spinning around in circles in empty parking lots--hey, who cares, it’s my night off! Leslie gets her own each week, too.

Again, energy is the priceless commodity here. It’s too easy to collapse on the couch in a Netflix coma once the kids are in bed: “Oh, look, we have only three Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidts left!” These regular night-out appointments help us plan to prioritize ourselves and maintain our other relationships, too. I feel like a great father and husband both before and after I go away on business, because I get energy from those nights to carry me through the time I’m away.

Plus, I get my own stories and experiences to bring back into the home while continuing to develop my life as an individual. The best part is there’s no guilt, since my wife and I both practice this habit in equal proportion (so in a way our two nights “pay for” each other. She can go to a yoga class, work on her pictures in a coffee shop, try my spinning-around-in-a-parking-lot thing, whatever! The two nights end up feeling like a gift to each other--even when we (admittedly) need to push one another to actually take them during a tiring week.

4. VACATION DAYS. I know work contracts generally have a number of vacation days spelled out. But most of us aren’t taking real vacation. We either don’t take all our days--by some recent estimates most Americans leave paid time-off that they’re entitled to on the table--or we work while we’re away. It’s also worth noting that some companies have policies where you can either buy additional vacation days or take unpaid personal days. What’s my point? Simply that it’s one thing for your employer to tell you what you get and another for you and your family to decide what you want to take.

After all, vacation time is one of the things many people don’t bother to negotiate when they’re considering a new job offer or weighing a promotion. In fact, you might even be able to swap out something smaller, like a bonus, for more vacation time if you ask for it. After finalizing our contract, I took advantage each year of a policy at Walmart that let me apply for an extra couple weeks of unpaid leave, and then took the 5% annual hit to my salary. It was a worthwhile tradeoff for the extra time with my family, and I never noticed the funds that were being skimmed off the top.

That’s it! Four bullet points--but they couldn’t be more important. Everybody will have a different set of terms that matter to them and their partner, of course. Maybe yours will involve school drop-off and pickup, or whether or not you work from home certain days of the week. In any case, you don’t have to march into work and share this work-life contract with your boss. The point is simply to help you articulate your values, then actually express them in how you live.

I’ve actually found this helps me make smarter, speedier decisions about the way I’m spending my time. For instance, if I can’t avoid traveling on a weekend and miss a family day, then I automatically know I need to book two back-to-back family days on an upcoming weekend. Good excuse for a road trip! As you think about a contract that works with you and your partner, remember that the goal is never to be perfect. It’s simply to be a little better--and more balanced--than before.

[maryanntorreson]

War Brides: The Oral Histories Of The Military Spouses Who Took A Chance On America

An estimated 300,000 “war brides,” as they were known, left home to make the intrepid voyage to the United States after falling in love with American soldiers who were stationed abroad during World War II. There were so many that the United States passed a series of War Brides Acts in 1945 and 1946. This legislation provided them with an immigration pathway that didn’t previously exist under the Immigration Act of 1924, which imposed quotas on immigrants based on their nation of origin and strategically excluded or limited immigration from certain parts of the world, particularly Asia.

Equipped with little but a feeling and a sense of promise, war brides left everything that was familiar behind to forge a new identity in the United States. Many spoke little to no English upon their arrival in the country, and they were introduced to post-war American culture through specially designed curricula and communities. To this day, organizations for war brides in the United States provide networks for military spouses and their children, helping them keep their heritage alive and share their experiences of their adopted home.

To commemorate the 75th anniversary of the end of World War II on September 2, 2020, Babbel conducted interviews with surviving war brides as much of the world endured lockdown. Many of these women are now in their 80s and 90s, and their oral histories celebrate the challenges and successes of adapting to a new culture and language, as well as reflect on the leap of faith they all took to travel across the world to an unknown country. Spoiler alert: there are few regrets.

Below, you’ll find our curated repository of the video, audio and transcription of the conversations we had with war brides from Japan, France, Belgium, Italy and the Philippines, as well as photographs they’ve provided us from their past and present.

Skip ahead to: Alice Lawson’s Story (Belgium) Nina Edillo’s Story (Philippines) Emilia Zecchino’s Story (Italy) Huguette Coghlan’s Story (France) Tsuchino Forrester’s Story (Japan)

    War Brides: On Coming To America

Alice Lawson — Belgium

I was born in Belgium, in Liège. I lived in a suburb, on a high plateau that overlooked the city. I had family that lived in the countryside, in the Flemish part of Belgium, so I knew Flemish. I also studied German because I was worried about the war coming, which started when I was about 16 years old.

I remember when I was a young girl and the Germans were coming into the city. They would crawl up the hillside with rifles in their arms, and the kids who were at the top of the hill would throw clumps of grass or rocks to try to dissuade the Germans from coming up the hill.

One soldier came into my parents’ house because he was hungry. My father said, “Come in the back and you can eat something.” However, the German wouldn’t eat anything unless my dad ate the same thing with him.

My dad worked on the streetcar system where he was a conductor, and he got me to work there as well. I was one of the people in the back who moves the electrical lines to the next one over. I also worked in the garage getting things started, moving the trolleys onto the line. I was tough.

I met my husband when the Americans came in. We went to the movies, my mother and I, and he was on the other side of the road. He looked at me and then came over and presented himself. That was it. Then we started dating.

He was an American soldier, so he spoke only English. We had things in common because I was a nurse working in the Belgian hospital and he was an American working in the American military hospital. So we had a connection in that regard, but I think the main connection had to do with the way that I looked and the way that John looked. He was good-looking, so I was willing to date him.

He wanted to get married right away. He had to go approach my father to ask him if he could marry me. And he was, of course, very reluctant, but I would not be dissuaded.

Once we decided to get married, he did a very unusual thing for an American soldier: he had my sister take all my measurements and sent them to his sister who lived in Maine, and he asked her to pick out a wedding dress for me and send it to Belgium. He also paid for the flowers and things like that so that we could have a beautiful wedding, which I think is pretty unusual.

At the time, I said to him, “I’m Catholic. Ff I do get married, I want to be married in a church.” So he said, “Well, I’m Catholic too.” I said, “Well, tell me a few things about the Catholic religion.” And he couldn’t tell me anything! He only knew how to do the sign of the cross like a Catholic — that’s all he knew. So he took a course in the army to become a Catholic for me.

We went off for a two-week honeymoon in the countryside of Northern Belgium. But because the war was still going on in Japan, he was then transferred there. I was only a few months pregnant when he got sent off to Japan.

The war ended before he got there, so he was sent back to the United States and released. He had made arrangements for me to come to the United States. But when my dad found out I was moving to America, he passed out. It was tough on the family, but my husband had made a promise that we’d be coming back to visit. Of course, that didn’t quite happen as well as my mother had hoped. It was tough on my parents, which made it hard for me.

I went through the Ellis Island immigration area when I arrived, and I spent a night in New York before getting on a train. It took five days to get to Alabama. I didn’t recognize my husband when I arrived because he had gotten very sick and lost so much weight.

It was a different way of life for me because I grew up in the city, had season tickets to the opera, and was an art student in college. Now I was in rural America facing an outhouse: there was no indoor plumbing, no indoor running water. We ended up moving into a chicken coop that my husband covered inside with paper so that nobody could see in.

I was also in a dry county, and I had a bottle of wine that I brought from Europe. I put it in the window to cool, and my husband saw it when he was coming home, and said, “You’re going to get us arrested! You’re not allowed to drink wine in this county!” So I said to him, “Why, are we in Russia?”

I had a couple of sisters-in-law who were very good to me. My mother-in-law as well. So they tried to accommodate me and teach me English, and my husband would give me homework every day to study the language. Of course we didn’t have TV or anything, but I would learn through the people who I met.

My English wasn’t good — there were a lot of hand signals at that time! It was difficult to learn, but I credit my ability to learn to the fact that I knew Flemish and German. There are a lot of French words that are English words. Between those three languages, I felt that I had a leg up on learning the English language.

Many times, people would call me an immigrant and say, “You’ve got an accent, go back to your country.” I remember those kinds of comments, but I could shake them off. They didn’t bother me.

I was pretty surprised by the racial problems I confronted in Alabama. I couldn’t understand that kind of racism because I wasn’t used to that in Belgium.

I was once on the bus and there was no room at the front of the bus to sit. I had my son in my arms and my husband was also on the bus, the three of us. I went to the back of the bus to sit because there was an empty seat, and my husband was very upset with me, that I would do that and not stand at the front. Those kinds of encounters were part of daily life for me.

We lived in Alabama for about a year or so. But because I was so unhappy with the lack of city life, and there was no work down there for my husband, we went up to join my sister-in-law in Michigan and get a job at one of the factories.

My husband worked bartender jobs and we lived in terrible housing, but he ended up getting a job at General Motors. One day, I went off with some friends on a Sunday drive and I saw a sign that said “GI homes for $5.” So I gave the guy $5, went home and told my husband, “Oh, I bought a house today!”

He said, “You bought a house?! Alice, do you know what you’re saying?” I said, “Yeah, I bought a house.” So we took a bus over there and we went to see the guy with my husband’s discharge papers, and we got the approval for buying the house! This is the house we’re still in today, since 1950.

We lived right on the main line for a streetcar in Detroit, so we were 10 minutes away from downtown. My daughter was born two years after my son, and I would take my children into the city frequently. In Detroit, I felt more acclimated to living in America, once I got into the city routine. I’ve always been a city girl, that’s just how I roll!

I’ve been back to Belgium a few times since. I got married in 1945 and went back in 1950. Then in 1964, when my son graduated from high school, I took him back to meet his relatives in Belgium, because he was just a baby when he left there. The last time I was there was in the early 2000s.

I still manage to speak French — je parle toujours le français ! I have a small circle of friends, and we go to lunch and chitter chatter away speaking French. I had other friends who were from Belgium, but they have since passed. I still carry the Flemish language within me, but don’t have much of an opportunity to speak it to anyone around here.

I’ve noticed with other war brides that they were very eager to be accepted and to acclimate into society, so they don’t necessarily talk much in their native language. I just went along with everything that was happening here. I didn’t try to change anything. I just helped myself and learned English. People would always say, “Oh, you have an accent,” and I would reply, “Yeah, vous parlez français? Do you speak French? That’s why I’ve got an accent!”

For people who are considering moving abroad to marry someone, I would say, “Join the club!” If you love somebody, you want to do anything you can to be with them.

    Nina Edillo — Philippines

At the War Ministry Building in Tokyo.

Content warning: some of the written and video material below contains graphic accounts of war-related violence.

My full name is Antonina, but I go by Nina. I’m 92, almost 92 and a half. I was born in Manila and we lived in a compound where the superintendent of city schools also lived. There were several American teachers and their families in that compound, so we were speaking English a lot.

Growing up wasn’t easy, because the war broke out when I was in seventh grade. They had sentry boxes every few miles, and everyone who passed by had to bow. And if you didn’t bow correctly, they’d slap you. The Japanese would come out of the sentry box and slap you and show you that this is the way to bow to them. So my dad said, “Don’t go outside if it isn’t necessary.”

During the war, our house was burned down and we had run for our lives because the Japanese were trying to kill as many civilians as they could while the American soldiers were pursuing them. We tried to shelter in one of the burned-out houses, and we went under the foundations to try to hide. But before that, we had to cross a big wall. It took me a long time to get in through the passage, and a Japanese soldier came over to me and poked me in the back with his bayonet. That’s why even now, I don’t want anyone touching me from the back. It has remained with me. I was so scared. I was 13, 14 at that time.

That night we could hear the Japanese yelling and running and then at around 2 or 3 o’clock when it started getting light, I saw a pair of feet. I knew that the Japanese did not have boots like that. And then after a while, I said, “Oh my God, these are different. These are big feet.” One of the soldiers bent down and said, “Oh, hello there.” When he said “hello,” I knew he was an American!

He told us we were in the firing line and to go as far back as we could. I was so excited. I said, “The Americans are here!” While I was running I looked down, and I didn’t realize that I was running over dead bodies. I said, “Please help me, dear God, help me.” I couldn’t walk anymore because I saw so many of them. And I was in the midst of them. Dead people. That was terrible. I still occasionally dream of that, and then I can’t sleep.

Eventually, we were able to get to a Red Cross station. They were standing there serving cookies and food, so we grabbed some and ate like there was no tomorrow. Thank God we didn’t get sick when we ate, especially me!

It was in early 1945 that I met my husband. We hadn’t seen the ocean for three years, so my sister said, “Let’s go and see how the beach is.” That was where we met a few soldiers, and my sister said to me, “Don’t say anything. I’ll do the talking!”

They introduced themselves and said they were Filipinos from the United States, and they said that they wanted to meet some of the Ilocano, which is my parents’ language and dialect.

They asked, “Would you like some candy?” Well, God, due to the war I hadn’t tasted candy for years! So they gave us some Hershey’s candies, and that’s why some of the war brides call me “Hershey Girl!”

A month after that I met my husband, in May 1945. I didn’t know who he was at that time, but he walked in singing “Sleepy Lagoon.” My sister said, “Oh, he has a beautiful voice.” I said, “No, he can’t sing!”

He was a Filipino man in the U.S. Army and could speak the same dialect that my parents spoke. He was very nice and polite, and they liked him.

We married on December 2, 1945. It was in a small church, and I wore a short dress that my friend made for me. We didn’t have buttons, so she found what looked like little pebbles that she covered to make the buttons. We didn’t have zippers or anything like that, so it was buttons all the way down the back. Another friend had found an old Communion veil that her daughter wore, and they made that into my little veil.

When my husband finished his tour of duty in Japan, we came home to the United States. I had two children at that point, who were both born in Tokyo.

In Tokyo, my children learned to speak a bit of Japanese, and I couldn’t understand them. They would come home and tell me things in Japanese, and I would say, “Just speak in English. I don’t understand Japanese!” They would laugh. They had such fun doing it.

When we came to America, we arrived in San Francisco. I was seasick the whole time, so I was anxious to get off the ship. But we sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge at night, and it was all lit up, and it was just beautiful.

The first thing that struck me about San Francisco was the cars. There were so many cars! They were just whizzing by. In Japan, there were not many cars around. Usually, the soldiers were the ones who had cars — and some of the richer Japanese people — but the Japanese tended to rely on streetcars and the subway. It was 1954, and San Francisco seemed so bright and crowded.

The way people spoke in America was also very different. In Japan they don’t speak slang, and it took me a while to understand American lingo.

My husband eventually found a job in Los Gatos, California, for the Sisters of the Holy Names of Jesus and Mary. He worked for them as a second cook, and they provided us with a home.

Los Gatos was a very small town at that time. There were barely 5,000 people living there. We were the only Filipinos in that area, and they did not know what to make of me. When I took my eldest daughter to kindergarten, the children would say, “What are you? Chinese, Native American?” And I said, “No, we’re from the Philippines!” They didn’t have any idea where that was.

I was a seamstress for the convent the whole time. I made habits out of thick wool. There was a lot of hand sewing involved, and making the skirt required about five yards alone that I had to pleat to fit each person, and it was heavy!

On the whole, people were very nice. I missed my parents, but my sister ended up coming to America as well. I get to speak Ilocano with her still, which is nice because I haven’t been back to the Philippines since 1950. It was too expensive to travel back when I first came to America. I regret that, though. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to travel now.

For me, America hasn’t really changed from the time when I first arrived, because the way people of color are being treated now seems to be the same as when I first got here.

Technology, though, is one change that is so overwhelming for me. Going to the moon left me in awe. And my massage chair — I like my massage chair.

My advice for young people moving to another culture or country is: love conquers all. That’s my philosophy. I loved my husband and he loved me, too. He took good care of me. I miss him so much. We were married almost 57 years. It was fun to hear him sing.

    Emilia Zecchino — Italy

I was born in Bari, Italy. Times were slow during the depression, and I had a very complicated life. When I was a little girl, my dad was in the army, and he was sent to Ethiopia. In 1935, he brought the whole family over there, so I lived in Ethiopia for about five years, and I returned to Bari right in the middle of World War II.

Before the war, I loved to read a lot. I used to love going to school. But my father was a prisoner of war for six years, and while we were in Ethiopia, we lost everything. We were in a concentration camp. And by the time we got back to Italy, it was 1943, and things were very different from when we left.

The war had changed everything in Bari. I remember running because of all the bombings. Until the British and American armies came to Italy to set us free, things were very hard.

I met my husband in a very exceptional way. My husband was of Italian descent, and he had gone to America when he was a young boy, but he still had family in Italy.

He contracted a disease while serving America in the Pacific War, and he had to go back to the veterans hospital in America. While there, his mother, who was in Italy, became very sick.

Emilia and Richie along the Lungomare in Bari, Italy.

It took him 20 days by boat, but by the time he reached his family, his mother had already passed away. He stayed in Italy with his family for a few months.

During this time, I had found a job with the American army in a rank called the USO Shows, which brought in celebrities to perform for the troops. There was an office in Bari, and they needed a typist. I was only 17 years old, and I did not speak English, but I could read it. They convinced me I did not have to speak to anyone, just type. So I copied the words.

My husband passed our door and saw me, and he said he wanted to see more of me. He waited until the end of the day, and then he called me. He called after me in Italian, and I said “Yes, what can I do for you?” He asked me how to get to the station, explaining he was new in town. I tried to explain, but decided to walk him there. And that’s how we met.

As we started talking, we found out we had quite a few things in common. He was born in the same town as my father, and he knew some family there. Actually, my father’s cousin was my husband’s doctor!

That day we met, we felt a special attraction for each other. When we fell in love, it was as simple as that. He had to go back to the Veterans Affairs hospital in America, so we planned to get married after he returned to Italy. But he ended up staying in the hospital for almost a year. By that time, his finances were low, and he told me he did not think he could return to Italy. But he told me there was a way I could come to America as one of the war brides, and we could get married in America.

It took a lot of thinking on my part. But you know, I thought it was meant to be, so I said, “Okay, I’ll try.” My parents were not pleased about it, but I wanted to marry him. They put up a good fight because we did not know anyone in America. How could they let their 19-year-old daughter go alone to a strange country? I had to do a lot of convincing, but I was in love with him and he was in love with me.

Richie and his brother Nino in front of the grocery store.

I arrived in New York Harbor in 1947. I had seen lots of movies where the city was portrayed as such a prominent and beautiful place to live. I had no idea what skyscrapers looked like in real life, but when I saw them, it was really extraordinary.

Everyone was so friendly and kind when I arrived. I felt very much at home. My husband opened a grocery store soon after, and he put me behind the counter. That’s when I realized that I had to learn English. We had all kinds of people come through the door: Black, white, young, old, Italian — every nation! I didn’t know how to speak English, and they all helped me. We all got along beautifully.

Slicing ham in the grocery store on 45th Avenue in Flushing, New York, in 1948.

I remember someone told me about an area called Little Italy, where they had bookstores filled with books that would teach me languages. I read them every day and I made a point of practicing my English, even though I made a lot of mistakes at first. I sometimes made very stupid mistakes! Some people laughed at me, but I laughed with them. I asked them to correct me when I made mistakes, because that’s the way I learned.

After a couple of years of only speaking English with my husband, I knew how to speak well. I loved the language. English is beautiful. I remember reading Joseph Conrad. I found some of the phrases he used so attractive. Once I started reading in English, I felt like part of the environment. I was not a stranger any longer. The sooner you learn the language, the more you feel at home. I wanted to assimilate into the American lifestyle.

One of the biggest differences that struck me was that in Italy, if there was ever something special happening, you would get a mob arriving. Everyone would fight to get to the front of the line, whereas Americans used to line up for hours — there was no pushing, no shoving, no nothing.

The one thing I miss about Bari is the food, because everything is very organic. They still do things the old way, and you can’t replicate that in America. And the wines that they grow in the Bari regions, where the fruits are picked straight from the tree — you can’t make them here.

Emilia and her daughter.

I went back to Bari almost 10 years ago with my daughter for the first time. I couldn’t go back sooner because of the business, the children, and my husband being in and out of the hospital.

It was very emotional because it did not look the way I remembered. It was all completely different, but the food and the restaurants have stayed the same. But it felt so normal to be there. You never lose your birthright, and I was so happy to see my cousins.

I didn’t teach my children Italian, and that was one mistake I made. I wanted to learn how to speak English, so I never spoke Italian to them. I brought my whole family to America, though. My mother raised my oldest son, and only spoke Italian to him, so when he went to kindergarten he couldn’t speak English! The nuns called me and said, “You cannot leave this boy here. He’s crying all the time. He doesn’t understand us.” So he stayed at home, and I had to teach him English.

For people considering moving to a different country or culture, I would say to be courageous, because you never know what you’re going to encounter.

If they are fortunate like me, they will find a beautiful place to call home. My husband was a good provider. I had no problems. We just had to work hard. You’ll have to assimilate with the people wherever you’re going. If you want to keep your ways, then you’re always going to feel like a stranger.

    Huguette Coghlan — France

Huguette Coghlan (© Brigitte Morris)

My maiden name is Huguette Roberte Fauveau, and I am now 95 years old. I was born in Courbevoie, a suburb of Paris, and grew up in a nearby suburb called Chatou. I moved to America with my husband in 1946, and I still live there now.

I had a happy childhood before the war. My parents eloped when they were about 20, and they had me and my younger brother, Serge. My dad worked in a factory as a tool and dyes maker. They did not have a lot of money in the 1930s.

During the war, I remember bombs falling very close to my home. So close that my dad, my brother and I all lost our hearing. It eventually returned, but as I have gotten older, I have lost my hearing again.

We were blessed that we did not get hurt during the German occupation. My grandparents had a little farm, so food was not scarce. We always had food to eat, but bread was something we did not have enough of. At one point, the Germans took over the factory where my father worked. While we remained unhurt, I heard and saw terrible things.

I met my husband when I was on vacation with my grandparents. I was walking to a dance with my friend, Jacqueline. We had missed our ride, so we had to walk over a mile in our high heels. While we were walking, a large Jeep stopped next to us and asked if we wanted a ride.

Naturally, we said no. When we eventually arrived at the venue, our feet were a little bruised, but this did not stop us from dancing. I noticed that two soldiers came in, and after a while, one of them approached me. I knew it was one of the men from the jeep. He told me I had nice legs, and we talked for a long time after that. He told me he was part of the military police and was tasked with supervising the dance. His name was Rodger Murray Rusher and he was 20, like me. He asked me if I would go on a date with him the next day, so I told him where I lived and said yes, but I never thought he’d find my house. He did.

Huguette and Rodger.

My parents and my brother, Serge Lucien, liked Rodger straight away.

My parents, and above all my brother, were extremely sad when I told them I wanted to move to America. But they loved and trusted Rod. His mother had written a letter to my mother, so they had faith that he and his family would take care of me.

I married Rod in Chatou on the 23rd of September, 1945, in the Sainte-Thérèse Church.

I had studied English for four years in school, so I could read and write English. I was pretty good at speaking it, but I spoke with a strong French accent. When I got to America, I discovered that some people had a hard time understanding me. Many still do!

I became keen to learn English. I remember I read a lot, did lots of crossword puzzles, and always had my nose in a dictionary. It didn’t take me long to become fluent.

Rod and I first arrived in New York on the 19th of May, 1946. I spent my 21st birthday in New York. After that, we traveled to where Rodger’s family was from — a place called Roundup, Montana.

My extended family made me feel very welcome when I arrived, and they hosted a party to introduce me to all their friends from around the town. They all wanted to hear about France, and all were very nice and welcoming. Up until then, I’d thought my English was good, but this is when I discovered that I had a hard time understanding them, and vice versa.

My in-laws had a four-bedroom log ranch. They did not have electricity, and their water came from a well. The bathroom consisted of two holes in a little outhouse. It was a very pretty ranch, but it was a shock for me. I came from a very modern house in a big city. But when you are young, you adjust easily to changes.

I have returned to France many times over the years. The first time was not long after Rod died. He wanted to be a pilot, and he was learning to fly under the GI Bill. When I was still pregnant with our second child, Rod was killed in a plane accident with his brother in 1948.

A year or so after that, I returned to France. I stayed for six months, and then made the very difficult decision to return to America. It was hard to leave my parents and brother again, but by then I knew that I wanted my children to be American.

I didn’t have any formal lessons to learn how to be an American, but I soon grew to love America very much.

In Roundup, I missed the symphony and the opera that I used to attend at home. But when I moved to a bigger city in Montana, Bozeman, I could start to enjoy them again.

I spoke French with my children at home. My first two children were born in Roundup. I remember once overhearing some other children make fun of Gerald and Gregory for speaking French, so that’s when I thought, “No more French. They are American, they live here, and I want them to be American!” That was a mistake, but I didn’t know it then. It was difficult as a widow, and things were very different back then.

Three years after Rodger died, I remarried to a man named Terry James Coghlan. We had a girl, who we named Jacqueline. She speaks a little French, is very keen to learn, and is taking lessons now!

I would tell people who were considering moving to another country for love to not be afraid, and to follow your heart.

    Tsuchino Forrester — Japan

I came to America in 1960. Washington is such a beautiful state, with its mountains, oceans and rivers. In many ways it reminds me of Japan, and that’s why I settled here. There’s also a strong Japanese community in Seattle, where my husband and I have settled.

I was born in the countryside of Japan, so I would run around a lot and study little. I remember playing all the time with no restrictions.

When the war started, I was about 10 years old. We were in the countryside, and we had a ranch, so we didn’t have a problem feeding ourselves. Maybe a bit with meat and fish, but we produced our own rice and vegetables, so we were never hungry. I don’t remember seeing any soldiers, and we didn’t get bombed. Maybe 20 miles from my house was a city, Fukuoka, and one time I remember seeing the bombs from afar. To me it looked like fireworks. That’s what I remember.

I met my husband, Michael Forrester, through a mutual friend. He was in the U.S. Air Force. One night, he was visiting his friend, and by chance, I was visiting his friend’s wife, so that’s how we met.

At first, I thought he was a snob like all the other American soldiers who came to Japan. You know how soldiers come in and take over our country and we couldn’t say anything. He thought he was a big shot, so I thought I would show him my Japanese spirit!

That changed when he showed how persistent he was. He kept coming back, and the Japanese guys, they never did that. And he had plans for his life. I liked that about him. The way he looked to the future of his life — that’s what I fell in love with. He wanted to become a pilot, and I wanted to help.

When my father died, my brother quit school to become the head of the family. At that time in Japan, women weren’t supposed to be more educated than the head of the family, so my mother wouldn’t let me go to college. My teacher even tried to talk to my mother to convince her, but she still said no. So with Mike, and his plans, I said, “This is someone I can help go to college.” And now we’ve been married 62 years.

Initially, my family were not happy about me wanting to marry an American. Some of my family had died in the war, so my uncle was strictly against Americans and those who associated with them. He disowned me. But my other family members, they knew how stubborn I was, and they knew that once I had made up my mind, that was it. Their only worry was how would they help me if I was so far away.

We married in 1958. There were a couple of things in our way. When we filed for permission with the U.S. Air Force to marry, they sent Mike back to the United States! So it took time — close to two years. When he managed to come back to Japan, he was stationed.

We actually had three weddings. The first was in a Shinto temple, which the Japanese recognized as an official marriage, but the Americans did not. It made it easier for me to move with Mike to his new station on Okinoerabujima. Then our second wedding was December 23, 1958, and our chaplain one was on February 17, 1959.

Our first wedding was a Japanese wedding, which meant you have to take your shoes off, and that’s when I saw that Mike had holes in his socks! I remember looking at his feet and saying, “What is this?”

The U.S. Air Force found out about our Shinto wedding, and they didn’t like it. They almost court-martialed Mike for it. But his mother wrote to President Eisenhower, who stopped it.

We moved ahead with our plans to move to the United States. I had gotten my visa and passport, and Mike was due to finish his service in the air force. One night, the MP and Japanese police knocked on my door, and I thought, “What now? Is Mike going to jail again?” But this time, it was the sad news that Mike’s father had died. So Mike had to leave straight away.

It actually turned out that even though Mike left before me, I arrived in America two days before him. The American Red Cross helped me with getting the right tickets and everything. When I arrived in New York, I slept in the same bed as his mother, because there was no space for me.

Because it all happened so fast, I didn’t have a chance to feel sad about leaving Japan. It was more about how I could get there safely. And I was young, so my mind was made up. I’d heard great things about America. It was the land of opportunity.

I know a lot of Japanese people who miss Japanese food, but I don’t miss much about Japan. I liked hamburgers, and steak, and Mike’s mom’s specialty was spaghetti. That was good!

I learned how to read and write English a little in Japan, but the pronunciation was difficult for me. Some words were easy to confuse, like “yard” and “garden.” When I arrived in America, I had three younger brothers-in-law. I had to learn how to speak English for my own survival. I was always listening in the beginning, and I found that was the best teacher.

We moved around America a lot. When I first came, I felt so free and energetic. I love it here. Nowadays, I think people forget to show kindness and manners, however, which saddens me.

I have been back to Japan many times since. It has changed a lot. Especially my village. We used to run through all the houses playing hide and seek without permission. But now all the houses have fences, and gates, so it must be different being a child there. And there are lots of multistory buildings. Everything is being built up.

I think it’s not enough for a young person to marry someone from another culture or another country simply for the sake of living in another country. There needs to be some sort of goal they share. They should think twice, because love will get you into trouble. On some level, I just don’t resonate with that sort of easy thinking of an easy marriage.

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[ecotone99]

[RF] From being the football star to crying in the bathroom stall (GRAPHIC OVER 18 ONLY!!!)

I always admired my wife because of her tireless work ethic.

She was not only in charge of our house and our kids but she also made close to $200,000 a year in her sales job .

Her job was demanding and as long as she met her quota she was fine.

The territory she was assigned to was starting to run dry. She barely was making her quota and some months she was falling short.

My wife was starting to become more stressed out but she had a couple of women in her office that she considered her friends which made her job more tolerable.

My wife would text her work friends at night and they seemed to develop a bond outside of work.

As long as my wife was ok then I was ok.

At the end of every month, my wife, and her work friends would meet up at this local trendy bar / restaurant. Her boss and the spouses, including myself, would go as well.

I really hated going, but I knew I had to because it made my wife happy and created a better image for her.

My wife and I were in our 40’s and her boss was in his early 30’s.

He was gay and at a couple of the get togethers he brought a male friend.

It was starting to get close to the end of the month and I new that it was only a few days before I had to go out with her work friends.

My wife hinted that things were going really bad at her job. She said that she received a written warning for not reaching her quota.

My wife’s demeanor had started to change. She was so stressed out that she started to ignore our kids. I saw her starting to pull out her hair.

We were maxed out with the mortgage on our house. I had to consider that we possibly would default on our mortgage.

We owed more on the house than what it was worth, but our kids had a lot of friends in the community.

The economy was terrible and jobs had really shriveled up.

I was barely making it at my job and I was taking it day to day.

I got home from work and I knew I had to go out with my wife’s work colleagues and her boss.

My wife had really succumbed to her stress. She kind of jumped and got easily startled just by saying her name.

We both got dressed and in the car on the way to the get together she hinted that she might be terminated this week.

I thought to myself that we are going to have to walk away from everything and live with my parents where they had moved to Florida.

I felt devastated because my kids had made so many good friends, they were all doing so well in school and we all really liked the area.

We arrived at the bar / restaurant and I could sense that the mood was different than the countless other times we had got together in the past.

My wife looked horrible from stress and was unnecessarily laughing from nervousness.

I had to get away for a while and I decided to go to the bathroom to splash water on my face and just be by myself.

Shortly, after splashing water on my face my wife’s boss entered the bathroom.

He greets me and I really just wanted to choke him because I knew he was causing our lives to fall apart.

He asked me how everything was going as like he pretended that he didn’t already know.

I decided to be honest and I said “not very well”. He replied “oh what’s wrong?”

I exclaimed that my wife mental health was really deteriorating and she was uncertain about her future.

He then said “well about that” in a really snarky tone. He knew my wife was essentially out the door.

I eventually said how “how bad is it?” He replied “the situation could change in a matter of minutes”

I perked up thinking that perhaps there was going to be a merger occurring or my wife’s territory would be expanding, but it was nothing like that.

He said “well we all have needs and sometimes when a need is met then a problem gets alleviated”.

I was trying to figure out where he was going with that.

Then he said “how much do you want your wife to be happy?”

I said “I would give anything... our kids are starting to react to the way my wife is behaving... we are really living pay check to paycheck”

Then he said “prove it”

I said “prove what?”

He said “if you’ll do anything for your wife then prove it”

I was confused then he stepped into one of the bathroom stalls and unbuttoned his pants.

I was raised catholic and I was named the defensive football player of the year in high school and I played in college.

This was the most taboo thing I could ever do.

If he said cut my finger off, I would have just did it, but now I was completely taken off guard.

I wanted to run out of the bathroom.

He then said “come here” and he then pushed my head down.

It wasn’t a quick two minute drill it lasted at least 15 minutes and I started crying.

He finished then picked his pants up and headed out of the bathroom.

It took me another few minutes to pull myself together and muster enough strength to join the rest of my wife’s colleagues and her boss.

My wife asked why I took so long and I told her I had to take a work call.

We eventually left and I cried alone when we got home.

It was the weekend and I had a couple days to recover.

My wife kind of just laid in bed all weekend tossing and turning.

Monday came and my wife seemed completely miserable.

I had to make sure the kids were ready for school. It really threw off their routine. The kids didn’t relate to me and they were upset my wife wasn’t helping them.

Everyone left for the day and we returned home at our typical time.

The most amazing thing happened. My wife was glowing. She was a completely different person. She was smiling and singing.

Apparently, she met with her boss who said for the short time being she was OK, but not to get to happy because things could change in a blink of an eye.

For my wife, just to be reassured that she was good for the week completely changed her outlook and demeanor.

She was joking with the kids, helping them with their homework, and everything seemed back to normal.

I thought to myself well we all have done things we regret and what I did benefited our family.

Friday rolled around and my wife was still her perky self. We got ready for work and headed out the door together. As she got in her car she said “oh by the way we have to go out tonight with my work colleagues and my boss.” Then she got in the car and drove away.

I must have sat in my car for 20 minutes paralyzed by fear. I couldn’t move. Eventually, I started the car and went to work.

We all got home and My wife was humming around the house getting ready for the outing.

She kept reminding me to get ready.

I got changed and we headed to the restaurant.

The mood was much different this time. My wife was the life of the party. Everyone was laughing at everything she said.

Then it happened, I received a text stating “are you ready?”

I froze in fear. My wife’s boss got up and headed towards the bathroom.

I sat and waited a minute. I knew this was the only way to save the family.

I got up and made the death march.

It was so degrading because my wife’s boss was at least 10 years younger than me.

I got into the bathroom and he was waiting for me in one of the stalls.

As I got closer, I broke down and was bawling in tears. I couldn’t stop crying. I said “please don’t make me do this again”

He then pushed down on my head and I was in a kneeling position.

He took as about as much time as he did the week before and he had to make unnecessary noises throughout the whole experience.

We both staggered our return to the table and everyone was having such a good time that I’m not sure if anyone knew we had left.

My wife and I left the bar / restaurant and I went into the basement and cried for an hour.

My wife had not been so happy in years.

My kids were back to their old selves and I was content to see that my kids were ok.

I said to myself I had enough and I wasn’t going to do that anymore.

So, Friday came around and once again what was supposed to be a monthly thing now turned into a weekly affair.

My wife and I got ready and I was dead set that I was never going to do “it” again.

We sat at our usual table and all of the same cast of characters were there.

My wife was glowing in happiness. Then, I received the same text “are you ready?”

As I said I was done with doing “it”. I have had enough. He went to the bathroom and I stayed at the table. Then I received another text that said “last chance”.

Eventually, my wife’s boss came out of the bathroom and back to the table.

Shortly, afterwards we all left. It was a great weekend. My whole family went hiking and we were all in complete bliss. It was like all I really wanted in life.

Monday came and my wife was like Mary Poppins getting the kids ready for school and she was singing the whole time.

Then, that all changed when she came home from work. She was hysterically crying with her makeup dripping off her face.

She said she was put on probation today and everything she was doing was being documented to the minute.

I lashed out in anger and I said “that SOB”, which just made her cry more.

Once again, my wife was back to her miserable self. She ignored the kids and would just go to bed when she got home from work. She didn’t care about getting the kids ready for school because she was just too depressed.

I received a substantial pay cut at my job and now things were really tight.

Friday rolled around and my wife hinted towards us going out again with her work colleagues.

I knew I had no choice but I had to go.

We both monotonously got ready then shuffled our feet to the car then into the restaurant.

We sat down at the usual table with my wife’s work colleagues and my wife was completely comatosed.

The boss didn’t care he was a complete sociopath. I think if someone died at the table he would just order another drink and disregard that someone had just died that he knew.

It happened again I received the text “are you ready?”

He went into the bathroom and I followed him shortly afterwards.

I wasn’t a cryer and up until these bathroom visits occurred, I couldn’t recall a moment that I ever cried.

I was from the old school where crying was never an option you just suck it up.

This time it was different. He was in the bathroom stall and I slowly inched my self towards him like a kid who knew they were going to be reprimanded. I was crying uncontrollably.

He then started to kiss me on my lips and I started to screech in terror. He then proceeded to take my pants down and he then entered me in the most hate filled way.

Someone actually came into the bathroom and I stuffed my fist in my mouth to shut myself up. The person left the bathroom and after 20 hate filled minutes he finished.

This time I was in actual physical pain. We both left the bathroom. The boss was casually strolling through the establishment making small talk here and there.

I painfully walked back to the table. I did everything to hold back my tears from the physical and emotional trauma I had just experienced.

We eventually all left and went back home. It was the worst weekend of my life. My wife just stayed in bed all weekend and I hand to tend to the kids needs. I was in so much physical pain from the trauma I experienced.

Every step was so painful, but I had to cook for my kids and drive them to wherever they needed to go.

My wife was completely incapacitated.

Monday rolled around and I knew her mood was going to pick up and it did.

Slowly the physical pain had gone away.

My wife was on cloud nine again.

I was petrified of this Friday. I said I’m not going to do “it” anymore. I was going to confront the boss in the bathroom.

Friday came and both my wife and I entered the restaurant and went to our usual table with her work colleagues and her boss.

The text came asking “are you ready?” I got up and went into the bathroom.

My plan was that I was going to confront him right away and I did.

As he stood in the bathroom stall “I said why are you doing this?”

As I said this all I could think was I just destroyed my family.

Everything was going to go away. My wife hated my parents and living with them would last a day.

Then I started to cry realizing that I had no choice I had to do this.

Then he pushed my head down towards his crouch and I proceeded to do what he wanted me to do.

Then he said in the most angry and hurried state “do you know why I’m doing this ... do you ha?” He said it so loud that everyone in the restaurant must have heard it.

I continued on my knees bawling crying and then he said “do you know my brother?” and with my mouth half full I said “wha”

He said it again “do you know my brother” as he was flailing his hips towards my face.

As I was crying I said “No”

Then while, I continued to satisfy him bawling crying He then said “listen to me you piece of shit ... you don’t know me because your a worthless piece of shit ... do you remember my older brother ... you tortured him so much in grade school then in high school you drove my whole family into turmoil... I remember watching you, when I was a little boy, punching him in the back of his head, while he walked home from school ... you were such a big man ... and look at you now on your knees in the bathroom crying like a little baby with my thing in your mouth... you know my brother killed himself you piece of shit ... I was waiting to get revenge on you my whole life.”

He then finished and urinated on my face.

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[brianobrienny]

B2B Sales In A Slow Economy: How New Business Relationships Can Fortify Your Future

There’s no denying that the recent pandemic has affected many businesses, big and small. Some have experienced a slow down in sales while others, unfortunately, had to close down. 

COVID-19 has impacted the world in so many ways. It’s not just people’s health that’s hurting. Supply chains and businesses are greatly affected too.

Just like the virus, these changes are likely to evolve in the coming months, and we can expect to see newer ways of doing business in the near future. Here are just some of the ways B2B sales will change as a result of this pandemic.

If you’re part of the lucky group that was able to keep your business going. Here’s how you can still maintain those new relationships you’ve created before this pandemic happened.

Move your communications online

Some of your customers may be used to making orders online but some might not. Let them know that your website is live and operational and that they don’t need to visit your physical store to get their orders processed. This is especially important since you may be understaffed at the moment and there’s a limit to the number of customers you can accommodate in person.

Buyers demands are changing their needs from B2B businesses. They now expect the same amount of customer service the same way personal consumers would. They mainly want three things: speed, transparency, and expertise. Suppliers who provide an excellent digital experience are twice as likely to be chosen as a primary supplier over those who gave average or poor experiences.

Buyers have asked for frequent updates on the order fulfillment. They want to be informed of how the products are handled and shipped as well as the estimated time that it will be delivered.

Make sure your platform meets customer needs

Your website should be convenient and reliable to use otherwise, your customer might turn to your competitor to get what they need. Your platform should have relevant information, easy checkout, order tracking, and no errors.

There is now an increasing preference for making digital purchases rather than in-person. Because of this, businesses are opting to provide mobile app ordering and self-service options. Buyers cited that they strongly preferred using self-service across every stage of the buying journey.

B2B companies now believe that digital channels are twice as important as they were before. Countries like Spain and the UK rated high when evaluating its performance.

Companies have shifted most of their marketing efforts to digital selling. A third of these companies are optimistic that this model will be just as effective in the next 12 months after COVID-19 and are planning to keep this sales model.

More businesses are opting to use live chat as a way to research and interact with suppliers. Next to that are social media, text, and mobile.

Suppliers are diligent in marking in stock and out of stock items. This is because buyers want reassurance that the items they ordered will be shipped. They also have a strong preference for suppliers that provide better resources.

Highlight relevant products

No one likes to be bombarded with unnecessary product ads. During this time, your customers might only want to see products and services that are relevant to them. Make it a point to highlight only the products that can actually help them get through this pandemic. This may mean providing them with customized recommendations or offering a discount if they are in financial trouble. For example, Petit Collage launched a sale for a discounted price that was helpful to parents with kids at home who need more things to keep their mind active. Apple also did something similar in their App Store newsletter by recommending tools for learning while homeschooling, and methods of managing stress during extremely stressful times.

There is an increasing demand for consumer and retail products, meanwhile the demand within travel, transportation, and logistics has drastically decreased.

The production of products and services that are deemed non-essential will be reduced temporarily. B2B businesses are careful not to market products that are non-essential for fear of backlash.

Be alert for unmet needs

Keep an eye on your customer’s pain points because those could be great opportunities for innovative solutions. As mentioned in the previous point, what’s important right now are your customer’s needs. Pay attention to your interactions with them and see if you can create complementary services that fit what they are looking for.For example, Google Cloud has made Google Meet free to all G Suite customer globally.

Be transparent about stock and shipping

Things are still far from going back to normal which means that your stock may be limited or you could be experiencing some delays in shipping. It’s a normal inconvenience and everyone will understand why this is so. It’s important to be transparent to your customers so they know what to expect from you.

Despite the grim outlook on the economy’s health, a great number of businesses have actually increased their spend.  For instance, American Airlines did this to boost their stocks in the beginning of the pandemic. The increase in budget spend can be seen across sectors like pharma, medical products, media, and technology. Sectors that have maintained or even decreased their budget are the travel and global energy industries.

Some companies that increased their budgets have chosen to do so to ensure that their employees are able to work from home and still receive a salary. This means their spend has gone towards software, VPNS, and firewalls.

Revenue for eCommerce businesses have increased to nearly 30% since COVID-19 began. Countries like Brazil and Italy have seen the highest increase in B2B revenue. Brazil has seen a 46% increase while Italy has had a 36% increase in sales.

80% of B2B companies have drastically decreased the quotas for their sales teams in response to COVID-19. Next to that, they have also decreased their short-term bonuses and incentives.

Companies have also decreased their spend on promotional ads. However, they have ramped up the release of educational content in the form of guides and webinars.

Continue using tools that are useful

If you use marketing tools to make B2B sales easier, don’t try to cut costs by stopping your subscription with them. If you can afford it, you should continue using those services. They help keep your sales going and it’s a great way to support businesses like yours. They too, might also be offering discounts and grace periods so take advantage of that. For instance, HubSpot made their conversational marketing tool for free.

Be proactive

Sales may be slowing down and this is definitely not the time to just sit back and wait for customers to come to you. You’ll need to work twice as hard to reach out to your customers from all possible channels whether it’s phone, email, or social media. Also, don’t be afraid to ask for referrals from your existing customers. If they are highly satisfied with your service, they won’t hesitate to bring more sales your way.

Look after your community

Your business should be more than just a means to make profit. It should also make a positive difference in people’s lives. And there is no better time to do it than now. Some great ways you can support your customers include:

Offering discounts and benefits to customers who are in affected areas

Prioritizing stock for customers who are making big bulk purchases

Offering return options that are easy to do and is not complicated for the customer

Extending the deadline for payments

Offer your services for free to community response teams

Use tools to engage your customers

The best chatbots work very subtly. Ideally, customers don’t even realize that they are talking to a machine learning tool! And, they feel helped, not sold too. Thus, chatbots also have to work subtly in their aim to facilitate the sales process.

The concept of growth marketing is strongly focused on data and how to use it to convert more prospects and drive sales. The growth marketer utilizes any and all data they have at their disposal to build demand and drive sales. The process takes a lot of experimentation to determine the best approach.

You can invest in growth marketing techniques to gain insight on how to best engage with your prospects and client base. In times like the pandemic lockdown, data will help you see how the tendencies of your customer base have changed and how you can best address the new dynamics.

Artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning are changing the ways that businesses operate. It is creating an automation revolution. By this year, 30% of B2B businesses are expected to use some form of AI to empower some part of their sales process.

If users feel too sold too by a chatbot, it creates a negative experience. It’s about providing service that helps them convert faster, rather than push sales immediately. Chatbots achieve this objective through a variety of techniques.

Maybe consider using a chatbot to engage with your customers. For example, here are a couple of great examples of how companies can use this in their marketing tactics in some simple steps:

Helping customers make up their mind and reach a decision — RapidMiner removed every lead capture form on their website and replaced them with chatbots. The objective was to use automated conversations to qualify leads and help direct people to the sales team that are expressly interested in RapidMiner’s solution. The chatbot was responsible for 10% of all new sales and created thousands of leads for the sales team.

Analyzing and identifying funnel positions and providing results to match — Essentially, RapidMiner’s chatbot was able to filter traffic based on the reason that a visitor arrived at the website, whether he or she was exploring the product for the first time, answering a technical support question or talking to someone in sales. By establishing these distinctions, the chatbot was able to segment traffic more efficiently and send only the most qualified leads to the sales team, thereby saving them the time and hassle of handling requests from unqualified persons.

Creating the appearance of a larger sales team — Anymail finder, an SaaS email verification software startup, realized that 90% of their big buyers were using the chat function before making a decision. But, the two-person team struggled to respond to every request. Introducing a chatbot equipped with answers to the most commonly asked questions gave Anymail finder the appearance of a large support department and encouraged more purchases from this important segment.

Offering resources that help leads make up their mind — Part of Anymail finder’s success was creating content that answered those commonly asked questions. These detailed articles were included in the chatbots responses. And, when visitors reached these content assets organically, they received an automated chat message unique to that page.

Which of these tips do you find the most helpful for your business? Share your thoughts in the comments below.

This post was authored by Grace Frenson.

Grace is a freelance writer from Philadelphia who recently graduated from Drexel University with a Bachelor’s Degree in Business Administration. She has a passion for marketing and writing.

The post B2B Sales In A Slow Economy: How New Business Relationships Can Fortify Your Future appeared first on Marketing Insider Group.

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[nataliesnews]

Please send this on    Maybe someone will contact her and she deserves to be recognized by those she helped  Natanya The Wartime Rescue You’ve Never Heard About, Told by the 100-year-old Jewish Woman Who Led It

In March 1941, a young Swedish nurse called Ilse Ganz Koppel helped escort 60 Jewish children from Stockholm to Mandatory Palestine. Now she is sharing her story for the first time

Ilse Ganz Koppel in her apartment in a retirement community outside of Jerusalem, July 2019.Emil Salman

·      

Exposing the skeletons in Sweden’s World War II closet

·      

Finnish soldiers participated in mass murders of Jews during World War II, report finds

·      

Why the mysterious Swede who drew up Israel's map favored the Jews

On a cold morning in March 1941, when it was still very much winter in Sweden and Hitler was gaining ground across Europe, a 22-year-old nurse named Ilse Ganz Koppel boarded a train in her hometown of Stockholm together with 60 Jewish refugee children. Along with three other adult chaperones, they set out over land and sea toward British Mandatory Palestine.

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“Everybody was engaged to help. You don’t know what it is to have a Nazi regime around you,” says Ganz Koppel, who at the age of 100 has decided to publicly share her account of the dangerous rescue mission that took 16 nerve-fraying days and covered some 3,500 miles (5,630 kilometers).

Ganz Koppel grew up in a prominent Jewish family in the Swedish capital, part of a 7,000-strong community. Many, including Ganz Koppel’s parents, were involved in refugee aid and relief work for their fellow European Jews. She says her father supported her taking on the mission. Most of the community stayed in Sweden, hoping the country’s neutrality would keep them safe despite fears of a possible German invasion.

She recalls that the children, who had arrived in Stockholm through Copenhagen from Germany, Poland, Austria and what was then Czechoslovakia, were sent by parents desperately hoping this would be their way to safety. Their route first took them to Haparanda in the northern reaches of Sweden, then to Helsinki and Leningrad (now Saint Petersburg), and then southward to Odessa. From there, they crossed the Black Sea by boat, stopping in a Bulgarian port before sailing to Istanbul. They then took a train through Syria and Lebanon. When they finally disembarked in Beirut, cars were waiting to take them to kibbutzim inside the areas of Jewish settlement in Mandate Palestine.

Standing under 5 feet (1.5 meters) tall, with snow-white hair, Ganz Koppel is remarkably agile for 100. She walks briskly despite her slight frame. Speaking from her apartment in a retirement community outside of Jerusalem, she can recall some of the memories with especially sharp detail. In each new country, she says, their group had to disembark and apply for travel visas in order to pass through it. She recalls the Finns being “very unfriendly” to the children, making them empty out the contents of their backpacks onto a big table at the customs office for inspection. She says it was painful watching them pull out “the very dear things from their parents, including photos and personal things … they had their whole lives in their bags.”

There was also a close call in Bulgaria. Ganz Koppel says that when they reached the port (she cannot remember the name of the city), she and the other chaperones noticed Nazi soldiers patrolling the docks. They quickly told the children to stay inside the boat so they would not be seen. She remembers too how relieved she was when their boat was not inspected by the Nazis and they were able to continue on to Istanbul.

A young Ilse Ganz Koppel (date and location of picture unknown).Emil Salman

She remembers the youths — in her memory, they were mostly in their early teens but there were younger children as well — as being strikingly stoic, with no tears and an understanding of how dire the situation was. “They knew exactly what they were doing,” she says.

“The children were unbelievable, nice, thankful and grown-up. And they were [just] children, and they helped each other,” she recounts.

As for herself, she reflects, “I had the responsibility for these kids — I could not be scared.”

Intensities of life

Just before commencing the trip, Ganz Koppel married Hans Schuman, one of the three other adults accompanying the youngsters. She did not know him before the fake marriage, but needed to share his resident status in Mandatory Palestine in order to legally travel there. She recalls that the two other adults were doctors.

After accompanying the children on the arduous journey, Ganz Koppel could no longer get back to Sweden, as she had initially planned. Many borders had since closed because of the war and she ended up staying here. Already a specialist in X-ray technology, she would go on to help establish the X-ray department at Afula’s Haemek Hospital and later worked at Tel Hashomer Hospital (now Sheba Medical Center).

A portrait of members of the Ganz Koppel family, including Ilse on the left.Emil Salman

The intensities of life quickly took over, she says. She lost contact with Schuman after the trip ended, went on to marry twice and was widowed both times. She has no children but does have stepchildren and step-grandchildren from her second marriage. She didn’t stay in touch with the children she brought over, who today would be in their 80s and 90s. She hopes this article might help connect her to some of them before she dies.

Ganz Koppel says the person who raised the funds and helped arrange this rescue mission was Eva Warburg, a member of Stockholm’s Jewish community and also a family friend. In fact, Warburg is known for overseeing the efforts to bring hundreds of European Jewish children to the Jewish community in pre-state Israel.

Warburg’s work was part of a wider undertaking of the Youth Aliyah organization to bring over Jewish children and teenagers in the Mandate period. Historian Orna Keren-Carmel, a specialist in Scandinavian history at the Hebrew University, says the trip Ganz Koppel describes would almost certainly have been part of these Youth Aliyah endeavors, which brought several hundred Jewish youths out of Europe, including through Denmark and Sweden. Even though by 1941 Denmark had been conquered by the Nazis, the occupation was unique for most of its duration in that it allowed free passage — even for Jews — through the country into neighboring neutral Sweden.

Keren-Carmel, whose doctoral thesis is on the rescue of Danish Jewry during World War II, is not familiar with the specific journey Ganz Koppel describes. But she and other historians say there were several such missions. The Jewish refugee children would usually first spend time on farms in Denmark, undergoing agricultural training to prepare themselves for new lives on kibbutzim. “This solved two problems: It saved Jewish youth from their home countries; and prepared them for farming work until they got visas to come to the Yishuv,” she says, using the term for the Jewish community in Mandatory Palestine.

She says the trip led by Ganz Koppel in 1941 would have been one of the last chances to get out of Europe. Soon after, successive borders stated to close, making such a journey impossible.

The historian adds: “These initiatives show there were people then who understood what was happening and how critical it was to get the youth out, and that even in these last moments that it was possible, so people were able to save lives. They managed to take action.”

A portrait shot of the Ganz Koppel family (date unknown), with Ilse on the right.Emil Salman

The Swedish connection

The Youth Aliyah’s Stockholm branch, led by Warburg, operated out of her parents’ home, says Pontus Rudberg, a historian and expert in Swedish Jewish history who is currently a post-doctoral research fellow at Sweden’s Uppsala University.

German-born Warburg was the daughter of Fritz Warburg, one of the heirs to M. M. Warburg & Co., the famous Hamburg bank. She left Germany for Sweden in 1938; after that November’s Kristallnacht, she immediately became involved in the relief efforts of Stockholm’s Jewish community.

After the Night of Broken Glass, Rudberg says that Jewish community leaders persuaded the Swedish government — which had been highly restrictive toward admitting Jewish refugees into the country — to create a quota for 500 Jewish refugee children. Most of them arrived in 1939. Warburg arranged for a collective home for some of these children in the Swedish countryside, where they were educated and taught life skills in preparation for their resettlement in Mandatory Palestine.

One group of 50 children arrived from the Baltic states in March 1940, on specially chartered planes. From Stockholm they were taken to Copenhagen, then Amsterdam, and then by train to Marseille. From there, they journeyed to Mandate Palestine by boat. Another group traveled through Finland, Russia, Turkey and Syria to reach Palestine. All of these groups escaped thanks to the efforts of Eva Warburg.

“The difficulties in obtaining visas to travel through these countries were enormous,” Rudberg says.

The children Ganz Koppel led out of Europe would have been either part of this quota or been allowed to temporarily pass through Sweden.

Undated black and white file photo showing Sweden's envoy to Nazi-occupied Hungary, Raoul Wallenberg, who saved tens of thousands of Hungarian Jews from being sent to concentration camps.AP

Complicated neutrality

Both Rudberg and Keren-Carmel acknowledge that Sweden’s role in World War II was complicated.

Like the other Scandinavian countries it declared itself neutral at the outbreak of the war, but unlike the others managed to hold onto this status — although it did give Germany some concessions in order to stay out of the war. After Norway and Denmark were invaded in April 1940, Sweden let the Nazis transport their troops on its railways and through its territorial waters. It also sold its much sought-after iron ore to Germany. But at the same time, it helped the Allies through intelligence-sharing and espionage. And once the threat of a German invasion passed, it started to cooperate even more with the Allies and participate in humanitarian efforts.

“This was, of course, partly opportunistic, as they had given concessions to the Germans and they needed goodwill from the Western Allies. But the public opinion in Sweden toward Germany had gradually shifted with the German invasion of the Scandinavian neighboring countries and increasing knowledge about German brutality,” Rudberg explained in an email.

The deportation of Norwegian Jews in November 1942 is considered the definitive turning point, because people in Sweden saw them as fellow Scandinavians. The deportation deeply upset the Swedes.

Toward the end of the war, Sweden also assisted with the rescue efforts in Budapest spearheaded by Raoul Wallenberg, the brave young Swedish diplomat who is believed to have saved tens of thousands of Hungarian Jews from being sent to concentration camps. And in 1945, Sweden helped rescue some 15,000 prisoners from Nazi concentration camps and brought them back to Sweden to recover as part of the so-called White Buses operation.

By 1945, there were some 200,000 war refugees in Sweden, Keren-Carmel says.

She was moved to hear the account of Ganz Koppel’s journey, which comes to light 78 years after the events themselves.

“People have these stories. But if they don’t share them, their stories vanish,” Keren-Carmel says. She encourages others who have not shared their accounts to do so through the Yad Vashem Holocaust memorial in Jerusalem.

“We are dealing with something so massive: the Holocaust and World War II,” she says. “As long as people are alive, new stories will come out that people should know about.”

Dina Kraft

Haaretz Contributor

   Natanya Natalie Ginsburg

Henrietta Szold 2

Migdal Nofim Room 708

Jerusalem 9650230

Tel 0528-375593

Nofim Tel 972-(0)2-6580222

Home 972 (2)6418387 no messages

Cellphone preferable

[dkhiblr]

The Best Things Working From Home Can Offer You As An Affiliate Marketer

By Brien R. Rivera

If you are tired of having to wake up early every morning, so you can avoid heavy traffic, and arrive at your work place, before the clock says you are too late, for today's session... Then, there might be a solution here to that problem. But it takes guts, hard work and determination. "Start an Affiliate Marketing Home-based Business." Home-based businesses can require a lot of money to get up and running. Nevertheless, starting a home-based affiliate marketing service is totally different. Establishing a home-based affiliate marketing company is fairly very easy and also there are a number of variables that make it extremely eye-catching. Working from home is probably your biggest advantage. Every little thing you could want and need is there. If you have children, you may know that being able to work from home allows you the freedom to spend more time with your family. Parents can now earn an income while still being at home with their kids. Some parents choose to send their children to daycare in order to get more work done during the day. However, having the option to stay home can eliminate the cost of daycare. An affiliate marketing business enhances this considerably. A home-based company, if it is run as a single proprietorship will certainly need a substantial quantity of start-up capital. Even small businesses require a reasonably huge amount. Lots of individuals rely on financial institutions to give them loans. This puts them under more stress. When you join as an affiliate, the risk goes down significantly. When you begin as an affiliate, your either marketing a product or service for a company or a person. You are then paid according to the number of sales you get. You do not have to fret about sales quotas as well as making a specific quantity monthly. The company or person's items you advertise deal with that. Not you. Your major focus is on offering the products as remedies to the people that need it most in your market. Working a normal business from home you still have to worry about competition. Unless you're in a niche market you are likely going to have to attract customers away from already established businesses in your area. This can be difficult because customers tend to trust what they know is good. If you do manage to do it, you will be creating some bad blood between you and other businesses. By working through a home-based affiliate marketing program, you'll be selling products that have already been on the market. You can actually check the saleability of these products with the company or person selling them. If the products you choose are well known and trusted, then you won't have a problem attracting customers. This takes the stress off of you. Single proprietorship businesses can take years to develop. On average, virtually 70 percent of local business fail in the first year. Those that make it still have lots of hurdles to surpass. It usually takes 5-7 years to realize any type of significant revenue in a sole proprietorship. During this time the business owners have to consistently advertise their business just to keep it afloat. A home-based affiliate marketing business is a lot easier to manage. You will certainly have to work hard to promote it, but most of the start-up work will be done for you. You'll have your line of service or products and methods to market them. You'll likewise have assistance from a company agent. They will be on hand to address inquiries as well as supply suggestions on just how to enhance your sales. Remember, the better you do the far better they do. A sole proprietorship business can be extremely gratifying. If your one of the fortunate ones that make it the economic incentives can be tremendous. Nevertheless, the chances are piled against you when you take this choice. A home-based affiliate marketing company decreases the risk as well as provides you marketing tools. You will still have to work, however, the rewards will certainly be well worth it.

About the Author:

Looking to find the best affiliate marketing products, then visit this site to find the best advice on online marketing.

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