#this is the culmination of our four years of work and tears and stress.

[wtylas]

i need to scream in a field for a bit

[thebakingqueen5]

KW 2021: Blending Cultures

Day 2 for Kataang Week 2021 hosted by @kataang-week with the prompt Blending Cultures!

Definitely one of my better oneshots this week, mildly inspired by that one tumblr post talking about how the cloudbabies' mixed heritage should've been more highlighted in LoK. Hope I did it justice!

Links: AO3 | FF.net

Summary: Another year, another summer, another week of prompts celebrating our favorite couple. Kataang Week 2021 Day 2: Blending Cultures. Aang and Katara were from two very different cultures, but they made their family work anyways.

Word Count: 2.6K

The Air Nation and the Water Tribes.

Two extremely versatile societies, with rich cultures and very diverse people.

From these two societies came two very special people, who against all odds managed to create a beautiful life together: Avatar Aang from the Southern Air Temple and Master Katara from the Southern Water Tribe.

From the very start, Aang and Katara intertwined their traditions in ways not many believed were possible in the fresh post-war era.

Their wedding, the beginning of their family, had been the grandest event in over a century for both nations given that the war had prevented such festivities during its reign of terror. That day was to be a sign of healing, of peace, and of celebration as their friends and family from all four nations came together at Air Temple Island in honor of love.

Aang had been standing at the marble altar in long flowing robes of the brightest yellows, reds, and oranges. The warm smile on his face complimented the warm hues of his clothing, and a string of engraved wooden beads and thread tassels adorned his neck.

Katara, on the other hand, looked like the night to his day, wearing a deep, dark blue dress passed down from her mother. It had golden thread embroidered on the bodice and skirt to mimic the constellations sailors used to navigate the icy waters surrounding her home, and, in Aang’s opinion, it gave her an absolutely ethereal presence.

Bouquets of ice lilies, pink flowers that grew near the Southern Spirit Oasis, intermingled with the flowers of moon peaches grown at the Air Temples lined the halls of the temple as the bride and groom’s loved ones watched them perform each nation’s respective wedding customs.

As per Air Nomad tradition, the week before the wedding, Aang and Katara had visited the four air temples and meditated in front of each of the eternal tornadoes in hopes that the cardinal wind spirits would guide them in the right direction no matter where life led.

The pair had also gotten complimentary tattoos on their backs, right over their hearts (slightly above in Aang’s case due to his scar): yin for Aang and yang for Katara, to symbolize how they balanced each other and created harmony.

When they stood on the altar, their officiator, Hakoda, had tied three sacred red strings around their ring fingers. They were woven from plants growing around Aang’s original home, the Southern Air Temple, and symbolized the red thread of fate binding them to each other, their soulmates. The strings also stood for the three tenets of a successful marriage: trust, communication, and love, all of which they had plenty of.

The second part of the ceremony incorporated the Southern Water Tribe traditions. Around Katara’s neck rested her mother’s necklace, the symbol for water on one side and the symbol for air on the other, an addition by Aang (with her permission of course) so that she would never have to choose between wearing one pendant or the other.

After their hands had been binded by the threads, their two chosen tribal elders, Pakku and Kanna, stepped up with wooden bowls of navy paint in hand and gave them their marks from ice dodging all those years ago. Katara, once again, received a crescent moon in the center of her forehead, the Mark of the Brave, while Aang was given the Mark of the Trusted, a slightly curved arch that barely touched the tip of his arrow.

“Aang and Katara,” Hakoda began, “Your two marks show that you are the embodiment of bravery and honesty, and these traits will do you well in the years to come. You will always have courage and trust in one another, as those are your natural inclinations, but you must take care to incorporate logic and wisdom into your interactions and decisions with one another to remain as steadfast and stable as the undulations of the great ocean.”

He turned to the enraptured airbender, who was unable to tear his gaze away from his soon-to-be wife.

“Do you, Avatar Aang of the Air Nomads, vow to trust Katara, to accept, learn from, and return her courage and bravery, to love her through wind and hail, through blizzards and storms, in times of plenty and of scarcity, for as long as the moon guides the sea’s waves to shore?”

“I do.”

Hakoda smiled and turned to his daughter.

“And do you, Master Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, vow to have courage for Aang, to accept, learn from, and return his trust and honesty, to love him through wind and hail, through blizzards and storms, in times of plenty and of scarcity, for as long as moon guides the sea’s waves to shore?”

“I do.”

“Then let the spirits of our ancestors, the great Tui and La, and the cardinal wind spirits bear witness to this union and bless it as they have with all those before.”

Hakoda, Pakku, and Kanna all dipped their fingers into a small bowl of water from the Spirit Oasis and sprinkled it over the couple.

“You are now husband and wife. Welcome to the family, son.”

Aang and Katara both smiled widely and pulled each other into a tight embrace.

“We’re married,” the airbender whispered incredulously.

“I know,” she said back. “I was there.”

He laughed and swept her up in a kiss, taking care not to mess up her ornate braids as he closed the distance between them.

“I love you,” he murmured when they finally parted.

“I should hope so, you did just vow to love me no matter what.”

Aang rolled his eyes and pouted. “I’m trying to be sweet here, the least you could do is return the favor.”

Katara gave him an exaggerated sigh and rested her head on his chest, her arms draped around his neck and she closed her eyes in contentment.

“I love you too, Aang. Forever and always.”

“See now that’s more like it!” he grinned, making the waterbender chuckle.

“All that planning, all the months of stress and doing overtime to get the next two weeks off and planning and the wedding invitations and did I mention the planning?” The two shared a short laugh. “All of that and we’re finally here. We’re married. What do we do now? Where do we go from here?”

“Slow down there, Tara. We have the rest of our lives together to figure all that out. Let’s stay in the moment.”

“Rest of our lives. I like the sound of that,” she smiled.

“I did promise you that we would grow old together, did I not? I intend on seeing that through. For now though, the buffet will be starting and I’m famished. Let’s go eat!”

“You sound like Sokka,” she deadpanned, an amused glint in her eyes nevertheless. “Lead the way, my dear husband.”

The airbender gallantly gestured to where the rest of the crowd had already started heading. “But of course, my lovely wife.”

The banquet, like their wedding, was an exquisite culmination of food from all over. There were countless Air Nomad and Water Tribe dishes present, in addition to a few from the Earth Kingdom and Fire Nation like bean curd puffs, mochi, and, of course, Aang’s personal favorite, egg custard tarts.

Though Aang had reassured his bride during the wedding planning that she could arrange for as many meat dishes as she liked for her Water Tribe family, Katara had declined, saying that they could go without it for one day.

Instead, the feast had traditional southern foods like kale cookies, five flavor soup, sea prune stew (which Aang took extra care to avoid), and a new dessert that Sokka had been working on: spun sugar in the shape of a ball that he liked to call “cotton candy”.

The guests attending were especially excited for the Air Nomad cuisine present, as such a variety of foods from their culture hadn’t been seen in over a century. Vegetable-filled dumplings and bowls of savory mung bean curry sat on round platforms that rotated in the center of the tables. Golden platters held coconut macaroons, warm steamed buns, and a large variety of fruit pies made from the trees that grew on the mountainside next to the temples. There was also a special syrup made from maple trees that went over a fluffy Earth Kingdom delicacy called “pancakes.”

Everyone had an absolutely grand time, and the event was one talked about for quite some time to come, both with its political significance (the Avatar’s wedding wasn’t something that happened every day) and the symbolism it had for how the nations themselves could work together if they tried to create something beautiful.

The way Aang and Katara’s traditions mixed that very first day of their family was reflected throughout the rest of their life as they blended their cultures for their children.

Aang often took Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin to meditate by the lagoon for some tranquility and peace of mind. He reminded them of the importance of being open to new ideas and to look at things clearly and calmly. He helped them take on life as it came and have faith that they would always be led in the right direction by fate like a leaf being carried by the wind.

Katara also took the three to the lagoon on the southwest tip of the island, not so much to meditate but rather to observe the motion of ripples and the subtle movement of the water. She taught them to always have hope and to not be detached from their emotions. She wanted them to remain present in the moment, making sure they were aware of what they were feeling without being consumed by it- a delicate balance like the ebb and flow of the tides.

Once Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin each turned 14, their parents took them down to the South Pole for ice dodging, a Southern Water Tribe coming-of-age ceremony and rite of passage. As was tradition, their dad, Aang, was to take the three out on a wooden sailboat to navigate the treacherous and iceberg-filled waters of the Antarctic.

Though he wasn’t born in the Water Tribes, the airbender made sure to ask and learn all he could from Hakoda, Sokka, and Pakku so that he could pass on and perform those special father-child rituals.

No one was grinning wider than Aang when he awarded Bumi the Mark of the Brave for preventing the boat from capsizing, his heart had overflowed with joy giving Kya the Mark of the Trusted after she guided them through a narrow glacial pass, and he felt nothing but pure pride painting the Mark of the Wise on Tenzin’s freshly-tattooed arrow after his creative airbending solution to evade an ice blockade.

Despite his young age, Tenzin was an incredibly skilled airbender. Alongside Aang, he was one of the youngest masters in Air Nomad history, having earned his arrows in an extremely tear-filled ceremony a mere month before going ice dodging.

In fact, all of the kids were quite naturally talented at their respective disciplines. Bumi, a nonbender, took up many martial arts forms and combat styles, specifically “aikido” and “anipak.”

Aikido was an Air Nomad self defense technique. Though Aang taught all his children to use any form of fighting only as a last resort, he wanted to make sure they could protect themselves in a precarious situation. Aikido aligned with the Air Nomad beliefs of pacifism by relying on the principle of using your opponent's energy against them rather than being the aggressor.

Anipak, on the other hand, was the name given to the Southern Water Tribe style of combat. Bumi learned the ways of the boomerang and scimitar, a type of sword with a long curved blade, from his uncle Sokka and grandfather, who were delighted to teach him such a vital part of his heritage.

Both fighting techniques served Bumi well during his time in the United Forces and made him known as a great general, soldier, and leader, not just the child of two of the most powerful benders in the world.

As the only girl and spitting image of Katara, Kya learned healing and the Southern Water Tribe style of waterbending from her mother. Despite being a waterbender, she had the heart and spirit of an airbender like her father. She had a natural aptitude towards healing, much like Katara, but didn’t want to learn to fight. It wasn’t until Aang showed her how to incorporate airbending-like movements into her waterbending that she ever opened up to the idea.

Over the years, both parents taught her well, and, true to her nomadic roots, she went on to travel the globe and became a world-renowned healer who could most definitely hold her own in a fight.

Finally, the youngest of the three was Tenzin. With the weight of a whole nation on his shoulders, it was no secret that he held more of a connection to his Air Nomad side, but there was still significant Water Tribe influence.

Tenzin learned airbending from his father, Aang, but after years of watching his mother and sister waterbend, his movements became quite similar. He incorporated more redirection and punchier motions with his acrobatics to create a unique style of airbending that came from both cultures. These gave him an advantage while fighting and led to the thing that would earn him his mastery tattoos: the air wheel, inspired by a similar spinning water move Tenzin had seen Katara do.

The three cloudbabies had truly gotten the best of both worlds, and carried on their parents’ legacies by ushering the world into new eras of unity, peace, and prosperity.

Of course, despite all Aang and Katara’s efforts, there were still moments when Bumi, Kya, and Tenzin felt detached from their heritage. After all, they weren’t fully immersed in either society, having lived at Air Temple Island all their lives. Whether they were visiting their grandpa in the South or sitting in on an Air Acolyte lesson, there would often be a feeling of not quite belonging.

They were from the two rarest cultures in the world, and their combination had never been seen before. No one completely understood what it was like for them, not even each other. All three of them each had different relationships to each part of their culture, whether it was feeling closer to one or not feeling connected to either.

Katara and Aang did their best to assuage any fears or concerns they had, teaching them everything they wanted to know while also telling them that there was no pressure to learn, that they could go on to forge their own path and leave old traditions behind in the past, if that was what they wanted. And sometimes that reassurance helped, but sometimes it didn’t.

No family was perfect, and that held true for them. They had their fair share of problems, but at the end of the day, both Aang and Katara, as well as their children, were proud to be who they were. They were proud of their heritage, of where they came from, and of their unique set of traditions, and they wouldn’t give it up for the world.

So in spite of all the hardships, all the challenges, and all the struggles, with an abundance of love in their hearts for both each other and their children, Aang and Katara, two very different people from two very different nations, managed to create their own culture, a unique mix of Air Nomad and Southern Water Tribe traditions, just as beautiful and blended as their family.

[wri0thesley]

Omg nat hello welcome back!! Since requests are open, could I get some "first dance at their wedding" sweetness with my boi mista? I just feel like that cheesy boi would cry during it and ahhh thank you Nat! *u*

1.7k words! Reader wears a dress, and is referred to as “the bride”! 

Although Mista had done his best, he hadn't ended up being that involved with the wedding planning. Little things kept reminding him of the number four; the number of guests sat a table for the wedding meal, the multiple of flowers in bouquets, the amount of bridesmaids, the conglomeration of how people were to sit to watch the ceremony - in the end, he'd bowed out gracefully, bashful smile on his face.

"Aww, babe," he says, "I'm just gonna worry about everythin' if we both keep doin' this! On our actual weddin' day, I don't think I'll notice anythin' but how beautiful you are . . . so I'm gonna leave it to you, okay?"

It had been okay. As much as you love Mista for all of his idiosyncracies, some of his worries were beginning to rub off on you, and you were grateful that when he stepped back, you'd be able to stop seeing the number four wherever you looked.

So you organised - with help from other members of Passione, who wanted you and Mista to have the wedding both of you had always dreamed of - everything yourself. The cake, the photographer, the venue and the dress - when you'd forget something, Giorno would quietly murmur about it, and if you weren't sure, it would get done anyway.

"Guido has always been a romantic," Giorno says at one of the wedding planning dinners he'd hosted for you and all of the other people who'd endeavoured to help. "He deserves to have his wedding be exactly how he'd want it."

Everyone, it seems, has a soft spot for Guido Mista - and with his ebullient nature and his smile and his warm way of talking, his friendly demeanour . . . how could they not? Sometimes, you'd come home and climb into bed and Mista would groan, turning towards you and clutching blindly at the sheets until you settled in his arms.

"Missed you, amore," he'd murmur, his voice low and sleep-soaked, and he'd smile against your cheek. "Glad you're home."

That's without taking into account the other things about him you adore; the messy dark hair falling over his forehead, the big liquid eyes, the way his lips break into a smile, the way his pants curve at the back when he bends over--

Okay, time to stop your brain there. The point is that you wanted Mista to have the wedding he wanted, and you wanted to have the wedding of your dreams too. Thankfully, your positions in Passione afford a generous salary - and the affection of Don Giovanna doesn't hurt, either.

The one thing that Mista had said he wanted to be in charge of was the wedding song.

"What are you going to pick?" You asked him, curiously, and Mista's ruddy face flushed as he looked bashfully away, one hand reaching up behind his head to tug his hat down a little further.

"Aww, amore," he said, "Don't you want it to be a surprise?"

"You're not going to pull a Narancia on me and have us have our first dance to Snoop Dogg or something, are you?" You'd teased him, and Mista had pulled a face at you that was all faux shock.

"My secrets!" He'd said, clutching a hand to his chest as if wounded. "Snoop can be romantic too, y'know! Narancia's played me some of his most passionate tunes! And I really feel like that song about the . . . about the undies is gonna set the mood!"

"Mista!" You say, playfully pushing you, and he lets out a laugh that makes a smile rise to your face unbidden. Mista is always so sweet. Despite what he does for a living, despite the fact you know there's blood on his hands, sometimes he's just your perfect goofy boyfriend who - soon - is going to be your husband.

"Nah," he says, "I like . . . y'know. Traditional shit. I'm not gonna make a joke outta the day that we're gonna remember for the rest of our lives."

Emotion wells up in your chest, that you do your best to push down. Mista's fingers twist in his sweater, and you see that he's blushing and avoiding your gaze, as if he's afraid that the confession he just made is going to prove to be too much for you and you're going to break up with him for being the sweetest boyfriend in the world.

You lean forward and press a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Well then," you say, all of the worry about the first dance song immediately ceasing. "I'll trust you. I'll know it will be perfect."

And your wedding goes off exactly that way.

When you float down the aisle on Giorno's arm, white fabric trailing behind you, bouquet of red roses (grown by Giorno for the occasion) beribboned in white and gold in your hands, you see Guido swallow, a bob of this throat over his expensive suit.

When you reach the front of the intimate little church and stand across from him, you realise there are tears in his eyes as he summons a smile for you - and though you know that there's important text being read by the officiant, you can't look at anything but Mista's face, glowing in a way you've never seen before.

You notice when he takes the ring to slide it onto your finger that his hands are shaking, and when he speaks to say;

"I do." His voice is dry, his throat cracking.

Panic rises in your own thoughts that perhaps Mista is realising that he's made a terrible mistake and perhaps he never wanted to marry you after all, maybe he's realising how trapped he is and he's about to call things off - and then, the officiant decrees that he can kiss you, and eagerly he does a little shuffle forward to cup your face in his tender embrace.

His palms are wet, as if he's been nervous, but that does not ruin the fact that the way he holds you is like someone holding something very precious to them. You press your cheek against his thumb as he rubs a loving circle into your skin.

"You look beautiful," he says, and he kisses you--

And then there's the rush of cheering, the click of camera shutters. There's too much else to be doing to worry about being simply him and you, the newlywed couple - so you leave the church and you throw the bouquet and you're bundled away in a carriage, confetti being thrown at you, to get to the fancy villa in which Giorno is throwing the reception party.

You even have time to change out of the wedding gown into something a little more appropriate for dancing, though you leave the crown of white rosebuds in your hair. You feel like you barely have time to speak to your new groom, there's so much else to be done - the cake stands proud in the air, the echoes of celebration in the breeze, as you stand by a doorway and simply observe for a moment.

It seems like you've been planning this event for years, though in truth it's only been a few months. The culmination of all of your hard work - and as you look at the people you love most in the world enjoying themselves and celebrating yours and Mista's union, you can't help but feel that the luck has paid off.

Narancia makes his way across where the makeshift dancefloor is, and you tense. You know Narancia won't ruin this for you - you'd trusted him with the music, and although the man can still be a little more prone to play the clown, when he is entrusted with responsibility he takes pride in ensuring things are done perfectly - but there's still that brief fear as he grabs a microphone and announces the bride and groom's first dance.

The first few chords ring out, and you're looking around for Mista, when you feel a hand outstretch and take yours - and there's your groom, handsome as ever, gently tugging you onto the dancefloor.

You look up at him. Some of the wedding stresses have gotten to him too; his hair is a tousled mess (though at least he's not wearing his hat). The tiger print bow tie that nobody had been able to talk him out of is askew, his matching pocket square nowhere to be seen. One of his cuffs is unbuttoned.

But he's smiling at you, and that's all that matters. He's smiling at you like you're the only person in the universe, and as he pulls you against him and your eyes flutter closed to listen to the sound of his heartbeat as he gently rocks you in his arms - and that's all you can ask for.

You have spent enough nights listening to the Carpenters and watching cheesy romantic movies, eating pints of ice cream (even before you were dating, actually), that "Touch Me When We're Dancing" is intimately familiar to you. Of course it would be this, you think, as one of Mista's hands gently rest on your waist, and you tip your head up so that you can look at your husband.

There's a hush over the dancefloor as people watch you both, but it doesn't feel like you two are the centre of attention. The music wraps around both of you like a protective cocoon, as if it saying: this moment is for you both, and only yours.

"I love you," you say, your voice a breathy sigh on the wind.

Mista sniffles, and you realise that he's crying - again.

"I love you more," he says, throat scratching. "Fuck. I don't mean to cry--"

"Did you mean to say fuck at our wedding?"

He cracks a smile, but his eyes are still brimming with tears.

"You're just so perfect. . ." He whispers, voice cracking. "I'm just . . . I'm just such a lucky guy!"

Other couples have dragged their partners onto the dancefloor now, and you can see them from the corner of your eye - but it doesn't matter. The spell isn't broken.

"Not half as lucky as I am," you whisper, and your eyes flutter closed again, as you take a moment out of the hectic day to enjoy your husband's closeness and warmth and the promise of a future with him.

[gunterfan1992]

Episode Review: ‘Come Along with Me’ (S10E13-16)

Airdate: September 3, 2018

Story by: Ashley Burch, Kent Osborne,  Adam Muto,  Jack Pendarvis, Julia Pott, Pendleton Ward & Steve Wolfhard

Storyboarded by: Tom Herpich, Steve Wolfhard, Seo Kim, Somvilay Xayaphone, Hanna K. Nyström, Aleks Sennwald, Sam Alden & Graham Falk

Directed by: Cole Sanchez & Diana Lafyatis (supervising), Sandra Lee (art)

In August of 2012, I had just moved into a university dormitory to begin my second year as an undergraduate. On one of the last days of the month (the date escapes me), I was relaxing in the hall recreation room with my roommate. To my left sat another friend, watching something intently on his laptop.

 His focus was remarkable, and so I was intrigued. “What are you watching?” I asked.

 He glanced over and responded, “Adventure Time!”

 I’d heard of the show, and seen a few clips. At the time, I was taken aback by its combination of high brow and low brow sensibilities. But I saw how much joy it gave my friend, I put down my guard and decided to give it a watch.

 He tilted the screen towards my face, and what was I greeted to? Why a geometric space-god with a flaming blue sword attacking a green individual in a bright yellow jacket. Suddenly, a boy and his dog were in the picture. What was going on?

 As it turns out, I was watching season four’s “Sons of Mars”, one of the show’s wackiest episodes. In time, I was enthralled by the bright colors and the silly jokes. There was Abraham Lincoln. There was death. By the end of it, I was won over.

 I still think fondly of that day (as readers of this blog might be able to attest), for it was then that I was introduced to my favorite show, Adventure Time.

For years, it seemed like Adventure Time was just an omnipresent facet of popular culture. From t-shirts to Happy Meal toys, Finn and Jake were everyone, blending into what Marshall McLuhan would call the “beaten paths of impercience.” When we all learned that the show was ending in late 2016, it was sad, but because there were dozens of episodes left to air, this reality never really hit me.

But this week, it finally hit me. The end was nigh.

At 5 pm today, I sat nervously on my couch as the intro started, and we were off to the races.

The episode opens 1000 years after the lives of Finn and Jake. We are greeted to two new heroes: Shermy (voiced by Sean Giambrone) and Beth (voiced by Willows Smith). The two are heavily implied to be Finn and Jake reincarnated, and the latter is likely a descendant of Jake himself. After an encounter with the Prizeball Guardian (last seen in “Grabyles 1000+”), the two discover Finn’s robot-arm. They decide to journey to Mount Cragdor (where the Enchiridion was once kept) to find the all-knowing King of Ooo.

Once our new heroes make the journey and reach the top of the mountain, we the audience learn that the King of Ooo is not our favorite charlatan, but rather BMO. After Shermy and Beth present our little robot with Finn’s arm, BMO begins to tell the story of the “Great Gum War”:

1000 years prior (that is, during the show’s normal timeline), Princess Bubblegum and her Uncle Gumbald had each amassed armies to take one another down. Just before the battles are to commence, Finn devises a plan to stop any blood shed: He calls one last meeting between the Candy Kingdom and Gumbaldia, and then, using the magic, nightmare-inducing potion given to him by Nightmare Princesss in “Orb”, he knocks everyone into a subconscious world, where he hopes that they will make nice.

Everything goes a bit haywire, but in the end, Bubblegum and Gumbald realize that their is no real reason for them to fight one another: they each want different things, and are rightfully ticked off at one another, but through dialogue they can likely work things out. Finn and Fern, too, realize that they share the exact same fears that they have locked in their collective “Vault”. Putting aside their differences, they team up and kill the grass-curse spider that has held Fern a prisoner for so long.

At this point, our heroes (and villains) wake up and decide to make amends. Gumbald, however, is tripped by Aunt Lolly, and after being splashed with dum-dum juice, reverts back to Punchy. Lolly, however, vows to maintain the peace with the Candy Kingdom.

Just then, King Man crashes out of the sky and reveals that he, Betty, and an unconscious Maja donked up in a major way. He and Betty were trying to use magic to summon the primordial space demon/god Golb so as to undo the magic of the Ice King’s crown. However, their magic was too effective, and they accidentally summoned Golb to this plane of existence.

Golb begins to use his chaos magic, mutating candy kingdom and Gumbaldia citizens alike into grotesque monsters.  Ice King is summoned by King Man and told to try and stop Betty from completing her ritual, but in the commotion (which sees Maja literally explode) they, along with Finn, are accidentally swallowed by Golb, where they start to get digested.

Things start to go downhill fast. Golb’s monsters are extremely effectively, and decimate Bubblegum’s forces and those of her ragtag allies. As Bubblegum is standing on a rock, one of the Golb-monsters lunges at her and seemingly crushes her!

Marceline turns around and seeing the death of her past paramour, loses it. Unleashing both the beast and magic girl inside her, our favorite vampire turns into the Dark Cloud, last seen in Stakes and absolutely wails on the Golb-monster, tearing it to bits. She is absolutely furious that her best friend has been smooshed.

But luckily, it turns out that Bubblegum’s advanced battle armor had a handy shield, and she was saved from any danger. Marceline is overjoyed, and flies into the candy monarch’s armies, weeping tears of joy. The two hug.

And then comes the Bubbline kiss.

As Marceline and Bubblegum were holding each other close after the latter was very nearly squished, I knew it was now or never.

I was on the edge of my seat, as a tearful Marceline tells PB: “Even back when we weren’t talking, I was so afraid that something bad would happen to you and I wouldn’t be there to protect you and... I don’t want to lose you again!”

There’s some cute back and forth, and then the two quietly, effortlessly kiss.

The debate online as to whether or not the two were in a relationship has raged on- and offline since “What Was Missing” first aired years ago. As the two’s friendship evolved over the years, I came to believe that a romantic relationship was the next logical step for both the characters and the show itself to explore. Marceline and Bubblegum are unique in that they are two strong, intelligent, and emotionally complex female characters who often spend time exclusively with each other; the two ace the Bechdel test, a fairly rare occurrence in modern media.

It’s a bummer that the show waited until the very end of the series to canonize their relationship, but perhaps that makes it all the more rewarding? We have worked towards this culmination, and now we have a fully-acknowledged lesbian relationship between two major cartoon characters! How ground-breaking! Furthermore, regardless of when this canonization happened, the confirmation that Marceline and Bubblegum are “more than just friends” will inevitably help to undo some of the erasure that queer communities have faced since the dawn of media (if not time).

To sum up my feelings, let me just leave you with a (heavily) modified quote from Virginia Woolf:

“‘Marceline liked Bubblegum...’ Do not start. Do not blush. Let us admit in the privacy of our own society that these things sometimes happen. Sometimes half-demon vampires do like sentient pieces of Bubblegum.”

(Of course, I am curious as to what their future holds. We seem them together snuggling in the epilogue, but they are not around one thousand years in the future. This is, honestly, the biggest question that will bug me about the finale!)

Despite taking a literal pounding from Marceline, Golb’s evil creatures pull themselves back together and march towards the Tree Fort. Jake gives chase, but is not able to reach them in time: they smash Finn and Jake’s beloved home, and seriously injure poor BMO.

Jake is beside himself! His house is gone! But then, BMO comes over to him, and lovingly calms him down. BMO points out that Finn and Jake have long been a parent to the little robot, and now it is time for BMO to be the parent. And then, BMO begins to sing a tune “for his son Jake”, entitled “Time Adventure”.

"Time Adventure", written by storyboard artist extraordinaire Rebecca Sugar herself, encapsulates the best of the series: it's sad but uplifting. Melodic but rough-around-the-edges. It celebrates the wonders of life while also admitting that we can't really see all there is to it. Some people online criticized it for being too obvious (yes, the song’s title is just a flipping of the show's title), but in some way, I find that it's the most poetic and philosophical thing that its ever done.

When I was 11, I had my first real panic attack. I was out with my family when I was struck by a thought that has not left my head since: I'm going to die. Not that I can die, or that death might hurt. No. I am going. to. die; presumably, my consciousness will disconnect and I will not exist. I want to believe in an afterlife, but it’s an idea that seems oh so very hard to accept when faced with what we know about nature (but that’s a whole ‘nother discussion). These revelations horrified me, and it has taken years to really process what death actually means—and I’m still not there. None of us really are.

But as I’ve aged, I've been comforted by some rather Stoic ideas, like the idea that what will be will be and we should not stress about things that we simply cannot change. I also like the idea that we are all part of the cosmos, and while we will die, we don’t cease to exist: we just merge back into where we came from.

These musings are adjacent to another comforting idea: the fourth-dimensional view of time that BMO sings about:

Time is an illusion That helps things make sense So we're always living In the present tense ... Singing, will happen Happening happened [...] And will happen Again and again 'Cause you and I will always be back then

It’s true. Perhaps my “arrow-of-time consciousness” will be blasted into nothingness once I die, but I’m not ceasing to be. I eternally am. What happened is happening will happen. “Time is an illusion/That helps things make sense.” While this idea might not extinguish a fear of death, it’s a nice thought. And just like Adventure Time, when you combine enough nice thoughts, you often get something beautiful.

And beauty is all that was really needed for our heroes. It turns out that Golb is a creature of chaos, meaning that the only weapon that the citizens of Ooo can effectively use is concordance—harmony in music. It might seem a little silly that “beating the baddie with music” is how Golb’s minions are defeated, but considering the sort of magical role that music has played in the show, it’s not too much of the stretch. It also remains me of how the show used (and subverted) “defeating a baddie with heart” to great effect did in Stakes.

BMO (who hilariously declares, “My art is a weapon!”) is joined by Marceline and Bubblegum, and soon by Jake and the rest of the crew. Their combined harmonizing weakens Golb, allowing Finn and Simon to escape from his belly. However, Betty decides to remain behind. She realizes that the singing has also reset the ice crown’s phantasmal magic. Putting it on, she wishes for the power to ensure Simon’s safety, which entails her transforming (in a stunning sequence that IndieWire writer Eric Kohn refers to as “straight out of Don Hertzfeldt”) into Golb him(her?)self. Golb promptly leaves this reality, dropping the crown onto the ground. Gunter grabs it, and—despite Jake’s warnings that the naughty penguin will wish to become Orgalorg once again—Gunter merely wishes to turn into the Ice King (or, “Ice Thing”).

Finn and Jake return to the ruins of their tree fort, where they plant Fern’s seed. A new tree immediately sprouts from the ground, with the Finnsword embedded within it. Bubblegum arrives on the scene and thanks Finn for directly disobeying her. She gives him an appreciative kiss on the cheek and then muses that he is getting taller.

We cut back to Ooo 1000+, where BMO wraps up the story. Shermy and Beth still have questions (just like the audience!) about ‘Phil’ and Jake, and Marceline and Bubblegum. BMO shrugs these questions off, saying, “You know, they kept living their lives.”

Shermy and Beth set out to find the “Ferntree” to verify BMO’s story; they eventually realize that the large tree reaching up to the heavens near their stomping grounds is almost certainly it.

We cut back to Finn and Jake, who are sitting around the Music Hole from the episode of the same name. The hole tells our heroes that she has a new song for them, and she begins to sing “Come Along with Me” (which every Adventure Time fan knows is the show’s closing number).

While the Music Hole sings, we see Shermy and Beth climb to the top of the tree. We are also greeted to a montage of what happened to all our friends in Ooo:

Lumpy Space Princess is crowned a bonafide princess (or perhaps even a queen)

Ice Thing and Turtle Princess get married

TV becomes a private detection (just like his grandparents!)

Sweet Pea graduates from school and eventually becomes a super-huge hero, who carries Finn's Nightosphere-sword

Aunt Lolly and Bubblegum seemingly make up and learn to love each other as family members

Lemongrab gets one of Jermaine’s paintings to hang above his bed, which brings him peace

BMO blasts Moe's harddrive into space with the help of Banana Man

Flame Princess and NETPR get popular and perform at Hamburger Hills Cemetery to a huge crowd

Magic Man is the happy King of Mars

Simon spends quality time with Marceline and Bubblegum, and seems to try and summon Betty back using Prismo’s wish magic (sadly, it doesn’t work)

Marceline and Bubblegum, meanwhile, are shown snuggling on the couch in the former’s house; it is implied that they are raising Peppermint Butler, who once again is showing an interest in the dark arts

Humans return to Ooo, and Finn is likely reunited with his (digital mother)

We also see what the Jiggler, Tiffany, the Crabbit, Susan Strong/Kara and Freida, the Candy Kingdom citizens, Tree Trunks and Lemonhope are up to

The episode ends with Shermy and Beth finding the Finnsword in the Ferntree. After Beth pulls the sword from the (metaphorical) stone, Shermy holds it up, just like the show’s title card.

So now let’s talk about what worked and what didn’t. The last half of the finale, if I do say so, was wonderful. Nothing to complain about here: we got arc resolutions, emotionally touching moments, and a nice sense of closure. In regards to this latter point, I specifically like how the show gave use an ending but emphasized that this finale was not really the full-stop end of the characters that we know and love—it was just the end of the story that we’re privy to. As BMO says, everyone kept living their lives and the world kept on spinning. That’s a very nice way to end a show like this, and it feeds into the existential ideals of Adventure Time: there is no grand, overarching story that has to have some big punctuation at the end. Finn and Jake are heroes, but long after they’re gone, the world will still be here, and there will be other great heroes to take their place.

With all this said, I must admit that the finale’s first half is something of a missed opportunity. Opening with Shermy and Beth was a totally inspired move (and the new intro is gorgeously animated, courtesy of Science SARU Studios), but I believe the show lingered on their introduction for just a little too long. Likewise, the weird trippy nightmare portion of the finale was about 15 minutes too long. We did not really need 1/4 of the episode to be devoted to wacky dream imagery that both “King Worm” and “Orb” did more effectively. And given that the show chose to linger on these sections—sections that, in the grand scheme of things, are not super essential—the final portions of the episode came across as a bit rushed. The storylines are all satisfying, but it would’ve been nice if we had gotten a little bit more focus on Betty, Simon, and Finn, or Simon and Marceline, rather than Bubblegum and Gumbald’s wacky nightmares.

And speaking of Gumbald, his ending was a total cop-out. I’m not too torn up about this, given that he was never the main baddie in this episode (that was Golb), but his deciding to make peace and then accidentally reverting to Punchy was contrived and anticlimactic. To go back to a criticism I had of “Gumbaldia”, if the show had been given just a little more time to flesh his character and motivations out, I think his role in the finale would’ve been much better served.

But like I said, I wasn’t too torn up about this, because the main focus of this episode was on Golb and the horrors that such a being could unleash upon Ooo. And the show did this wonderfully. Indeed, it was quite exciting that the show finally had a villain that Finn couldn’t just punch a lot until it died (remember, he beat the Lich this way). Golb was, arguably, invincible. It was only the extremely broken magic of the ice crown could do anything.

Speaking of satisfying, “Come Along With Me” also gives Fern an excellent conclusion. The poor grass-doppelgänger was never evil, just confused. By finally coming to terms with his existential crisis of a life, he and Finn were able to patch things up. Sadly, this came at the expense of his dying (the scene in which Finn and Fern kill the grass-curse spider was quite fun). But even in death, there is life, and Fern’s demise allows a new tree to replace the old tree fort. How sweet is that?

Finn coming to terms with his disability was also a nice touch. As I mentioned in my review of Islands, Adventure Time seems to have a somewhat pessimistic view of technology. With this episode, Finn loses his robot arm once and for all, and instead of having PB build him a new one or dabbling in arm-magicks, he decides to let it all be. This is a very important lesson for the show to emphasize. Finn is still Finn with or without his arm. By constantly trying to ‘fix’ himself, Finn was trying to fill a hole that didn’t need to be filled. After experiencing all this Golb biz, it seems that Finn has come to terms with his essence and who he is as a person. And arm or no arm, he is still Finn.

But as satisfying as I found the episode to be overall, I still have some lingering questions! What happened to the Candy Kingdom that resulted in it getting totally razed in the future? Why was the Prizeball Guardian built? What happened to Marceline and Bubblegum, given that they, in their own ways, can evade death in various ways? These of course are questions that will likely never be answered, and they certainly can be filled in in the minds of fans, but these quandaries are probably going to bother me for awhile! (Heck, I just want to know what Marceline and Bubblegum’s future looks like: I don’t really care too much about that other jazz!)

As I write this, I’m both happy and heartbroken: I’m happy because my favorite show of all time has just aired perhaps the most satisfying finale that I have ever seen. I’m heartbroken because the story is now over.

But hold on.

Like BMO and Co. sing in “Time Adventure”, just because the story is over from my point of view does not mean it has slipped away into the ether of oblivion.

It’s comforting to think that in the fourth-dimensional view of existence, I still am in that rec room with my friends, watching “Sons of Mars” for the first time. In a way, I’m eternally laughing and smiling at the jokes. I’m eternally still realizing what a wonderful program Adventure Time really is.

And in that way, it’s true what they say: the fun will never end.

Final Grade:

Season Grade: Were this a standard season, I would probably have been a little harder on it. The Gum War, having been developed two or so episodes, really came out of nowhere and needed more time to be properly developed. It also seems a little odd that the series finale is at least partially focused on an antagonist who was only introduced this season. But these issues were not the fault of the production staff; they were problems with the show being cancelled by the network and the staff having to tidy-up everything before it was all over. Muto et al. honestly did the best they can with the hands they were dealt. And make no mistake, the result is pretty good, even if things are rushed. Yes, there is a lot to love about season 10. It’s got humor and heart, action and adventure, and plenty of romance! It’s not my favorite season by any means (that’s a tie between season 4 and 7), but its episodes are definitely in the upper-tier of the series, as far as quality goes.

Series Grade: Do I even need to say this?

[awakeandalive2012]

Changes

I have had this saved in my posts for a long time. It's hard to come out and be vulnerable, but honestly, it's the only thing that is keeping me sane during this tumultuous period of my life. Also I haven't blogged for a bit, so this is just a word dump to help me process everything going on in my life.

I'll admit it: I am the type of person who doesn't easily adjust to change. I won't go into details, but throughout my whole life, it has been hard for me to adjust to life's biggest moments. Going to a jewish pluralistic, co-ed college prep boarding high school, it took me quite a few weeks to properly adjust to my new surroundings and schedule. Going to college, again, took me some time to adjust to being on a big campus and find out who I was. Making the big move back to LA, working in the entertainment industry, and then making the long trek back to the east coast again, took some time. And as I am writing this, I still feel like it was a just a fleeting memory, as if I have to ask "did this really happen?". Changes usually bring new beginnings and exciting things ahead. And yet, some changes don't lead to anything. Years later, and I still sometimes question who I am and where I am going to end up in life.

This year is no exception. There have been plenty of moments that have occurred, where I am still getting adjusted to what has occurred. I am proud of the accomplishments and how I have adjusted to these huge moments. Now I can sit back and properly reflect.

My Wedding

I am married. Married. I never imagined myself to be saying that out loud. Every time I look down at my left hand and see two rings adorning my finger, it sparks a joy that I am married to an amazing man who makes me happy, who makes me laugh, who comforts me in my lowest of lows. Our wedding was beautiful, surrounded by our closet family and friends (super intimate ceremony) and celebrating our love. It was one of the best days of my life. Everything played out perfectly and everyone had a great time. After all those months of planning and having it culminate into one special day was worth it and I would relive it every day if I could. I look back at my photos and watch the videos only to smile because it happened. I wouldn't change it for the world.

But Nicole, what happens after happily ever after? The wedding is only the beginning of an incredible journey that you and your significant other take together. Changing my last name is typically the first step in post-wedding life for any bride. Changing your name itself is riddled with anxiety. I have had a to-do list for post wedding items sitting on my computer and it has been left unread for months. However, because of the pandemic, the SSA is not open so I can't even begin to adjust to the fact that I no longer identify as a "Goldstein". I immediately changed my name via social media but it's not the same satisfaction; albeit, leaving me with a temporary sense of accomplishment. I still have work to do with that, but for now I am happy just to be able to spend the rest of my life with a man I love. I am enjoying every moment from cooking and cleaning together to hanging out on weekends and spending time with the man I love.

My Job

Once upon a time, I graduated from college in 2016, made the big move out to LA and pursued the Hollywood dream. I didn't even make it halfway up the ladder when I decided to move back home (it was more for personal reasons as to why I left, but it's part of it). I knew that I was taking a big risk moving back to a place where the entertainment industry was not as prevalent. Even though I landed a part time job a few short months later, it is not enough for me to be fully satisfied. Let me be clear; I am grateful for my job at the present time, as many people are not so lucky. I was lucky to have gotten unemployment for as long as I did. I am extremely lucky to have a strong loving support system, who have been consistently patient and offer great advice. I am one of the lucky ones.

What I keep thinking about and the thought that keeps me up at night: Why am I not good enough to land a full time job? I have the experience. I have the drive. But nothing. I have seen seas of "thank you for your interest, but we will not be moving on with your application", I barely make the interview stage, and have yet to see an offer from anything. I have applied to jobs I was perfect for, over qualified for, even took a chance on those jobs that were out of my reach or I was under qualified for. I cannot remember a day within these last two years that I did not feel the slightest bit anxious/upset about finding a job.

As of late, I had the thought of potentially going back to school. But that leads me down different thought processes. What am I going to study? I wanted to pursue theatre and I got rejected three times, which does a number on the psyche. I got into the media arts program, graduated, and flew out to pursue a job in my desired industry. After nearly four years, and hardly any progression, with no prospects of moving on up, I left to get a fresh start. Now what? Starting over again? What do I do? What else am I good at? What do I enjoy doing? All of these questions drive me crazy and sometimes, more often than not, to tears. It honestly sucks.

My POV on World Events

There is plenty to discuss here, but the main world issue that I want to highlight is the ongoing global COVID 19 pandemic. Overall thought; this pandemic is far from over and we all have to contribute/work together to end this. Wear a mask (if required in your state/city, etc), wash your hands, stay 6 ft apart, and follow the laws. I was just getting over the hump that is the original COVID-19. I even remember in April 2020 that we were forced into quarantine and our daily lives were forever interrupted. As COVID spread, and the race for the vaccine began, I grew fearful of catching COVID. I did not want to endanger my family, my friends, my loved ones. Worse of all, I didn't want to get sick and die even when I was following all the protocols. When I moved back, I quarantined for two weeks when I got back before I went to Virginia. Over the next year and a half, I wore my mask. I kept my eyes and ears open for new developments and certified research. Finally, when we got vaccinated, I felt a brick lifted off of my shoulders and I could breathe again. Now, in mid 2021, we have another variant to worry about? Come on! I was just getting used to wearing masks everywhere, even considering not wearing a mask again. I have been wearing masks everywhere regardless, I have been furiously washing my hands and sanitizing. Most places around us are mask optional at this point, but I am still worried about getting weird looks from people. I am anxious enough as it is with everything going on in my life, but now I have to bend to the will of complete strangers point of views on me wearing a mask or not. When can we resume our normal life? What is even normalcy anymore? It just makes my head spin trying to keep up and adapt.

All of these big changes that have occurred in my life has challenged me to my very core. It's hard to adjust and sometimes has me broken. However, I stick to my mantra to help me through every day: keep going. So, if you are like me, anxious and feeling ever stressed about life and the changes that come about from it, keep going. Let's walk this trail to the unknown together.

[gigageekmag]

Comic Book Review: Calico

CALICO ISSUE #1

Welcome back GiGa Community; as you all know, at fifteen years old, in 1992, I had an opportunity and pleasure of interning at Marvel Comics in Manhattan, New York; Spider-man office to be exact.  It was during that year that I had delved into the comic book industry, soaking it all in, down to my very fabric of my soul.  I loved all of the intellectual properties, their stories, and the craft; I knew I wanted Comics to be a part of my future life story.   I was a fan of some characters, and ambivalent to others, but never the less, just like family I loved them all (Some more than others of course); the environment moved my soul.  To this day, I still find being an artist to be one of my first loves, and comic books satisfied that yearning.  The culmination of efforts between a writer, penciler, inker, letterer, colorist, and editor was to me, an amalgamation of geniuses at work.  I love and respect the craft.

Sigma Comics

GiGa: GeekMagazine was contacted by Sigma Comics asking for an honest review of their newly released comic series, Calico.  I was unsure of who this new IP was that was entering the competitive arena, so I did superficial research, watched an interview, and a review; it seemed to be worth the read.   The first complimentary comic came and as busy as I am, I opened it and felt the cover art seemed acceptable for a comic book in 2021, but I didn’t have a peaceful undisturbed moment to read it, so I left it on my desk to be ready for the day I found a free opportunity to read it, then write a review.  My family and I left the house for a few hours, and when I returned I went straight to my office and hadn’t realized the comic was no longer on my desk.  A few seconds after I sat down, my daughter calls me, “Papi, look what Ivi did”!

Ivi Snow knew She really did it this time.

Ivi Snow is one of my two white German Shepherds, she is 1½ years old, so I am accustomed to finding “surprises” when we come back home; I thought it was poop again. A minute later my daughter comes to my office holding my complimentary issue of Calico in shreds.  Needless to say I was peeved and Ivi knew it. Then I remembered what the premise of the comic was.  “NYC HAS A NEW ANTI–HERO. Every day millions of animals are abused and killed. Animal rights groups and charities try to help, yet the savagery continues.”  Sigma Comics appears to be committed to fighting animal abuse. I laughed at the irony of this moment and took a picture of her with the destroyed comic, apparently, she enjoyed the comic.  I couldn’t read it, as a substantial part of the first few pages were now gone.  With that above picture attached to an email to Sigma comics, I humbly apologized and requested another review copy, I was willing to pay for it at this point, but the great people at Sigma found humor in the event as well and sent me another. When the next copy arrived I kept it in my safe this time, and that night when I was done with work, I read it before I went to bed.  I opened the cover and this time, I was able to really absorb the content.   I applauded the first impression, it was transparent in showing their allegiance to the cause, “American Humane”, as a parent to two German Shepherds, I was sold. 

The first page was gripping, showing an example of the atrocities committed upon animals and the visualization was almost too tough to bear, but I was roped in, I had to read on.  We get our first glimpse into the soul of our Anti-Hero on page two, with tears running from angry eyes, the penciler, inker, and colorist nailed the conviction this character was driven by, and we’re then introduced to Calico “A one-man arsenal of destruction in constant pursuit of justice for the smallest and weakest among us…” 

In his apartment he works his frustration on a double end bag, his thoughts speak poignant commentary as to the nature of life being nothing but conflict in every facet of existence and we see where his psychological state dwells; he’s scared and/or resentful of life and bitterly expresses this in his own twisted way.  The Boxing Gym advertisement on page 5 could easily be dismissed as fictitious until a little research clarified that it is indeed a real business; as an ex-fighter boxer, martial artist, and ex-body guard myself, I respected that blurring between fantasy and reality as it was perfectly in line with the tale that I was uploading to my brain.

The writer then takes the reader on a journey through the life of Calico, recalling childhood memories of being bullied.  This alludes to post traumatic damage; he hates bullies and had long since made the decision to suffer them no longer.  We next accompany the protagonist from his apartment to a local boxing gym where he trains and prepares for an upcoming tournament, and while there, he loses himself in the art of combat.  His thoughts become louder than spoken words; he’s a fighter with unfortunate luck, struggling skill, and lots of animosity.  Here is where the reader learns this character has no reservation about the thought of condemning the abuser to death and that animals were his only friends since his youth.

Page 8 we’re given a full frontal nude of the hero in the shower after leaving the gym, even in the shower he’s consumed by antipathy as conveyed by more flashbacks of the same bully from his youth; he’s never recovered from those years.  This memory was different, ironically, it was in this recollection where he was impressed by an alley-cat that scared off the bully and his dog, which serves as a perfect transition into revealing his super-hero outfit emblazoned with a black cat’s profile in front of what appears to be a moon.  He also has a flying robotic AI assistant named Bumble that is a metallic sphere with one camera eye. Then, we’re back to his childhood memories, this time he evokes the very first time he inflicted pain by punching that bully in the face before fleeing the scene.  Page 13 is where things escalate quickly, so I won’t spoil it for interested readers.

So here’s my honest review and rating:

Comic book Production:   I feel the writing could have been more impacting and/or expansive; a name would have been nice to have, but it served its purpose; The art is what communicated the story the most.  Lettering was great, the penciling and inking were acceptable as well, but gets a little hard to understand what’s happening during the murder scene.   

The Character: His real name is never revealed, but from how Calico was insultingly called a “Dominican York” translated from Spanish, he is likely Latino. I think the character is less anti-hero and more of a deranged, sociopathic, villain with post-traumatic stress. He’s fed a list of targets by an unknown accomplice, he intends to kill, (and/or violate) which to me is the modus operandi of a serial killer. I couldn’t see the word “Hero” being applicable to this guy in anyway.

The full frontal nude, to me, was unnecessary, but being a student at the Art Institute of Atlanta I’ve drawn male nudes before, so I respect the art, 100%.  That scene only became awkward after the second penis comment. Which helped me to get a better understanding  of the mind of the protagonist as portrayed and communicated by the writer. I think the outfit really is too similar to Black Panther.

As per the multiple male phallus related comments and insults, along with, what I found to be excessive homo-erotic language, it seemed in my humble opinion, as if there’s other unresolved issues besides being bullied that Calico has never addressed.   In one scene, I had to look at one scene under better light to understand that Calico actually violates or rapes his victim with a red hot pipe, all while making references to size; he says to his victim, “Relax! It’s only one-inch thick pipe. In penis size its only four-inch girth. You got this”.  the last unnecessary thing I read that really nailed the coffin shut for me was the statement, “F*** em. Hard. in the @ss. With no vaseline”.

Concept: I personally, don’t think the character could have longevity, and if so possibly as a novelty act; appropriate for an 8-Issue Series. He possibly may develop a fan base, but with a very niche market.  He is not a “Deadpool” type of anti-hero, I’d say this brooding character is damaged psychologically which easily could bleed over into villainy. I couldn’t see the Dark Knight tolerating this character, or working with him in any way, and would probably bring him to justice.  In comparison to other anti-heroes, such as Hulk, Ghost Rider, Blade, or the Punisher, I’d say even Frank Castle wouldn’t see his motivations, means, or ends as acceptable.  I see a more deviant sociopathic “Joker” kind of weirdness from Calico minus the smiles and laughing.

Conclusion:  It’s a comic book, it fits the criteria. I wasn’t left feeling like I want to read more, but I am only one man, with one opinion worth 2 cents.  I endeavor to say it could have been written for a broader appeal to a wider audience; for me, I feel the niche-aspect will leave some put off or uninterested.  But somehow, I’m sure this will pull the targeted audience it was meant for.  In the end, Sigma successfully this debut is a great accomplishment for the creators and production team and for that I salute and respect their creative vision, hard work, and love for the craft.  I’d give it 3 out 5 Stars ★★★☆☆ ~Jack~

Image Sources: > https://sigmacomics.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/09/sigma-comics-large.jpg > https://prnewswire2-a.akamaihd.net/p/1893751/sp/189375100/thumbnail/entry_id/1_gapzb7c1/def_height/800/def_width/520/version/100011/type/1

Comic Book Review: Calico was originally published on GIGA: GeekMagazine

[uomo-accattivante]

A long time ago, a grade-schooler got his hands on a spaceship. He followed the assembly instructions as best he could, snapping on the cannons, the landing gear, the tiny interstellar-chess table. Soon enough, Rian Johnson was holding his very own Millennium Falcon. “The first thing I did,” he recalls, “was throw it across the room, to see how it would look flying.” He grins. “And it broke.”

Johnson grew up, went to film school, made some good stuff, including the entertainingly twisted 2012 sci-fi drama Looper. He’s nearly 44 now, though his cherub cheeks and gentle manner make it easy to picture the kid he was (too easy, maybe – he’s trying to grow back a goatee he shaved); even his neatly pressed short-sleeve button-down has a picture-day feel. In late October, he’s sitting in an office suite inside Disney’s Burbank studios that he’s called home for many months, where a whiteboard declares, “We’re working on Star Wars: The Last Jedi (in case you forgot).” Johnson is the film’s writer-director, which means he ended up with the world’s finest collection of replacement toys, including a life-size Falcon set that nearly brought him to tears when he stepped onto it. He treated it all with what sounds like an intriguing mix of reverence and mischief – cast members keep saying nothing was quite what they expected. “I shook up the box a little bit,” he says, with that same grin.

Meanwhile, back in the real world, everything is broken. In the months since the franchise stirred back to life in 2015’s The Force Awakens, it has felt rather like some incautious child grabbed civilization itself and threw it across the room – and, midflight, many of us realized we were the evil Empire all along, complete with a new ruler that even latter-day George Lucas at his most CGI-addled would reject as too grotesque and implausible a character.

Weirdly, the saga saw it all coming – or maybe it’s not so weird when you consider the Vietnam War commentary embedded in Lucas’ original trilogy, or the warnings about democracy’s fragility in his prequels. In the J.J. Abrams-directed The Force Awakens, a revanchist movement calling itself the First Order assembles in Triumph of the Will-style marches, showing the shocking strength of an ideology that was supposed to have been thoroughly defeated long ago. What’s left of the government is collapsing and feckless, so the only hope in sight is a band of good guys known as the Resistance. Familiar, this all sounds.

“It’s somewhat a reflection of society,” acknowledges the saga’s new star, Daisy Ridley, who plays Rey, and who has gone from unknown London actress to full-blown movie star nearly as fast as her character went from desert scavenger to budding Jedi. “But also it is escapism, because there are creatures and there are people running around with fucking lasers and shit. So, I think, a wonderful mix of both.”

And the worse the world gets, the more we need that far-off galaxy, says Gwendoline Christie, who plays stormtrooper honcho Captain Phasma (as well as Game of Thrones’ Brienne of Tarth): “During testing times, there’s nothing wrong with being transported by art. I think we all need it. Many of us are united in our love for this one thing.”

The Last Jedi, due December 15th, is the second episode of the current trilogy, and advance word has suggested that, as in the original middle film, The Empire Strikes Back, things get darker this time. But Johnson pushes back on that, though he does admit some influence from the morally ambiguous 2000s reboot of Battlestar Galactica (which is funny, because Lucas considered the Seventies TV show a rip-off and urged a lawsuit – long since settled – against it). “That’s one thing I hope people will be surprised about with the movie,” Johnson says. “I think it’s very funny. The trailers have been kind of dark – the movie has that, but I also made a real conscious effort for it to be a riot. I want it to have all the things tonally that I associate with Star Wars, which is not just the Wagner of it. It’s also the Flash Gordon.”

As of late October, almost no one has seen it yet, but Johnson seems eerily free of apprehension about its prospects. He exuded a similar calm on set, according to Adam Driver, who plays Han and Leia’s Darth Vader-worshipping prodigal son, Kylo Ren. “If I had that job, I would be stressed out,” he says. “To pick up where someone left off and carry it forward, but also introduce a vocabulary that hasn’t been seen in a Star Wars movie before, is a tall order and really hard to get right. He’s incredibly smart and doesn’t feel the need to let everyone know it.” (“It felt like we were playing the whole time,” says Kelly Marie Tran, cast as the biggest new character, Rose Tico.) A few weeks after we talk, Lucasfilm announces that Johnson signed on to make three more Star Wars films in the coming decade, the first that step outside of the prevailing Skywalker saga, indicating that Disney and Lucasfilm matriarch Kathleen Kennedy are more than delighted with Last Jedi. And Kennedy’s not easily delighted, having recently replaced the directors of a Han Solo spinoff midshoot and removed original Episode 9 director Colin Trevorrow in favor of Abrams’ return.

The Force Awakens’ biggest triumph was the introduction of new characters worth caring about, led by Rey and Kylo Ren, plus the likes of John Boyega’s stormtrooper-defector Finn, Oscar Isaac’s Poe Dameron and more. Kylo Ren (born Ben Solo) lightsaber-shanked Harrison Ford’s Han, depriving Johnson of one coveted action figure – but the film left us with Carrie Fisher’s Princess Leia, now the general who leads the Resistance, and the climactic reveal of Mark Hamill’s now-grizzled Luke Skywalker.

The Last Jedi will be Fisher’s last Star Wars movie. In the waning days of the cruel year of 2016, she went into cardiac arrest on an airplane, dying four days later. Less than a month afterward, 500,000 or so people assembled in Washington, D.C., for that city’s Women’s March, and Leia was everywhere, in posters bearing her doughnut-haired image circa 1977, with accompanying slogans (“A Woman’s Place Is in the Resistance” was, perhaps, the best).

Johnson had grown close with Fisher, and is glad to hear that I visited her psychedelically decorated Beverly Hills house a couple of years back, where she did almost an entire hilarious interview prone in bed. Afterward, she cheerily cracked jokes about drugs and mental illness in front of a visiting Disney publicist. “You got to experience a little bit of that magical sphere that she created,” says Johnson, who went over the script with her in that same bedroom. “I’m happy I got to poke my head into that, briefly, and know her even a little bit.”

He left her part in the film untouched. “We didn’t end up changing a thing,” says Johnson. “Luckily, we had a totally complete performance from her.” So it is now Abrams who has to figure out how to grapple with Fisher and Leia’s sudden absence. (He is characteristically gnomic on the matter: “It’s a sad reality,” he says. “In terms of going forward … time will tell what ends up getting done.”)

Overall, Johnson enjoyed what seems like an almost unfathomable level of autonomy in shaping The Last Jedi’s story. He says no one dictated a single plot point, that he simply decided what happens next. And he’s baffled by fans who are concerned by the idea that they’re “making it up as we go along”: “The truth is, stories are made up! Whether somebody made this whole thing up 10 years ago and put it on a whiteboard and we all have to stick to that, or whether we’re organically finding it as we move forward, it doesn’t mean that any less thought is being put into it.”

Mark Hamill’s single scene in The Force Awakens lasts all of one minute, and he doesn’t say a thing. But it’s an indelible piece of screen acting with real gravitas, from an underrated performer who had become better known for Broadway and voice-over work – he’s been the definitive animated Joker since the early Nineties. (“With voice-over,” Hamill says, “I thought, ‘This is great! I can let myself go to hell physically! I don’t have to memorize lines!’”) As Rey approaches him on the lonely mountaintop where’s he’s presumably spent years studying the Jedi equivalent of the Talmud, Luke Skywalker’s bearded face cycles through grief, terror and longing.

“I didn’t look at that as ‘Oh, this is going to be my big chance,’” says Hamill, who has just shown up at Johnson’s offices and plopped down next to him, carrying a large thermos of coffee in the right hand that Darth Vader once chopped off. He has a trimmed-down version of his elder-Jedi beard, which he’s grown to appreciate: “I shaved, and I thought, ‘You know what, the beard does cover up the jowl.’”

Hamill is a charming, jittery chatterbox – turns out that even at his youngest and prettiest, he was a geek trapped in the body of a golden boy. He is excitable and wild-eyed enough to give the vague sense that, like Luke, he actually might have spent a few solitary years on a distant planet, and is still readjusting to Earth life, or at least movie stardom.

He admits to having had “frustrations over being over-associated” with Star Wars over the years – his Skywalking cost him a chance at even auditioning to reprise his stage role as Mozart in the film of Amadeus – “but nothing that caused me any deep anguish.” He still spent the decades since Return of the Jedi acting and raising a family with Marilou, his wife of 39 years. And as for his current return to the role of Luke? “It’s a culmination of my career,” he says. “If I focused on how enormous it really is, I don’t think I could function. I told Rian that. I said, as absurd as it sounds, ‘I’m going to have to pretend this is an art-house film that no one is going to see.’ ”

For his Force Awakens scene, he says, “I didn’t know – and I don’t think J.J. really knew – specifically what had happened in those 30 years. Honestly, what I did was try and give J.J. a range of options. Neutral, suspicion, doubt … taking advantage of the fact that it’s all thoughts. I love watching silent films. Think of how effective they could be without dialogue.”

Abrams had some trepidation over the idea of handing Hamill a script with such a tiny role. “The last thing I wanted to do was insult a childhood hero,” he says, “but I also knew it was potentially one of the great drumrolls of all time.” In fact, Hamill’s first reaction was, “What a rip-off, I don’t get to run around the Death Star bumping heads with Carrie and Harrison anymore!”

But he came to agree with Abrams, especially after he counted the number of times Luke was mentioned in the screenplay – he thinks it was more than 50: “I don’t want to say, ‘That’s the greatest entrance in cinematic history’ … but certainly the greatest entrance of my career.”

Johnson turns to Hamill. “Did I ever tell you that early on when I was trying to figure out the story for this,” he says, “I had a brief idea I was chasing where I was like, ‘What if Luke is blind? What if he’s, like, the blind samurai?’ But we didn’t do it. You’re welcome. Didn’t stick.” (He adds that this was before a blind Force-using character showed up in 2016’s side film Rogue One.)

Hamill laughs, briefly contemplating how tough that twist would’ve been: “Luke, not too close to the cliff!”

He had a hard enough time with the storyline Johnson actually created for Luke, who is now what the actor calls a “disillusioned” Jedi. “This is not a joyful story to tell,” Hamill says, “my portion of it.” Johnson confirms that Hamill flat-out told him at the start that he disagreed with the direction Luke’s character was taking. “We then started a conversation,” says Johnson. “We went back and forth, and after having to explain my version, I adjusted it. And I had to justify it to myself, and that ended up being incredibly useful. I felt very close to Mark by the end. Those early days of butting heads and then coming together, that process always brings you closer.”

Hamill pushed himself to imagine how Luke could’ve gotten to his place of alienation. A rock fan who’s buddies with the Kinks’ Dave Davies, Hamill started thinking about shattered hippie dreams as he watched a Beatles documentary. “I was hearing Ringo talk about ‘Well, in those days, it was peace and love.’ And how it was a movement that largely didn’t work. I thought about that. Back in the day, I thought, by the time we get into power, there will be no more wars. Pot will be legal.” He smiles at that part. “I believed all that. I had to use that feeling of failure to relate to it.” (We do already know that Luke was training a bunch of Jedi, and Kylo Ren turned on him.)

Hamill’s grief over the loss of Fisher is still fresh, especially since the two of them got to renew their bond, and their space-sibling squabbling, after fallow decades that had given them far fewer reasons to get together. “There was now a comfort level that she had with me,” he says, “that I wasn’t out to get anything or trying to hustle her in any way. I was the same person that I was when she knew me. … I was sort of the square, stick-in-the-mud brother, and she was the wild, madcap Auntie Mame.” Promoting the movie is bringing it all back for him. “I just can’t stand it,” he says. “She’s wonderful in the movie. But it adds a layer of melancholy we don’t deserve. I’d love the emotions to come from the story, not from real life.”

I mention how hard Luke seems to have had it: never meeting his mom; finding the burnt corpses of the aunt and uncle who raised him; those well-known daddy issues; the later years of isolation. “It’s the life of a hero, man,” says Johnson. “That’s what you’ve gotta do to be a hero. You’ve gotta watch people that you love burn to death!”

Hamill notes that reality is not so great either. “Sometimes,” he says, softer than usual, “you think, ‘I’d rather have Luke’s life than mine.’”

Adam Driver has a question for me. “What,” he asks, “is emo?”

Between training for the Marines and training at Juilliard to become one of his generation’s most extraordinary actors, Driver missed some stuff, including entire music genres. But the rest of the world (including an amusing parody Twitter account) decided there’s something distinctly emo about his character, with his luxuriant hair, black outfits and periodic temper tantrums. “You have someone who’s being told that he’s special his whole life,” Driver says of his character, “and he can feel it. And he feels everything probably more intensely than the people around him, you know?”

As anyone who’s seen Driver in practically anything, even Girls, could tell you, the actor himself seems to feel things more strongly than most. “I don’t think of myself as a particularly intense person,” he says, possibly not unaware that he is making intense eye contact, and that his right knee is bouncing up and down with excess energy. “I get obsessive about certain things and, like, enjoy the process of working on something.” He’s in a Brooklyn cafe, on a tree-lined street, that seems to be his go-to spot for interviews. He arrived early, fresh from shooting the new Spike Lee movie, wearing a dark-blue sweater over black jeans and high-top Adidas. Driver has a certainty to him, a steel core, that’s a little intimidating, despite his obvious affability and big, near-constant laugh. It’s not unlike talking to Harrison Ford, who played his dad. Until Driver’s character murdered him.

Driver, raised by his mom and preacher stepdad after his parents divorced when he was seven, doesn’t flinch when I suggest his own father issues might be at work. “I don’t know that it’s always that literal,” he says. He mentions that Kylo Ren also murders Max Van Sydow’s character, who was sort of a “distant uncle” to him. “No one asks me, ‘So you have a distant-uncle problem?’ ”

John Boyega told me in 2015 that Driver stayed in character on set, but that seems to be not quite true. Driver just tries to keep focused on his character’s emotions in the face of an environment he can’t help but find ridiculous. “Watching Star Wars, it’s an action-adventure,” he says. “But shooting it, it’s a straight comedy. Stormtroopers trying to find a bathroom. People dressed as trolls, like, running into doorways. It’s hilarious.” And when he wears his helmet, he can’t see very well. “You’re supposed to be very stealth, and a tree root takes you down.”

He refuses to see his character as bratty. “There is a little bit of an elitist, royalty thing going on,” he says, reminding us that the character’s estranged mom is “the princess. I think he’s aware of maybe the privilege.” He does acknowledge playing Kylo Ren younger than his own age of 34: “I don’t want to say how much younger, 'cause people will read into it… .” He flushes, and later says he regrets mentioning it at all. If it’s a plot spoiler, it’s unclear exactly how, unless it’s related to his unexplained connection to Rey. The two apparently spend serious time together in this film. “The relationship between Kylo and Rey is awesome,” says Ridley, whom Driver calls a “great scene partner,” apparently one of his highest compliments.

At first, Driver wasn’t totally sure he wanted to be in a Star Wars movie. I’m always skeptical of Hollywood movies because they’re mostly just too broad,“ he says. But Abrams’ pitch, emphasizing the uniqueness of Kylo Ren’s character as a conflicted villain, made the sale. “Everything about him from the outside is designed to project the image that he’s assured,” he says. Only in private can he acknowledge “how un-figured-out he is … how weak.”

Driver can make a passionate case for why Kylo Ren isn’t actually a villain at all.

“It’s not like people weren’t living on the Death Star,” he says, his brown eyes shifting from puppyish to fierce without warning. He seems almost in character now. “Isn’t that also an act of terrorism against the hundreds of thousands of people who died there? Did they not have families? I see how people can point to examples that make themselves feel they’re right. And when you feel in your bones that you’re supported by a higher power on top of that, and you’re morally right, there’s no limit to what you’ll do to make sure that you win. Both sides feel this way.”

You’re starting to talk me into joining the Empire, I say. He laughs and shifts his delivery one degree over the top. “So, the rebels are bad,” he says, connecting his fist with the table. “I strongly believe this!”

On an extravagantly rainy Thursday evening in Montreal, I’m sitting at crowded, noisy Le Vin Papillon, a wine bar ranked as Canada’s fourth-best restaurant, holding a seat for a Jedi. Ridley arrives right on time, in a fuzzy faux-fur coat and a jumper dress – “the dregs of my wardrobe,” she says. Her shortish hair is in a Rey-ish topknot that makes her way too recognizable, but she doesn’t care. “This is how I have always had my hair,” says Ridley. “I am not going to change it.” She’s been in Montreal for three months, shooting a Doug Liman-directed sci-fi movie called Chaos Walking – which “is a little bit chaotic, in that we’re writing as we go and everything,” she says. “I’ve realized I don’t work well with that.”

She’s on the second of two unexpected days off thanks to co-star Tom Holland (a.k.a the latest Spider-Man) suffering an impacted wisdom tooth, but she’s still deeply exhausted. 

“I need a [vitamin] B shot in my ass,” she muses, in the kind of upscale British accent that makes curses sound elegant. It seems already clear that typecasting won’t pose the kind of problem for her that it did for the likes of Hamill and Fisher. Instead, she’s just busy in a way that only a freshly minted 25-year-old movie star could be – and she still managed to fulfill a pre-fame plan to go back to college for a semester last year. “I have no control in my life at all,” she says. She has four movies on the way, not even counting the Liman one. “So there is a lot going on, and I have never had to deal with that before. I don’t think my brain can really keep up with what is going on.” She has full-blown night terrors: “I wake up and scream.”

Rey had an epochal moment in the last movie, claiming her lightsaber from the snowy ground, and with it, her power, her destiny, her place at the center of the narrative. Her turn. Ridley is still absorbing what that moment, and that character, mean to women and little girls. But she definitely felt more pressure this time around, especially because last time, “it was all so insane, it felt like a dream,” she says. “I remember saying to Rian, 'I am so fucking neurotic on this one.’ I was like, 'I am going to fuck this up. All these people think this thing. How do I do that thing?’ ”

Part of the problem may have been Ridley’s tendency to downplay what she pulled off in the first movie. Her heart-tugging solo scenes in the first act, especially the moment where she eats her sad little “one half portion” of green space bread, created enormous goodwill, in seconds, for a character no one had seen before. She mentions Harrison Ford’s effusive praise for that eating scene, to the point where he was “getting emotional.” “I don’t know,” she says with a shrug, ultimately giving credit for the impact to Abrams and the movie’s cinematographer, Dan Mindel. “I was just eating!”

But in other ways, Rey has given her confidence. On her current film, she says, she was offered a stunt double for a scene where a door would swing open and knock her back. She took Liman aside and said, “'Doug, I don’t need a stunt double to do that.’ And I thought, 'I don’t know if this would’ve happened if it was Tom Holland.’”

Unlike almost everyone else in the world, Ridley has known for years who Rey’s parents are, since Abrams told her on the set of The Force Awakens. Ridley believes that nothing ever changed: “I thought what I was told in the beginning is what it is.” Which is odd, because Johnson insists he had free rein to come up with any answer he wanted to the question. “I wasn’t given any directive as to what that had to be,” he says. “I was never given the information that she is this or she is that.” 

The idea that Johnson and Abrams somehow landed on the same answer does seem to suggest that Rey’s parents aren’t some random, never-before-seen characters. All that said, Abrams cryptically hints there may have been more coordination between him and Johnson than the latter director has let on, so who knows what’s going on here – they may be messing with us to preserve one of Abrams’ precious mystery boxes. In any case, Ridley loves the speculation: Her favorite fan theories involve immaculate conception and time travel. It seems more likely that she’s either Luke’s daughter or his niece, but again, who knows.

Back in 2015, Ridley told me she was fine with the idea of being seen as Rey forever, the way Fisher was always Leia. Now she’s changed her mind. “There are literally no similarities with Carrie’s story and mine,” she says, adding that while Fisher ultimately embraced writing over acting, she plans on continuing to “inhabit” as many characters as possible. On the other hand, “a lot of Rey is me,” she says, “but that is not me being Rey. That is parts of me being a character as Rey, because how could it not? So in that sense, I understand it, because so much of Leia is Carrie.”

This trilogy will end with Abrams’ Last Jedi sequel, and after that, it sounds like the main thrust of the franchise will move into Johnson’s mysterious new movies, which look to be unconnected to the previous saga. As far as Abrams is concerned, that will be the end of the Skywalker story. “I do see it that way,” he says. “But the future is in flux.”

As far as Ridley is concerned, the future of Rey is pretty much set. She doesn’t want to play the character after the next movie. “No,” she says flatly. “For me, I didn’t really know what I was signing on to. I hadn’t read the script, but from what I could tell, it was really nice people involved, so I was just like, 'Awesome.’ Now I think I am even luckier than I knew then, to be part of something that feels so like coming home now.”

But, um, doesn’t that sort of sound like a yes? “No,” she says again, smiling a little. “No, no, no. I am really, really excited to do the third thing and round it out, because ultimately, what I was signing on to was three films. So in my head, it’s three films. I think it will feel like the right time to round it out.”

And how about coming back in 30 years, as her predecessors did? She considers this soberly, between bites of Brussels sprouts roasted on the stalk. (We split the dish, which means she got … one half portion.) “Who knows? I honestly feel like the world may end in the next 30 years, so, if in 30 years we are not living underground in a series of interconnected cells … then sure. Maybe. But again, it’s like, who knows. Because the thing I thought was so amazing, was people really wanted it. And it was done by people who really love it.”

She thinks even harder about it, this new Star Wars trilogy that we’ve made up on the spot. “How old will I be?” she asks, before doing the math. “55.” She looks very young for a moment, as she tries to picture herself as a middle-aged Jedi. Then she gives up. It’s time to go, anyway; she has a 5:25 a.m. pickup tomorrow for her new movie. “Fuck,” Ridley says. “I can’t think that far ahead.”  

###

[rochellebuckleyhandmade]

This is another post where I just don’t know where to start.

I feel it is important to give you a little background so you can appreciate the enormity of what I’m about to share.

For those of you who don’t already know, I have acromegaly.  A rare pituitary tumour that causes all sorts of grief and problems (I’ll expand more on that in a later post).  I think it was about 2007 when my diagnoses was finally confirmed.  I say “I think”  because I have a dreadful memory. I like to blame the tumour for that one.

It was long before my diagnosis that I knew something was wrong. I don’t know how long the tumour had been living quite comfortably on my pituitary, some specialists believe it may have nested either after the birth of my first born or shortly after the birth of my second.  There’s no way to know for sure.  My first child was born in 1995 and my second was born in 1998 so it may have been around for some time.

I remember struggling terribly with depression and anxiety which really began or esculated after the birth of my first. It was really bad,  although there were extenuating circumstances,  every medical professional I sought help from told me to suck it up and be grateful for the beautiful little girl I held in my arms. Not even a mention of post natal depression. I can’t help but wonder now if that tumour may have been responsible to a small degree.

As the years ticked by,  the depression esculated exponentially and there didn’t seem to be much I could do to stop it or even ease it.

By the time I was working I had piled on a stupid amount of weight but I didn’t understand why.  My joints began to hurt, I ached all over and I was always tired. The job I had at the time was managing a not-for-profit that mainly provided free or low cost groceries to those who needed a hand up.  The store was located in an industrial building with concrete floors, tin roof, no heating,  no cooling and not much of anything else either.  Although I only worked two and a half days a week I was always exhausted, increasingly tired and so,  so sore.

Me almost at my heaviest of 253kgs

I tried for years to tell my doctor there was something wrong with me but again,  I was told I was just too fat and needed to lose weight. Problem was, I couldn’t lose weight.  I tried everything, every diet and exercise known to man at that time.  Exercising became just too hard.  The pain of simply walking was unbearable.  I begged my doctor to help but again and again I was told I was just too fat.

I tried to continue living my life but I couldn’t.  I had to quit my job because I could no longer walk,  stand or get any relief from the pain.

I finally decided to see another doctor and I remember at one stage telling him that I’m not aching because I’m fat and weight bearing. If that were the case, why did my hands,  wrists, jaw,  neck ache and burn and hurt so much especially since they’re not weight bearing.

To cut a long story short, my doctor could see that I was very unwell, despite every test returning negative results.  It was so disheartening and depressing. Why was I like this? What on earth is wrong with me?  I began to think it was all in my head.  Was this something I’ve subconsciously created to overcome past hurts and failures?  Surely past stress couldn’t manifest into something this bad.

Finally,  in 2007 I received a diagnosis. Acromegaly.  I sat in my endocrinologist office and wept tears of relief.  To know that it was not in my head and there really is an illness was one of the biggest reliefs of my life.

I travelled from Lake Macquarie near Newcastle to Adelaide in September 2010 just one day before my 36th birthday to have the tumour removed.  It was such an adventure.  I loved seeing more of this beautiful land in which we live and although I was incredibly ill,  I remained wide eyed and completely enthralled on our journey.

Here I am in Rundle Mall, Adelaide just one day before surgery to remove pituitary tumour.  I had a craving for fresh oranges at the time.

By the time I was ready for this surgery I was quite unwell. My weight had ballooned to over 200kgs (223kgs to be exact,  that’s 492lb or 35 stone). I had lost the feeling down my left side,  I could barely speak,  partly due to swelling of soft tissue and I could not walk unaided. My vision was deteriorating rapidly and I was struggling to see.  My hands stopped working and I could barely even feed myself. The tumour had wrapped around my carotid artery and invaded my cavernous sinus. The surgeon was convinced he would NOT be able to remove it entirely. I could no longer drive and I was forgetting everything.  I even forgot how to cook and I had almost no memory of my past. I used to spend evenings with my sister as she regaled me with tales of my children growing up because I just couldn’t remember.  My mind was empty.

By this stage I had been receiving monthly injections of Sandostatin LAR or Somatuline Autogel for the past three years (from the time of diagnosis until surgery). Gee did this stuff made me sick. My stomach hurt all the time,  I would spend a considerable amount of my day on the bathroom.  My hair fell out, my skin hurt,  and I had a collection of cricket ball sized lumps on my rump at injection site that would become very bruised,  itchy and lasted about three months each.

I felt like crap constantly.

The tumour was removed successfully and entirely by Mr Santorenos.  Despite being told that I would not make it through surgery,  mainly due to my morbid obesity,  I’m still here to tell my tale.  We were told,  since I was so over weight and so ill,  I could expect to be in ICU for up to six weeks and another twelve on the ward and in rehabilitation – that is of I even survived surgery and didn’t have a heart attack or stroke.

Here I am back on the ward after leaving ICU. You can clearly see the fashionable nasal tampon, vomit bag and towel to try to relieve my thumping migraine.

I was out of ICU within 12hrs and discharged from hospital five days later.

Then my challenges began. Again. My recovery was incredibly slow,  arduous and painful. Regrettably I thought that everything would just go back to how it was pre-tumour. Oh how wrong I was. Why didn’t someone tell me it would be so bloody hard?  I spent the next twelve months flat on my back in bed.  I put this down to over doing it after being discharged from hospital.  We traveled home via the Great Ocean Rd from Adelaide to Newcastle.  It was stunning, breath taking and totally divine, but I had diabetes insipidus as a result of surgery. Cerebral fluid was leaking from my nose and every time we climbed a small hill in our car my nose would bleed and leak fluid, not to mention my smell and taste had gone after my olfactory glands had been damaged during surgery. This meant I would never smell or taste again. Something that I would have appreciated being told about pre-surgery, even if just to psychologically prepare.

The beautiful Loch Ard Gorge on the Great Ocean Road. I managed to kill my good DSLR on this trip. Just being sick and clumbsy.

Just at the end of my twelve months of being too ill to get out of bed, where my children had to feed me, toilet me, do all of the housework and everything in between, my husband left. At the time, I never saw it coming. I went into shock, my blood pressure went through the roof and as a result I lost my eyesight. Completely. No one knew if it would ever return. It did three months later. Not only did it return but some four years later, my eyesight (an astigmatism and shortsightedness) has improved so dramatically I need to get a new prescription every twelve months. My optometrist believes I will not need my glasses at all soon.

There has been so much that has happened between then and now. Challenges, crap, really tough times, including an horrific single car MVA just over twelve months ago in which I broke my neck in two places, my collarbone, five ribs and a bone in my ankle. I’ve struggled terribly with depression and anxiety and have found it very difficult to hold down a job with the chronic pain I experience.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Me in hospital trying to walk again after my accident

I recently left the job of my dreams. I was so incredibly crushed. I loved the job, my work, the people, clients, my boss and my colleagues. Unfortunately the workload became just too much and my body and brain could no longer cope.  It just did not end well and I went into shock and commenced another cycle of grief. I am incredibly thankful that this cycle did not last long, thanks to my family and wonderfully amazing and supportive friends.

I can’t deny that my life has been pretty darn challenging but I am here to give you all hope and hopefully joy in your heart.

You see, whilst I was laying in that hospital bed in Adelaide some five and a half years ago, I started a rather rudimentary bucket list. In all honesty I never, ever believed I would be able to check any items off my bucket list, given my health challenges and my lack of financial stability (due to being unable to work for so long and fork out on medical expenses).

A few weeks back, I experienced a few events and read some stuff that has really given me a kick in the pants. This was a culmination of events, including my beautiful boy being beaten by an unknown drugged young man, a friend posting an interesting letter written by an 18 year old to his father and a blog article that, along with a few other things have combined to change my life for the better.

As a result of these events and with enormous thanks to my amazing, supportive, encouraging friends and family, I am beginning to see my bucket list come to fruition. Please remember that I have been told time and time again that I would never walk again, by now I should have been confined to a wheelchair at best. I should not be able to talk and I would be incredibly lucky to have survived beyond my 38th birthday. This year I will celebrate my 42nd birthday and between you and me, I plan to celebrate many more.

Well, I am here to prove those doctors and specialists wrong and offer hope to my fellow Acromegaly sufferers, those who battle mental health, those who can’t find the strength to go on. You can do it. You really can. If I can negotiate my way through this thing we call life, so too can you. Please, I implore you, DO NOT GIVE UP, EVER!

So what is it that I can share here with you today that I have checked off my bucket list?

Wait for it….

My dear friend took me skydiving!

Yes, you heard right. Skydiving.

Now, to most of you this may not be such a big deal, but for someone with a chronic illness, someone who has battled anxiety, panic attacks, depression and bucket-loads of self doubt, Someone who is completely terrified of heights and even more so of flying, this is MASSIVE!

Check out that goofy grin that hardly ever leaves my face. My dive instructor was absolutely amazing and I cannot recommend the team at Skydive The Beach and Beyond, Newcastle highly enough. I cannot thank my dear friend Doug enough either. Without his constant support and belief in me, not to mention his spontaneous suggestion I attend with him the evening before over dinner with Bec, I would never have accomplished this dream. Heartfelt thanks to you Doug.

Yes it was raining, yes it was freezing but it was so flipping awesome I just can’t wait to do it again.

If I had listened to those most of those doctors, specialists and other naysayers, I would not have experienced one of the most amazing thrills of my life. I would not have checked another item off my bucket list, I would not have found the courage and strength to over come. I would not be here today offering encouragement and moral support to you.

Please do not ever give up on your dreams. I can completely understand that life can be one great big fat challenge, obstacle and barrier, but please try to not let it beat you.

This event took place just four weeks ago and I have so many other adventures to share with you since.

Stay tuned and find joy.

Please scroll down to the bottom of our page to leave a comment. We would LOVE to hear from you. 

Learning to Live Again – New Adventure #1 This is another post where I just don't know where to start. I feel it is important to give you a little background so you can appreciate the enormity of what I'm about to share.

[theblogchelor]

Week Seven aka Angst and Love and Non-Sharks

Here’s What Happened Monday

Anxiety has plagued our Bachelor. Where once stood a strapping bearded fortress of manly stoicism now sits a forty-year-old tear factory in short shorts, divulging the angst of his deepest romantic worries to a wise and weathered Chris Harrison. Chris puts a loving hand on Nick’s shoulder. He’s been here before. In some other setting, in some other life, they might be father and son. It might be a fishing trip, Nick telling his dear old dad about his first broken heart. Chris might say, “life is but breaks and builds, son, breaks and builds.” But Chris knows it’s this life, and it’s this day, and it’s this Bachelor. He knows what he has to say, what every Bachelor at his lowest moment needs to hear. He leans in, holding Nick’s beautiful, sad brown eyes in his, and whispers, “you’ll get fucked with breach of contract if you pussy out now.”

Back in the hotel, our remaining six sisterwives nearly break under the weight of their distress. Where is Nick? Will he leave? Does he love them? After what feels like an interminable wait, he returns, says he made the choice to let Danielle go because of the power in the room, and vows to keep serial dating them all. Salvation! Corinne toasts with some celebratory 9 AM champagne while Danielle M lights up like the Teletubby sun baby, the first time she’s smiled in weeks.

Nick decides life on St. Thomas is too dark and stressful, so we’re off to a different island in the Bahamas because that should really turn things around.

The One-On-One Date aka Sweet Boring Vanessa Gets Stuck On A Boring Date With Boring Nick Viall

Nick and Vanessa board a boat and cruise around the ocean, talking about their love worries. Vanessa asks if Nick “is just going to pick someone because that’s what the show is all about,” to which everyone in America collectively screams, “YA THINK?”

Later they make out in snorkels. Between the spaceship and the ocean, it’s going to be a rude awakening when these two realize they have no idea how to kiss on solid ground.

At dinner Vanessa says, “I love you” and Nick says, “I really really like you.” Lol. 

The Group Date aka Finally Something With Sharks And Alexis Isn’t Here To See It

Nick picks out yet another horrifying pair of tight swim trunks, takes Corinne, Raven, and Kristina on another boat ride, lovingly rubs sunscreen on Kristina’s inner thigh, sends Corinne into loco jealousy, and announces they will be swimming with sharks. But this is no ordinary swimming-with-sharks experience. Oh, no. This is just swimming, with no sharks ever in the same camera shot as the human beings. For all we know, ABC bootlegged the shark footage from the Discovery Channel. But still the nonexistent sharks frighten Kristina, who takes comfort in the attention of the boyfriend that threw her in with the non-sharks in the first place.

The One-On-One Date aka Sweet Boring Baby Nurse Danielle Gets Freed From Nick Viall!

Incredibly mopey Danielle gets her second and last one-on-one with Nick. They go bike riding where they show off how hard it is to bike with only one hand on the handlebar, then they Corinnterupt a basketball game of children who have zero interest in these large corny white people.

The awkwardness of the day culminates in Nick offering, “your face is pretty great” and Danielle casually mentioning that the last time she loved someone they died. In the most emotionless breakup of all time, Nick says “you’re so great” and Danielle pouts, “not great enough.”

The One-On-One Date That Is Actually Just Corinne Breaking Into Nick’s Hotel Room In Louboutins

By the time Corinne musters the will and hairspray to march into Nick’s room late at night, we have heard her “platinum vagine” quote four separate times. Things don’t work out so well for Corinne; after some saucy audio from Nick’s room but before any real action, he sends her on her way. It’s fine; she’s blackout drunk and won’t remember.

The One-On-One Date aka Sweet Lawyer Rachel Gets Stuck On The Bachelorette Without Nick Viall HAAAAAY

Nick didn’t have enough fun with Danielle at the place with the wicker bottle covers so he takes Rachel there too. They have a deep discussion about dads until the camera pans back and reveals there’s been a toothless Bill Cosby sitting feet away from them the entire time. The best part of this date is knowing it doesn’t matter at all.

Bye Felicia (Kristina)

Rather than do it at a brutal Rose Ceremony, Nick takes Kristina to let her down easy. While Nick sobs about his love for her, Kristina doesn’t break her steely death glare or shed a single tear. Stone cold. I love her.

We leave the episode on a high note, flashing back to happier times when Kristina’s greatest concern was how many cheese blocks Raven could stack on a sleeping Corinne. I think three is a respectable number.

Miscellaneous

Corinne’s observation that Vanessa is only as deep as “special needs and pasta” is brutally hilarious. Corinne proves time and again that she is the wisest broad in the Bachelorsphere.

Nick with flat wet hair is the most hideous thing I’ve ever seen.

They did exactly what I thought they were going to do: make me love Kristina in this episode then kick her right to the curb.

You really have to invest some mental capacity into listening to an entire Raven sentence from beginning to end.

I can’t wait to meet Raquel.

[conversationsmystic]

150 – Do you remember feeling inundated by other’s emotions as a young child?

Age is not a requirement for wisdom.

When The Sister, an empath, was four years old I took her shoe shopping, which she preferred more than Toys-R-Us. But, we didn't have time to goof around while she tried on women’s platform heels, because I had work waiting for me at home.

I said, “Sneakers, sandals and we are out of there.”

But something happened during our checkout, and it was so important that I cannot recall what it was. I only remember blowing up at the clerk behind the counter, “Is this the way you treat a customer? I’d like to speak with a manager!”

(He was the manager.)

“Then, I'd like the name of your boss!”

His anger level quickly aligned with mine and before he gave me a name and number he hurled a few choice words at me. (I don’t blame him.) Then, I took The Sister by the hand and we left. On the drive home I said nothing, but fumed over our exchange until I looked in the rearview mirror and saw my daughter, The Sister, crying.

“Aw, what's wrong?”

She talked through her tears, “I don't like what you're doing.”

I pulled into our driveway, stopped the car and asked, “What would you like me to do?”

She sniffed, "I want you to say sorry to that man."

I took a deep breath, went inside and wrote an apology on paper for The Sister's approval. After I called him on the phone with a calm and contrite voice, I noticed a shift in his energy, The Sister’s and mine from tension to peace.

I asked The Sister ...

Do you remember feeling inundated by other’s emotions as a young child?

“I remember another instance; it was in fourth grade. I attended a Catholic school and we were all preparing for the Sacrament of Reconciliation, a process in which you learn how to confess your sins to a priest, who then grants you God’s forgiveness. Personally, I don’t remember having that many ‘sins’ to confess at the time, and felt the whole process was a little unnecessarily stressful. I mean, come on, at age nine you’re already starting to become inundated by the judgment of your peers and then they expect you to dig deep and confess about that bug you once squished; or that bad name you called your brother because he kept bonking you on the head with his foam baseball bat? It was a bit much … Anyways, our studies of asking for forgiveness culminated in ‘our first Reconciliation,’ an event attended by all of us sin-ridden children and our parents. One by one, we lined up to go into the 'confessional,' or the closet-like room where we could choose to either talk face-to-face with the priest or with a curtain drawn between us. I chose the latter option, as I’m sure many of my peers did.

“I remember feeling extremely calm and ready for this event. Being the studious child I was, I had done all my Reconciliation workbook assignments and listened thoughtfully to my teachers. I had looked forward to this evening, not only because I wanted to be a good Catholic child, but because it would mean I got to wear my favorite purple lacey dress.

“When it was my turn, I went into the confessional, told the priest all of the horrible things I had done. (Didn’t walk the dog for as long as I should have; sneaked some extra Halloween candy; placed dirty napkins at my parents’ placemats out of spite; blah, blah, blah …) He assigned me a few ‘Hail Marys’ to do back at my pew, and I left the room virtually unscathed. As I walked back to rejoin my parents, I looked around the church at all of my classmates, most of them moving stiffly through the confession line or kneeling with their heads down. I was on high alert for everything happening around me, but I was intent on doing my prayers. When I finished them, I sat back down with my parents and looked around again at all of my anxious classmates. After a few moments, I burst into tears. Heads turned and everyone stared as I was calmly ushered out of the church by one of my parental units, short of breathing, shaking a little … I was so embarrassed and so confused. Why was I crying? I wasn’t too nervous about saying the bad things I had done. I was prepared!

"Whoever took me outside gave me a big hug and asked me what was wrong. But I had no answer ... at the time. I look back on this as one of my strongest memories absorbing others’ emotions as a child.”

RELATED POSTS...

151 – How do you balance your empathic abilities now as a young adult?

289 – Your shield does not have to be impenetrable

DIG A LITTLE DEEPER...

To read more posts, go to our ARCHIVE. To ask questions or join our conversation, go to ASK THE MYSTIC.  Or, consider downloading a free sample in our book series. Thank you and enjoy.

[gaiatheorist]

Four years.

Four years today, I left hospital after a brain haemorrhage. I usually refer to my ‘discharge’ in snark-marks, and I’m trying very hard to consign the rage to the imaginary file ‘That happened, accept it, and move on.’ There were systemic failings, and personal ones. The last four years started with the ex bringing me some uncomfortable boots, that I didn’t wear often, but he liked, and, once I was in his car, telling me that I might need another operation. That information shouldn’t have come from him, and I shouldn’t have spent the next few days pecking away at Google, trying to figure out what had happened in my brain, and the likely prognosis for the repaired aneurysm-rupture, and the two remaining ones. 

It was, in part, his coercive control. He wanted me ‘home’, and he was going to ‘look after’ me. I accept that my near-miss was terrifying for him, he saw the 10 days I have missing from my memory, he had the medics take him into a quiet side-room, and explain that I might not live through the surgery. I wasn’t ‘there’ for that bit, and nobody knew how much of ‘me’ would make it back. 

I’ve just checked my Facebook ‘memories’, it’s routine now, I originally started doing it when I went off work sick, deleting anything derogatory or inflammatory, it’s as purged as it’s going to be now. I’d posted some confused babble about having been in hospital, but being home, and there were 41 comments, mostly “OMG! Get well soon!” from people I’d not seen for decades. Posting that status update, after two weeks of nothing at all was very important to me, I’m not a particularly sociable animal, the light-touch of social media suits me, I’m also a sarcastic git, so “I’m not dead!” amused me. What didn’t amuse me was feeling that I ‘had to’ make that announcement. I have almost two weeks of my life missing, between the initial brain-fail, the induced coma, the drug-fog, and the ex having my phone. During the two weeks I was MIA, I have no idea who knew what. I do know that the ex bought a charger for my phone, the “Let me know you’re OK?” messages were on the lock-screen when he eventually allowed my son to hand it back to me. Unread, unopened, not-responded-to, the ex didn’t have my pass-code. He’d told me I “wasn’t allowed” my phone, and, when I asked him to bring in my Kindle, he told me there was no WiFi in the hospital. He lied, there was WiFi, it just didn’t occur to me to ask the staff how to access it, I spent ages trying to work-around it myself, on the Kindle, and on the over-bed TV screen, round and round in fruitless loops of ‘information for patients’ and details about pharmacy and laundry services. 

I know he was confused and frightened. So was I. I expect some of ‘my’ people were, too. He deliberately cut me off from the outside world, and then took two weeks off work to ‘look after’ me. The man can barely look after himself, so, as well as suffocating me with his presence, and threatening to ‘strap me to the roof-rack’ and take me to hospital if I deteriorated, he ate lots of toast, and made lots of mess, which I ended up cleaning up. SNAFU. The hospital had told him there might be some personality changes in me, and I genuinely believe that he hoped I might go all ‘Stepford’, and forget my side of the conversation we’d had early in February, about ‘trying’ to make the marriage work. Flogging a dead horse, there, we’d had multiple discussions about ‘staying together’, for our son, for the father-in-law. We hadn’t been ‘together’ for years, when he asked me to ‘try’, I’d explained that I had done nothing but try for the biggest part of 20 years, that I’d bent over backwards to please him, for nothing in return. I’d been cold-clear and he didn’t like it, he wanted tears, and capitulation, and me to suddenly become his subservient shadow again, his housemaid-with-holes. No.

After the brush with the Reaper, he started referring to me as his ‘warrior woman’, and proclaiming loudly to anyone who would listen that I was ‘too stubborn to die.’ He was half-right, I wanted to live, but I hadn’t been ‘his’ anything for a very long time. I pushed him away, physically and emotionally, I started to conceal my pain, because I couldn’t stand his fussing, and I decided I’d go back to work as quickly as possible, despite him suggesting I should sue my employers on grounds that the haemorrhage had been stress-induced. Control-issues, almost two decades of him deciding where I could go, what I should wear, who I could speak to, culminating in him buying me rotten pink ‘shortie’ pyjamas to wear in hospital, knowing perfectly well how much I hate having my skin exposed. 

I misjudged myself, and my capacity for recovery. I was going to ‘get better’ through sheer force of will. Brain injuries don’t work like that, it’s not like a broken leg, you don’t ‘get better’ as such, you just get better at covering up how unwell you are. The ex’s threat about taking me to hospital by force if I ‘got a migraine’, and then, back at work, the feeling that I was inconveniencing other people, not pulling my weight, this year’s Oscar for ‘acting normal’... (Stop laughing, this is my normal.) 

Four years of constant headaches, vertigo, visual disturbances, fatigue, sleep disruption, emotional lability and enormous sensory overload. Four years of muscle tics and tremors, sporadic episodes of weakness in my limbs, and that weird ‘Alice in Wonderland’ thing (Which may or may not be Todd’s Syndrome, I’ll ask at the hospital next month.), where my perception of where an object is in relation to myself goes all hall-of-mirrors wrong. Four years of ‘you were lucky to survive’, and ‘that might ease in time’. For almost two of those years I’ve been wading through DWP/PIP systems and processes that first assumed I was fully-fit, and then decided I was faking being ill. Guilty until proven innocent, 300+ pages of “As she can ‘x’, it is reasonable to assume she could ‘y’.” ‘Reasonable’ goes out of the window with some brain injuries, and I saw a Facebook post the other day of “People with chronic conditions aren’t faking being ill, we’re faking being well.” 

The formal referral for Mental Health support was a little over a year ago, MH didn’t want to take me on until neuro-psych assessment of my functional capacity was complete. Fair point, there wouldn’t be much point allocating me therapy if I was just going to dribble, and eat their leaflets. Neuro-psych assessed me as functional-with-reasonable-adjustments, so MH had no get-out-clause. The poor practitioner was very apologetic about the way the system worked, in order to access provision, I’d have to attend a three-week ‘class’, they don’t say ‘group’ any more. Three excruciating sessions of death-by-PowerPoint, lowest-common-denominator information on anxiety, that I already knew, because I used to be a Learning Mentor. Back for a review, and the therapist doesn’t see any value in referring me for any further therapy, stating that I lack the emotional vocabulary to articulate myself in a meaningful way. (That’s not the case, I’d already answered her question at the start of the session, I shut-down on her because she kept repeating a question I’d already answered.) Next week, I get to explain myself all over again to someone new. I’ll take a note-pad, with bullet-points.

Next month, I have an appointment with neurology. Four years I’ve been living with the after-effects of the haemorrhage and emergency surgery, and almost three years with the after-effects of the second, elective surgery. Statistically-theoretically, there’s a plasticity-plateau 24 months after brain injury. This might be ‘as good as I’m going to get’, but it might not. I’ve compounded the NHS-negligence with my obstinacy, years of no-response and “That might improve over time.” led to me stopping asking for help, there didn’t appear to be any, so I got-on-with-it. There is the potential that some of my symptoms could be relieved with medication. (Not the Nitrazepam in the kitchen drawer, that’s for absolute emergencies, and will probably expire without me ever using it, the ‘common’ side-effects are too similar to the brain-fog I’m trying to avoid.) I’m not naive enough to think it’ll be a quick fix, there’s the possibility of trial-and-error ahead, the somewhat co-morbid existence of physical brain injuries and Mental Health issues are going to take some balancing out, anything MH want to try me on is likely to impact on my lucidity, and anything neurology want to prescribe could well impact on my emotional well-being. Vicious circle, but I’ve tried to self-manage the ‘vicious’ in me for four years, I can’t do it alone. 

I’m deflated, I’m not defeated. I know this is going to be a difficult phase, being ‘under’ 3 different hospitals that don’t communicate with each other, permanently on-edge in case I have a bad spell, and can’t complete my Universal Credit commitments. The PIP-award expires a year tomorrow, and I’ll need to re-apply 14 weeks before that date. I’ll still have brain damage, but PIP/DWP/ATOS might well shift the goalposts of disabled-enough. I was ‘lucky’ to survive, but just-surviving is no kind of life, four years of adapting to life with brain injuries haven’t been pleasant, I’ve done all I can by myself, and now I’m asking for outside help. If they tell me I’m ‘Doing really well, considering.’, I’ll eat their leaflets.   

[poemsbyjosh-blog]

Victim's Remorse

This is the tale of the most necessary element of every murder. A piece so vital, even the grim reaper itself becomes obsessive.

In spite of morning rays on the horizon, the apartment remained dark until noon. The remnants of another lost night in the life Angeline Adams remain cast across the bachelorette layout of her one bedroom house. The couch was littered with school work and job applications, residing there long enough to grow forgotten or irrelevant. The table was covered in empty take-out boxes and empty cans of drinks, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic. The trash can was full, the kitchen counter displayed a week’s share of junk-mail, and the rest of the house was scattered with piles of laundry, assorted by levels of cleanliness. The only noise that could be heard broadcasted from the lone bedroom.

“It appears to be another strangulation,” spoke the monotonous police officer with the voice so familiar, “and possible rape. This fits the M.O. of our killer. That would make four murders this week. Do we have any idea how he broke in?”

“One of our men spoke with a neighbor,” the female cop spoke up, “said she liked to sleep with the window by the fire escape cracked. I will check for prints. ID’d the body yet?”

At that moment, the noise halted. “Guess I fell asleep with the TV on again.” Spoke Angelina, rolling out of bed. “Fuck. It’s noon. I have class in less than an hour; I guess I’ll be grabbing coffee on the go, again.” After showering, she changed clothes from the laundry pile nearest her bed and threw her hair into a ponytail. She grabbed her phone and was out the door, dashing towards the nearest Starbucks. During her trip, she checked her phone; she had three missed calls from her mother and 7 unread text messages. She called her mom back first.

“Angie,” her mom answered without a formal greeting, “why are you just now replying. Did you sleep until noon?”

“No, mom,” Angelina replied, still possessing the angst in her voice she developed in high school, “I’ve been up studying for my calculus test today and left my phone in my room.”

“Oh well, that’s good,” Mrs. Adams replied in the most motherly of voices, “are your grades better now that you have ridded yourself of that leech?”

“Brian had nothing to do with my grades,” Angelina replied, “but yes, I feel like I’m doing much better this semester.”

“Good,” her mother answered, “Your father and I worry if you’re ok being so far away from home or if the stress is too much for you. I know it must be difficult with the apartment and job hunt.”

Now was the moment that culminated from every conversation between Angie and her mother; the time for Angelina to decide whether to ask her mother her reason for calling and creating an unnecessary with negative effects on both Angie’s stress levels and her mother’s concerns, or to assure her that everything was smooth sailing in Columbus and relive the unsettling numbness that haunted her every day. Today, timeliness answered the question for her.

“Everything is fine mom,” Angelina answered, “Sorry I can’t talk, but I have to run. I’m late for class already. Thanks for calling, hope to see you soon. Tell dad how much I miss you two.” She then hung up the phone without waiting for a response and was off to her class. She dreaded the day her mother learned to send text messages. Avoiding these conversations would become much more difficult.

Once Angelina settled into her seat at the back of the classroom, she checked her text messages. Five were from an assortment of friends asking her to come out with them for the night. All of Angelina’s “freshmen friends” as she called them were always concerned that she worried too much about life and constantly tried to cure her of concerns with a night of drinking. Angelina hardly ever relaxed at this type of scene and the anxiety of knowing she had lost hours of valuable time to something non-productive only made these situations worse. But her friends were resilient, so she often ignored these messages, telling them the next day that she had misplaced her phone.

The other two messages were from her ex-boyfriend, Brian. Both were essentially the same message, just carefully reworded. “Lina, how have you been? I miss you and was wondering if you were still at OSU. I know we aren’t as close as we once were, but I still care about you and want to be friends. I understand if you still don’t feel comfortable around me, but I will do what I can to make it easy on you. I know I can make this work. Just text me sometime this week, I will make time.”

She received messages like this almost bi-nightly ever since she finally raised the courage to end their tumultuous relationship six months ago. Each time she would compose a snarky, venomous reply that read almost exactly as the one she typed today: “Listen Brian, I know you have trouble accepting you’re not in control of a situation, but neither I nor life is going to create a circumstance in which we reconnect. You are incapable of “making this work” because it isn’t your situation to work, it’s mine. I was the one that left you, after years of obeying to your passive-aggressive, sly demands. The sacrifices I made for you are still affecting my life daily and I have no intention of delaying my life any more than I already have for someone as selfish and heartless as yourself. Nothing you can say is going to bring me back under your moralist, 1950’s reign of power. You will have to find another naïve, insecure girl to control, because I can’t be your graveyard anymore.”

Just as had happened with every occurrence, she never pushed send on the message. Unlike every other time, however, this time it was out of her control. The professor had spotted her and asked her to close her phone and not disrespect his class anymore. Angelina did promptly, deleting the message, but that did not suffice the irritated professor who then dismissed Angelina from the class. As Angelina walked out she began to cry. Life was finally starting to hit her. It’s strange how when problems start to appear, you just keep moving, hoping to stay ahead of the problems, not unlike a supersonic jet outracing sound against all logical conceptualization. But just like with the jet, eventually the sound and the fury will catch up with you; and if the problems have multiplied enough, then the sonic boom will be earth-shattering and catastrophic. The crash happening to Angelina was going to create a disaster zone.

She was able to make it to the bathroom before the tears rushed to the surface. She sat by the sink, staring down herself and a thousand problems. As her psychiatrist had taught her to do, she closed her eyes and imagined back to a time before any of these problems existed. She closed her eyes and was back in the eighth grade, passing notes to the latest crush. That night, the only concern she would face was that life wouldn’t change for the better. What a wonderful blessing that was; to never worry about the quality of life declining, always only the chance of improvement. This particular boy would, in fact, disappear from her life, leaving her in the same carefree spirits she already possessed, and creating opportunities for an onset of possibilities life hadn’t even presented yet. Now, Angelina Adams was at peace with the world.

She opened her eyes, now immune to the dried makeup and tears that covered her face and began phase two of her recovery. She made a list of all of the current problems that confronted her.

1. Brian is still a hindrance to my progress in life.

2. I haven’t found a job to replace the waitressing job I just quit.

3. My bills are due soon. I may have enough for one more month’s payments.

4. I need to ace about 80% of my remaining exams to not be placed on academic probation.

5. I cannot imagine that 20% of my remaining exams are ace-able.

6. I can’t survive without dependence or at least co-dependence on someone else. I need accompaniment.

The tears began to form again beneath her eyelids, the telling sign that her list was complete. “If what you have down so far is enough to overwhelm you,” she recalls her psychiatrist telling her, “then it is enough on your plate so far.” So Angelina read over the list and realized the magnitude of her issues. This was much bigger than the high school crushes that once kept her awake at night. Her problems now don’t keep her awake at all; Angelina just wants to sleep, and escape the problems for eternity. But Angelina remembered her tattoo and looked on the underside of her wrist. Bend but do not break. The lowest lows only create the highest climbs. She gathered herself and headed for the cafeteria.

To further test her belief in resiliency, as if she honestly needed it, the first person she encountered when she entered the cafeteria was none other than Brian. Angelina spotted his candid, shallow smile from the other side of open room. She tried to avoid his sight, but to no avail.

“Lina,” Brian shouted, as if they were lifelong friends happening upon each other, “How have you been? I tried texting you.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Angelina mumbled almost incoherently, “And I have noticed the texts I am just really busy with school.”

“Anything I could help with, Lina?” Brian asked. Brian was a year ahead of Angie and Angie loathed that more than almost anything about him. Brian had always previously experienced Angie’s college problems or had already taken her classes, and therefore always knew the correct line of action or at least new enough to belittle her issues.

“No, thank you,” she replied angrily, “your aide in previous semesters did not benefit me very greatly and I already asked you once, do not call me that.”

“I’ve always called you that,” Brian retorted, “you can’t change how I address you to justify hiding yourself from me. You’re disguising yourself behind a very thin veil.”

“No, I was once disguised behind a veil,” Angelina shouted, no longer worrisome of who heard, “I was once hidden behind the veil of your beliefs and your opinions. I even accepted a name that I loathed. After spending two decades writing my initials as “AA” you wanted to call me by a name beginning with “L” because you thought it was cute. Well I hated it, and this may sound like an innocuous offense to you, but to me it was one more damaging blow in your repertoire to anonymize me and recreate me as a clone of yourself. As much fun as you may consider having another you present, I would much prefer the rawest version of myself. Brian, you are no longer a part of my life and more importantly, not a piece of my future plans. If you could please make the egotistical compromise to treat yourself as such for my well-being, it would be much appreciated. If not, then I hope you are at least clear-headed enough to recognize why it is unhealthy for me to be a part of this charade you label life.”

Before she could even hear his robot-like retort that he always had, the one that always made her feel weak for having to display emotion to construe a point, she stomped off. The fact of the matter is Angelina Adams had spent many hours of every night for countless months erecting that statement in the most precise, truthful manner possibly conveyed. Because of that, she couldn’t stand there and let Brian potentially bring it down. She refused to lose even this to him after all that had already been sacrificed.

As she marched across campus, purposefully but without direction, her path was interrupted by a “freshmen friend,” Caroline Thomas.

“I watched what just happened back there,” she said, “and I am so proud of you for standing up to that sleazebag. How have you been?”

Angelina breathed in deeply, and with her exhale and a feign smile, she replied “Good, in my own apartment, now and trying to get through my degree and onto the real world. You?” She forced the fake laugh and displayed unreal optimism as she had so many times since freshmen year. That seemed so long ago, now. She was in her third year, but still a sophomore with the failed classes. Her academic struggles coincided with Brian to push her away from her friends, but she had realized recently that a self-empathy prevented her from being that happy now.

“I have no idea how you do it, Angie. I struggle every day to pay bills, keep my grades up, and stay social and you seem to do it as if it is the simplest task,” Caroline replied, “I wish you could show me your ways.”

At that moment, Angelina remembered why she liked Caroline more than her other friends. She was always so complimentary of Angelina. Angelina had longed for the support garnered from such a loyal companion, especially in the wake of the psychological warfare recently endured from Brian. Angelina genuinely liked, honestly appreciated, Caroline. Which is why for the first time in weeks, she accepted an invitation to an evening of interaction, in spite of the mountainous responsibilities she would be neglecting.

Angelina decided to skip her one remaining class to go back by her apartment to pay the water bill, seeing as it would be turned off tomorrow otherwise. On the three block walk home, she had the inexplicable impulse to call her mother. She couldn’t recall the last time she had placed a call to her mother and not in response to a missed call. But with all of the stresses of life culminating, the refuge of her mother’s voice sounded attractive to Angelina.

“Hey Angie,” her mother answered with a surprised tone, “everything ok?”

“Yeah, mom,” Angelina answered, exhaling before she continued, “I was just calling to vent, really. I ran into Brian today and exploded on him. I let him know exactly how I felt.”

“I know that must be hard,” Mrs. Adams answered reassuringly, “and that you feel like it was undeserved. Trust me, though, whatever you said was only a slight punishment for the way he treated you. You are a beautiful human being and as your mother, all I want is to see you blossom into a bold, beautiful, independent young woman. I will never forgive him for his impedance of that. I am so proud of you for standing your ground and being the self-sufficient woman I always knew you were capable of becoming and I love you very much.”

“Thanks mom,” Angelina answered, feeling the oncoming rush of emotions building, “but I am not as self-serving as you would’ve hoped I would be.”

“What are you talking about,” Angie’s mother replied, “you are 21 years old, living alone in a hardly familiar city battling through the hardest years of education at a prestigious university. Few people have ever been so accomplished at such a young age. I wish I had been.”

“But I’m not succeeding at this,” Angelina said, now sobbing, speaking through the tears, “I can’t find a job, or make myself even want to look. I am slowly falling behind on another semester of school. I can’t keep up with anything necessary to live independently. And now I am realizing I have pushed all of my friends away to the point that I am lonely. I have failed, at pretty much all of this.”

“Angelina Bethany Adams,” her mother replied sharply and unwavering, “failure means you have lost the chance to succeed. If you were to curb your educational progress and pace yourself to graduate at 25, would that make you a failure?”

“No,” Angelina managed to say through deep draws of much needed oxygen. Angelina never understood how her mother held together so well. If Angie could possess any superpower, it would be her mother’s unbreakable composure.

“And you also don’t think you can live alone,” her mother continued, “not many people can. I know I wouldn’t survive a weekend without your father. I would call 911 the first time a pipe busted. We aren’t independent creatures, Angie, you need to find someone supportive and not destructive to become a codependent. Fortunately, college is the perfect place to find people just like that. And you say you are a recluse now but I’m sure all of your pre-Brian friends would welcome you back with open arms. You guys were so close just a year ago. Have you reconnected with any since you returned to campus?”

“Yes,” Angelina answered matter-of-factly. A mother would always be able to reduce me to tears, and then dry up the same tears in a matter of minutes. “I just talked to Caroline. We are going out tonight. She was always the best communicator anyway.”

“See,” Mrs. Adams spoke, now with a sense of optimism, “just today you have ridded yourself of the ghosts of Brian and reconnected with your former best friend. Soon, school will be your only concern, and at that point you will be able to conquer it as well. As for your employment situation, find something once you can handle. Your father and I can always be your monetary safety-net. We can’t think of anything we would rather spend our cash on than an investment in your future.”

“Thank you mom,” she spoke, walking up the stairs to her apartment now, “for always believing in me, even when I ignore your calls, only to call you crying. I really do love you and appreciate this more than I could ever show you.”

“Honey,” Angelina’s mom said in the nurturing tone of a seasoned parent, “You showed enough gratitude the first month you were home to make any sacrifices you ever made worth it. One day you will understand this. The first time that your daughter stops crying simply because she is in your arms, you will have all the inspiration to give until your daughter is 21 and on the phone needing help, and for many years beyond that. I promise you have always been worthwhile, and always will be. I love you.”

When her mom gets sentimental, Angelina knows that it is intended more for herself than Angelina. But this time, Angelina needed to hear that more than ever in her life. The overwhelming anxiety was replaced by a sense of joyous bliss. All Angelina could manage to say was “Thanks, mom,” and hung up the phone. She sat down on her couch and stared out her window, basking in realization. “What a view,” she thought to herself, an epiphany that hadn’t really occurred since the day she moved into the place.

It is strange how hypnotic thought only occurs for some people in times of melancholy. If Angelina remained busy, she also remained distracted. When she was distracted, issues didn’t weigh on her and she maintained positivity about life. If Angelina was optimistic, then she was also fervent about opportunities surrounding her. This sense of enthusiasm kept her impervious to the negatives of the world and so the cycle began and continued. Hanging above Angelina’s was a quote from Albert Einstein: “Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.” This could not possibly be truer than in this moment of Angelina’s journey.

The entire night with Caroline was forgettable, in the best way possible. They enjoyed drinks and food, caught up with each other’s life and enjoyed the other’s presence. Angelina found herself returning to the bad habit of distorting the facts of her recent struggles to make herself sound much more successful. One day soon, however, Angelina hoped to not have to falsify her accomplishments. The fact that Angelina felt she would take no memories home from this night was a positive, because she hadn’t dwelled on a single issue, even when the conversation turned to vulnerable discussion points.

“I don’t know, Angie,” Caroline said, “sometimes I feel like we were invincible as freshmen and took on every responsibility we could. I look back on that like I was either idiotic or delusional. Now I can hardly handle the responsibilities necessary for survival.”

“I think our optimism,” answered Angelina, “made us invincible. When life finally punched back we were unprepared. But the important thing is we staggered but never fell. Now we have given ourselves the chance to fight back. Luckily for us, the past few years have us hardened. The world doesn’t stand a chance.”

Caroline extended her glass and they toasted to that statement. Caroline suggested watching movies like they did each Tuesday as freshmen. Angelina thought this idea was the perfect end to the night and invited Caroline over to her place. They stopped to grab movies on the way, ‘classics’ as they called them, when truthfully they were just movies with positive memories attached. Angelina felt an oncoming headache and slight dizziness on the way home, probably from the alcohol. Angelina argued that she was fine, considering the number of drinks she can usually consume, she should have been right.

They arrived at Angelina’s apartment, and Angie turned to Carrie (Angelina decided to start calling Caroline this because she never received a shortened name like Angelina had freshmen year) to warn her that it was a mess. When she turned however, all Angelina could remember was the sharp pain of a bright light and falling to the ground. When she woke up, she was tied to a kitchen chair with Caroline a few feet from her face, flipping through the pile of documents Angelina had stowed away on her couch.

“For miss successful,” Caroline said, without looking up, “you sure seem to have failed to handle your responsibilities lately.” Angelina struggled with each end of the chair but was unable to budge the rope. She still felt weak, perhaps she was in shock from whatever was occurring, or maybe Caroline had drugged her. Angie was attempting to piece it all together. Caroline continued now, “I’m sure you are shocked to find one of your sweet ‘sheeple’ attacking you like this, you ignorant bitch. You seem to think the world has revolved around you. It looks like your world has hardly extended past these walls. What’s wrong? Was it too hard to face a reality with imperfections?”

Angelina began to panic, wondering what she could do and what all of this meant. She closed her eyes and tried to figure out an escape. All of her attempts seemed in vain. Now, the last epiphany was occurring in the mind of Angie Adams, she was going to die a 21 year old college student. Anxiety overwhelmed her and depression crushed her. The adolescent dreamer never envisioned life without marriage, college degrees, or employment. She was going to perish at the lowest point of her existence. Her breaths quickened, then became heavier. She resorted to the only refuge she knew. Close her eyes and return to the most unbreakable moment of happiness.

She struggled, thinking deep and hard to drown out the berating of Caroline. She heard her say “you left me staggering, but I never fell. Now I have a chance to fight back and unfortunately for you, I’ve been much more hardened than you, and you don’t stand a chance.” Angelina found it silly how Caroline felt that murdering a human being made her some sort of literary genius. Why would society even want to delve into the minds of a killer anyway? The action is a culmination of the greatest achievements in immaturity meeting the highest ignorance of responsibilities. Angeline wondered to herself why she would even care what Caroline had to say. Did she hope to invoke victim’s remorse? Does she realize how silly that sounds? What could she possibly be grasping about human understanding by ending a human’s ability to understand? How misguided could one be, thought Angelina.

The postulation had eased Angelina’s worries enough to allow her to escape reality and into her “zen zone” as she knew it. Completely unaware of her current surroundings, Angelina envisioned the one time she recalled where the world made perfect sense and life couldn’t defeat her. On the stillness of the street, she heard the all too familiar voice:

“I promise you have always been worthwhile, and always will be. I love you.”

Angelina whispered to herself, “Thanks, mom” then attempted to open her eyes, though she had grown too weak. Amidst Caroline’s babbling she thought she remembered hearing something about poison. Perhaps this was her method of execution. Angelina felt disoriented physically, but her mind remained as available as ever. Angelina was on to phase 2 of her process of psychological healing. She listed each of the problems that confronted her. And Angelina dwelled on this for moments before coming to the realization that with the end occurring, she had zero worries clogging her mind. What could possibly concern her now? What was done was done, and nothing could ever change who she was?

This spun into a different theological idea. What legacy had she produced? She was the all-American girl throughout high school and freshmen year. Each night, until the last, at least two people cared enough about her to call her uncontrollably. Even though Brian was the stick in the spokes that threw her off the bicycle of life, he had loved her enough to be part of her journey and would certainly love her in memoriam. Angelina would leave behind the unwavering love of a certainly crushed mother. Hundreds of friends would mourn her untimely loss, some to a much greater severity, but one fact now would be forever true; Angelina Adams was on a path to great success and because she refused to venture from the path, the loss of such a brilliant person is also the loss of a life of good and important work. In imagining that work, Angelina Adams is forever the success story she had dreamed of since the first time she donned a princess dress in front of a mirror.

As the poison infiltrated her mind and the light grew sharper in her sight, one thought stuck with Angelina in her waning moments, and she tried to mutter it as she died. “I will forever be the girl too good to die. Now, you’ll always be the girl who was a waste of a life.”

Angelina Adams died at 11:23 pm with a smile and a dream.

The most intriguing parts of any story, especially the ones involving death, are the ones we never hear.

[weeglasgowlass-blog]

2018 Highlight Reel!

Hello! A very Happy New Year to you! 

I hope the year has got off to a fantastic start for you and continues as such!  I always find myself becoming very reflective as we move into the new year and I find it nice to think back on the good things that happened in the year we’ve just left behind.   It’s been a very exciting year for me and I’d love to share it. 

January

I brought in the new year pretty ill, but still determined to enjoy.  We celebrated a bit with friends from our church and then found a cosy corner in the pub with friends to bring in the bells.  Despite trying to hide it though, I was back in my bed by about 12:30am! 

We had friends over for New Years dinner, which was going well - until Matthew used Filo pastry instead of puff.. a mistake that one year on he still hasn’t heard the end of! 

As soon as the lurgy left me it was straight back to working on my dissertation.  I spent the majority of January through April watching videos of chimpanzees and bonobos on my laptop.  It was a tiring start to the year, but it turned out to be quite interesting. 

Matthew moved down to Glasgow for a short while, so we really started to embrace the time we had together when he came back up to St Andrews to visit, my favourite was when he came up for the Burns Night ceilidh at church. 

 February

More dissertation work, but much more exciting things this month too!  I turned 21 at the end of the month.  Matthew and I travelled down to Glasgow to be with my family and as though that wasn’t exciting enough, I woke up on the morning of my birthday to a LOT of snow!  Which meant that my family was all home off work and we got to spend some quality time together!  We took lots of wintry walks and still managed to head out for a big birthday dinner!  When we eventually thought the roads were clear enough to head home we actually ended up getting stuck around Matthews mum’s house so that was a few more days of avoiding responsibility thanks to the snow!  Of course, throughout it all there was still a lot of dissertation work going on! 

March

Ok, so some of what I’ve just logged as February actually took place at the very beginning of March, but my main highlight for March was definitely Matthew’s sister-in-law’s hen weekend!  I had an absolutely brilliant time and being in the hot tub while it was snowing was definitely a highlight! 

April

I submitted the beast that was my dissertation! It was a huge achievement, and yes, a lot of nights were spent fretting over it!  I wasn’t a huge fan of my subject matter, but I ended up loving it and I was really proud of what I managed to come up with in the end. 

In St Andrews we have some strange traditions!  When we finished our final exam, or as it was in our case, submission our friends all come out and soak us.  Literally.  If you’re lucky, your friends will use lukewarm water, but that’s no fun!  My friends brought along buckets full of ice cold water, and of course, glitter!  It was fun, and it was so nice to celebrate with friends! 

May

  Matthew and I went on our first ever holiday together and flew off to Venice for a couple days.  It was such a fabulous time and I ate so much amazing food.  It’s definitely somewhere we’d both love to go back to within the next few years, not on a student budget! I left behind all the stress of university and enjoyed the sunshine! 

When we got back to St Andrews, I made a huge commitment, and marked it with pride.  I was baptised in the North Sea, by two people who I count as extremely good friends and even better mentors.  I cannot describe this experience as anything more than pure joy.  My parents made it up to St Andrews to support me, and I had a bunch of people from church there too.  It was such a special day for me.  

June

What a month!  

We started off by celebrating Matthew’s brother’s wedding in Liverpool and had a great time staying on the legendary Penny Lane! 

I worked my final Summer Schools with the university and loved every minute as always!  

But of course, the biggy for June was that I GRADUATED! There was a lot of times in the last four years where I did not think I was capable of it, and to be honest, I still thought it wasn’t quite possible until I walked across that stage to collect my certificate!   It’s one thing I could not have done at all without the support of my Mum and Dad and all the staff at the university.  

I donned my St Andrews Red Gown for one last time to get that iconic pier photo, and then hung it up as I said a tearful goodbye to the town. 

July

Who says 21 is too old to go on holiday with your parents? Not me!  After a rushed move to Glasgow at the start of the month, I set off with Mum, Dad, and my bestest for a holiday to France.   It was great!  We saw the launch of the Tour de France, and spent a lot of time lazing by the pool during some of the hottest weeks of the year.  We drove up to Bruges and spent a few days there, enjoying the food and the sights!  It’s another place that I’d really love to go back to! 

I came back to Glasgow and continued to settle back in to life in Glasgow! 

August

I popped back to my old theatre school to help out with costuming their summer show, Legally Blonde, and it was lovely catching up with people!  And when the excitement was all over, I got ready to start my new job.  I have literally no pictures from August this year though! 

September & October

September and October were pretty uneventful.  Matthew and I popped back to St Andrews after a really cool trike tour around Loch Lomond.  We had a beautiful stay at the Fairmont and spent the morning in the spa!  Again, I seemed to get pretty rubbish with photos as the year went on, I literally have a photo of the brochure from the spa and that’s about it! 

November

Matthew and I took the time and the mild autumn weather to explore the area around our new home.  We took lots of walks around the parks and had a lovely time. 

December

I rounded up the year in a festive blitz!  Work was full of Christmas magic, which culminated in a fantastic staff night out, and then we spent loads of time with our families.  I loved visiting Matthew’s family and then coming back to spend Christmas day with my mum and dad.  It was a really special time for us,  it was full of magic, and Matthew and I started to create our own traditions together. 

Twenty-Eighteen has been a year.  I have loved almost every minute of it, or at least, I have loved every minute of what I’ll remember!  The future is bright my friends, and I cannot wait to see what this year holds for me! 

[isabellelambert1975]

My escape from fear to a healing garden

Many people are now talking openly about their physical and mental challenges and how their garden or gardening has helped them.   I want to talk about my story of trauma, post-traumatic stress disorder and the garden, and I hope my story may help other people.

I’ve also done a video on this, so if you prefer watching to reading a post, it’s here:

Going back to the beginning…

I was born in Gibraltar, but as my father worked for the British government we moved a lot in my childhood. After five safe and happy years living in South East England, my brothers and I found ourselves living in an unsettled and unhappy Caribbean country.

A Caribbean paradise?

Thirty-one years of an exceptionally brutal dictatorship had ended in the dictator’s assassination around a year earlier. It was also around the time of the Cuban Missile Crisis, so everything felt very unsafe.

A series of revolutions culminated in a civil war. Fearing ‘another Cuba’, the US Army intervened and we fled the country, briefly becoming refugees.

This notice, from an old family film, sums the sense of upheaval that lingers from that time.

Earthquakes and revolutions…

After we left the Caribbean island, we then lived in another South American country. It was a wonderful place to live, but it still had the occasional revolution, a higher level of violent crime than Britain and several earthquakes.

So I knew that the world could literally open up and swallow you at any moment. But I always believed that I would be safe if I got back to England. When I had nightmares, it was always about trying to escape to England to be safe.

But I thought England was safe…

I came to live in England permanently when I was 18. Eventually I began working in journalism and moved into a house with one of my brothers.

On the second night we were in the house, I woke up to find four men in my room, three with balaclavas concealing their faces. They attacked me with some kind of bat and also with a knife. We subsequently discovered the knife had been taken from our own kitchen.

I screamed and my brother came tearing down the stairs to help. Fortunately they ran away.

I have no idea how long it all took, because although I wasn’t concussed I seemed to have lost a small piece of memory. It took several hours before I realised that my arms and legs had knife cuts across them and that my back was bruised from the blows.

The immediate effects

I felt as if I had stepped into a strange, unknown world, where everything seemed very bright and loud and menacing, and where I could no longer assess whether a knock at the door was someone come to hurt me or just a delivery.

For the first ten days or so, I had to deal with considerable physical pain too, as the blows and some of the knife cuts were painful, although not ultimately serious. Were those footsteps behind me a threat? What was that noise in the middle of the night?

My brain no longer knew what the rules were or how to evaluate even the most ordinary event. My senses were on hyper-alert, so that every time I dropped asleep I was jerked awake as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water over me.

Above all, it was exhausting and painful, as if someone had imprisoned and tortured me.

What is PTSD?

It was, of course, my own mind that had imprisoned me and for a while it seemed as if it refused to let me go. Friends were enormously supportive and I went to counselling, which had some limited help.

A psychiatrist friend of mine has since told me ‘Bad things happen, and when they do, it’s normal to feel terrible.

But I was still feeling many of the effects over a year later and that is post traumatic stress disorder or PTSD. Everyone said that time would help – and it does, but so slowly and in small increments.

Take on new challenges?

However, over the next four years, I got my dream job working on women’s magazines, met my husband and had twins, all of which was wonderful.

Taking on new challenges helped me, but the jumpiness, the sleepless nights and the inability to properly distinguish between a real and imagined threat – it was all still there. I began to get panic attacks in the London Underground and in shops.

Eventually I went to my GP who signed me off sick for two months.

Learn to ‘stop and stare’.

One of the counsellors advised me to do four twenty minute sessions of relaxation and meditation a day.

‘I couldn’t possibly find time for that,’ I said. ‘Well, do you want to get better or not?’ was the reply.

It was the first time I properly understood that unless I looked after myself, then I wasn’t going to be able to look after my family and do my job. There is a reason why you have to put your own oxygen mask on first.

One of the exercises I was asked to do – every day – was to lie down in a calm and comfortable place, with the door shut and away from all distractions. ‘Take yourself round somewhere beautiful,’ they said. ‘Imagine you’re on a Caribbean beach.’

Not relaxing memories….

Well, my memories of Caribbean beaches involved armed soldiers. Not relaxing.

A healing garden

So I chose a garden for my meditation. Not a famous garden, and not my own garden (we only had a small courtyard at the time).

It was the garden of a house for sale, which a friend had shown me once. The owners had already gone, so garden was slightly overgrown. But you could still walk up its lavender lined front path and go round the side to see the beautiful raised veg beds just outside the back door.

It was long and thin, a typical English town garden in many ways, and divided up into sections. There was a tiny lawn, rose borders, a wilder part with long meadow grass and fruit trees.

As this was over twenty years ago, that blend of cultivation and wildness was before its time. It was a revelation to me.

I don’t have any photographs of that first garden, but I do have memories of other peaceful gardens. I think this scene from the Agapanthe garden in Normandy sums up the sense of a journey to a healing garden, with somewhere to sit to enjoy the greenery.

Create your own healing garden

My meditation is a mental walk around this garden, imagining the sounds, feelings, scents and sights of each part of it. I’ve put together a meditation based on going round a garden in a separate video, which you can adapt for your own imaginary garden tour if you like.

I think one of the reasons I chose a garden was also because my favourite childhood book was The Secret Garden, a wonderful Edwardian children’s book about a boy in a wheelchair, a traumatised orphan girl and a farmer’s son coming together to heal by restoring a hidden garden.

Then I started to love real gardens

As I recovered from the panic attacks, I started to notice plants and flowers in the London streets around me.

It was a grey, windy February, but suddenly the brilliant yellow blaze of forsythia tumbled over a wall. A few snowdrops or anemones pushed shyly up in a front garden. The spicy floral scent of witch hazels wafted their elusive breath across the road. A friend’s winter flowering jasmine twined around her front railings.

There’s something very special about flowers like witch hazel which emerge in the bleakness of February.

I could see that even in a bare, cold winter there could be hope, joy and beauty.

A healing garden isn’t only the answer…

Of course, the meditation around the garden wasn’t the only thing that helped. I had Cognitive Behavioural Therapy which focused more on tips for managing panicky situations rather than examining either the trauma of the burglary or my time in South America.

No-one could promise me I would never be attacked again, but tips that helped me sleep a little better or shop without a panic attack, all reduced the stress.

At the time we had a tiny courtyard – around 15ft wide and 20ft long, but I longed for a garden of my own. When we moved out of London, I got my garden. But I discovered, with a shock that loving gardens wasn’t quite enough.

I had to discover the difference between weeds and flowers, though finding my own ‘gardening style’ was the most important part.

I had to learn about gardening – fast!

It takes time

Healing and gardening both take time to learn. And it also takes time to make your garden yours. Even if you find a house with a beautiful garden, we all have to discover our own gardening style.

It took us about six years to work out what we wanted. That was the beginning of a whole new adventure, which culminated in the Middlesized Garden blog and YouTube channel.

I don’t visit that secret imaginary garden so often now – but sometimes I still need to. If I wake with a start at 3am, I re-create my walk around that garden I only visited once. I usually I fall asleep again quite quickly.

Now I’m interested and excited to find out all the plants, ideas and strategies that gardening has to offer.

I’m still learning, so do join me on that gardening journey, and let me know if you’d like to hear more about gardens and stress relief as well as garden ideas and inspiration.

And if you have a story of stress and gardening, please do share it in the comments below. If you’ve blogged or vlogged it, then feel free to include a link – everyone’s approach is different and sharing stories can help us all. Thank you.

Pin for reference:

The post My escape from fear to a healing garden appeared first on The Middle-Sized Garden.

from The Middle-Sized Garden https://www.themiddlesizedgarden.co.uk/my-escape-from-fear-to-a-healing-garden/

[the-impossiblemadepossible]

Detoured

I’ve re-writen this introduction 100 times. It has been the one blog that I’ve thought about for close to a year but constantly put down. The words just wouldn’t flow and I experienced what every English major fears: writer’s block. Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve experienced writer’s block plenty of times but this one was different…I physically couldn’t write this blog…I mean I’d cry about it, so what you’re about to read is the culmination of emotions and experiences over a span of eight months.

Have you ever been driving on the highway planning to take exit 251 but instead take 151? It throws you off course. It’s frightening. You find yourself asking yourself “How did I get here?” You get to a place that you never intended to be and this new area is not what you planned for. It makes you question what the purpose of your original plan was doesn’t it? But you know what is so much worse than exiting the wrong exit on a busy highway in a large city? Looking at your life and realizing you’ve been detoured.

You’ve made all the plans and executed the course of action only to find out that where you thought you were headed is nowhere near it. That’s life and it’s hard, especially when that detour effects the dream you’ve worked for your entire life. To those reading this (if anyone actually does read this) and don’t know, I have a strong desire and passion to practice medicine and in 2016 I applied to all Texas medical schools. It was a terrifying, liberating and adventurous moment in my life with the anticipated end result of a “Yes!” However, the class of 2021 was selected and my name never moved off the wait list to the accepted.

Heartbreaking. Heart wrenching. Soul searching. Words I began to associate with a dream that has been inside of me since I was a young girl. The official no was the worst part. You see I actually was waitlisted at an institution and was notified that if by a specified date I didn’t hear back that it was a no. That day came and went and not one word was given. Forgotten. As if all the efforts I had done were nowhere near good enough to even be told “No.”

With this season of my life being in a leeway, I’ve faced trials that I never thought I would face. Since finding out that I was wait listed, I began to battle depression. It would creep in unexpectedly and turn a good day bad and a bad day worse. For over 4 months, I cried nearly every day and constantly asked myself what was my purpose. Surely, I couldn’t be this wrong about what my future held. Right? The worst part is that I didn’t talk about it to anyone really with the exception of my mom and fiancé (at the time). There were days that I literally wouldn’t get out bed because I felt as though I had failed at life…because of ONE rejection.

You see growing up in a Christian home I was taught that God had a plan for my life and He will bring it to pass. And when I heard a no, I thought to myself… “God, are you there? Do you hear me? Do you see me?” I grew angry, dismayed and broken. I felt as though my cries of desperation had gone unheard especially when I saw my friends succeeding in the same area that I had just attempted. And with those thoughts, the depression grew stronger and more frequent. I had friends and family telling me “It’s okay. You can just reapply.” “Don’t worry. You never know what might be lying ahead.” And I know their intentions were wholesome and true, but I just couldn’t seem to get anyone to understand what it meant to have a dream not come true…self-centered, arrogant and ignorant…am I right?

I remember disqualifying so many people’s trials as less than mine simply because what I experienced didn’t match their experience…and I call myself a Christian? It was in these moments of despair that I began to realize maybe just maybe why I hadn’t matriculated…I didn’t have the attributes that it took to be a great physician because heck I didn’t have the characteristics it took to be a decent person. It’s weird to think of myself in this light since I used to pride myself as being a humble and selfless individual…did you catch that oxymoron…pride and humble in the same phrase.

You see where humility exists, pride does not. Yet before I applied, I thought I ranked as one of the highest in selflessness. So now that an additional four months have passed since starting and putting down this post, I can’t thank God enough for literally breaking me in the one aspect of my life that I had “control” on as if a mere human has control of anything because in all reality our God has control over everything… even if I end up waking tomorrow.

So for the first time since the unexpected no, I’m finally able to talk about my experience with less tears and less thoughts of broken dreams, not because the dream has changed but because I’m slowly beginning to realize what it means to FULLY trust God.

If you’re reading this and you’re in a similar predicament, I want you to know that it gets better IF you give your burdens, desires and worries to God. This world can be (and will be) soul crushing but if you release everything that weighs down your heart you’ll end up feeling freedom you didn’t even know existed.

Don’t believe me, huh? Don’t worry I didn’t either. But if you’re still reading this, let me tell you a quick story.

Once upon time, there was a young girl who dreamed of becoming a teacher. During her adolescence, she would gather all her stuffed animals in a row (like desks) and teach them various subjects. Time passed and life happened and she got “detoured.” She ended up marrying her high school sweetheart and they ended up building a successful law practice while raising two girls. Her life’s plans had changed without her noticing. Years passed…too many to count and she never achieved the one thing she always thought she would be: a teacher. Now because of unforeseen circumstances, she became a single mom who faced her own battles of depression. It took her years (I MEAN YEARS) for her to find herself again, but she did… finally at the age of 50 (sorry for revealing your age mom). She achieved the one thing she always dreamt of the profession of a teacher.

You see that woman’s story I just told you is my mom’s. I was so self-absorbed that I didn’t realize the exact thing that was happening to me was the EXACT experience my mom faced. However, I’m sure if you ask her. She would’ve taken this detour over quickly becoming a teacher. You see because God brought a 360 degree to her life. She had the blessing of raising me and my sister from infancy to teenage years / adulthood. She packed our lunches daily and created memories with us that can never be replaced. She was a TEACHER of the Good Word  to my sister and I.

It really wasn’t until my mom achieved her dream that I realized God really does have a purpose for everything. So yes, my life has been DETOURED let me tell you. But I’m learning to take these twists and turns with a grain of salt.

Because if I had been accepted a year and a half ago, I would not be living in Houston creating a life with my new husband. I wouldn’t be making memories with him or trying to figure out which side of the bed belongs to who. I value my marriage too much to put it in jeopardy and perhaps the stress of a law school student with the conjunction of a medical student and a separation of 250 plus miles would’ve been detrimental to a new marriage.

So without any more time wasted, I want to thank the good sovereign Lord for teaching me patience, humility, and trust. I never saw myself living where I am today and doing what I’m doing but I wouldn’t trade these lessons or memories for anything in this world.

Right now my job is to be a patient, strong and understanding wife while building a home in a small bedroom apartment. Then when my husband has succeeded at his endeavors, I believe that it will be my turn to chase mine. It isn’t an example of subordination rather an act of love. I take this season as a season of growth and I believe that one day the white coat will be donned…but until then I’ll continue on this “detour” God has set out before me.

                                                       Psalm 46:5