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ananxioussheep · 5 years

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My Miscarriage Journey

Today: Tuesday, October 1st

On October 1st, 2019 our journey of parenthood was put on an indefinite pause. What started as a routine check-up for the day became our worst nightmare. The second you find out you're pregnant is the most exciting and terrifying moment. You immediately change everything you are doing to ensure your baby is healthy. For me, unfortunately, our baby was not going to be. When I met my midwives that morning I went in for a Doppler check. My midwife was going to look around to find our baby's heartbeat. We couldn't find it the week before. She told me before she had even started last week not to worry if that happened since the baby could be behind my pubic bone or could still just be too small. When we didn't hear it we scheduled a recheck for next week once the baby grew a little more and I kept my bladder full for the check so that my uterus would hopefully be in a better position to finally meet our baby. Three midwives tried with no success. They told me a number of things could be happening, maybe I'm not as far along as we all thought, maybe my uterus wasn't shaped the way it was supposed and baby is just in a different spot, or maybe I was experiencing what is called a missed miscarriage. I left their center and headed to get an ultrasound. Jacob was at work for the day because we thought I was going to be having an easy check-up and I would be leaving with a video for him so he could meet our baby. When I got to the radiology center and saw what was happening I immediately knew this wasn't good. I spent a long year as a vet tech and have seen lots of ultrasounds. I had lots of pregnant friends and knew what I should see. I have a biology degree and have studied a lot of reproduction. When the tech turned the screen my way I saw my uterus. And I saw where my baby should be and wasn't. She decided she wanted to do a transvaginal ultrasound to be sure. If you know what this is then you know this is the last thing you want to be doing as your fighting back tears waiting for the inevitable. We found that although I was past 12 weeks, my baby stopped developing around week 7. My body still thought (and still thinks as I write this) that I was pregnant. I now have to walk around for who knows how many days still being pregnant and waiting to labor this child. Jake and I spent the day sobbing. Wondering what we could have done differently. I spent my time talking with God. Asking him if he had changed his mind about thinking if I was going to be a good mother. We told our family and friends and bosses that we would be missing for a while. That we were not going to be meeting our sweet baby in April. That our dream was ending for now. And that we wanted some time and space to process. Right now it's 6 am. I've fallen asleep for 2 hours. My mind can not shut off. I can't stop thinking about how this fight isn't over and I still have to “have” this baby. I can't stop thinking about the fact that we already announced because things were good. I was really sick for weeks so that must mean we have a healthy baby. My body still thinks I'm pregnant. I spent 4 hours last night having reflux and puking. But I still have not had a bit of spotting. We haven't taken a step toward “having” this baby. Part of me wonders if I just keep going along like I'm pregnant maybe God will perform a miracle. But most of me doesn't want to hold onto any hope because that would hurt more. It's crazy how quickly the best season of your life turns into the worst.

72 Hours Later: Friday, October 4th

Take day 3. It's been over 72 hours since we found out we lost this baby. I haven't made any progress in “having” this baby. I am angry. And I'm drinking and I'm almost entirely dependent upon my anxiety medication. My husband who never cries is crying a lot and I don't know how to help. I'm ready to have this child, bury this child, and begin to move on. This is the most challenging, devastating, and world-altering. I have so many doubts? Will I ever be able to be a mother? I want to try now, as soon as possible, but Jake's pain is too much to get there now. Will I ever heal from this? Am I capable of going on?

6 Days Later: Monday, October 7th

Yesterday I called my midwife sobbing. I just can't wait for my body to do this anymore. I can't keep walking around like everything is fine with my lifeless angel inside me. Help. I'll get the pill on Tuesday. I'm reading the same scriptures over and over and over. Jake finished a 1000 piece puzzle in 8 hours and didn't sleep last night. I hid in the office at work all day because I can't afford to not be there. Worship music non-stop. Jesus as much as possible. And literal devastation. How can you miss something that's still inside you? We decided to name our baby even though we don't know what it is. Our baby deserves a name. Emerson, it means brave and powerful (I just keep referring to her as Emmie because I had so many dreams about it being a girl). Exactly what our angel is. And exactly what we will have to be these next few months. I'm planning a tattoo of rosemary their purple blooms which signify love and remembrance and I've decided our baby is a honeybee. All my dreams and plans during this pregnancy have been around bees. When I looked up their meaning I found that they extract sweetness from life, and represent abundance, brightness, and personal power. Because of our sweet little baby bee our family will learn all of these things this season. And now, we wait to finally do this tomorrow; have this baby.

Tuesday, October 8th, 11:55 PM

Preparing for a long night ahead as I FINALLY started bleeding. As absolutely devastating as this moment is I'm so relieved to finally let this baby move through my body naturally and I'm it's timing. I was scheduled to pay another $300 tomorrow for another ultrasound for confirmation to get the medication. I am praying to God and have been asking him to let this be the way this happens. So now. At midnight Jacob and I are running to Walmart for freaking incontinence pads for old people. All because we decided we wanted to love each other a little tonight and I guess that's all baby needed. To know Jake and I still love each other. (He will literally hate me for that but guess what most happy marriages have sex lives, it's totally biblical y'all). Part of me feels terrible for celebrating right now and I know it won't feel like this as the pain and bleeding continue but right now, I'm proud of Jake and me for getting through this and so proud of our baby for trying as hard as it could in this short little life.

Wednesday, October 9th, 10:00 AM

Well, I barely bled at all so to the Dr. we go to get this process rolling for real. Last night I held my tummy and told my baby how proud I am of him or her. It fought so hard for this life. And it's fighting so hard to get to the other side of this life. I'm so ready for us all to be at rest and be ready to heal. Jacob and I are realizing how perfect God's timing is. Although we were pretty annoyed when we didn't get to go on our Labor Day cruise I can now see that God perfectly planned this time away for us. I'm believing it's going to be so healing. And it also helps give me perspective that God knows exactly what he's doing with this little babe. They were just too precious to be earthside. I find a lot of comfort knowing we have a personal angel caring for us from above.

Wednesday 5:30 PM

Here we go. Pain. Cramps. Aches. I'm tired already and it hasn't even begun.

Thursday, October 10th, 1:00 AM

3 pills in. I'm finally losing my mind. I just woke up Jake with my crying because I officially feel like I have lost at the game of life. I currently feel insufficient as a wife, a friend, an employee, and especially as a mom. I'm looking back on this year and honestly, it has been the most miserable and lonely year of my life. And this moment has been by far the hardest. There is no pain that can compare to watching pieces and clumps of cells that should have been your child fall out of you. And having to force your body to do it with pill after pill because after 7 weeks it still won't understand that it's not going to have this baby. I don't recognize myself or my life anymore. For the past 8 weeks we've known about this baby I finally felt purposed again. I was working toward a goal. A life that I saw so much fulfillment in. And all of a sudden it's just gone. Nothing can prepare you for these moments. I'm so deeply pressed for anyone who has ever and will ever do this and I'm trying to imagine how I will dig myself out of this. Here's what I know, one, I will not apologize for doing the things that are best for me and two, I will speak up about this experience as much as possible because this baby deserves a memory and this experience deserves to be de-stigmatized. My head is throbbing, my back is throbbing, the pain is so deep in my abdomen that I am nauseous yet nothing else is happening. I'm just exhausted. Physically, Spiritually, Emotionally. I'm fried.

Thursday: 8:30 AM

I was wondering why everyone kept saying you would know when it happened because I really didn't think I would know, but then it happened. Feeling dizzy, nauseous, and a little more empty. I love you little babe.

Friday, October 11th

Today we took what remained of our little and planted a tree. It’s the first thing I see every day when I walk in the door.

Sunday, October 13th - Sunday, October 20th

Time for “vacation” In the photos we took and posted are beautiful mountain ranges, conquered fears, crystal clear oceans, and lots of smiles. On the other side of those photos was a lot of time spent mourning and grieving. While I'm so thankful to have the opportunity to have moments like these it does not change how hard these past few days/weeks have been. I'm so proud of the steps Jacob and I took to enjoy this vacation as much as we could. I'm happy to say we have learned so much and are a stronger couple now than we were just weeks ago. But I would be lying if I uploaded all those smiles and didn't share the tears that were behind them each and every day. At the dinner table. On the beach. At the top of a mountain. There's no convenient time to suffer loss. While others might forget, Jacob and I will not. While others might feel it's time to move on, I'm not ready to. While others think we are supposed to smile, we have to cry. Don't mistake this for a pity party, but understand that miscarriage is excruciating on your mind, body, and soul. It's time we start being more honest with ourselves and others with the state of our hearts. I wanted to shed some light on our week. I wish I could say our vacation was all I hoped for and that I experienced so much healing during this time as I wished I was going to, but I didn't. I hope this encourages someone else today to know that it's ok to not be ok for a while and to be a little more honest with themselves and others about the state of their heart. I'm confident God has a plan for this as he works all together for good.

Monday, October 21st

I went back to work today and spent the night before sleeping a total of 2 hours and having panic attacks all night long. I spent my lunch break having one of the worst panic attacks I ever had, my breathing was so stifled I almost called 911 I was sure I was going to pass out. I walked away into the back office and cried for over an hour because someone asked me if I had kids… I’m feeling like it’s impossible to live in this world now. This whole process and loss hurts more now than it did when I found out or as I was living the miscarriage itself. I am literally dragging myself out of bed day to day as a necessity and 3 times my normal dose of meds still aren't doing the job. So I guess the whole gist of this whole story is… It’s ok to not be ok...

...I struggled with where to end this post because truly the end of this post isn’t the end of this process, but I hope this gives you insight into the brokenness of this process for so many women. I’m happy to answer any and all questions surrounding this devastating situation. Education is power, in all circumstances.

#miscarriage #anxiety #anxious #depressed #depression #hurt #pain #loss #death #hope #Help #jesus

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leadandtreesdocx · 6 years

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High Hopes

Fandom: Star Trek (2009)

Word Count: 2,202

Summary: An alternate timeline begs for more differences, and this story explores one to do with Spock. Or, why the Spock in this reality is so emotional. Hint: It has to do with a girl.

Before Spock was born, the doctors and specialists loved to tell her of her chances to conceive. Or rather, lack thereof.

“Though similar in many aspects,” They would drone, trying to be delicate and tiptoe but at the same time firm enough to get the point across to this obviously simple human. “Vulcan and human physiology isn't compatible in this way. A naturally conceived child is highly improbable.”

Naturally, Amanda was upset by this. She had two sisters growing up and had always imagined children of her own. Little ones that would feel loved and cherished under her protection. When she got married, the vision was only slightly altered as she now wanted children with her husband. She approached Sarek with this topic, his response being irritatingly logical, as always.

“When we decided upon pursuing our relations, many possibilities came to the forefront of my mind. One of those was children and the rarity it is for humans and Vulcans to be suitable in a reproductive capacity. This is something I accepted early on.”

“But what if we grow to want children? What if I want to be a mother?” Amanda argued, growing exasperated by the unflinching nature of those around her. She didn't want complacency, she wanted solutions.

“As always, there are options. Besides adoption, cloning therapy has gone a long way in producing healthy offspring. However, I understand that many humans oppose this option for ethical reasons.” Amanda rolled her eyes and left to find a different opinion, her husband pondering on what, exactly, he had done wrong.

After this talk, as well as talks with her parents, siblings, and others, Amanda had given up any hope for a child of her own. She wanted a life with Sarek, and if this couldn't include a life with a child from both of them - she could live with it. She had just started to look into the options Sarek spoke of (boy or girl, Vulcan or human, none of the above?) when she went for a routine checkup and found herself three weeks pregnant.

Nine months passed and Spock was born, a tiny, wailing infant that came into the world in the spring. He had her eyes and Sarek’s ears and both of them were in love, even if it was only Amanda who showed it outwardly. They had a family.

And that was all Amanda ever wanted.

“Mother, what does this mean?” Amanda and Sarek paused their discussion and turned around to see a four year old Spock clutching the datapad they were currently discussing, one from her last medical appointment. He had a slightly alarmed expression on his face, not having learned to block out all emotion, especially at home. “Are you ill?”

Amanda laughed gently. “Not at all, dear.” She sent a warning look to her husband before leaning down to be on Spock’s level, smiling kindly. “It means that you're going to be having a sister.”

Spock blinked.

“You are… with child?”

Amanda laughed again, because his father had said the exact same thing the hour before when she told him. Sometimes their similarities couldn’t be more apparent.

“Yes, Spock. Are you excited to have a baby sister?”

Spock blinked again as his face settled into one of deep contemplation. His parents looked on as his young mind tried to formulate what he was (or was not) feeling.

“As an older brother,” Spock glanced up hesitantly at his father. “What do I have to do?”

Sarek thought about the answer before answering his son with his usual seriousness. “Older kin have a duty to pass on any and all knowledge to their legacies. In doing so, you have a responsibility to this person - one to protect them. Do you understand?”

“I,” Spock faltered, his face scrunching up a little in his confusion. “I believe so.”

Amanda positively beamed at him before kissing his head. “You'll do brilliantly, Spock. Like you always do.”

Spock blushed green, but preened under his mother’s attention.

“Why do they make fun of me, Spock?” Spock closed his book with a snap.

“Who makes fun of you?”

“My classmates, the neighbors, practically everyone that I pass in the hall.”

Spock looked pensive for a moment before simply saying, “I see.” And returning to his book, trying to play it off as if it was a trivial matter. Darda knew him better than that.

“I don't need any help,” His sister was quick to deny, and continued before he could respond. “I just don't understand.”

Darda had this annoying tendency to try and understand everything. Despite the irrationality of this, Spock found affection for his little sister in her passion. But this was matter he found need to discourage her from, because of her almost naïve, kind hearted nature. So he gave her a rare smile, one that spoke of bitterness and affection, before telling her the honest truth.

“And you never will, ko-kai.”

Her face started to crumble so he inquired about her studies, which she could prattle on about for days. As her mood soared with each detail, Spock felt a glimmer of satisfaction in the back of his mind that he would not acknowledge. Like his father had told him to do, Spock was protecting his sister in the only way he knew how. Never mind that he had the same doubts and questions, he was able to help her forget, even if just for a moment.

Spock had come to the conclusion quite a long time ago that though he could logically understand other Vulcans’ disdain for them as half-breeds, he would never quite be able to grasp the why involved. But some mysteries are meant to remain unsolved, Spock reasoned as Darda started talking about her recent lessons in history, this must be one of them.

“How big do you think Starfleet is? Is it bigger than the Academy?”

“Guessing is not productive,” Spock remarked without inflection, scrolling through the book he was reading. “You possess a data pad. It is within your reach.”

“Guessing is a game, kaisu. It's not meant to be productive, it's meant to be fun.”

“Regardless, it ceases to be a game when you already know the answer.”

Darda had done well in her studies, advancing beyond what anyone on Vulcan had predicted for her. She bypassed the Academy in favor of a school that would better help her attain the qualifications needed for her chosen field. Darda wanted to be an architect of all things. Inspired by the history books of Earth and the current marvels of Vulcan, she was already rising through the ranks due to her unique insight. There were not a great many things in which her knowledge surpassed the men in her family, but she was determined that this would be one of them. Whenever a single building was mentioned in a conversation, Darda most likely knew the exact dimensions and structural problems from her research. Starfleet had been no exception.

“Did you know,” Darda began speculatively. “That the Golden Gate Bridge has only a small portion of its original self still intact? When they set out to preserve it, they found so many of the original materials outdated or dangerous that they couldn't rationalize building it the same way. The original portion in no way helps the structural integrity and is held aside from visitors.”

“Fascinating.”

“I thought so.” They were both quiet for a moment, content in the silence before Spock glanced up from his book at the time and saw that he would need to leave now if he wanted to arrive home with enough time to check his bags before sleeping.

“I must leave to pack the rest of my belongings.” Spock started to collect his things and didn't see the heartbroken and slightly panicked expression on Darda’s face.

As Spock turned to leave, he heard her soft voice.

“I will miss you, you are aware.”

He turned back and allowed their eyes to meet, hers glassy and his a tad soft.

“I am.”

They both paused for a moment, the realization that this would be their last, real moment together a sobering one. He would be leaving Vulcan, leaving her the next day. Tomorrow would be spent around others and they would have to maintain the formalities expected of them, unable to give a last parting word without justifying the Council’s words. This was it for them, until they could meet again in the future. Due to their different life choices, that could be years.

Spock lifted his hand in the customary goodbye.

“Live long and prosper, ko-kai.”

Her lips wobbled into a smile as she raised her own hand.

“Live long and prosper.”

“You never loved her!”

Days after the dust had settled and hours after the most pressing meetings had been attended to, Spock sat in his room, a data pad on the table beside him and James Kirk’s words ringing in the air.

The doors slid open with a near silent whir, and Lieutenant Uhura stepped inside. She didn't say anything, just came and sat beside him. She saw the data pad lying on the table and wordlessly, Spock handed it to her.

Lieut- Nyota scrolled through the article.

“Did she build this?”

A nod.

She smiled, looking back down at the picture shown of a gorgeous cathedral. “It's beautiful.” She admitted. It was made to liken one of the older Roman cathedrals, but with better materials and a more practical layout. It was quite impressive, especially for her first project, not to mention -

“It's mediocre.”

Nyota started at his break from silence and his harsh words. She looked up at her love to explain. He didn't look at her but sighed as he stared off at some unseeing tragedy.

“She had so much more she wanted to do. Grand monuments, sprawling cities, ingenuous irrigation methods…” Spock trailed off before he spoke again, frustration coloring his words. “It's an insult that this was the only thing that came to pass. A waste.”

Nyota stared in disbelief at the irrational rational she had just been witness to. Spock was hurting, but his attempts to distance himself and by proxy belittle his sister’s life’s work enraged her. Instead of saying this, she was quiet for a moment before putting the pad in his lap, the picture of the church still enlarged.

“Can you really look at this and tell me that?” She pointed harshly at the work, hoping to draw Spock from his stupor. “From what you told me, she was dedicated but never did anything without truly meaning it. So logically, she couldn’t believe it to be a waste, otherwise it never would’ve been made. Your sister made this, Spock. Take time to appreciate it.”

She left him at that, to contemplate her simple words and hopefully find some closure. He did think about what she said, but he couldn't justify the beauty that was this church for the brilliance that was his sister. He had always held Darda in high esteem, sure of her as he was of anything. Darda was going to help so many in this universe, of that he had never a doubt.

But now she was gone and he just couldn't understand how this church could still stand with her absence.

Spock knew contacting his elder self wasn't a very thought out or pragmatic plan. But he wanted to know how Darda’s life would've played out without the destruction of Vulcan. Without the attack that he indirectly caused.

But when her name was brought into discussion, his alternate self could only stare in confusion.

It had never occurred to Spock that, in an alternate reality, his parents only miracle was him. In the original timeline, Amanda and Sarek never produced another child, but were quite happy with Spock as their only child together. Amanda died old, Sarek remarried, and the only ‘Darda’ Spock knew of was from Earth’s Bible.

The anniversary of his planet’s destruction was a rather somber affair. The captain had made arrangements for them to travel to New Vulcan, but a few violent Klingons delayed their trip.

So instead, they were having a small memorial on the ship. The mess hall had a shrine of sorts with pictures of loved ones messily taped on along with the new flag hung in the background.

Spock, having a year to think about it, put her cathedral there alongside a picture of his mother.

Kirk sidled up next to him.

“Who’s the church for?”

Kirk didn't mean it as an insult, but it smarted somewhat that hers wasn't a work so easily recognized. Instead of snapping with his newfound temper, Spock reflected on what the photo represented, especially to him.

“A remarkable woman.” Kirk looked at him in surprise, not expecting him to answer and unsure of the connection she could have with the Vulcan. “If you would excuse me, Captain.”

As Spock left, James realized that he hadn't really answered his question. But looking at the worn photo of a hauntingly beautiful cathedral hanging next to the pristine portrait of Spock’s mother, Kirk decided it was better not to ask.

Translations: ko-kai - sister kaisu - sibling

#star trek #oneshot #one-shot #one shot #fanfic #fanfiction #spock #star trek 2009 #reboot #james kirk #original character #oc #original female character #spock sister #sister

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thehygieneguru · 4 years

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we keep it a secret no one should know

Is a study that was conducted in Siaya ( west Kenya ); included 120 girls aged from 14-16 years.

The study included some valuable information about different topics that were related to menstruation and menarche and its effects on the society.

Menarche

Girls were unprepared and demonstrated poor reproductive knowledge; they created some practical methods to cope with menstrual difficulties. They did this mostly alone because parental and school support of menstrual needs is limited. Although its a normal bodily function, yet the attitude towards it vary by culture and is seen as contaminating and severely debilitating.

As a result of poor menstrual management, girls miss schools because they are ashamed of stained clothing. According to the research done by this study, girls will miss 10-20% of their school days. In addition, In Tanzania a study shows that menarche may also place girls at risk of sexual advances.

As a result they need the introduction of emotional and physical support mechanism. Interventions that provide better menstrual management to school girls have role in improving schooling, sexual and reproductive health and well being.

Lack of preparation for menarche

Girls can describe learning of menstruation only when experiencing bleeding for the first time.

Luo culture

Menstruation is not celebrated across the community; nor within individual household. It often kept a secret even from girl’s own mom.

Below are quotes from girls and parents in this community-

When I first started my lower abdomen was stretching painfully and when I went back to the classroom everybody was asking me what was on my clothes, then I told them I don’t know’. (P2 School H).

‘What I can say is that (cough) these girls are scared because they think that they are the only ones experiencing monthly period. And also it is our fault as parents not to share with our girls of the changes they will be undergoing. They are not aware that all females undergo the same.’ (P8 Parent FGD 4).

I was going to the latrine and I also had stomach cramps then I was surprised to see blood coming out’; Moderator ‘What did you do?’; P2 ‘Nothing, I just went back and changed my pant.’ (P2 School J).

That’s why they get pregnant while still young since they had already started menstruating and know it among themselves and don’t even inform the parents.’ (P7 Parent FGD3).

The few girls who did receive information prior to reaching menarche reported that it was rarely more detailed than they will bleed every month from their vagina when they reach a certain age, and that ‘timo timbe maricho’ (‘doing bad things’) once they had started ‘attending’ could lead to pregnancy.

‘I saw blood from my vagina and I never knew anything. I went to my mother and I told her what I saw and she told me that is my monthly period. I should be careful.’ (P5 School D).

‘He [uncle] told me that people start menstruating at the age of eight. Then he also told me not to allow myself to be deceived by men because I can get pregnant at that time.’ (P5 School C).

Sexual vulnerability

Below are quotes that demonstrated how they felt about menarche

Mature

I feel that I am now a grown up because once you have started your menses, when you like playing with men you can become pregnant.’ (P9 School H).

sexual maturity

When we start menstruating we long for some things.’ (P12 School E).

‘But what are these things that we do long for?’ (Moderator School E).

‘You long to have sex with a boy.’ (P12 School E).

Pressure to have sex

If boys want to know that you are old enough to have sexual intercourse, he looks at your breast. After noticing that your breast has enlarged, he will tell you “I long for something can you give me.’ (P7 School D).

How parents feel about it

I think when a girl starts her monthly periods I restrict her from moving around with the father because he might take advantage of her.’ (P8 Parent FGD3).

‘They (men) see that, as in, they see your breasts are enlarging,(laughter) pimples appear on your face, and hair also grows on pubic area, hips broadening, and so you are mature to marry.’ (P4 School I).

‘We fear telling father. He can have a negative thought. He can have another mind?’ (P6 School B).

‘Which kind of mind?’ (Moderator School B).

‘He can take advantage of you. He can think that my daughter is now a grown up, sowhen you are left alone with him in the house he can sleep with you.’ (P6 School B).

‘There are some [fathers] if you tell them will say you are now mature and they can even rape you if you don’t have your mother around’. (P6 School D).

Secrecy

secrecy was frequently mentioned and was highlighted by parents as customary.

Nearly all girl’s opinion was that males (fathers, brothers or classmates) should not be aware that they were menstruating. (because they are not supposed to know)

It was crucial for girls that boys remained unaware in order to prevent them from laughing at them or telling other people about it.

Fear and shame

The most important emotion related to menstruation was mainly because of the shame surrounding leaking blood.

Fear of leaking at school was dominant; when students stand up to respond to a teacher revealing their soiled dress

‘Even if I come to school I am embarrassed because at times I don’t have what to use, or if I have cloths maybe I’ve not worn them properly or I’ve only worn my underwear so when I get up my dress is already soiled.’ (P4 School H).

What about other girls, do they take time off or just come to school as usual?’ (Moderator School F).

‘They can absent themselves from school.’ (P11 School F).

‘They can absent themselves from school because of the materials that they are using and so they get embarrassed.’ (P3 School F).

‘Sometimes they have painful stomach cramps that walking becomes a problem and also lack of things to use to manage menses because the parents cannot afford pads.’ (P5 School C).

‘Most of the girls do not go to school during their monthly periods, because as Luo’s we still cling to the past. We cannot buy our children proper materials for managing their menses even a cotton wool. We tell them to wear old pieces of clothes instead. They then become fearful and feel that when they get up the clothes might come out and so her classmates or the teachers might laugh at her, so much embarrassments make them not to go to school during their periods.’ (P1 Parent FGD 1).

Coping strategies

tying a sweater around their waist

seeking permission to bathe or go home

hiding until a friend can help them

going home without permission

Fear from leakage or odor

‘Sometimes when I am in class and the teacher is teaching, I don’t concentrate on what is being taught because your mind is always on the thought that when you stand and your clothes will be blood stained and the teacher will see, hence you don’t concentrate.’ (P3 School H).

‘You feel you do not want to stay in class, all you feel is that you should go back home and rest because you cannot concentrate in class even if the teacher is teaching. You might be thinking that your dress might get soiled.’ (P10 School G).

‘You do not want to sit next to your teacher, maybe you are smelling.’ (P2 School G).

Coping with inadequate alternatives

Most commonly mentioned alternative were old clothes, blankets or pieces of bedding. Also, some girls used several pairs of panties, socks, towels, cotton wool or tissue.

infrequently, girls used grass, leaves polytene paper or material from sacks.

When girl’s menses unexpectedly grass or leaves plucked from the ground around school yard was reported to be the only solution available.

Menstrual hygiene

Girls found difficulty in bathing several times during the day when menstruating because they had to compete for using scarce resources such as soap even with mothers

Menarche and interpersonal relationships

Girls faced emotional bullying because they feared being made fun of while. menstruating. Moreover, Humiliation displayed towards girls struggling with menstrual problems is an example of a social norm.

Once girls reach menarche, boys view them as sexually mature; placing girls at risk of sexual advances including coercoin.

Forced sex is common among Kenyan girls with 12-21% of Kenyan females reporting their first sex was non consensual.

Rape and exploitation is described as “reality for youth” in the African setting.

Lack of cash to purchase menstrual protection is a hardship for girls, as a result some girls participate in transaction sex to get money for buying pads. ( and they were accepted within social norm)

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cult-of-kai · 6 years

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The Sword of Swift Justice

Thoughts on episode eight, ‘Winter of Our Discontent’:

This episode was like the ghost of predictions past for me…

The promo picture called Cheyenne Jackson’s character ‘Dr. Rudy Vincent’, but his name in the show is Dr. Vincent Anderson. Surely this was done to preserve the surprise reveal. Right away, we find out that Vincent is innocent of all but being a lousy shrink. But even then- wait. Is he a lousy shrink? He’s exasperated by Ally, to be sure- but so were we. So was Ivy, for all that she had other issues as well. Rosie, beaming, said that Vincent cured her and he responded by praising the work she’d put in. I thought he had to be loading Kai up on Adderall if nothing else, but nope. Kai steals prescription pads from him. Vincent’s eventual fate stings because it comes right when he’s trying to atone for mistakes he is just realizing he made. I reasoned early on that Vincent might not actually be involved in the cult, but I kind of assumed I was overthinking the whole thing. Nope again. Although… there was something a little creepy about the description of “pinky power” (which sounds even sillier than pinky promise), in my opinion. At any rate- RIP, Vincent.

I guess Bebe Babbitt… went missing? I don’t know, but the ladies of the cult are still pissed about being pushed aside. It’s gotten worse, actually, because now they’re stuck cooking for and serving Kai’s army of blueshirt drones. Ivy mentions The Handmaid’s Tale, which I’ll get back to later, and Beverly relates how Kai is manipulating the city council into going along with his decisions. The bit about the gated community is decent class-war commentary. Then it’s time for story time with Winter.

How did Kai-That-Was become the Kai we know? I think it was after the trailer’s release that I called Kai a manipulative whackjob with a messiah complex. But then back in ‘11/9′, we were given the impression of relative- if perhaps dreary- normalcy until Ms. Anderson commits a murder-suicide. This definitely effects him. A mutual of mine (@loonyloomis) pointed out that this was when Kai stopped cutting his hair- Adam Sheppard tease!- and he later gets into peddling fraudulent prescriptions. But he seems to bounce back for the most part, despite living in a house with two rotting corpses. Then the two younger Anderson siblings go to Judgment House on a lark, which Winter presents as the defining turning point in Kai’s life. Symbolically, it makes sense. In a twisted parody of a church, a horror *house of judgment*, Kai is stripped down to his essence- and found wanting. His first instinct upon realizing that Pastor Charles is torturing and killing people is to rescue them, which he does while Winter runs to save herself. This is Kai at his most genuinely heroic. He saved four people, including Winter, from terrible torment and death- not to mention any other victims Pastor Charles would have found. Now just take a minute to imagine how differently things might have gone if Kai had done as the female victim suggested and called the police. But he didn’t, because the better angel of his nature fails. Instead of shining a light on a great evil, he becomes it. He denies Pastor Charles’ victims the justice they choose to do as Winter suggests and kills him, becoming a killer. This- not his parents’ death- is the crack in Kai’s soul, the fissure in his mind. Everything since has been psychodramatic fallout and Kai bringing others down with him. He’s trying to convince himself and everyone around him that he’s on the rise when he is in free-fall.

I’m not sure how prevalent they are overall, but (fake!) Judgment Houses do definitely exist in the South. I specifically remember going to one that was split between heaven and hell. Everyone kept wandering back to hell because the heaven side- white sheets with scripture written all over them- was boring. Parts of Judgment House reminded me of ‘Se7en’, specifically Sloth. That’s undoubtedly deliberate, especially since Winter already name-dropped Fincher last episode. And randomly, AHS co-creator Brad Falchuk dates Gwyneth Paltrow. Others have mentioned similarities to the ‘Saw’ series, but I’ve never seen any of those. Rick Springfield was fine, but Pastor Charles would have been a nice little role for Denis O’Hare.

Anyway. Winter wants to try to reach Kai, because she believes that can happen. They’re all members of a murderous clown cult, but what do I know? Ivy and Beverly agree to give her some time. Winter and Kai meet, and we learn that Kai definitely knows how Harrison died and doesn’t care. They do a pinky power session and shit gets strange fast. Kai has decided, apropos of nothing, that they need to have a messiah baby. And for whatever reason, Winter has to be its mother. Logically, one’s mind goes to incest. But no- it’s going to be so much weirder than that! Kai says they’re going to have a threesome with Detective Samuels but somehow Winter will remain pure. At first I thought maybe Kai was just looking for an excuse to have sex with Samuels, but later events in the episode turned that idea on its head. Winter eventually calls the whole thing off because it gets to be too much nonsense for her. (I mean, it wasn’t until then?) Between the robes and the song and the behavior of all involved, it was undoubtedly one of the most bizarre AHS scenes ever- cringy as hell, but also hysterical and… oddly fitting in a satirical way? In the popular imagination and in reality (to a lesser degree), cult practices are often oddly sexual, cobbled together, and perversions of religious rituals. Kai has a degree in religious studies. Is he trying to sanctify what he and the cult are doing? His opening salvo during pinky power might lead us to believe he’s simply testing Winter, but I don’t know. The whole scenario also evokes ‘The Handmaid’s Tale’, a modern classic about women’s disenfranchisement via reproductive slavery.

As for Winter, what’s her deal? Why was she trolling “social justice warriors” with Kai? Sibling bonding? She seemed to be enjoying it. Was she perhaps also changed by Judgment House? Was her response to the trauma a hard left turn? But she swears to love and be loyal to her brother, who is politically on the opposite shore. In ‘11/9′, she told Ivy she wants to serve someone powerful. It’s all rather baffling. Regardless, Winter wearing a dunce cap and throwing recycling on the side of the road because Kai “doesn’t believe in global warming” is one of the funniest damn things I’ve seen all season. The following confrontation between her and Samuels- especially the line about losing when Hillary did- might suggest she would get more radical and truly join forces with the other women, but that’s not what happens. Instead, she… sells Beverly out? What? In turn, Beverly reads both Kai and Winter for filth.

We *finally* get a little backstory on Samuels, which I’ve been waiting for despite not caring about the character. I suspected he was a Nazi type way back in ‘Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark’, and I was right. He was also a dirty cop pre-cult, although it’s a little rich for Winter to accuse him of being a criminal when- once again- they’re both members of a *murderous clown cult*. He life is complicated by being gay and internalizing homophobia. Kai sees this and immediately goes to work, feeding Samuels a line of misogynistic bullshit and then fucking him for good measure. Kai seems particularly into it as well, which is interesting. I rather wonder how Evan would describe his character’s sexuality. So did Samuels just not care about Harrison at all? It didn’t seem like their involvement was only physical. I specifically remember them cuddling on the couch and discussing their favorite housewives. Eh. RIP, Samuels.

Finally, we have Ally to consider. We see her holding one of Oz’s toy trucks before inviting Kai over to rat Vincent out. She claims to be afraid of nothing now, and that’s after Kai has already noted a change in her. Their little exchange about Manwich is cute, as is her deliberately calling Speed Wagon ‘Aerosmith’. (Seriously, where did the drones’ names come from?) In the final scene, we see that that some drones have taken to wearing the masks of fallen clowns. Ally, staring Ivy down, is wearing the mask of Kai’s former “favorite”- the only one who impressed him. That’s no coincidence. Rise, Ally.

#it is *dumb* that I'm posting this only now #I've had it half-written since the night the episode aired #I've just been lazy #and busy #american horror story #AHS: cult #7.8 'winter of our discontent'#fandom thoughts #episode recaps #october 2017

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fitnesswomenshealth-blog · 6 years

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When pads are a luxury, getting your period means missing out on life

New Post has been published on https://cialiscom.org/when-pads-are-a-luxury-getting-your-period-means-missing-out-on-life.html

When pads are a luxury, getting your period means missing out on life

Moshi, Tanzania — Every month when payday came around, Suzana Frederick purchased a packet of sanitary pads. It was the first thing she bought. And when her period started, she knew she was ready for it.

The 19-year-old single mother from Arusha, Tanzania, was making 30,000 shillings ($13) a month as a housekeeper and would spend between 1,500 and 3,000 shillings ($0.70 to $1.30) on pads — a staggering 5% to 10% of her salary.

For an American woman making a typical wage, that would be the equivalent of between $169 and $338 for just one pack of sanitary pads.

The steep price was worth it for Frederick. The alternative of missing a few days of work each month to manage her period at home would have been more costly.

Roughly 1.8 billion people around the world menstruate. Some can’t afford sanitary products. Others have nowhere to buy them. And even if price isn’t an issue, stigma and taboo still stop many from fully participating in work and school during their periods.

For these women, the cost of menstruation is missing out on life.

Girls use fabric and rugs, but dream of pads

In rural Tanzania, most women and girls on their period use “kanga,” layered pieces of thick, colorful fabric used for making traditional east African dresses.

The stiff material gets wet quickly and often leads to urinary tract infections. Girls and women say they live in constant fear of bleeding through.

“I put [it] on in the morning, it will be wet with blood at 10 a.m. and start showing on my skirt,” says Esuvati Tisanai Shaushi, a 15-year-old Maasai girl who lives in a village near Arusha. Her school, like many in Tanzania, doesn’t have toilets with running water to wash.

“I feel ashamed… [I] keep on wondering how it will be [what will happen] in class.”

Among young girls in Tanzania, the gold standard of sanitary pads is Procter & Gamble’s brand Always.

Tisanai Shaushi has used them only once, when she was given a sample at school.

“I was so happy,” she said. “When I removed it, my pants were clean. It was comfortable.”

But when she asked her mother to buy the pads for her, the answer was no.

“She told me to use kanga because she uses them too,” Tisanai Shaushi said. When she pressed the issue, her mother told her she could buy them when she got her own money.

Related: Calculate how period poverty would impact you

Procter and Gamble (P&G) has invested heavily in educational campaigns in East Africa, including in Tanzania. Among other initiatives, it provides samples and starter packs to schools. But once the samples run out, the girls often go back to using kanga. Always pads are not widely available, and when they are they’re more expensive than other products.

Jennifer Davis, the global head of feminine care at P&G, told CNN the cost reflects the quality: “The foundation of our portfolio globally is always superior protection.”

P&G doesn’t break down its revenues from its different products. But Euromonitor International, a market research company, estimated P&G made $6.2 billion selling feminine care products in 2017 — more than any other company.

Davis declined to say how much P&G makes per pack, but said it is trying to keep pads as affordable as possible.

However, Always pads remain unaffordable for many Tanzanian girls.

Jennifer Rubli from Femme International, a menstrual health NGO in Tanzania, says P&G has done a great job marketing its products.

“Girls don’t talk about wanting disposable pads. They want Always,” Rubli said.

Other cheaper sanitary products are available in Tanzania, but the selection is limited.

Chinese-made pads — perfumed with menthol and aloe vera “flavors” — are typically slightly less expensive and more widely available in Tanzania, but several women and girls who spoke with CNN complained of “burning” and “itching.”

“I used pads only once, and I felt a burning sensation. After using it for six hours and changing it, I was burning,” one woman, Yuster Venance Kimaryo, a 37-year-old fruit trader in Moshi said. “That’s when I stopped using it.”

Period absenteeism

There are no global statistics on how many girls miss school because of their periods, but anecdotal evidence shows that period absenteeism is common across much of the developing world.

In Tanzania, 16% of girls say their periods keep them out of school, research by the Tanzania Water and Sanitation Network found.

During a recent school day, Violeth Hugolin Msophe, a pupil at Ghona Secondary School in Moshi, near Kilimanjaro, bled through her kanga and all over her dark green skirt. She wrapped her sweater tightly around her waist, asked a teacher for permission to leave and walked two hours home.

Martha Msangi Goodwine, the teacher who’s in charge of girls’ welfare at the school, said this happens so often that teachers sometimes buy pads just to have them on hand — but they can’t afford to supply the whole school.

“Many children here come from villages and very few are able to buy pads in the shops,” she said.

When non-profit organization Femme International gave each girl at Ghona a pack of AFRIpads — reusable pads that last as long as eight hours and are effective for up to a year — it was a game changer, especially for girls from poorer backgrounds who were using old rugs as pads.

“Most of them suffered from infections and other diseases, all that because of those rugs,” Goodwine said.

Girls are suffering fewer illnesses since using AFRIpads, made from absorbent, quick-drying fabric, that secures to underwear with snaps, Goodwine said. The school’s headmaster Peter Mushi said attendance has improved after the girls got AFRIpads. He doesn’t have precise figures, but said the effect was “noticeable.”

Speaking about the pads, Sophia Grinvalds, who co-founded the company with her husband in 2010, said “the onset of puberty should not simultaneously mark the end of schooling or a monthly experience of indignity and shame and stigma.”

Grinvalds said the idea for reliable reusable pads came from her own experience living in a village in Uganda. While washing sanitary pads might be unusual in developed countries, it is not a barrier in poor communities, where women routinely use and wash pieces of cloth.

AFRIpads has already made 2.5 million pads. The company is building a new factory that will make it possible to increase production three-fold.

It’s not only access to pads that keeps girls out of school it’s also period pain and untreated conditions.

Tisanai Shaushi says the beginning of her cycle is too painful to walk the short distance from her village to school; she often misses one or two days every month. She’s never taken any pain medication. Like sanitary pads, they are out of reach for her.

“There are periods when I am in school and I cannot write because of the pains,” Tisanai Shaushi said.

Tisanai Shaushi wants to be an engineer one day. But to do that, she needs to get good grades and win a place in one of the few high schools in her area. By keeping her out of school every month, Tisanai Shaushi’s period is another barrier she has to overcome.

“I keep on asking myself why does it have to be that way,” she said.

Menstrual pain is poorly understood, even in the world’s richest countries. Long-term conditions like endometriosis, which affects one in 10 women of reproductive age, are often misdiagnosed and go untreated. But in the developing world, pain isn’t just misunderstood, it’s ignored.

Related: Give girls choices, not lives already decided for them

“[Girls] are leaving [school] early because of it, or they’re not concentrating, so even if they are staying in school and being marked present … they’re not taking anything in,” Rubli said.

Tisanai Shaushi is worried about falling behind. And she’s not alone — three-quarters of Tanzanian girls say their periods affect their performance in class, according to the Water and Sanitation Network.

While primary school enrollment among girls and boys is nearly equivalent in Tanzania, that changes in secondary school when puberty hits.

Nearly 61% of girls of secondary school age are out of school compared to 51% of boys, according to the 2014 Demographic and Health Survey, a program funded by the U.S. Agency for International Development.

A 2018 study by Unicef and Unesco found girls are more likely to be out of school in Tanzania starting aged 15 and increasingly so as they get older.

The real price of periods

Elizabeth Scharpf was working for the World Bank in Mozambique when she saw the economic cost of menstruation first hand at a struggling factory making computer bags.

“The head of the factory told me that the female workers miss two to three days of work a month when they are menstruating,” she said. A quick calculation revealed the business was losing 20% of its workforce because women could not afford menstrual pads — and profits were taking a hit.

In response, Scharpf started Sustainable Health Enterprises (SHE), a social venture aimed at addressing period poverty.

Researchers, NGOs and charities all agree that it makes economic sense to start taking periods seriously.

“Whether directly or indirectly, [menstruation] actually affects everybody…and yet people who menstruate are unduly punished, because of something that’s completely normal and natural,” Femme International’s Rubli said.

Tanzania’s government reports that 60% of women live in “absolute poverty.”

The period poverty situation in some cases is so extreme that research conducted by nongovernmental organizations found that women engaged in transactional sex to obtain pads.

“As a woman you’re already economically disadvantaged to begin with and you’re put in this position where you have to fight that much harder the rest of your life because of something that you had no control over,’ Rubli said.

Suzana Frederik has been through a lot. Her mother died when she was very young. When she was in fifth grade, she lost her father.

Primary education is free in Tanzania, but compulsory uniform, school shoes and equipment became prohibitively expensive for Frederik. She dropped out shortly after her father died.

When she got pregnant aged 17, her boyfriend told her to get abortion. She refused and ended up alone, with a child to feed.

Spending 2,000 shillings ($0.87) on a pack of pads meant less money to buy food for the two of them.

She said she was lucky. “My periods lasts for three days, so one pack is enough for me.”

Frederick, who now lives in a shelter for vulnerable women, can get pads when she needs them. But access to pads is still out of reach for millions of women around the world.

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xhapjeongkrp-blog · 7 years

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( We thought we were running away from the grown-ups, and now we are the grown-ups. )

Name: Kwon Haesol Age: 22 Occupation: Intern at sleep clinic/Karaoke bar staff

Content Warning: Abuse

I. You left me with such a silent world.

Anecdotes, passed on from generations of self-proclaimed wisdom flourished fossils tend to claim that if you build your walls high enough, it is presumed that only the deserving will brave the journey.

There are four gates that embrace the valley of Seoul, a protective barrier that once restricted the foreign from being allowed into the walls of a fortress that formerly held an entire kingdom behind its stone. Of the four, Haesol was born behind the East gate, Heunginjimun which left the lips with literal benevolence. But he knew this gate he called home, as Dongdaemun.

Home was the stray cracks in the cement he strategically hopped over – one hundred fifty-two of them to be exact, but who’s counting? – every day on his way to and from school.

Home was the pair of convenient store chocolate ice cream cones his father hid in a black plastic bag to share – since his mother complained about cavities – after a long week.

Home was the frozen persimmons and scented erasers that the older lady who ran the stationary store loved to bundle up in cheese cloth and send him home with, even when he didn’t buy anything.

Home was Happy, the neighborhood stray, that he snuck his unfinished dinner to while he talked about his day before he would kiss his mom goodbye and be forced to bed.

Home was the jazz records he listened to in the summer afternoons when the temperature was just a little too hot to go outside and play.

Home was the rare nights where his soft breaths were diminished by his mom’s hands stroking his hair back until he was lulled to sleep.

Home is a cozy two bedroom two bath, coddled between narrow roads and brick walls. Home is his father, a simple paper pusher at a small advertisement and marketing firm. Home is his mother, the owner of an expanded food stall that served an eclectic variety of cheap alcohol married with seasonal dishes. Home was behind the East gate of benevolence. But home also tended to only consist of Haesol himself.

And when his parents make the decision to move to Mapogu, he really isn’t sure where home is anymore. Or if he had ever had one to begin with.

II. Where evenings are calm, but I am restless.

Haesol is ten when he first decides that he is perfectly capable of living on his own. Equipped with a backpack filled with three days’ worth of canned stews and vegetables along with a roll of toilet paper and change of socks, he peered out the window with one eye closed from the back of the bus while his index and thumb squished his usual stop between his pale fingers.

There was only one place that he wanted to run away to, and that was home.

When he reached his familiar stop in Dongdaemun, he was more than eager to get off and indulge in chocolate ice cream cones, frozen persimmons, and scented erasers. Most of all, he wanted to see his friend, Happy. But it doesn’t take more than hour for him to realize that the neighborhood he had been pacing up and down – with no familiar faces in sight – was not his home.

It’s almost midnight when a police officer finds the sloppy mess of tears and boogers painted across the child’s face; feeble body hunched near a brick wall from exasperated exhaustion, the officer called the station to confirm that this was the child that skipped school and had a pair of frantic parents on the other line.

And Haesol spends the night at the officer’s home before he is returned to his parents who promise that they can all visit their old home again some time; which never comes into fruition, but as he got older, he forgave his parents because he knew they wanted to fulfill that promise, at least.

But he never does find Happy.

III. My breath has become as thin as the wind.

“What’s got you always smiling, kid?”

When you have less than a word to utter and a thousand, million different thoughts cluttering your skull, wouldn’t you rather shut the hell up for a second and just listen to what has your brain rattling?

Haesol was a daydreamer, nothing else to it really, just always occupied in his own head. A vivid imagination that contained a fervent collection of fiction and non-fiction that plagued his thoughts. Not that he had mind it as much as his peers and the adult figures in his life had, though.

At first, all his teachers had assumed he was simply shy. Quiet and seemingly meek, he always had the crumbs of a smile left on his lips that curved the end of his mouth. But it lacked presence. The smile itself, was genuine. Always. But no one ever knew why he would be smiling. And he always managed to cause an uproar when he did actually open his mouth, asking his obviously female teacher if she had a male’s sexual reproductive organ or revealing that he had seen the principal take off his toupee to the entire student body during the talent show.

But in exchange, he had always been a good listener. Always.

Never one to neglect the honest plea for a simple penny exchange, he had always found himself in the situation of a sacred practitioner preparing to bless and relieve sin from the damned that has professed a confession. But just as so, he was never graced with more than that.

IV. You enjoy coffee and Debussy.

The fundamental nature of humans included very few motives which comprised, but were not limited to: eating, sleeping, and reproducing. Amongst these categories stemmed a variety of arbitrary, however somewhat entertaining and pleasurable inclusions. One of the few optional choices was romance, up to the discretion of the participant, of course. But Haesol was a desolate onlooker when it came to romance, not one to humor the idea nor let it humor him. By all means, he never saw anything wrong with a pair, falling in love – and he still doesn’t. His parents had succumbed to the customary tradition themselves but in retrospect, he knew it was not for him.

But she talks like a breeze during an August afternoon and kisses him like the rain in June.

Bruised plums stain his skin when her lips leave the hollow of his neck, whispering strange strings of words that perplexingly tangle before they even reach him. With her, he wants to be absolutely everything she wants him to be.

Enkindled with a convex reflection of a slow burning flame behind a pair of glossy irises as dark as a bittersweet malt roasted warm and sticky, he found himself lodged somewhere between empathetic and in love. And he isn’t sure if it’s because when he holds up a mirror he can see those same eyes hiding behind his lashes or that she is everything he isn’t.

But there was one thing that he was absolutely certain of, she was his home.

V. And nothing takes your place, your emptiness too great to fill.

Staring down towards the pearl hued item between his fingers, he turned it over a few times in hesitation. Three hours into his sixteenth birthday and somehow, between the alcohol and cocktail of unknown drugs that were swimming through his blood – not to mention the “trip” to the grocery store that he could barely recall – he had become convinced that egging some stranger’s house may have been even a minuscule of fun.

But now, he wasn’t quite so sure.

And when they wake up at the police department, covered in the dried starch of egg whites and yolk, he knew he was busted. The scrutinizing eyes of passing officers riddled every inch of the perimeter as the individuals would pass by the two, their parents being phoned on the other line with hushed tones. And all that seems to be processing is that as soon as he sees his parents, he knows he is getting a new asshole, courtesy of his dad’s hands ripping him a fresh one. But her hand is in his, and the way her fingers squeeze his flesh is as if to whisper in that very moment that nothing else mattered.

And he truly believed that.

With all the ephemeral, fleeting moments that he had not captured during their intrepid wanders through the city past midnight, he realized that he needed to preserve the instances. Leaning against a desk, he stole away a small pad of sticky notes before scribing onto the pale yellow, a stream of consciousness that he observed before him. And this grows into a habit, bound between series of black leather.

The complication that he had created between his parents seemed exponential compared to his companion’s. Not that his parents had ever been around enough to rear him into an upstanding adult within society – but who could blame them? They were simply working under the conditions that they had always been, and that was to provide for their only son.

But she received a slap on the wrist before being told that Korea University is her only option. Provided that she repents through getting accepted into the university. But with her grades – not to mention, government connections – this was redundant and perhaps rhetoric, in nature.

And when Haesol hears that from her mouth, although he isn’t great with school, he starts studying his ass off. Textbooks begin to fill his room, each page smeared with old copper from consecutive nosebleeds that seem to grow more concerning with each sheet.

When the acceptance letter reaches his parent’s hands they are unable to form a response, impressed – and shocked, to say the least – when he manages to not only get accepted to one of the top universities in the nation but also, into the scholarship pool. But it isn’t enough. It forces his parents to pick up extra hours to help him pay for the forty-five minute commute to a school he is less than eager to attend.

Through a few connections, he manages to land himself a job at a local karaoke bar. The place smells like a wild concoction of buffalo wings, vomit, and beer and while the pay isn’t great the tips fill his pockets so thick that he doesn’t have a moment to complain. Not when he needs to pay for tuition.

And Haesol isn’t really made for institutionalized study, he never has been, but she’s there. And that’s all that matters, that’s all that has mattered.

VI. But what does it take to believe in all the thing you believe?

And Haesol is nineteen when the keys to their apartment finally reach his palm. The moment is sweet and warm like honey on his tongue, and he never forgets it. However, it muddles amongst the screaming matches and broken plates that are aimed at him. But perhaps he had expected a honeymoon in Fiji and that was his fault.

Psychology is the only choice that makes sense to him. And he muses to himself that just maybe, he can fix her. The unstable fits of toxic arguments were like a cold lug of metal aimed at his throat, constantly ticking until the bullet was to soar through him the moment she set it off. It starts off as peeling him apart with little insults like cigarette burns under his wrists but they turn into the vases he brings home on Valentine’s Day, after they have kissed the wall and spilled on the ground like a kaleidoscope amongst withered petals of she-loves-me-nots.

But he applies what he learns earnestly, just not one to translate his work ethic into exam material. But one professor in particular sees a bit of themselves in him, so they offer the daydreaming C student a chance to intern at their sleep clinic to study the dream patterns – from verbal recitation of patients to the machine’s interpretations –, the brain waves, and tossing and turning physical habits of those in the clinic. He learns to love it there because he was never really a classic student to begin with.

Some nights, he would spend his time simply watching those who slept, wondering if they shared the same dreams as himself.

VII. And we fall apart without intention.

The abrasion is shaped like a cloud along his forearm, but it feels more like a mile wide and ten miles deep and he imagines if he were ever to try and jump it, he wouldn’t make it. But who would?

The swelling beneath his eye has finally gone down, and the bruise has faded into mustard remnants mixed amongst black cherry juice. And he likes neither.

The splint that sits around his middle and fourth finger carry them tight between marshmallow gauze and a metal cast. But he still makes sure to wear their couple ring.

But he starts to wonder why he is still wearing it at all.

VIII. But I can’t deny that I didn’t think ahead.

And she finally catches a glimpse of what she looks like from the other side of the one-way mirror that was bound between the library of leather books. Though the words were strings of affection that lingered in his reminiscence, she is far from infatuated. The infuriation stems from the way she is captured, like a subject in a petri dish. And later he wonders if she was the delusional one, or perhaps, was he? Honestly, he isn’t so sure if he wrote about her because he was in love or curiosity watered an obscure obsession that grew into a habit.

Whether he was rational or not, she doesn’t tell him that she has found his secret.

IX. You’ve got control, but I don’t mind.

At first, it was a childish request to flip up the skirt of the short-haired classmate who rode the subway in the same car as them. And he did it, of course. Another time, he stole twenty cartons of Marlboro cigarettes from the corner store and smoked them all in one sitting.

But he barely had a chance to watch the escalation as he found himself getting undressed, staring into the eyes of a stranger that had no resemblance to his companion. And she was bare and pale like marble strewn across their maroon sheets. When he looks up, he sees the glossy irises as dark as a bittersweet malt, roasted warm and sticky like when he first met her.

And he fucks the stranger with a desolate gaze that isn’t quite towards her or the malt irises.

It isn’t anywhere.

And he knows she has become estranged, but perhaps he realizes their romance, or whatever the hell it was – the one he had never saw an ending to – was tumbling down a misshapen denouement. With every wish to reach into her flesh and light a lantern upon her spine to tell her all he saw in her was light, she gained another pair of lips to revel in.

And he probably knew that.

But he didn’t want to know.

When he sees her, body tangled with a stranger, he swears he must be a passerby. This couldn’t have been his home. These two? They must have both been unnameable faces. And he can’t remember what he said, or what he did.

But it smells like gasoline.

Trying to extinguish the pages of infatuation he had captured for several years – half because he wanted to salvage them and half because fires were obvious hazards – he found himself staring into the flame. As if the slow burning concave reflection behind her pair of glossy irises as dark as a bittersweet malt, roasted warm and sticky, were still staring back at him.

And he stops and he watches the flames lick at its luminescent body as if it were an unexplainable creature, tending to its wounds.

X. You never mean to, but you have got me tied so tightly to your wrist.

Haesol has only ever been in the hospital twice, neither visits for himself.

Which may be one reason why he cannot stop staring at the plastic nametag snapped onto his wrist or the pristine décor of the room that is painted a sickly white. According to the nurse that delivered his five star meal – which consisted of half toasted bread and unsalted butter with a side of soggy grapes – he had been smothered by smoke from a fire. Fortunately? Fortunately, a “friendly” – but Haesol knows he was probably just being nosy – neighbor wanted to check up on him. A bit of the reptilian brain’s intuition begged he break the door down and so he did.

After he is discharged, there is a black plastic bag with a pair of chocolate ice cream cones from the convenient store hanging from his wrist. Back against the brick wall of the home he once resided in, he eats them in silence, afraid any sign of an utterance would force a well of emotions to escape from him.

But he ends up breaking down anyways.

When he returns to the apartment, he notices there are gaps in the bookshelf.

Some towels are missing from the linen closet.

The shoes on the rack are a mess.

And the pages are still tarnished, burned to a crisp though salvageable. But he doesn’t salvage them.

XI. If you ever want some trouble but can’t afford the alcohol, I’ll be there.

He doesn’t sleep for a few days, not by choice.

And he stops eating for a week, because everything he consumes tastes like ash and coffee.

He drops out because he never wanted to be a student anyways.

But he lies to his internship, because it’s really all he has right now.

And he moves out, somewhere closer to Hajeong station.

But the one thing he must promise himself is to not allow home to be anything more than a place.

#hpj: accepted #tw:abuse

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