#this turned into a whole ass essay i was really foolish enough to think i (ME) could keep this under 3 paragraphs 💀

[viktoriakomova]

i want to make this a separate post instead of tacking it onto the last post i reblogged, because a) i feel like its getting way too far away from the point of the OP and as someone who has been in that position several times on my main blog its annoying as shit, and b) i dont want it to feel like anybody is ganging up on OP or "dragging" them or whatever, i dont think what they said was mean spirited or came from a place of bad faith etc etc etc. (if i did i would have been a whole fucking lot meaner in replying lmfao) and i also dont think anything it said was Wrong tbh.

okay all that being said!

i will put my tags of my last reblog in the main text here, because this is something i want to expand on:

not to get too Deep about it but. the colonizing countries literally have more wealth and resources and opportunity *because* th#*they stole so much from the global south. they have the $ and the stability to develop ‘frivolous’ things like gym#at the direct expense of the colonies who are left penniless and in perpetual chaos and upheaval

(for context this is re: children of immigrants in diaspora and their connections to their parents'/grandparents' homelands and culture, and maintaining those ties when the reason they came to the global north are for increased opportunity for success and upward mobility etc.)

i wont turn this into a treatise on economic exploitation and its consequences like i alluded to in the tags (i would if i had like 3 glasses of wine tho lol) but the following is something i really do want to underscore:

i love nemour for a lot of reasons. the gymnastics itself, yes of course. i know i snark and make jokes all the time about her shitting on the FFG every time she does anything great under the 🇩🇿 flag. but sincerely, what she is doing for gymnastics in algeria, in north africa in general (hell even in africa overall given the attention that african champs got because of her), is truly something special. i will admit that i dont stay on top of algerian sports media lol but i do speak french and what ive seen, just what has come across my radar, in the francophone algerian press (both in france and in algeria) is drumming up major excitement about her. this is the kind of attention that gets people who otherwise wouldnt give a shit emotionally invested in the sport. the social and historical baggage of the treatment of algeria and algerians in france, and the olympics being in paris, is just the icing on the cake.

its not exactly the same dynamic, especially not in terms of the Discourse about resources and access in diaspora, but i cant help but to be reminded of daiane dos santos, who famously started the sport at the age of 12. and only 8 years later she became a world champion on floor. she was the first world champion in WAG from brazil, south america entirely in fact, ever!!!! rebeca andrade mentions her all the time as an inspiration for her as a little girl. rebe went out of her way (i mean that figuratively as well as very literally, we all know the story about her brothers escorting her through the favela to the gym and back) to do the sport, because she saw dos santos do great things and looked up to her. and now shes REBECA FUCKING ANDRADE. would we have Rebe™ if it hadnt been for daiane? no probably not!

i guess it just..... not "upsets" me, thats not the word im looking for, but maybe gives me pause when i see anybody say (about any of the aforementioned US-born gymnasts representing other countries, not just in this case with nemour) that its opportunistic or undeserved to be competing under the flag of a country your parent(s) came from but you've never properly lived in. because...... isnt that the whole purpose of the multi-generational Narrative Arc? dont they pick up their whole lives and move to "wealthy" countries to pursue better lives for themselves, and more importantly, for their children? and then their children do take advantage of those opportunities they would not have gotten back "home" and reach the highest levels of a (very expensive and, until very recently, highly "inaccessible") sport. and then there's a chorus of "well it isn't like she's FROM from there and came up from the ranks within that country." i mean you're not wrong but thats.... kinda the point!!! she couldnt have done it at "home," shes a clear example of how much talent there is in places that are torn apart and dirt fucking poor and how if you give those people the opportunity, they can be really fucking good at this! world class, even!

she is, in a very REAL sense, "representing" algeria. if she does well in paris (🧿🧿🧿🧿 *furiously knocking on every wooden surface in my apt*) she will become an emblematic iconic sports star for algeria. she will be the reason a ton of little girls in algeria (and even franco-algériennes in france) will want to sign up for gymnastics! she will have (and has already had, by the looks of it) a tangible impact on the popularity and the future of the sport in algeria. it cannot be overstated how fucking much that means.

#i love that there are like 30 of us still here so we can have conversations like this by the way lmfaooooo #this turned into a whole ass essay i was really foolish enough to think i (ME) could keep this under 3 paragraphs 💀

[yourtamaki]

the broken melody of us

matsukawa x f!reader

word count: 4k

request: mattsun hurt/comfort + neglect?

warnings: hurt/comfort, neglect, body worship, praise kink, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming

it was a song and dance at this point. a well rehearsed play with a blinding spotlight on the exhausted actors onstage. both of you go through the motions, no life behind the words you’ve spoken so many times they held no meaning anymore. you don’t know why you keep up the charade. you never expect a different result yet still you pick up the phone everyday and call your boyfriend. 

“you think you’ll be home in time for dinner?” 

sometimes you get a different, automated message. “maybe. might have to stay late,” or “can’t, i’ve gotta finish something up,” or your least favourite. a simple, clipped, “no.” 

“don’t stay out too late.” you should cut this part from the script, he never listens. 

“i’ll try.” 

“i love you.” this line is always to be spoken quietly, followed by holding your breath while you wait for his response. it’s the only reason you make these calls. this is your only chance to hear him say it and pretend he means it as much as he once did.

“love you too.” the line goes dead, the lights dim and he’s gone. you’re alone on an empty stage staring out at a bored audience. bored of the foolish protagonist who keeps them locked in the theatre, playing the same ending over and over and expecting something to give, to change. they watch on, silent and judging while you barter away what little dignity you have left. 

let them watch. 

the rejection doesn’t sting as badly as it used to. you’ve learned to bear it, swallow down the hurt that sits like a stone in your gut and go about your day, filling it with any meaningless errand that would stop your mind from wandering back to him. 

mattsun was subtle, you could give him that much. the way he slowly pulled away from your arms until you could hardly remember how he felt beneath your palms. the realization that you don’t really know your boyfriend anymore was slow to hit you but it knocked the air out of your lungs when it did. it crashed down on you when you woke in the middle of the night and turned to stare at his back gently rising and falling with every breath. his hair is longer then you remember and you don’t know why the thought has a lump forming in your throat. you focus instead on the broad expanse of his back. he’s tense, even in sleep, shoulders rigid and you’re sure if you could see his face, his brows would be furrowed. subtle changes that are enough for you to realize you’ve been shut out of his life.

you used to know him. when you were university kids who thought the future would never catch up to them and spent countless days in each other’s company. it wasn’t so much you knew him, it felt like you were him. and he was you. less attached to the hip and more intertwined with one another. you two were of one mind, to the point where you knew what the other needed before they’d even say it. 

your mattsun who was always just a text away. 

your mattsun who would indulge your late night drives, who would look at you with a permanent crooked smile on his face and love in his eyes. 

“you think we’ll always be like this?” you said one night, straddling him in panties and a baggy hoodie in the backseat and lazily kissing beneath the stars. and because he was yours and understood every little anxious thought that crossed your mind, he didn’t question why you were asking, didn’t make you explain what you meant, didn’t try to make a half assed joke about it. 

his hands trailed up your sides as he contemplated his answer, sending shivers up your spine. “probably not. things always change. we’ll change with them.” 

“what if things get worse?” 

“they might. but what if they get better? just cause it’s different doesn’t mean it's scary, angel.” 

“i know. but i hate thinking about it cause things are so good right now. i want it to last forever.” 

“we got time. let’s make the most of it, yeah?” he gripped your hips, slowly grinding you against his growing bulge and pulling you back into a kiss, sighing as your lips slotted together. you took control of the pace and grinned against him when a groan spilled into your mouth. 

“is that your way of saying we should hurry up and fuck?” 

“it’s working, isn’t it?” before you could pull your sweater up over your head, he cupped your face and brought your forehead to his, sincerity shining through his dark eyes. “i’ll always love you. that’ll never change. got it?”

“got it.” you managed to push the words out despite the lump that formed in your throat. he kept his eyes locked on yours as he slid your panties to the side and sank inside you, the familiar stretch a welcome one. 

it was nothing special, one night of many spent panting into each other’s mouths with an unspoken promise still hanging from your lips. but it was a memory you circled back to often, so often you could hear the echo of his vow ring through your head. 

your fears came to pass not long after that. life caught up and tore him from you, leaving you a shattered mess in the aftermath. you tried to fit jagged pieces of yourself back together in an attempt to remake the person you used to be but what stared back at you only left you keenly aware of the empty space he used to reside. 

these days, you like going to the roof of your apartment and letting the wind blow through those countless gaps in your soul. you feel whole for a short while as it whistles through you, the air filled with the broken melody of you, of the relationship that slips past your grasp more everyday. it’s shrill and ear piercing and leaves goosebumps littered on your skin. 

you can’t stop listening to it. 

it’s where you were now, staring out as the sun dipped below the horizon and listening to the haunting sound that’s been your only company in recent memory. later, you’ll go home and crawl into bed desperate for any warmth and no time to miss the heat of a body next to yours. your phone lights up bright in contrast to the darkening sky and it takes you a few moments of staring blankly at the screen for it to sink in that mattsun is trying to call you. 

this isn’t part of the script. 

you don’t know your lines. 

and yet you find yourself answering anyway, hitting the green button before the call drops and you raise your phone to your ear silently. 

“are you okay?” his voice comes out rushed and strung together almost before your phone is pressed to your ear. 

“why’re you asking?” 

“remember that time you failed that essay? i think it was third year and you hid in your room all day and wouldn’t answer the phone?” you did remember. how you couldn’t bear to face the world that day with the crushing weight of failure hanging over you and how shocked you were to see mattsun standing at the front door. “did i ever tell you why i checked up on you?” 

“no.” 

“the whole day i felt, in my gut, like i needed to see you. i can’t describe it, it was like a stab that just dug deeper until i went to your place. would you believe me if i said i have that feeling right now?” 

“i- i would.” you say quietly, wondering if he could even hear you over the roar of the wind. 

“are you okay?” he repeats. there’s a weight behind his words that has tears springing to your eyes. 

“no, issei ‘m not.” 

“i’m almost home, i’m parking right now. i’ll be up in a few minutes, okay? wait for me, angel.” 

you were always waiting for him, weren’t you? what's a couple more minutes? you hang up and try in vain push down the wave of anxiousness that hits you. it’s just mattsun, you try to remind yourself. even if it’s been awhile since you’ve really felt like a part of his life, he’s still the person you fell in love with. right?

even if the issei from the past would never have made you feel so alone. the issei that was free from the hardships of real life, of 9-5s and bills due and rent to pay. you miss that issei, mourn for him on empty rooftops everyday. maybe he’s still alive somewhere within this new issei but it’s not like you would know. 

you head off the roof, shivering slightly as you make your way home. the days were only getting colder, you should’ve known not to stay out for so long. you were trying to get your shaky hands to cooperate and unlock the door when you hear the elevator dings open and your name being called out. 

“you weren’t home?” he asks, gently prying your keys from your grasp and opening the door for you both. as soon as he locks it behind you, his hands are covering yours once more. “baby you’re freezing.” 

words. where were your words? you couldn’t call up any as he brought your joined hands to his mouth, blowing hot air on them and rubbing them between his to warm them up. this is the closest you’ve been to him in who knows how long and you couldn’t summon up a single sentence. it’s not your fault. his attention has always stunned you into silence. 

he thought you were painfully shy the first time you met and though that was half true, you mostly found yourself silently panicking about the handsome man that suddenly sat beside you. the professor had paired the class off to discuss the readings for that lecture and your interest had only come to life when you saw the dark haired man make his way to you. 

“i’m gonna be honest.” he said as he plopped down beside you and showed you the blank document open on his laptop. “i have no idea what we’re supposed to be doing right now. do you?” 

it was his eyes, you decided much later, hugging your pillow and staring at the text you just received from a new number. you came alive under his gaze like you could finally catch your breath, everything dull until his eyes landed on you. you don’t believe in love at first sight, this was something different. it was the dust of collapsing stars finding each other once more. it was strings of fate being braided together. it was more profound, more important than love and it all happened in a moment. 

you nodded in response to his earlier question though it was clear neither of you were paying any attention to what was going on in class, too caught up in the small bubble that surrounded you and drowned out the rest of the world. 

“matsukawa. i’m- my name’s matsukawa.” you must’ve given your name in return judging by the smile he gave you in return. “so what’re we doing, partner?”

this time, you forced a proper response, intensely aware of how you held yourself in a way you’ve never been before. “yeah, she just wants us to talk about today’s reading.” 

matsukawa watched you pull up your notes, resting his head in his hand while you began explaining the general concepts. you paused when you noticed he was still looking at you and not at the notes you had angled towards him. 

“am i explaining it okay?” 

“we’re a month into the semester, how have i not noticed you before?” 

“guess you don’t notice something you’re not looking for.” 

just then the professor grabbed everyone’s attention, the student’s quietly migrating back to their seats but matsukawa stayed where he was. instead, you could just hear him speak under his breath, more to himself then to you but you still managed to pick it up, your face going hot as it echoed in your head. “trust me, i’m looking now.” 

the memory leaves you more vulnerable than you expected, soft in his arms as the numbness finally fades and the shaking stops.

“where were you?” he says.

“the roof.” his brows furrow, lips pulled down in a frown. it’s strange feeling yourself falling back into reading him so easily, not needing him to ask to know he wanted you to explain why. “i like going up there. this place is too quiet with just me in it.” 

the longer you watch him, the more you pick up from his body language. the confusion then understanding that flits across his face, the underlying care you’re so familiar with as he smooths his thumb over the back of your hand. but more than anything you start to see his guilt. his muscles are rigid with it, it swims in his eyes that never quite seem to meet yours. 

“i’ve fucked up, haven't i?” he finally says when he realizes you won’t be the one to breach the subject. 

“issei…”

“no, i have. things have been so endless, i feel like i’m half awake and i’ve hurt you because of it.” 

you squeeze his hands, trying to reassure him. “just talk to me. please.” 

“i hate it. work is nonstop, everyday is the same shit over and over. it’s just a wave that keeps knocking me down and i can barely get my footing before it pushes me down again. and every day i think about quitting just to get ready the next morning. 

“if i was alone, if… if i didn’t have you i would’ve quit so long ago but i want to give you the life you deserve and i can’t do that if i’m broke. and it all might be for nothing cause i might’ve lost you already.” 

the confession ends with mattsun clearing his throat, blinking fast and concentrating solely on your laced hands. you can’t seem to catch your breath, struggling under the weight he had carried silently until now as he finally shares the burden with you. 

“you haven’t lost me, issei. look at me.” you wait until his eyes meet yours before dropping your voice to a whisper. “you haven’t lost me.”

“i don’t deserve you.” 

“it’s not about deserving, i chose you. i chose to love you, i chose to stay when things got bad. yeah, you hurt me.” it’s impossible to miss the full body flinch at your words, “and i’m not ready to forgive you just yet. but that doesn’t mean i’m giving up on us. i don’t want you working yourself to death for me. i don’t care where we live or how much money you spend on me. i don’t need all of that, i just need you. got it?” 

“got it.” you see his adam’s apple bob as he swallows down whatever feeling overcomes him, “i’m sorry.”

“i know.”

“tell me what you need, please. i need- i need to make this right.” 

you answer by leaning forward and mattsun meets you halfway. the kiss is soft in contrast to the way you bundle the front of his shirt in your fists, afraid the moment might end before it’s even begun but mattsun takes his time cherishing you. there’s regret and gratitude and love that dances across your tongue and the taste has pressure building behind your eyes. 

it isn’t enough. you need him closer, need him to line the cracks of your soul with his touch. you pull just far back enough to break the kiss and mumble against his lips, “more, ‘sei please. i’m so cold.” 

“anything you want, pretty baby. let me make you feel good, yeah?” 

his lips crash back down on yours with renewed eagerness. there’s a desperation that wasn’t there a moment ago fuelling you both and urging you to stumble blind into the bedroom, barely letting your mouths detach as you fumble and undress each other. 

it’s not until you’re naked before him that your head clears a bit and shyness comes creeping in. he cups your face as though he could sense you curling into yourself and simply says, “beautiful.” 

the utter conviction in his voice is enough to dispel any insecurities before they have a chance to latch on and you turn your head to kiss the center of his palm, silently telling him you were all right. together you land in a tangled heap in bed, his half hard cock resting on your thigh. mattsun kisses his way down your neck, licking and sucking at every sensitive spot he had mapped out over the years. 

“issei…” you say, impatience tinging your voice as you feel your core throb with need. 

“i’ll get you there, angel, you know i will. let me take my time, i missed you.” 

true to his word, he began kissing every inch of skin he could reach. your tits, your stomach, your thighs all the way down to your ankles, he made sure to shower with affection. it’s nearly overwhelming. you knew you were starved for his attention but it feels like something breaks loose inside you the longer his mouth trails over your body, whispering declarations into your skin that left you tingling in his wake. by the time his fingers dip between your legs, your thighs are sticky with arousal, clit thrumming and begging to be touched. 

“look at my pretty baby’s pussy. all wet just for me?” 

“mhmm ‘s all for you, issei.” 

he hums, swirling his middle finger around your entrance and pressing the thick digit inside with ease. it’s only a few pumps later he adds another, stretching out your gummy walls. his other hand drifts over your mound, his thumb finally giving your clit some attention as his fingers graze over a spot inside you that has your hips rising off the bed. 

“stay still. you want to be my good girl, right?” the quiet authority that radiates from mattsun has you clenching around him, doing your best to do as he asks and keep your legs spread for him. “there you go. you’re taking me so well, baby. you’re close, aren’t you? i can feel it” 

mattsun loves showing off how well he knew your body, how it never took long for you to crumble beneath him. a few more idle circles with the pad of his thumb and your orgasm washes over you, rising gently and leaving you relaxed in its wake. 

that state didn’t last long as he replaces his thumb with his mouth, sucking at your clit that twitches against his tongue, still sensitive from your high. “issei! w-wait please give me a sec-” 

his glare is enough to cut through your babbling, his fingers never slowing in their strokes against that sweet spot. you let out a low moan as he adds yet another finger, the stretch just shy of uncomfortable but it’s quick to fade into pleasure once again. the flame in your gut is far more intense this time and you can’t stop the whimpers he pulls from you. you thread your fingers through his dark curls, tugging on them and pulling him deeper into your folds.

“that’s it, princess. cum on my tongue and i’ll stuff you full, i promise. you can do it, c’mon baby.” 

the encouragement has the coil in your gut tightening once more and the lewd sounds of mattsun lapping up every drop that escapes you is enough to snap it. when the blood stops ringing in your ears, you realize he’s shifted your positions. he’s sat cross-legged on the bed with you pulled into his lap, legs locked around his waist. his cock is pinned between your stomachs, smearing precum on your skin and your mouth waters as you catch sight of the blushing tip. 

he whispers your name to grab your attention, naked devotion plain on his face when you gaze up at him. “i love you.” 

this. this was your breaking point. the words you longed to hear every time you picked up the phone for those dreaded calls. your vision blurs with tears that well up and spill down your cheeks before you could blink them away. “you do?” 

“i do, baby, with everything i’ve got. i-“ he falters for a moments, visibly steeling himself for what he wanted to say. “i want to spend the rest of my life with you. there’s not a future i can picture that doesn’t include you. you’re it for me.” 

“i want that too ‘sei.” you hiccup, more tears trickle out faster than you can wipe them clear. 

you feel his whole body relax, hands rubbing at your sides to soothe you. “don’t cry, angel. wait till i’m inside you at least.” 

“shut up.” your laugh comes out watery but it feels good to smile. “how do you go from sweet to nasty so fast?” 

“just wanted to see you smile.” you try and fail to suppress another grin that only widens when mattsun peppers your cheeks with loud kisses. “so pretty and all mine.”

“all yours.” you repeat, grinding your soaked folds along the underside of his cock. “and you’re mine, right?” 

“that’s right, princess. go on, take what’s yours.” 

sinking down on mattsun feels like coming home, the empty ache finally gone as he fills you and you both moan when he bottoms out. there’s no way for you to bounce in this position but you find that you don’t mind. you feel closer to him like this, what little space there is between you vibrating with how vulnerable you both were. 

it’s relaxing, slowly rolling your hips against each other, not building towards anything and indulging in the other’s touch. your hands roam across his broad back, sucking dark marks into his neck while he grabs at your ass, kneading and groping so possessively you clench around him. 

“fuck.” he groans next to your ear. “keeping squeezing me with that princess cunt, you feel so fucking good. just like that, good girl.” 

“issei…” you whimper, pressure gradually building in your gut as your grinding gets sloppy and legs grow weak. 

“what is it, baby? use your words.” 

“want more, ‘sei i want your cum.” 

“yeah? want me to fill up this greedy pussy and keep you warm with my cum?” he leans forward, keeping you cradled in his arms as your back hits the mattress, your legs still crossed around his waist keeping him as close to you as possible. 

you nod, half delirious with need and mattsun begins thrusting in earnest. his cock is so thick he nudges against every sensitive spot along your walls, his tip battering just below your cervix and hitting so deep you swear you can feel it in your throat. his hands pry yours open from where you had been gripping the sheets and laces his fingers with yours. a swell of love rises in you and has you gasping for air as he fucks you into the mattress. you can’t even hear your own moans over the squelch as you grow wetter and wetter and the smack of his heavy balls against your ass.

your orgasm takes both of you by surprise, ripping through you so violently you’re left a shaking mess. mattsun’s hips stutter, bucking wildly into you as he nears his own high and you stare in awe as he reaches it. it’s a sight you’ll never get enough of, how beautiful he looks as he spills endlessly inside you, mindlessly grinding it deeper with his softening cock. 

“you okay, angel?” he asks, pulling you in for a sweet, lingering kiss. 

“mhmm. can we stay like this?” you weren’t ready to put any space between you, not so soon after reconnecting.

“‘course we can.” he settles over you, knowing exactly what you need. his weight a reassurance that grounds you in a way words never could. it’s a conversation in its own right, one that could only pass between two people who knew each other as well as you knew each other. in the quiet afterglow he tells you that he’s here with you. that you were going to work on being okay again. that he wouldn’t let you feel that lonely ever again. and you believe him with every fibre of your being. 

dedicated to: @honeykeigo @ohno-otome @keigobaby @saintdabi @toshidou @sawam0chi

#matsukawa x reader #matsukawa smut #matsukawa angst #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu angst #matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa issei smut #matsukawa issei angst #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu!! smut

[essaycollection99]

why sometimes its ok to creep on your ex 5 years later

why sometimes its ok to creep on your ex 5 years later originally posted on medium.com

21 minutes past midnight. First day of the new year.

I definitely do some of my best writing a little manic. Half asleep. A little high, a little tipsy. It’s always at the edge of something. 

Usually I feel guilty for cyber stalking my exes. Tonight is different though. Tonight I felt relieved. 

He looks good. Healthy. Alive. 

When he dropped out of school and stopped talking to any of us he also scrubbed most of his online presence. For a while some cryptic new song would be released on his bandcamp, and I only learned about it through a burner email address that was signed up for his new releases. One day even that disappeared. 

He was the first guy anything ever felt good with, you know? 

It was a mess. The whole thing. Every minute of being with him was a messy dance of me being scared to ask for what I wanted. Which was him. Or, more clearly, which was him to leave his girlfriend and give us a shot. For me to actually trust him (and myself) enough to say fuck it, it’s worth it, even if it crashes and burns. If it crashed and burned at least that meant it had gotten off the ground.

I thought I was playing it safe by living in the inbetweens and taking whatever I was given. 

I said I was too busy. I became busy with my ex who wasn’t really giving me the time of day. 

I said it didn’t matter to me. That I was edgy. That I wanted open. That I was 21 and he was 19 and we could do whatever we wanted without really talking about what we were doing or what we wanted. It crashed and burned even without us ever defining what we were doing. 

That was five years ago. 

Besides being really hard to search for online, the other reason I never really searched was because I was worried what I would find. When I was (metaphorically) still bruised and bloodied from the aftermath of things, still completely broken and depressed to the fact that his last text of “I’m not going anywhere, so don’t miss me this summer” turned into him not talking to me or our other best friend at all. Oh, and his open relationship was actually closed, his girlfriend was in classes with me that next semester and hated my guts, and I apparently wasn’t as cool about being the other woman that I originally thought I was. I was a senior and supposed to be prepping for a BFA but all I could do was fixate on how miserable I was and didn’t know who I was anymore because of my actions that spring. As all of this was going on, he stopped showing up to classes, and there was a rumor that he was in the hospital for alcohol poisoning. I still remember calling the list of local hospitals asking about him, and then rushing to my job at the library. I was late. Eyes still red, my ex came in with no books to return or check out, presumably just to kill time by talking with me until his rehearsal started. He asked what was wrong and I told him I was worried for my friend Chris’s life. 

My ex didn’t really know about Chris and I, but I think he knew enough. He knew that Chris and I were close, but he was the one friend that I didn’t talk to him about. That was enough for him to know. 

I think my ex told me that he was really sorry, and that he hoped that Chris would be ok. I couldn’t really respond because I had started to hold back tears. I cried a lot that year on the job; huge thanks to my unlabeled anxiety and everything that comes with fooling around with classmates in a very small art school. With only 7 majors we had just under 900 students in all. Shit got around fast.  My ex wordlessly moved away from the check in / check out library counter and towards the gate. He started to open it and I got up instead. He was always trying to come behind to the staff only side of things. He wrapped me in the biggest most protective hug and amidst everything I felt safe again. 

A lot of times I forget about why so much time in college was spent with him, and then I remember the small moments like this, and remember he wasn’t all douchebag. He knew what to do, and my anxiety always stopped in his arms. 

My good (and albeit overprotective) friend of ours walked by and gave us a look, she had rehearsal with my ex in 15 minuets (like I said, the school was small, we knew everyone’s business). All he said was “Lani’s friend is in the hospital right now.” Which prompted our friend to give me a hug too.  

Googling Chris years later and I was worried that I’d find the worst news online. Sure, our other best friend used to see him in a blue moon working at a vape shop, or maybe it was talking to someone who worked at a vape shop that Chris would go to. Or running into his ex girlfriend at a party (apparently they only broke up finally once Chris turned 21 and could buy for himself).

Sure, I can still remember it all, what he smells like, what it felt like to have his hands on my hip absently during a movie night, can still think of the way he said “wow” when I undressed for him in an empty classroom. But, years later am I allowed to be worried about him? He was an alcoholic at a young age, and I knew stories from before I met him. I knew stories about him from after he stopped talking to us. I was so worried about what would happen. 

Do I even need to say it? Surely you’ve read enough of my work to know how my dad turned out. You just read how Chris ended up with alcohol poisoning. I was worried about the worst. Maybe that’s why I never did a real good job at finding him online, when I would boredly look for his scrubbed online footprint. 

I want to make happy art. I’ve been making abstract art for almost 2 years now. But, I still want to capture those flutterflies you feel when a boy shouts across the parking lot “you’re back!” and runs towards you. When he kisses you in the elevator on the way to your class, but then has to run down two flights of stairs so he gets to his class on time. I want those feelings in art because they don’t come naturally to me. One of the simplest feelings of happy was when I was with Chris. I have most of that time recorded in a small red notebook, and so I re read it. Lay in bed and skimmed, looking for his name. Reading and smiling, remembering I really did try. Sure, it was a mess (see: beginning of this essay) but it was pretty damn sweet as well. I wrote in my journal about a day that he was particularly nihilistic, distinctly hard to read, specifically very very high. It was his mother’s birthday. 

His mother. 

Sure, he might have scrubbed his social media footprint, but it’s really hard to get parents off of facebook. Even more so, it’s hard for them to not post photos of you on it, even if you are a grown ass adult. 

I had never thought to look up his mother. 

It almost felt stupid afterwards, the fact that I had never done that. 

His smile is still the same. 

He’s 25 now. In my head I’m me still, but I’m picturing him as the 19 year old kid taking dab bong hits with our best friend and than coming into the corner of the kitchen to kiss me without anyone noticing. Rail thin from never “remembering” to eat, soft lipped, shy smile, sad eyes, 19 year old (soon to be) college drop out. 

I close my eyes and can still see him, shouting at me from across the street “you’ve got bows in your hair!” The naturally bleach blonde hair and pastel colors he wore, the urgent way he kissed me in the video editing room as I waited for my mentor to show.

His hair isn't blonde now, it’s strawberry blonde, the hint of ginger.

He seems taller now. 

He attended his sister’s wedding. 

He looks good. Alive. Healthy. Sober. 

His face has filled out. I pull up photos of me from when we knew each other, and photos of me now, do I look that much changed as well? It was hard to eat in college for me too, I think I’m a little less thin now. I feel more me. I wonder if he feels the same. My hair is pink now, though when I look at my old hair I now see thick light caramel hair instead of the stringy dirty brown I always felt it was. I know now which parts of my body I want to accentuate and how. 

Oh god, his smile. It’s still the same. It melts me. 

He looks happy. He looks happy on his mothers facebook page- his mother who he was so angry at so long ago. It all feels surreal. I’m back in the library all over again, but this time, instead of being worried, I get good news.  That my ex is right, things will be ok.

I usually feel guilty when I cyber stalk exes. Foolish for wanting to see what they’re up to without me. Silly for caring so much years later, after so much absence. But for Chris, I just felt relief. 

His mother writes “I am so proud of my compassionate son Chris, love you to the moon and back” on a close up photo uploaded two months ago. The 19 year old angry, nihilistic, fuck-the-world-including-my-mother-because-I-refuse-to-call-her-back-even-if-it’s-her-birthday, would have hated that post. I held his hand and listened to him rant that day. Watched him let go of my hand and kick rocks into the Bay, upset at him mom for reasons that didn’t make sense to me. 

“I’m not a good guy.” He would tell me between soft, feather like kisses (trying to get my sensitive skin not to go red between classes, but it’d happen anyways). “I have really bad days. I don’t talk to anyone on Wednesdays. No matter how much I like them.”

I never believed him. Tried to tell him how special he was. How talented. How wonderful he was. How things would work out for him.

I was right. 

#ex #short essay #autobiographical essay #college stories #new year

[moonduskt]

BOOK TWO: Trixie and Katya’s Guide to Modern Womanhood

“Trixie and Katya’s Guide to Modern Womanhood”

Author: Trixie Mattel and Katya Zamolodchikova

Year: 2020

Publisher: Penguin Randomhouse

Note: Possible spoilers, for those who’s uncomfortable with them please read the novel first, okay? Thank you.

I have an endearing little problem in life. Amusing enough to make me chuckle and save it on my phone’s memory, yet also more than enough to annoy me to no end. 

My juniors at uni like to call me a Boomer these days, or  an old lady, whichever is best used in the moment; they cackle and giggle and tease me fondly. All of that because I consciously seldom myself from the madness of social media. That way, whenever they’re talking about something viral and the most important news of the day, or latest meme and high-charted funny song, I never, ever, understand any of them in full context. That is how they start with their old woman jokes. 

So I, in my early twenty years of age, need to find a way to prove to them that I am not the old hag they accuse me of. A modern woman with impeccable taste, a futuristic and visionary one if possible. Hence, the moment I have a hold of Trixie Mattel and Katya Zamolodchikova’s “Trixie and Katya’s Guide to Modern Womanhood”, I read it as soon as possible like it is my only Bible to the future.

(No, I’m just half joking. I read the book because I love Trixie Mattel and Katya Zamolodchikova, too, from the north pole to the south pole and back to the north pole again.)

As the title suggests, “Trixie and Katya’s Guide to Modern Womanhood” is a guidebook, or a life-advice book, for the women (but not limited to men) to be the baddest modern woman out there, ready to tackle the society’s expectation successfully. Written in various methods, the book is divided into three important parts: beauty and style, homemaking, and relationships.

As you may guess, through the ‘Beauty and Style’ part, Trixie and Katya told us how to be dazzlingly beautiful from the physical realm until the inner self-love we all need in order to achieve it successfully. From the basics such as hair, makeup, heels, personal style, and  personal hygiene, to the side-quests we need to be aware of like alcohol, drugs, and most importantly self love. Presented in an advice columns, a questionnaire, bullet points, and even a short essay of their own experience meticulously, we would be the shining, shimmering, and splendid pretty women (and men) ready to face the world by the time we turned the page for the second part of the book.

It turns out that being beautiful inside and outside simply isn’t enough to be a modern woman according to these two biological women. We need to be knowledgeable in our home affairs too, especially money concerned matters, because it is very expensive to survive in this world as a woman. Another important thing we need to be masterful of is our kingdom of digital platforms. How to put out the correct persona on the internet and manage it carefully to avoid any unwarranted problems because of the internet’s unforgiving harsh judgement, and most importantly how to take a rest from the madness of it for some time, the world that never sleeps.

I feel like I resonated through this chapter so much. I used to be a very active user of social media platforms, especially twitter. In my younger days, I was this utterly stupid, embarrassing clown who should’ve been banned from the community for existing alone. Then I realized how foolish I was, and some other reasons slipped in the middle of it that made me stop using any social media platforms other than WhatsApp and YouTube. It takes time to build the courage to take care of social media again, and I need to always stay alert in case I make the same mistakes as the past, too.

From the words of famous Barbie dolls collector Trixie Mattel, decorating your own home is an important thing to do, too, since it shows who you really are. Your own home is one part of you that other people don’t get to judge, a part of personality that should be barricaded from the harsh opinion of the outside world. Related to this theme was the decluttering part of having your own home. Sometimes we get too little too attached to the things we don’t actually need anymore.

Relationship is another condiment element of our life that we couldn’t not talk about, but don’t worry, because Trixie and Katya lightly guided us through the art of meeting new people and how to properly hooking up. After those cheery cherry on top advice, these women also gave us the ultimate how-to’s on breakups and friendship. I will write it in here because I think these two were the most important advice pieces from the third part: 

One, Trixie said that the thing you need to do when you just broke up with someone is to not let yourself succumbing into the sadness to much, you have to be rational about the break-up too because parting ways with your ex is not the end of the world and there is still a lot of possibilities of love out there; 

Two, in friendship, it is actually good not to be possessive of your friend. Just because you don’t spend your every waking time, every minute, every second of your life talking with them that it means bad. No, sometimes it’s healthy because both you and your friend do have your own life and need the space and time to breathe. It’s okay to stay away for awhile, and it’s okay to catch up.

About this book, I thank God in Heaven that there’s nothing I don’t like in this book. To be honest, I promise myself I will close this book as soon as I feel like I am being scolded for the poor choices I make my whole life. It is an important thing to note, because I have a personal vendetta against any kind of motivational or life advice’s materials, even if it is given in the form of magical words on a best-selling book or the alluring vocals in a heart-wrenching song. No particular reason for my hatred towards motivational bullshits, it’s just in my nature to reject any hopes that certain people are trying to inject into society.

“Trixie and Katya’s Guide to Modern Womanhood” is an easy to read book, sometimes with self-deprecating jokes, humorous advice, or flippant statements that never fails to make me grinning from ear to ear. A lot of the advice given inside isn’t even that serious, I think, but when it is actually serious, it never makes me feel offended or anything. If there is any reaction extracted from me, is that I am seriously thinking and considering the point given by Trixie and/or Katya. Instead of telling me what to do with steps too demanding and expecting instant perfect results, like the other life-advice and motivational books out there, this book is giving me options with rational reasons behind it. This book urged me in a joking way, yet sternly, to do better. This books told me that it’s okay to fucked things up because human do fucking shits up most of the time, as long as we try to do better and actively trying to make amends about our messy past.

Isn’t that what life-advice books are supposed to be doing?

For some people claiming that they don’t really like to read books and are amateur writers, sure Trixie and Katya write a very excellent piece of book. It’s suspicious enough to make me think that they’re just bluffing about it. This book feels like it was written by veteran writers who write as their main job, and not a couple of drag queens who are busy touring and appearing on various YouTube channels with every other side jobs and business they currently own.

What an effortless read, this book is. It’s not that serious like more heavy-weight non-fictional or super engaging like the fictional one, I can sit it out for few hours and when I get back to it, “Trixie and Katya’s Guide to Modern Womanhood” will welcome me with open arms to read it again like I never leave in the first place. Trixie and Katya choose to write it with such simple words for simple sentences, and my illiterate ass is so grateful for that. Yet behind the unassuming sentences and the never-ending jokes, hids all the brilliant tricks to make those paragraphs magnificent and elegant while the clown make-up is still on. The power only Trixie and Katya has, all of you (and me) should take note of it. 

Last thing about their writing style, I need you to know that Trixie and Katya knocked me on the head and told me to read my dictionary more, since there were some words that I never knew existed in English. I have to say that I bought a very thick notebook since late June, intended to write all of the unfamiliar English words I come across inside the books I read, yet I haven’t done anything with it until now. This book is the proof that I need to do better. In a way, this book motivates me to be better just like Trixie and Katya. 

(Whether I proceed with that motivational sentiment is another topic to talk about another time.) 

What I also like from this book is that as much as it is a life-advice book, it is also a life-style magazine in very thick pages, perhaps a super super special edition one. “Trixie and Katya’s Guide to Modern Womanhood” is very cute in interior design, despite the fierce red of the cover. Splashes of pinks and pastel blues, cute big quotation and tips column, and the photos! Lord in Heaven, the photos! I can’t stop looking at every picture for more than two minutes, happily observing every silly pose Trixie and Katya made, and little trinkets and wigs and the costumes they’re wearing on those shoots. I feel like I’m having a special photobook of the K-Pop artist that I like. 

(No, I never bought a K-Pop album before, nor a K-Pop photobook, so I’m just talking out of my ass.) 

I’m so happy that I have the chance to read this book until the last page, and I also feel grateful because this book is kind and takes care of me well. For someone who doesn’t like reading motivational or life-advice books like me, I can guarantee you that you will love and cherish this book so much, whether you like Trixie and Katya or not. They won’t judge your every inch of life, nor they will kick your asses for being you. I’m hoping that Trixie and Katya will write another book next time. Cheers to these two biological women!

#book review #book blog #review #books #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #trixie and katya guide to modern womanhood

[mymarvelobsessions]

Now or Never

Now or Never

masterlist

word count: 2.5k+

summary: Bucky x reader College AU. You and Bucky have been dating for a while, but things aren’t going so great. You love Bucky and want to make the relationship work, but does he?

warnings: light angst, fluff

a/n: This is my entry for @jurassicbarnes writing challenge! Happy Blog-Birthday💕 Based on the song Now or Never by Halsey. Btw this is my first fic ever! Also english isn’t my mother tongue, sorry for (m)any typos! Also, why am I doing this to myself? ~ “I love you.”, you say, exhaling softly and closing your eyes. You wait to hear if he says it back. He doesn’t.

Long after you have fallen asleep Bucky wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you close. “I love you, too.”, he whispers. But you can’t hear him.

Two days later:

You’re in your apartment, which you share with your best friend Natasha, working on your assignment. Or that’s what you should be doing. But really you are just waiting for Bucky to call you back. Which he hasn’t so far. You are used to it though. An hour truly isn’t much. For his standards that is.

It’s been two days since you have last seen Bucky and you made plans two have dinner tonight.

After another hour it happens. Your phone finally rings. As you hear the beginning tunes of ‘Viva la Vida’ your head immediatly perks up and a smile makes it’s way onto your lips. Nat sighs and shoots you a pityful glance.

But when you look down at your cell, it’s not Bucky calling. It’s Steve, his best friend.

You already know what is coming. Bucky has done this a thousand times, using Steve to cancel his plans with you. You really don’t know why Steve still puts up with this. But then  again, so do you.

“Heey Steve.” You pick up the phone, your mood audible in your voice. On the other end you hear Steve sigh.

“I am sorry, Y/N. I really am.”, he says.

“You don’t need to be.” You swallow hard. You meant it. It’s not Steve’s fault.

“It’s just-”, Steve starts to explain, but you cut him off. “No need to make up excuses. I get it.”

“I don’t think you do.” You laugh. Now it is your fault, or what?

“Look, today is not a good day for Bucky.”

“And he can’t tell me that himself?”, you snap.

“Like I said, not a good day.”, Steve explains.   “I GET IT.”, you yell. You immediatly feel sorry for screaming at Steve like that. He definitely did not deserve it.

“Sorry.” You take a deep breath. “Just…, tell Bucky…” You swallow. “Tell him it’s fine. And-” Hesitantly you finish. “Tell him I am here if he needs me.”

“I will.”  ~ “Bucky, you need to stop avoiding Y/N. She doesn’t deserve it.”, Steve says, his eyes piercing through Bucky.

“I am not avoiding her.”, Bucky growels, his stare just as intense as Steve’s.

Steve snorts. “You’re not? Then why did I just call your girlfriend to tell her that you don’t have time for her?”

Sighing Bucky breaks his stare. “You know it’s not like that.”

Steve gets up from to couch to grab another beer from the fridge. “I know that, but does she?” He opens the fridge door, to realize that there is no beer left. Using slightly too much force he shuts the door and turns around to face Bucky again, leaning against the fridge. “You cannot keep pulling shit like this and expect her to stay.”

Bucky inhales deeply. “I am not sure I want her to stay.” ~ “You should break up with him.”, Nat says, as soon as you end the call.

“What?!” You just stare at her. She can’t honestly mean that. She knows how you feel about Bucky and how much he means to you.

“I know you love him, but you need to brace yourself for the possibility that he doesn’t feel the same way about you anymore.” She carefully meets your gaze.

But you are not ready for this. So you go back to working on your assignment that you couldn’t care about less. ~ What Natasha said doesn’t leave your thoughts the rest of the day. Even now, lying in your bed that’s awfully empty without Bucky there.

For a while you just stare at the white ceiling.

Maybe he doesn’t feel the same way about you anymore. You close your eyes, but you can’t stop the tears from falling. A sob escapes from your lips. You quickly cover your mouth with one hand, not wanting Nat to hear you cry.

You really don’t want her to be right, but can’t stop yourself from think ‘what if she is?’. Were two years all you would get with Bucky? There was a time where you actually thought he was the one. And you still do.

But being with someone does not fully commit to you, hell, who does not even make time to see you, is not the way to live.

How foolish of you to think that you could have it all. An apartment close to your dream college with your best friend, the perfect guy and a great relationship with him.

And Bucky was the perfect guy. Handsome with gorgeos blue eyes that you could stare at for hours, if he would actually spend time with you. The right amount smart and funny, you could joke with him just as well as you could have a serious conversation. If he would actually talk to you. He was just… a little damaged. Which was probably why he was ignoring you right now.

It wouldn’t be fair for you to leave him now, just because he was going through a hard time. After all he had been there for you. And that’s what you want. You want to be there for him. But he doesn’t let you. ~ All of a sudden you are pulled out of sleep, your face and pillow drenched in water.

Confused you look around for the reason you awoke and find Nat standing next to your bed with an empty glass in her hand. She freaking poured cold water on you.

Nat smiles apologetically and shrugs. “Get your ass out of bed. Now. We’re late.” And with that she leaves.

Groaning you hoist yourself out of bed. You roll your head to stretch your neck and lightly massage your shoulders.

You hadn’t slept well and now your whole body ached. ‘Good.’, you think. At least now your body matches your soul.

You don’t want to go to class today. You don’t feel well. ‘Not a good day.’, you think and laugh at yourself. But opposed to Bucky you really want to talk to him or just be close to him. A light sob comes out. You take a deep breath. No time to cry. ~ After a quick shower and a cup of coffee you already feel a little better. Well enough to tackle a day of college.

You still needed to speak to Professor Coulson about that assignment. Since you hadn’t gotten anything done yesterday, you doubt it would be finished by tomorrow. But maybe you could convince him to give you more time.

When you arrive you and Nat part ways and head to your lectures. You round the corner and find yourself face to face with non other than Bucky Barnes.

Though you had been wanting to see him for the past few days, now that you are standing in front of him you don’t know what to say.

You immediatly start to blush and turn around. You shouldn’t be embarassed. But you are. So you start walking back only to realize that you are late and you have to get to class. Even if that means having to face Bucky.

Apruptly you halt your steps. Inhaling deeply you gather the courage to turn around.

He is still there. Just standing there, staring at you. Why doesn’t he say something. He just looks at you with those blue eyes, the pain and sorrow visible in his gaze.

He does not look well.  His skin pale as ever, dark blue bags under his truly beautiful eyes. Neither one of you moves. You want to. You want to run away. Turn around and never look back. You want to run into his arms. Wrap your arms around him and never let go.

“Aghm.” A cough pulls you out of your mind.

You both break your stare to find Steve, who just emmerged from the men’s bathroom, leaning awkwardly against the door, looking like wants to be anywhere but here.

“Sorry to interrupt your staring contest, but we are all late to Professor Coulson’s class.” ~ The short walk to the lecture hall was… uncomfortable, to say the least. Neither of you says a word. You wouldn’t know what to say or talk about anyway.

Now you are sitting in the second row, gaze fixed on Bucky’s brown hair in front of you.  You can’t help but wonder if it is still as soft as always. You find yourself reaching out to touch it and quickly pull back your hand.

First you are late and now you cannot concentrate on what the Professor is saying. Great way to show Coulson you deserve more time.

“Now remember that essay we talked about is due ‘til tomorrow.” With that Professor Coulson dismisses the class.

You throw your notebook and pen into your bag, straighten out your skirt and make your way to the front.

“Y/N.” You hadn’t heard his voice in too long.

But you continue walking until you reach Professor Coulson’s desk.

“I wanted to- ahm- ask if- ahm- it would be possible to… maybe possibly hand in the essay the day after tomorrow?”, you stuttered, hands sweaty. Great, you couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.

“Are alright, Y/N?” Brows furrowed your professor watches you intently.

“It’s fine.” You brush a stray hair strand out of your face, twirling it as you do so. “I mean I am fine.” You swallow, masking up a smile that is so obviously fake you don’t even know why you tried. Dropping the smile, you knead your hands together, slightly cracking your knuckles.

“You have until Wednesday.”, Professor Coulon says, a small smile on his lips. “I hope you get better.” Leaning forward slightly he whispers: “I think James is waiting for you.”

You look over your shoulder and see Bucky, James,  leaning casually against the front row table, hands in the pockets of his jeans, gaze focused on the floor as if he was looking for for something. Right in that moment he looks up and his gaze meets yours. His lips curve up just the tiniest bit.

“Thank you, Professor.”, you say, before turning fully.

You start to walk towards Bucky, aware of every single stept you make. It feels like you have forgotten how to walk properly.

Bucky’s gaze never leaves you and that is part of the problem. The 5m from Coulson’s desk to the front row feel like 5km.

Too soon you reach Bucky and look up at him, now standing in his full height, hands leaving his pockets to hang awkwardly at his side.

His right hand slowly begins to lift and you lift yours to meet his in a very odd handshake.

“I was going for a hug, but I guess this is fine as well.”, he mumbles, gaze dropping to the floor again.

A nervous giggle escapes your lips. You let go of his hand, which you hadn’t noticed you were still holding, and wrap your arms around his waist, before you can think twice about it.

It feels so familiar. And good. It feels so good.

You rest your head on Bucky’s chest. You can hear his heart beating. Fast and hard.

He puts one hand on the back of your head, the other on the small of your back and pulls you impossibly closer.

“I missed you.”, he whispers, mouth grazing your ear.

Don’t you dare say something. Don’t you dare ruin this moment. But then you have never been the type to keep your mouth shut.

“You don’t have to.” You say quietly, head still pressed against his chest. “I am here. And will always be.”

Carefully you look up at his face, not sure if you whether you want to see his reaction.

His teeth are clenched together, lips pressed into a fine line, jawline more visible than usual.

When he sees that you are looking at him, his lips form into a tight lipped smile. “I know baby, I know.” He presses his lips to your forehead in a soft kiss.

You move your hands from his waist to the sides of his face and raise to the tips of your toes to place a kiss on Bucky’s lips.

All of a sudden you hear the door shut. “Oh, you are still here.”, Coulson says, scratching his head. “Sorry to interrupt, but the next class starts in 5 minutes.” He walks over to his desk and sets his bag and a fresh, still steaming cup of coffee on it. “You might want to go somewhere… more private.”

Startled the two of you break apart. Keeping your head down you rush out of the room, mumbling “Sorry.” as you do. Bucky is right behind you, following your every step. ~ “Soo…” You come to a stop in front of a bank on campus. You sit down and pat the spot next to you, motioning Bucky to sit down, too. “Are we gonna talk about what happened?”

“What do you mean?”

You laugh. “Oh come on!” You stare at him, probably not looking as scary or threatening as you think.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t been avoiding me for the past two days!” Your voice comes out louder than intended. You cover your face with your hands, elbows resting on your knees. “I know you are going through a hard time, but… you could have at least texted.” The last part sounds more like a sob than anything else. At this point you are trying very hard to hold back the tears.

Bucky tears your hands away from your face. He grips your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. “I- I shouldn’t have done that.” He lets go of your face and looks down at his shoes.

Not being able to stop yourself, you brush his hair away from his face and behind his ear.

“It’s fine.” You try to reassure him. And maybe yourself. “Really, it’s fine. I am used to it.” At that you just have to laugh. You are actually used to your boyfriend ignoring you.

Said boyfriend’s head snaps in your direction. Wiggling closer, he puts his hand your thigh.

“You shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t-” He looks down at his hand that’s now drawing small circles. “I shouldn’t treat you like this.” His gaze wanders before settling down on yours.

“I am finally in my right mind. I love you, Y/N, and I need you. I have to stop pushing you away.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I was just so afraid. Still kinda am. It’s been so long since I- since I felt this way for someone.” He smiles. Not a small or tight lipped smile, but a genuine one.

A tear falls from your left eye. And that’s enough to break the damm. All the tears you had been holding back stream down your face and soon you’re leaning against Bucky’s shoulder, sobbing uncontrolably.

“Why are you crying?”, he asks, rubbing your shoulder soothingly. “I just told you I love you.” You can basically hear the giant smile on his face.

“Exactly!” ~ As Steve opens the front door to his and Bucky’s apartment he can already hear you giggling. Smiling he steps inside.

You are lying on the couch, head in Bucky’s lap, his hands gently stroking your hair.

“What are you watching?”, Steve asks as he examines the TV.

“Captain America.”, Bucky says, not looking up.

Giggling you point at the TV. “He looks so much like you, Steve!” ~ FIN ❤

a/n: Can u tell I never learned where to put commas. All any of my english teachers ever said was: u don’t have to put as many commas as in German ‘cause there are literally like 10000 comma rules in German. Also I hope someone actually reads this hahaha if you read this pls let me know what you think kay?

#manuswritingchallenge #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader au #marvel au #mcu fic #bucky barnes x you #my writing #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #winter soldier

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 11 - NYR -  Egg Laid

Madison Square Garden has been a bad place for the Sabres for a few years now but there may be only two meaningful narratives when it comes to Sabres-Rangers. One is that the Rangers have managed one of the quicker rebuilds in the National Hockey League of the salary cap Era. The other is who’s the best NHL team in New York State? Which one of those am I going to waste words on? Which one do you think is most fun? Yeah, we’re the best team in New York State right now! Fight me, I mean it! Next week we play the Islanders and I’ll revive this silly narrative. Josh Allen and the Bills first two games inspired me, what can I say? Back to the best club in this state: the Buffalo Sabres got to play the Rangers at each major moment of last season like a thermometer up your ass. We got em shortly before the ten-game winning streak and for a deflating loss in the New Year. The three games against this New York last year were frustrating. That trend continued tonight. I think they handed us our first real stinker of this season. The losses in Columbus and Anaheim didn’t have this sting or score line so I think this is the big egg laid we were fearing. I’m going to take the Ralph Krueger approach and make shortcomings an opportunity for improvement! As you can imagine in a game Vladimir Sobotka and Marco Scandella were the only goal scorers there were a lot of players not playing to potential or pay grade. I want to throw a fit about this one but that will probably be reduced to a few naughty words here or there. I don’t have enough negative vibes from this 2019-2020 Sabres team to muster a rant. Sorry, rant in the comments. While you’re doing it: like, comment and share this blog. Maybe that will help this be one of very few eggs laid by this New Look Sabres team this season. We can only hope, eh?

The first period was twenty minutes of digging a hole. Rasmus Dahlin and Colin Miller were on a pairing tonight and that is not untried. Tonight however it was completely bow-legged. Both defenseman looked lost and sent passes to places the other was not as if they weren’t even talking. It culminated in Rasmus Dahlin’s worst play as a Sabre. He is transitioning the puck through the neutral zone and back passes it. I want to defend him and say he thought Miller was there, but nobody was there, not even close! Artemi Panarin was there to pick up the puck and streamed right in on Carter Hutton and wrapped around him to get the Rangers the early lead. Now let me tell you: I could write an essay about how this fanbase cannot handle good players. We misjudge them and unduly punish them. We chase them out of town and we elevate average joes to be heroes. Dahlin is going at a point-a-game pace right now, he’s not a blackhole but he has not been fire either. He’s made a lot of poor choice with the puck and been directly responsible for three goals against now through 11 games. This one is the most egregious. That doesn’t mean he needs to go to Rochester for a conditioning stint you unbearable dumbass! Even players with half Dahlin’s talent need to be allowed some leash in their first couple seasons. He’ll be okay. We’re allowed to criticize him, but we also need to be able to let him figure it out. He will figure it out. Hopefully this isn’t a narrative for much more of the season… oh, Brett Howden scored and Dahlin didn’t check the guy who got the puck to him? Uh oh, tonight’s going to be a bloodbath for anyone who uses computers isn’t it. Shit. The Sabres got a powerplay chance to inspire some hope and it got one shot. ONE SHOT! Bad turned to worse in the dying minute of the first period when Ryan Strome scored a redirect to put the Rangers up 3-0. That’s quite a hole by anyone’s measure.

This year’s Sabres are motivated machines. Even staring down 3-0 you’d be forgiven for thinking a comeback was possible. This game was a real bastard because it gave you just the evidence you would need to believe a comeback was possible. Marco Scandella scores a second chance through a forest of blue and red defenders and the score is 3-1. I’m no hater, the Sabres are undefeated in games Scand-ezzy scores in. If he’s knocking pack bangers anything is possible, right? No, you see this was the first game frustration really truly got to the Sabres. They were boxed out of the Ducks game because those assholes cheat, they lost this game because they lost hope. One thing I loved to do for Sabres-Rangers games was make fun of Jimmy Vesey. Now Greasy Vesey is a Sabre and I was one of the foolish few who really felt a goal breakthrough was in order for him tonight. Not only was I wrong, Vesey got a little bump and didn’t return in the third! That’s the kinda game this was. I’ll be honest, I really lost hope when Tony DeAngelo scored. He got a great pass and caught Hutton out of position to put the home team up 4-1. Hutton was making good saves this game, the final result really isn’t on him I don’t think but he probably wants that one back… probably the Panarin goal too but yeah, you need a defense in front of you and that just didn’t show up tonight. It’s worth mentioning that the Rangers are not a good team. Yes, they’re better than their record coming into this game but they’re very young and they’re not exactly clicking yet. The middle period got chippy and what had largely been a neutral ice battle turned into a Rangers rout. But wait, not unless Vladimir Sobotka has something to say about it! Okay so Dahlin and Skinner had a lot to do in that play but our favorite pinata got the final touch so that’s goal for him. Do note Henrik Lundqvist was in net so that goal will look awfully weird when we look back on it. It maybe THE highlight of Sobotka’s season.

I am happy to report the Sabres excuse machine is a little rusty. It hasn’t been worked all that hard this season so far. I was seeing a lot of tweets about the bad ice in MSG. That feels like the poorest of poor excuses. I’m not saying it isn’t based in fact, but it didn’t have a meaningful impact on the game. I heard the refereeing excuse too. Sorry fam, the zebras didn’t decide this game, the powerplay falling silent might have. The third period didn’t have anything worth watching from a Sabres perspective. I don’t really feel the need to be the Sabres optimist after this one. What am I going to say: they outshot the Rangers 33-24! Like what would that be for? This was just a stinker. It was an egg laid. Ryan Strome added another and Chris Kreider added one at the end just for salt’s sake. It will be interesting to see how Ralph Krueger and the coaching staff respond to this. Late in this game you saw him play around with the lines to no avail. After the game Krueger said, “It was a very strange game… we lacked puck management and damaged ourselves”. It will be interesting to see how the players respond to this! How about some words from the room! Marcus Johansson: That was bad. Rasmus Dahlin: I got the puck to far from my body… that’s a learning for me [sic]. Carter Hutton: We gave up a lot of east-west plays… we couldn’t get a whole lot going when we did have the chances. To Hutton’s credit he acknowledged poke checking Panarin wasn’t the best move on that first goal against. They’ve only lost twice before this and in both instances they came back with a vengeance in the following game. They fly to Detroit now for a game tomorrow night that poses a mighty fine chance for a rebound effort. Make that effort. If these guys come out flat against the Detroit Red Wings, a team so certifiably bad this year they’ve sent NHLers down to their farm club, then there will be hell to pay.

If you have an idea for greatest game against let me know. That’s my reoccurring segment with every divisional matchup this 50th Anniversary season. What was the most significant game in Sabres history against the game they’re taking on? Tomorrow night it’s Detroit. If you want to get you mind off this egg take a stroll down Sabres Memory Lane and let me know what you think is the best game against the Red Wings in Buffalo Sabres history. The New York Rangers will take this win as a big boost after a brief losing streak. You know why? The Sabres are good. They prepared for this game thinking they were taking on a tough opponent. They ended up taking on a relatively easy opponent. Small solace, the Sabres are a team opponents prepare for now. Let’s hope it stays that way.

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. Maybe this isn’t the best time to say this, but I still love Henrik Lundqvist. He needs to choose if winning a Cup is something he wants

#buffalo sabres #hockey #blog #nhl

[thedrunkedit]

how to quit your job

Hello friends, today I quit my job! Maybe you’ve done this before and are curious as to how other people do it. Maybe this concept is foreign to you and you’ve been blessed with tolerable workplaces your whole life. Maybe you’ve never worked before. Regardless, I’m going to tell you about my experience, because it’s truly wild.

To understand how I ended up in this predicament, it’s crucial to explain the background. I just graduated in May of 2016. In the months leading up to graduation, I worked hard in class and pushed myself to do as well as possible I have always worked myself hard but it seemed especially important in that moment because there was no promise of grad school, this was it. 

In between writing essays and studying for exams, I began applying to jobs. All of my business major friends already had theirs lined up and it seemed like the only way to be successful was to follow suit. I watched my friends slowly gain employment around me, getting towed out of the wake of school and into the shoreline of real life. I waited patiently, treading water and hoping my lifeline would come soon. On graduation day, I worked hard to be “in the moment”. I wanted to be proud of myself and remember that no matter what came next, I had done all that I could.

But it didn’t last long. After that rather chilly day in Boston, I went back to my Allston apartment, grabbed dinner with my boyfriend, and panic set in. I was in the real world now, but I had no idea what was next. Sure, I had friends that were still out at sea with me, treading water, but there were so few of us now that it made me nervous. If a shark came, my chances of getting eaten were much higher! What if I drowned? How long could I tread?

It became a source of severe anxiety and stress for me. I felt like I had failed before I even began. Sure, I had worked hard for the past four (more like sixteen) years and had earned a coveted degree, but what did any of that matter when I didn’t have a job?! (Watch out: this becomes a recurring theme in my life.)

I embarked on the interview journey. You know the one, laden with nausea-inducing, generic questions, ones that make your brain go all fuzzy but you have to appear chipper every time you answer them? The type that makes you want to passive-aggressively burst out, “I don’t know, Donna, what do you think my greatest weakness is?” Yeah, those. It started as a test of willpower (when was the last time I did one of these? How long do they usually last?) and became a test of wits (I swear I’m smart, just look at all the current events I can talk about!). 

(I’d also like to take a quick aside here to point out that most of my job hunting was completely uneventful and silent. In fact, most companies didn’t even email me to tell me that I was vastly underqualified or that my name gave them a good laugh but they weren’t interested. The majority of any job search is spent shouting into the void and convincing yourself that you hear echoes. Most of my life is also spent this way.)

After many interviews, I stumbled upon The Job (spoiler alert: the one I just quit). The Job was full time, permanent, guaranteed to last as long as I could make it, and even came with the shiny promise of promotion. The Job started out as menial front desk duties and then would transition (spoiler alert: in three months) to a back-end, hard work type role. I asked them to pay be $35,000 because I live in Boston and anything less would be extremely hard to live on. They agreed and I took it. It didn’t look or sound glamorous, it wasn’t in the field I wanted or using any of my top strengths, but it was downtown and offered me a lifevest when I was one of the only people I knew still struggling through the formidable post-grad oceans. 

So, what went wrong? Well, reader, everything. I mean, that’s dramatic. It started slowly. My boss used to ask me to get her coffee all the time. This seems small and most of you would probably argue that it’s not uncommon in entry-level roles. But I was already overqualified to be in that position and, to be frank, my boss did nothing. She never lifted a finger to get any work done and coasted on the success of those beneath her. In fact, her paycheck was determined by our (the little people’s) ability to do our jobs, not her own. She also used negativity as her main driver. If the business was failing it was because we needed to do better, we needed to work harder, we weren’t up to the company standards. Miraculously, it was never because she was on Facebook four hours a day (It’s true! I saw her!).

Over time, my spirit was beaten down. When I was promoted, I was so excited to finally be seen as an equal or at least a person of value, but nothing changed. Day after day I was told that I wasn’t good enough and when I explained to her that I needed positivity and praise to thrive in my work she told me I would not receive any praise until the business was doing better. In short, if I was busting my ass (which I was!) it didn’t matter because the business was falling short. 

It also, as my friend Kayt pointed out, was a system of punishment before reward. I’m sorry but if you tell me that I am a fat lard and so obese it’s a wonder that I can get through a doorway then ask me to work out, I will not want to work out. I will want to sit down and cry for a solid three hours before going home, lying in the dark, and watching TV until my brain turns to mush. I know. I’ve been there. 

She also hired people who were sexist, sexual harassers, racist, bigots, you name it. It was hell. Dealing with people I genuinely did not like and being told that my hard work meant nothing was heartbreaking. I began getting migraines on almost a daily basis. I couldn’t eat at lunch anymore. My mental health was being stripped from me slowly. 

So what did our perilous heroine do? She started looking for jobs. Intermittently, between cold calls and helping our receptionist, I started finding positions that were a better fit. Again, mostly I heard nothing. But eventually, I got lucky.

This morning I got an emailed offer from a wonderful place that I’m genuinely excited to work at. It isn’t perfect but no job is (except the one where I get to wear sweatpants and be a best-selling author). It has everything I need right now, including the ability to write part time. 

So, friends, here we are. I told my boss I was leaving this afternoon, grabbed my things and went. The two-week courtesy didn’t exist at my company so it wasn’t rude to give such short notice. She took it surprisingly well. For a woman who made me feel like shit every day, she seemed to really care about me. She even cried a little. 

But after everything I had been through (so much of which I could never fit in one blog post), I couldn’t feel bad anymore. I needed to help myself. I needed to remember that nothing is worth losing your mental health (another theme!). 

I was so happy when I left today, I was beaming the entire T ride and walk home. That's a crazy feeling, my friends. I have only felt it one other time when I broke up with my high school boyfriend. Oh, don't worry, that story is coming too. Till then, stay foolish, stay happy, stay healthy, and don't try to change others. It never works and it will make you crazy. 

#how i quit my job #work #job #quitting #blog #blogging #aspiring blogger #new blog #new blogger #who the fuck am i honestly #i hate tags #damn #post 2

[prosenkhans]

Your body is not a temple. It’s an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.

It had to be the Salt Fish & Ackee. And the fried chicken. Of course the fuckin’ fried chicken.

Bourdain called Miss Ollie’s a taste of the “shiny, new Oakland”. You don’t see many tourists here, thank goodness, but the air of gentrification is present. Considered “Downtown Oakland”, you got the not-so-middle-class 20-30s something transplants messing about, bumping head long into 5th generation locals with A’s paraphernalia dangling from twin strollers. You’re just as likely to have a conversation with a person drinking craft IPA out of a laser etched glass to a person brown bagging a St. Ides 40 oz, chasing it with a Hennessy flat bottle they bury deep in their back pocket. It’s a normal thing here. The modern pressing against the traditional. “New money” and the “old school” of things. The social and economic divide that is prevalent so much here in the Bay Area. And still, the willingness by most to close that gap. The whole idea of “who’s town is this” will not be settled tonight. No. There is fish to be eaten. Chicken to be dunked in batter, fried golden, and devoured without utensils. People seem happy enough. Why not? The game is about to start.

It’s about 5:15 PM. The restaurant has yet to open for their dinner shift. And that is where I find myself, in an awkward situation as per usual, waiting in front of a door and peering into a kitchen staff hastily prepping for a Friday night. The idea was to order food and get the fuck home. I did not want to be around IF the Dubs won game 4 (they did). Not that I don’t enjoy a rowdy drunken crowd. Well I don’t actually. Not any more. Besides it wasn’t my victory, it wasn’t my team. Celebrating another’s victory just didn’t seem right, lighting fireworks and screaming in glee whilst turning over cars. Those aren’t my fireworks. I didn’t earn the drunken mob mentality to vandalize vehicles. I just didn’t want to be a buzz kill. No no. No, the only reason I stood there was because I wanted that damn salt fish and chicken! It had been a long day, made longer and mentally uncomfortable by learning that Bourdain had killed himself. No. Get the food, go home, take my pants off and sit on the couch and not so gently devour this stuff. Call it a half ass homage to the man whilst giving me some quiet time to really come to terms with all the thoughts running in my head. Oh and there was whiskey there. Pre-bought whiskey. Lots of it. Which undoubtedly has lead to this ranting essay.

When one writes shit like this it's impossible to avoid IT. The cliches, the flowery anecdotes, the over simplifications, and the glorifications of the recently passed individual. The stuff comes up because it's what we think about. However, I will say this. It a given family and friends are impacted most by a loss. Duh. Condolences, prayers up, what have you. It’s stating the obvious. What I think is escaping a lot of people is maybe we are never as close to someone we would like to think. We may love them. We may relate, appreciate, respect, and even be exceptionally close to them. But it’s becoming more and more evident to me that that UNDERSTANDING is a solo endeavor practiced by individuals specifically for their own self awareness.

We share only what we want people to see of us.

The word I most associate with Bourdain is “natural”. I know most people will go on and talk about his knowledge of the culinary world and his appreciation for amazing food. They’ll talk about his worldy travels and his willingness to immerse himself in the truest space of a city/country’s culture. People applaud and as well they should. Bourdain became the totem for all people with an ever growing sense of wanderlust. The question is why? There are plenty of who know food and culture and travel the world. Hell there are TONS of people on TV that do it and are dull as shit. So why Bourdain? Why is he, now that he is gone, ever so much more deified by those who wish to see our lives as 1/17th compelling as what he lived on screen? He was a natural. Or better yet, a “compelling natural asshole”. Yeah, that’s better.

First and foremost Bourdain was an artist. All of his shows went WELL beyond the norm of his contemporaries. In hindsight, his OG shows and the times in which he filmed them, they were damn near revolutionary. As budgets increased and skills got better, it became less so of an educational eating/travel show but more so of a docu-series of a man living in various moments. A man given the opportunity to perform a “dream job” and knowing fully well how damn lucky he was. Secondly, he was a writer. A good one. People will try to quote him in eulogy these days, but I find it hard to really pare it down. His shows were written so well that it felt like a never ending fount of inspiration meme fodder. Just Google it, you’ll see. And last, he was “cool”. And in the non pretentious type way. We just seemed like what he said, what he wore, what music was playing, hell what type of pop-cultural factoids he would equally praise and lacerate came not from a “marketing analysis report”, but a genuine opinion from a man who seemed unconcerned about the camera in his face.

What I can say is the dude gave off a vibe that drew people in. Or at least thats what he wanted to put out in the world.

I had to wait 15 minutes before I could order. Fuck. Hungry. I was starving at that moment. So even though I was annoyed and rather irritable after such a long and mentally draining day, I made my normally anti-social self do something Bourdain may have approved of. I mingled with strangers. Oh and I bought a beer. And a sausage. Of course a sausage.

Rosamunde’s was getting more crowded as the start of the game grew closer. People in their blue and gold, some with NBA Champion 2018 hats already on, even though the game hadn’t even started yet. Weird. But I made my way up to the shop keep and got my tube of meet and glass of malted hops. Yum. So with 10 minutes to kill I engaged in polite conversation with 2 gents hugging the wall. They were cousins, one local and other from LA. Of course naturally the conversation lead to basketball and the probability that all the people in this restaurant would be drunk off victory and tequila by nights end. They would be. It was a consensus. I wont prattle on about the specifics of the conversation, but within that short 10 minutes I found myself bouyed by their energy. They knew the good times to come, and they were eager to get there. And in that moment, they seemed genuinely happy. As the clock drew closer to the half hour, I started to excuse myself from the conversation. “Just stay, man! We gunna win, and then we’re gunna celebrate!” But I couldn’t. So with one last “Salanche!” (I had to teach them that Irish word), I bid them good evening and their team good luck. It wasn’t my place. Not right now. Besides, fried chicken awaited!

As I stepped away, a smile on my face, a thought in my head. Its natural when someone you admire leaves, especially in such a manner. People will focus more the WHY than anything else. I’ve resigned myself to a simple truth. We DO NOT know what anyone else is thinking. To say we UNDERSTAND another individual so completely that we can approximate their feelings, intent, and mannerism is foolhardy. It's arrogant. If there is anything that I’ve learned from Bourdain is this simple truth.......You don’t know shit. So stop guessing. Try and actually gain knowledge of, well everything. It simple requires effort and openness. And sometimes the willingness to look foolish and fall on your face.

I place my order with the lovely lady. No menu required. I knows what I want. I order a Mauby for the wait. “It’ll be like 10 minutes. You’re the first to order,” she says with a smile. I’m pretty sure she thinks my fatass is ordering for 2. Ha, oh well. I drink my weird soda and wait. And try not to dwell on the WHY.

I’ll simply state that I appreciate what Bourdain CHOSE to show us. All of it. Watch an episode of any of his shows, there is something unique about it. In every episode, Bourdain will turn from cocky asshat, to worldly listener, to foody goofball, to hipster hating old man, to a poetic soul, to an appreciated world travel, to an unwilling celebrity. There will be a facet of all those personas in each show. Every. Single. One. Now I can say that what he CHOSE to show us was a 61 year old man, full of success within a career that any of us would envy. A father of an 11 year old girl who did seemed truly proud of her developing into a full fledged human. A man who found passion and love in this “late” phase of life. A man who has grown healthier and wiser. A man, while still driven, seemed content with it all. And it apparently wasn’t. At all. So people can keep asking WHY all they want. I choose to look at it in a much more cynical view. If Bourdain, the master of the world, chose to exit it in such a state, where does that leave us?

It’s a sad thought that unicorns don’t exist.

7 swigs into my cane sugar soda, all the tables are filled. The room is bustling and the noise level increases. Smiling faces, happy banter. There is an energy in the air. But even in this moment, surrounded by the humanity, I felt alone. Lost in my own thoughts.

Bourdain once said he was “addicted to celebrity”. He wouldn’t have been as successful as he was did he not have the drive and arrogance to achieve it. Still, one would think that being placed upon a pedestal as a cultural and generational icon would become waring. On top of the 250 days of travel, he was Anthony fuckin’ Bourdain all the damn time. People see you and may potentially be expecting a life altering moment, a chance to be inspired by a simple word or action. They think they know you. And that’s with the cameras off. Even when they were rolling there are times where it is evident Bourdain was uncomfortable in his own skin. That he was crossing the velvet rope where he knew he shouldn’t. Where he was torn between enjoying a meal given to him by custom and his reluctance to be so decadent when there are impoverished families just feet away. We see a misfit become potentially what he never saw himself being. A standard bearer, a bougee VIP. A man who inspired a legion, a world of people to open their minds and hearts to other cultures through food and drink, through conversation over a meal. To take the back alley, and skip the IHOP on Main St. Ask a stranger where to get a drink instead of a guide book. To eat something you can’t pronounce. To let go of forethought and allow yourself to take the moment in. By doing so he became accepted as the norm, as how a utopian world should be. And while I hope he is proud to some degree for showing the world a new way to think, a part of me questions that by becoming a living legend, he lost that “outsider rebel” aspect of himself, his persona. That misfit.

The bell rings. My order is ready. The young lady puts everything in a bag. 2 sets of utensils. “I knew it,” I mutter to myself. “Did you say something honey?” she asks. “No,” I chuckle slightly. She smiles and turns her head to give me the inquisitive side eye. “Are you happy with everything,” she asks whimsically. I look down, and smell the food. I smile. “Yeah. Right now I am.”

So as I sit at home writing this, the last of the Ackee scrambled across my plate, I do feel a sense of sadness, but certainly appreciation. To Mr. Anthony Bourdain. I can only say “thanks”. I truly doubt we will know his full impact on society until years, generations later. But in this moment, I thank you. I probably wouldn’t have eaten this fish and chicken without him. And that in itself is worth a toast. Solanche, mutha fucker.

[thinkgloriathink]

Why I stopped doing Pre-med (my lengthy and candid explanation)

If you know me personally, you might be surprised to hear that I’m not doing pre-med anymore. In fact, this massive pivot happened so quickly and dramatically that I, too, am trying to figure out how my seemingly robust pledge to pursuing a career in medicine toppled like a tower of toothpicks the literal instant I entered college. Surely enough, I dove head first into some intensely angsty rumination sessions to wrangle apart this ugly mystery, and I scraped together a semi-coherent analysis of how this happened to me. Here’s the best explanation I can come up with:

Any good scientist knows that to properly appraise the strength of a scientific theory, you shouldn’t just be scouring for examples to confirm it, but rather scouring for cases to disconfirm it. Looking back into my past, I’ve discovered that I did a whole lot of confirming, and very little disconfirming. All my life, since showing an early propensity for biology, the life sciences, then medicine, I’ve gotten puff after puff of ego boosting encouragements. At a dinner party, people are always asking you what you want to be when you grow up. I’d say medicine, people would nod their heads with recognition, no further questions asked. As a result, I’ve lived my whole life full of self-assurance without self-examination, enjoying the cushiness of people’s approval. Once I established that I was going to be a doctor, everything I saw and all the ways I behaved seemed to fall into place, conveniently fitting the narrative. I’m not squeamish around blood? Pure doctor material! I’m skilled at memorizing anatomy terms? You’re on the right track, Dr. Feng! Soon, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy, where I’d purposely act in ways that would be in character, because future-doctor-Gloria was my identity. When I started having my first doubts about pre-med during the first few months of college, I surprised myself by how flimsy I became when I was confronted by the question: Why do you want to be a doctor? Up until then, I've been going at it with 110% confidence because I liked it, and my liking it made sense to other people. Chemistry class sucked, but I was able to make it through the semester because I told myself that it’s all part of the process. “I want to be a doctor” became a mantra that I’d remind myself time and time again through times of intense stress, but the more I said it, the more unfounded it felt. I reached a point in the year where I would tell myself repeatedly that I was in it for the long haul, but feeling less confident every time I said it. God forbid, if someone asked me “Why?” during those anxious times, I would’ve imploded under the weight of all my existential angst because I literally felt as though I had no good answer. “I want to help people.” Nothing felt more fabricated to me than that weak ass reason, which alone is hardly a justification unique to a career in medicine.

Here are the few pivotal moments and thought trains that poked holes in my confidence for being a doctor. Note: these are explanations, not justifications. If you’re reading this and are still on the track to doctorhood, I will root for you like the aggressive soccer mom you never had. All I ask is that you check in with yourself every once in a while, honestly, so that you know for sure your life is heading in the direction you -- and only you-- truly want.

I tried and failed to get accepted into any of the combined medical programs I’ve applied to last year. Of course, considering the incredibly low acceptance rates to these prestigious programs, the odds were not in my favor, and it’d be foolish to expect acceptances to roll in easily. But this did plant the first seed of doubt in the back of my head that all these admissions officers who turned me down were seeing something in me that I might not have been aware of at the time. I felt as though I’ve poured my heart and soul into the “Why Medicine?” essays, writing with as much candor as I thought was possible. When you’ve laid out all your cards like that and you still get the thumbs down, it’s hard not to think that, just maybe, I’m not as equipped or compatible to be a doctor as I had thought. Maybe this was some kind of sign. This was a fleeting thought that didn’t initially shake my resolve at the time, but it reemerged with a different effect on me once my doubt train started to pick up speed this past year.

All my friends were getting their asses kicked by their computer science classes, but the challenge seemed to make them like it even more. Meanwhile, I was getting my ass beat by my pre-med classes, but my motivation seemed to be way more fragile. I was performing, for the first time, average in my class. While this sounds pretty unremarkable and expected at an elite institution where you’re no longer the big fish in your tiny little pond, it was a major source of frustration and disappointment for me. The fact that this rank-consciousness mattered so much to me, and the fact that so much enjoyment in the subject seemed to evaporate once I realized that I wasn’t the highest performer anymore indicated that I might’ve only enjoyed my pre-med classes in high school because I was good at them. I sat down in my virology class one day after having one of these revelations, looking at the powerpoint slides with almost a different pair of eyes. I have to memorize all the types of RNA and DNA polymerases and the different ways they could stack together DNA crumbs to build a new strand? Why and how is this knowledge important to me? Oh yeah, I need to shove this down my brain so I can regurgitate it onto a sheet of paper next week for a grade. I don’t actually find any of this interesting. What am I even doing here? Something I found even more curious is the fact that I've survived my statistics class second semester, which I thought beat me to a pulp at least as bad as chemistry did, but I liked it even more because of it. In fact, that class even managed to restore in me a modicum of confidence in math, an area I was sure I was going to avoid like the plague in college. In fact, I'm really glad that I took it, as I actually feel like I've learned something valuable and enriching if not directly applicable to my life. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case for Neuro and Chem.

I was totally getting high off of the youthful optimism and individualistic spirit of Carpe Diem of the college students around me. After being immersed in all these big-picture-thinking communities at school, or reading 21st century lifestyle design books like the 4-hour workweek or Nassim Taleb’s books, all I could think about was seizing the day and making the most out of the present. I lost some faith in the idea of super-delayed gratification— the idea of enduring a dreary and soul-sucking life now so that you can live a happier and more comfortable future down the line. When I was down in my depths of existential gloom, all I felt I had going for me was the good faith that the future me— Doctor me— would enjoy my life, even though the current me did not. But what a waste of your livelihood would it be, I'd think, to spend the most important decades of your life jumping through hoops while stressed and broke, when you can technically engineer your life such that you can work hard, ride its ups and downs, AND enjoy its fruits now. After all, your life is really just a massive sum of today’s. If you keep living for brighter tomorrows, you’d go through life squandering all the today’s, which are actually all we’ve got, and all we’ll ever get.

I remember just hanging up from a video call with my sister while I was sitting on a couch in the lobby of the Sciences Library, when I entertained this train of thought. I had just won a Hackathon at MIT by randomly deciding to take a leap of faith and flex my creative muscle, and had one of the most novel and eye-opening experiences of my life. I came into touch with (cw: intense self-flattery) the fact that I was an adaptable person with many talents, a person with a creative eye, a knack for playful intellectual thought, a slightly unconventional character, with visions and ambitions that seem a little larger than life sometimes. All of these parts of myself, which I didn’t think fit the qualities of the prototypical pre-med student, felt more to me like diversions and hindrances than assets… which made me sad. Somehow, I thought the competitive straitjacket of pre-medicine and the highly standardized structure of pre-professional training was forcing me into a mold that missed so much of what I liked about myself. Sure, I knew I had characteristics that would make me a good doctor--that hasn't changed about me. But at the time, when I felt like college was just starting to set me off on my personal renaissance, sticking doggedly to the competitive-as-hell premed plan that I no longer felt super passionate about felt pretty damn stifling.

I've begun to realize recently that I actually might also enjoy doing other things besides medicine (whaaaat?). Before college, I'd always choose classes or study the things that aligned with the pre-med path. When selecting my courses for Columbia SHP, for example, I'd only choose to enroll in physiology or biology classes. I had the choice to take other things at the time, but my a priori assumptions were that I simply won’t like what isn’t pre-med related, so I didn’t try them. Before second semester I shrugged and said “what the heck” and enrolled in an economics class, and I also said “what the heck” for applying to work at Kinvolved; my expectations for both were initially quite low, as I was secretly hoping that these would dispel my what-if questions from first semester, as an obvious distaste for them would reassure me that medicine was the way to go. Lo and behold, I was taken off guard by how much I actually enjoyed these experiences. All my life, I’ve never had to make any hard choices between medicine and other appealing alternatives, because I've never given myself one. In essence, closing doors on the other things was a lot easier back when I didn’t have a clue about what was behind those doors. Pre-med has been all I knew, and everything I thought I liked, until college showed me otherwise.

Lastly, the difficulty of my pre-med classes did (and still does) intimidate me. This reason does fall secondary to the first five I’ve just stated, as, I think, if I were really 100% set on being a doctor, I’d be resourceful enough to find ways to tolerate the workload. But having to shoulder a very taxing course load throughout my first semester, while feeling isolated and unsure the entire time, even in the presence of the hundreds of other pre-med students, was not a great feeling. I guess I blame this unsavory experience (and I forgive myself, of course) on the rocky adjustment period of first semester freshman year, and my underestimation of the importance of forming supportive study groups. Can this problem be remedied easily in the future with a little initiative? Of course. But did this nevertheless paint my first semester experience with an extra shiny layer of demotivation and disillusionment, and propel my I-don’t-wanna-do-medical-school-anymore spiral? You betcha.

#pre-med #note to self