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whynotstayinLeave a comment

“You know it doesn’t work like that,” I say, trying to keep the shakiness from showing.

I feel cold and my eyes burn. I grasp the hemline of my loose tank top. The air around me swishes menacingly through the hair around my ears. I purse my lips making sure I don’t say anything I’ll regret. I nod as a way to say I’m not continuing the conversation, then stalk off down the hall.

I feel the faint sting of a layered label along my stomach. I know immediately what it is: odd. I frown, looking down trying to see my collarbone. I close my eyes, willing the red shadows away. I close my eyes and let out a breath of hot air. The hallway is small, confining, making it hard to expel the blackness rising in me.

The pastel yellow door of the bathroom mocks me. Smiling garishly at the obsidian ice building in me, I grab the handle pulling the door open violently. I get ready for a shower, careful to not bump the new lacerated label. I stare at myself in the mirror. There is black scrawling all over, at all angles.

I begin to rub the new label, causing twinges to run through my legs. As I turn the water on scalding, I scrub it gently at first, then furiously to where the pain is almost too much to bear. I keep scrubbing until it starts to bleed again. The sobs start coming as fast and easy as breathing. I sit down carefully, the snowy porcelain of the shower floor slowly becoming a pale pastel pink.

The tears and the hot water are mixing together. The water shuts off – the allotted time over. “There are other living souls in this house that need the shower!” my mom calls from outside the horrid yellow door. 

I don’t justify her calling with a response.

I quickly stand up to grab the heavy-duty band aids out of the cupboard, praying that my mom doesn’t open the door and come barging in like a freight train. I struggle to cover the entire surface area of the label. “Sawyer!” I finish the sad attempt to bandage my leg and sling a towel around myself. Trying to look as dignified as possible, I leave the bathroom.

The path from the bathroom to my room is even narrower and lined with mirrors. A knot forms in the base of my throat. I stumble halfway to my haven without looking at a mirror. But I can’t help it.

I glance up at the mirror. The person that glances back is me but darker, more attractive, and has a murderous gleam in its sinisterly blackened eyes. Its elegantly sculpted brows raise, asking ‘what do you think?’ A slender finger beckons, a full red mouth pulls into a grin, revealing teeth sharpened into points. I can feel it pulling me forward. I struggle to pull myself out of its grasp, until I’m once again staring at my scrawled-on feet and the smooth clean floor.

Photo Credit: Pinterest

I lift my heavy, leaden feet and shuffle the rest of the way to my haven, my room. The dark wooden door opens without so much as a whisper. I make sure to turn on all the lights so there is no shadow left anywhere in the room. The rich cobalt walls reflect all the light, making it seem like I’m underwater.

An Open Thank You to the President

mariethearistocatLeave a comment

Thank you for the past eight years.

Although I’ve only seen two presidents in my life, thank you for all that you’ve done.

Thank you for allowing people to criticize you before and after winning the election.

Thank you for being a benevolent spokesperson of the United States, and for meeting other leaders with dignity and class.

Thank you for letting me decide what I can do with my body. Thank you for opening some up to the idea that women deserve free rein of their bodies just as much as men do.

Thank you for creating an affordable healthcare option, so that we can have a healthier country. Thank you for disregarding the talk about money and future, and for providing safety for those who didn’t think they’d have it.

Thank you for your comedy, from talk shows to the White House Correspondents’ Dinners.

Thank you for your light-heartedness around children. It’s not every day that the president opens the White House for a Halloween party.

pete souza white house obama favorites (9)
Photo Credit: twistedsifter.com

Thank you for talking about tough issues with an open outlook. Thank you for disregarding taboo and speaking about what truly needs to be heard.

Thank you for sharing the love story between you and your wife for all the world to see. Thank you for sharing your elegant family with the public.

Thank you for being historical and inspiring people of color to pursue their dreams.

Thank you for showing me the good in the United States, and for accepting the bad.

Thank you for running down the halls of the White House with your dog, Bo.

Thank you for appreciating and lifting the spirits of people of color, LGBTQIA people, disabled people, and every other kind of person.

Thank you, Barack Obama, for being this country’s humble, kind, and amazing 43rd president.

My Reaction to the Election

paris22Leave a comment

(Written the morning after the election, 6:40 am, November 9th, 2016)

Confused. Worried. Scared.

Those were the emotions I felt when I woke up this morning, and the first thing I did was google which candidate won the election.

I went to bed early last night and did not keep up with the polls out of fear and worry. When I first woke up, I was hopeful, I did not see any messages screaming in all caps that Donald Trump won. I thought, maybe Hillary pulled through. When the google results came up, it felt as though everything shifted. I started crying, yes, heavy, non-stop tears. My view of this whole country came tumbling down.

I never thought it would come to this, I never thought Trump would actually win. I had some faith in the people of America. Well, most of that faith is gone now.

Protests Against Trump Winning — Photo Credit: LA Times

I’m scared. For my rights, for my body’s rights, for the rights of women everywhere.

I’m scared. For the racial minorities that Trump targets, for their freedom and rights in this country.

I’m scared. For the future immigrants coming into this country, seeking solace from their own, to be denied and rejected, because of our new, intolerant president.

I’m scared. For all the people Donald Trump has promised to deport and keep out.

I’m scared. For the LGBT community. Mike Pence is now Vice President, he supports gay conversion therapy, and it has been announced that Trump will be an anti-LGBT president.

I’m scared. For anyone who is considered a minority, for anyone who is considered less than a person to Trump, for anyone who is judged or generalized by the color of their skin, their religion, where they come from, their gender, their sexuality, or anything else Donald Trump may view as “wrong” or “bad”.

With Donald Trump as President, this is not the “Land of the Free”, but the land of the oppressed.

Seeing Her

whynotstayinLeave a comment

The first time he saw her was in an airport. A Petri dish of festering emotion and sickening crowds. He’d caught a wisp of her trailing at the corner of his vision, it was only a glimpse, but as he straightened himself back to forward, he knew she wasn’t just a figment of his travel addled mind. As he took a breath and grabbed his bag, a woman in a tight pencil skirt and a ponytail that seemed to pull at even her toes, came and rammed into him, sending him rocking back onto his heels, his brain rattling around like a drunk entering a dark apartment.

He continued toward his connection flight. Through the stifling heat and the crying couples, the chauffeurs with the fancy polysyllabic names spewed across expensive card stock, the pilots walking around with more purpose in their gaze than the entirety of the travelers bulging around them. The click of heels, the swish of slippers and everything fuzzy. He hated flying. He hated the people rushing around like plague bacteria happy to infect the next and the next. He wished he had a storm of anesthetic to clear away the sappy couples, the reuniting, the departing, the people too important to even breathe.

The people with screaming kids were especially bad this time. He flew all the time. He flew in winter. He flew in summer. He flew in spring and sometimes he even flew in autumn. He found his terminal, it was crowded, with lines already formed and spilling out into the walkways. Making irritable people even more irate.

“No Todd I told you it was 6:30. How long has my mom been stuck in JFK?” A pause. “No Todd it’s not okay, it’s not okay at all. She’s eighty! And she’s been stuck in JFK for five hours!”

Now there. There is a relationship that is moving fast, slipping down a slippery slope. It’ll be done in three months tops. He put an earbud in and turned his attention to another airport conversation. His own.

“No, mom, it was delayed. I’m still in Dallas.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes I’ll make it back in time.” It was getting dark. His head was rattling with every breath he took. “Thanks, bye mom, I love you.” He was going to hang up before she said anything else. He did.

He could psychoanalyze himself, he was cynical, very much stuck, but he wasn’t going to do that. There was no fun in that.

Photo Credit: The Telegraph – Rex Features

There was a blip. It seemed as if someone had set the world back a half-minute or badly spliced an old movie together. He blinked. Pursed his lips to one side. That was definitely sleep deprivation and yet, there, there was that baby’s cry again. He inclined his head toward the sound but it was gone, lost in the cacophony of other airport noises. He turned back to forward, only to move six inches forward and hit another abrupt stop. He really hated airports. He ran a hand through his hair making a bad situation worse.

“Oh for God’s sake, how long can this take?” A stranger breathes out. He was a small wiry man with the barrel chest of a Doberman pincer. A contradiction in every sense of the word. The man was innately untrustworthy in his eyes, yet somehow he couldn’t help but agree with the man, a vaguely troubling notion. He shoved the other earbud in, content to cease in his airport judging.

By the time he reached the back of the plane he had exhausted all of his music, which wasn’t saying much. He had very little music, and even less photos. He didn’t have much of anything on his phone, in fact.

He was in the farthest row back, cramped by the window, stuck between life-preserving plastic and the man with the dog’s chest. He could feel it, this flight was going to be obscenely long.

East Coast Weather vs. West Coast Weather

paris22Leave a comment
Winter in Los Angeles — Photo Credit: ImMovingtoLA
Winter in Washington D.C. — Photo Credit: HostelsClub

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is almost Halloween, Thanksgiving is only a month away, and fall has technically been in full swing since September 22. Yet, last week it was almost 90 degrees Fahrenheit in some parts of Southern California. Spud Fest happened last week at OVS and it was hot enough for people to be wishing they were in the dunk tank or the pool. At the end of Spud Fest, some students were so tired of the heat they had the remaining water and ice from the ice chests dumped onto them.

For some, 2/3 of the year being summer, and the rest being an awkward mix of cold and warm is heaven. But for those who live for the cold, the Southern California fall and winter seasons are not ideal. Currently, the weather in New York City and Washington D.C. is ranging from 50-60 degrees, with rain. Hopefully, Southern California will catch up soon.

Aubrie and Daisy

mariethearistocatLeave a comment

Every month, Netflix updates its movie collection, and ever since 2013, it has put out some new shows with each batch. Recently released was Audrie and Daisy, a documentary that caught my attention.

Released to Netflix on September 23rd, Audrie and Daisy tells the stories of two high school girls’ experiences with sexual assault.

The first girl, 16-year-old Audrie Pott, had gone to a high school party. She was black-out drunk when a group of three teenage boys sexually assaulted her. When she woke up the next morning, she was berated with hateful comments at school and online. It was only nine days later that she hung herself.

The second girl, Daisy Coleman, had a similar story. When she was fourteen, she and her best friend snuck out and went to a “party” in the basement of seventeen-year-old Matthew Barnett, grandson of a former state legislator. There, Coleman was pressured by Barnett and his friends to drink until she was in a coma-like state. When she was immobile and asleep, the boys continuously raped her for hours. She woke up frozen on her front lawn and was immediately rushed to the hospital. Even for almost 12 hours after, her blood alcohol level was a striking 0.1349 (the legal limit for Missouri adults is 0.08.) Immediately following her recovery, she was harassed online by kids at her school and even adults online.

When I heard their stories I was appalled by our society, even though these events happened nearly four years ago. I feel ashamed to live in a world where people who sexually assault others can walk away from a victim they just took something from, and not face any severe consequences. I feel ashamed to live in a society where victims are driven to suicide just so people will stop making their terrible memories even worse. I’m ashamed that grown adults join in on the childish gossiping and bullying.

News stories of these two rapes held a certain air to them. When Matthew Barnett was put on trial, the news anchors refused to say that Coleman had been raped. They would talk about how Barnett’s grandfather was a state legislator and how he would simply apologize to Coleman and be granted two years’ probation. He would walk free, while Coleman would always have to live with what he did to her. She would have to live with the constant criticism in her home town.

We should learn how to help victims of any crime, especially ones as sensitive as rape. We should learn to teach our children not to rape people. We should teach our children not to say things without thinking of the consequences.

Click here to read an interview with Daisy Coleman.

Halloween

paris22Leave a comment
Photo Credit: Urban Matter

It is now mid October, and IT’S STILL SUNNY AND WARM IN OJAI. This irritates me to no end, which means this post will be a long rant.

In Ojai, and pretty much all of Southern California, three of our seasons are summer, and the fourth season is kind of cold, but not really. This means, there is a very good chance that Halloween will be a warm, sunny day. There will also be no cool decorations around town like the Jack O’Lanterns in Chicago (pictured).

Disneyland, scary movies, and cold weather are all things I associate with Halloween. But, obviously the cold weather part isn’t exactly true for California.

But, Halloween is still one of my favorite holidays, whether it’s 80 degrees (ew) or 50. And, The Tower of Terror is closing at California Adventures, which is an amusement park tragedy. But it’s all ok, because after Halloween, Thanksgiving Break will be closer than ever.

My Thoughts on Music…

mariethearistocatLeave a comment

Music is the most powerful of weapons. It is a loaded gun to your mind and you pull the trigger when you press play. The beat is the rounds going BANG, BANG, BANG. The feeling you get, the euphoric experience you get whilst listening to that song is the bullet piercing the depths of your mind, the target.

Music is a drug. Once you listen to a really good song, you’re hooked. You need it. You can’t focus without it. When a song is stuck in your head, it’s like the peak of addiction. It is the moment you can’t go back because the song has ensnared you so deeply in its rhythm, that your mind can’t think of anything else. The only remedy is listening to it again and again and again.

Music is like a flower. Some songs are like deep maroon roses. They’re beautiful to look at, but they’re infested with thorns. The words will sink into your brain like a prick to the finger. Some songs are like smiley daisies. The message sent is that of the bright yellow center and the delicate, white petals.

The thing that is so desirable about music is the other-worldly experience you get. Even if it’s for a split second, one envisions another world while listening to a song or lyric. Each song delivers a message. Peppy songs can lift your attitude. Love songs give you a warm feeling. Sad songs can give you reassurance in a blue stage of your life. The list goes on.

Music is universal. Try listening to a song in a language you don’t know at all. Even if you don’t know what it’s about, you know how the artist feels in a particular moment. You get the feeling. Music is one rare thing that almost everyone can enjoy. Whether it be a beat, a lyric, a voice, or the inter-workings of a piece of music.

Music is like a good book (or a good movie).

Image result for music
Photo Credit: http://www.jjay.cuny.edu/department-art-music

A song can go down in history for you. Sometimes I’ll hear a song that is practically a decade old and feel the same I did when I first heard it. A song can’t change, just like a book or movie. There’s something so comforting about the stability of music. If you are totally in love with one song, nothing can stop you from reliving the same experience again and again.

The thing is, I’m not the average “music person.” The person whose earbud is almost surgically attached to their ear. I don’t even own a speaker. I don’t even really listen to music all that much. But when I find a good song, album, or artist, it almost overtakes me. So try listening to a new song, nothing like you’ve ever heard before. You may just surprise yourself.

Read this article to find out how exactly our bodies react to music:  http://www.livescience.com/1139-music-chills.html

A Wall and a Hard Place

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Photo Credit: newyorker.com

The debates have finished and what’s left of the pure idiotic chaos is not only uncertainty but also fear, very real fear that all American people should feel.

United States! As the most powerful country the U.S. has shot itself in the foot and decided for some reason this was the best course. The U.S. believes its ideology is based on liberty and freedom, yet the two major Candidates running for presidency are: a xenophobic belligerent idiot and a fraudulent capitalist crook. Both of whom have ruined many people’s lives and may very well ruin another three hundred million.

The wickedest part is the idea that the American people have created this monster. Through negligence, polarized views, and civil unrest. Who else to blame for this outrageous race? The average American sees radical views from Trump and believes he’s right, change must happen. Conversely, others are scared as hell of Trump and his narrow views, so they hold on to the idea that Hillary won’t be as totally dishonest and corrupt as she has been in the past, and cling to her leg.

The U.S. is stuck in-between a wall and a hard place, so when given the option to vote, you better take it, otherwise in four years you might not have the chance.

Fall in Southern California 

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Sweaters are sweaty. Pumpkin spice burns your chapped, sunburnt lips. The adorable pinterest-esque fall leaves are more often represented by crunchy, dehydrated grass. Football games are too often stadiums crowded with sweaty bodies. The weather is less “let’s wear infinity scarves and drink hot cocoa” and more “let’s crank up the A/C and never leave the […]