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Happy Valentine's Day!
This Valentine’s has been an especially good one for two reasons. First, it is the first Valentine's I've been able to spend with my fiancé, together in person! Moments like this make me so grateful we decided to follow our hearts and pursue a long-distance relationship, even though it was hard. This leads me to my second reason: Love Hurts. My God, it was good. Before I warn you about spoilers and ask you not to read on, take this as your sign to go see it and then come back to this. There really is something for everybody in this action rom-com. See you soon. Now, for my lovelies that had the opportunity to catch it already, let's dish.
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walk into a bar...The following piece was written by my amazingly talented friend Lewis. You can check out his blog here. Now onto the good stuff: I know I’m arriving at this late, but there’s a reason for that. When things are popular I have a hard time enjoying them. I’m not quite sure why. It’s just the way that I am. I knew that if I wanted to approach the most recent Taylor Swift album level-headed, I would have to wait for the initial wave of discourse to fade.
But beyond that, I wasn’t sure if giving my thoughts on the new Taylor was something I wanted to do in the first place. Upon my first listen, I didn’t like the album, and writing about things that I don’t like is exhausting. Obviously, I’m writing about this now, so you Taylor fans can relax. This isn’t going to be a bad review per se. However, I wouldn’t get too excited, because I wouldn’t call this a good review either. In fact, I’m hoping this feels less like a review and more like an interesting observation or study. Mother's Day. Every year I wince at all of the flowers and jewelry commercials that bombard my TV time, email inbox, and commute. Firstly because it's so sad to me that unless some of these dads see an ad that says MOTHER'S DAY IS ON MAY 12TH, they won't remember to celebrate the women that made them who they are--both those who birthed them and birthed for them. And secondly, because I'm not sure how I fit into the whole equation. My mother died when I was 14 years old. But before that I loved Mother's Day. I would wake up extra early to sneak into my parents' room and give my mom her levothyroxine so that by the time I was done cooking, it had been long enough for her medication to kick in and she could actually eat the breakfast in bed. I loved any excuse I could find to celebrate, especially to celebrate her. So when she died, it seemed like there was nothing to celebrate anymore. It was my third or fourth Worst Day of the Year when I realized there were other women like me, standing on the sidelines of a holiday we didn't know was meant for us too. I had become the matriarch of my home, helping to raise children that I hadn't birthed, but were gladly my responsibility anyway. Would it be wrong to ask anyone to celebrate me for Mother's Day? And what about my friend's mom? Could I still wish her a Happy Mother's Day even though he had passed? What about my cousin who miscarried her first baby? Was she a mother? Did we deserve flowers? It took me a long time, but my answer is finally yes. I call my friend's mom and sing her "You Are My Sunshine" on Mother's Day to remind her I still think of her baby. I text my cousin and tell her she is the best mommy to her rainbow baby. And I let my fiancé take me to a plant nursery to pick out a hanging basket for our porch. Yes, we deserve flowers too. Grief is a hard, funny thing. It took me 7 years to come around on the idea that I didn't have to cry on Mother's Day (exclusively). I could celebrate too. So here's my big takeaway, when Father's Day (or any other Worst Day of the Year) comes, hug your dad if he's around, and then look for those of us on the sidelines--we need to celebrate too. PS: if you're grieving, I'm here for you. Whether it's been 7 days or 7 years, know that it still hurts, but it does get better. And if you're looking to heal, but don't know where to start, check out this book bundle on Grief Healing that my dad wrote after my mom's passing.
Dear Alexa, I am writing because I want to be able to call myself a capital w Writer so badly that it physically hurts sometimes. I am applying for grad schools right now and I can’t help but apply for programs that I would feel more comfortable getting a competitive edge in rather than ones that would allow me to pursue the passion I feel for writing. I keep telling myself, “You can always write on the side. Don’t apply for something as subjective as creative writing because if they don’t ‘get’ you, they won’t accept you, and then you’ll never pursue writing ever again.” I want so badly to be brave. I want so badly to be something, to be someone. I’m having a hard time finding my angle, selling myself—even just to me. I look at myself: young, but not young enough to be a prodigy; woman, but not traditionally feminine or beautiful; white, like bland rice; queer, but in a straight-passing relationship. There isn’t anything attention-grabbing about me enough to draw people in to discover the interesting stuff. It feels like dating. I don’t get a lot of swipes on apps, but when people spend enough time around me, they start to enjoy my company. Like I can’t get a Tinder date to save my life, but I have had multiple coworkers start to hit on me after a couple of months. How do I get people to want to spend time with me (my writing)? The thing is, I have some stuff that I’m actually pretty proud of. The first problem is that it took a lot of input from other, more professional, more experienced, more creative people to turn the pieces into what they are. I wonder if I can even take credit for them at this point. The second problem is that it feels like nobody wants to read them. That, or they are so personal to me and my family that I’m scared to send them out. What if what I have so lovingly and painstakingly created gets back to the people they mention? Or not even that, what if my loved ones find out who I really am? They find the queer me? The heretic? The hurt, stuck-in-the-past, unforgiving me? But I want a space for that me. I think she deserves to be heard too. Why should I have to put up a façade? Is it possible to have my cake and eat it too? Do these fears ever go away or will I always wonder if the next thing I have written is too personal, too precious to go out into the world? Do I pursue my passion or what is more comfortable? I hate that I am even asking for this external validation because I just want it to come from me. For now, any advice would be appreciated. Thank you, Wishing I Was Brave I once read something from the great Japanese poet Bashō. He said that there are two types of people: those that have the poetic spirit and those who do not. Those with the poetic spirit had better listen and write down whatever the spirit says as soon as it comes to you, otherwise, it may be lost. I think a lot of people have altered this concept since Bashō’s time by saying things like, “Oh, well I’m inspired by blank” or “I had this idea” and they try to take ownership over something… otherworldly. I for one will not even attempt to give myself so much credit. I am merely a vessel through which the words are formed and a story is told. Of course, these stories are often about my life and the experiences I’ve had, but who am I to tell those stories what to be? They tell me what they mean and how they should be told.
Peggle™, by PopCap Games, is an arcade-type game whose objective is to launch a pinball at a collection of pegs, typically, in order to clear all of the orange ones. Different Peggle™ Masters (playable characters) have different power-ups. This author may or may not be a Warren-main. Challenge levels include things like reaching a certain number of points, clearing all of the pegs, or only using a certain number of balls instead of the typically allotted ten. There have since been multiple versions released across multiple platforms and it was acquired by pogo.com in 2020.
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