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#Coming-of-age
xuramory · 5 months
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╰╮𝗩𝗜𝗖𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬 𝗣𝗔𝗖𝗘 - chapter one ┆in the sweltering aftermath of a motocross mishap, ┆Nick finds himself at the mercy of both scorching sand and ┆the judgmental gazes of a woman smeared with grease. ┆✶ :: genre — ( romance ) ┆✶ :: word count — ( 865 ) ╭╯ :: content warning — ( X ) ╰୧ :: song — ( middy titty )
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Sweat trickled down his forehead as he groaned heavily. Nick could feel his body protest and ache as he pushed himself to roll on his back, settling into the scorching sand. The sun glared into his eyes when he flicked the visor of the helmet up. Maybe that wasn’t the best idea, he kept his eyes closed instead, concentrating on his breathing in hopes that it would decrease the pain that was flowing through his body.
The broken down motocross bike beside him hummed with the same amount of pain. The paint was scratched and damaged and the metal was dented with a few broken pieces. Nick didn’t like that. He groggily pulled his helmet off, taking a deep breath of fresh air that didn’t smell like his sweat or breakfast for the first time in an hour. He was reminded with how close the bike course was to the beach with every grain of salt he inhaled.
“What a pity, she was very beautiful too.” Nick opened his eyes to see his group of friends had gathered around his dirt bike, examining the effects from the crash. Nick rolled his eyes, attempting to sit up. “Woah there, sun ball. Take it easy.” Terry helped him up, an entertained smile on his face.
“I thought I said you weren’t ready, champ.” The older-class-man scolded, nudging Nick’s arm with a deep chuckle. The brunette draped an arm around Nick’s shoulders turning him to look at the bike. “It was a good try though, bottoms up.”
Nick shook his head, running his dirty gloves through his hair. “Well, you ready to take this baby on her first doctor’s appointment?” Terry hauled the broken bike up on its wheels.
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“Hey, ‘Naki! It’s your favourite customer!” Now changed into their casual attire, Terry had taken it upon himself to transport Nick and his bike in his truck to the mechanic workshop nearby.
The older boy was greeted by the other mechanics who passed by, patting on his back and head. “keep your greasy hands out of my hair, I actually put a lot if effort into it.” The brunette swatted them away. He didn’t waist anymore time walking into the workshop where cars were being maintained and fixed left and right. “There you are, ‘Naki.” Nick watched as Terry pulled the edge of a skateboard from under a car, pulling the girl who was laying under there was well. “You missed me?”
The girl with coffee hair gave a glare. Her dirtied face was indicating she could use a break to wash up. Her mouth was holding onto a wrench while her two hands worked on wires. It was always surprising to see a woman like her in a place as filthy and masculine as this. “Whatever you have it better be good. You give me another FineLine and I’ll beat your ass.”
“Okay okay, chill.” Terry chuckled nervously. “Nick, this is Anaki. You’ll be seeing her a lot more often,”
“—Yes I will," Nick blurted out without even realizing.
The two third parties looked at him quietly, one judging and the other confused. “I mean, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Sorry. I’ve just— I’ve never met a woman who was into mechanics,” The blond nervously corrected himself.
“Okay? . . . Well, . . . Why don’t you wash up I’ll show you what I have,” Terry clapped his hands, cutting the awkward silence short, giving a polite smile to the girl laying on the floor. “Give me a minute— Someone take over!” The brunette called before she stood up, walking off.
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“What am I dealing with here?” Nick couldn’t keep his eyes off of her. Now that she had wipes her face clean with a rag he could see the features of her face clearly. Her lips, her nose, her cheeks, her warm beige skin, or her hazel eyes. Her chocolate hair was tied in a bun, which Nick thought was made of silk despite working in the humid weather all day in a dirty environment.
She was really pretty, that was for sure.
Terry had brought her to his truck, opening the tailgate. He gestured to the beaten up bike. The green and blue paint job was scratched, the seat was impaired with wooden sticks, the front wheel was dented and the back tire had deflated.
“A VK19, where did you get this? More importantly, were you trying to commit suicide with this?” Anaki rolled up her sleeves, pulling the bike closer to herself, examining it. “My mom got it for me.” was the answer she got from Nick. “Well your mom knows her stuff. There’s only a hundred of these, you’re one lucky guy.”
“So? . . . you in?” Terry already knew the answer to his question as he watched Anaki pull the bike put of the trunk and onto the ground. “Go register it in the main office, I’ll call you in a week or so.”
Nick watched as she dragged his bike away. Terry narrowed his eyes at the blond, nudging his shoulder to snap him out of his daydream. “If you don’t leave your number, she’s not going to call you.” “I get to give her my number.” Nick whistled as he scurried off quickly. Terry was left there, confused out of his mind. No way a ball of sunshine wanted a grey cloud.
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gregor-samsung · 18 days
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" They always told us that one day we would move into a house, a real house that would be ours for always so we wouldn't have to move each year. And our house would have running water and pipes that worked. And inside it would have real stairs, not hallway stairs, but stairs inside like the houses on TV. And we'd have a basement and at least three washrooms so when we took a bath we wouldn't have to tell everybody. Our house would be white with trees around it, a great big yard and grass growing without a fence. This was the house Papa talked about when he held a lottery ticket and this was the house Mama dreamed up in the stories she told us before we went to bed. But the house on Mango Street is not the way they told it at all. It's small and red with tight steps in front and windows so small you'd think they were holding their breath. Bricks are crumbling in places, and the front door is so swollen you have to push hard to get in. There is no front yard, only four little elms the city planted by the curb. Out back is a small garage for the car we don't own yet and a small yard that looks smaller between the two buildings on either side. There are stairs in our house, but they're ordinary hallway stairs, and the house has only one washroom. Everybody has to share a bedroom—Mama and Papa, Carlos and Kiki, me and Nenny. Once when we were living on Loomis, a nun from my school passed by and saw me playing out front. The laundromat downstairs had been boarded up because it had been robbed two days before and the owner had painted on the wood YES WE'RE OPEN so as not to lose business. Where do you live? she asked. There, I said pointing up to the third floor. You live there? There. I had to look to where she pointed—the third floor, the paint peeling, wooden bars Papa had nailed on the windows so we wouldn't fall out. You live there? The way she said it made me feel like nothing. There. I lived there. I nodded. I knew then I had to have a house. A real house. One I could point to. But this isn't it. The house on Mango Street isn't it. For the time being, Mama says. Temporary, says Papa. But I know how those things go. "
Sandra Cisneros, The House on Mango Street; 1st edition: Arte Público Press, Houston (TX), USA, 1984.
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abs0luteb4stard · 9 months
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W A T C H I N G
"How do we forgive our fathers? Maybe in a dream. Do we forgive our fathers for leaving us too often, or forever, when we were little? Maybe for scaring us with unexpected rage, or making us nervous because there never seemed to be any rage there at all? Do we forgive our fathers for marrying, or not marrying, our mothers? Or divorcing, or not divorcing, our mothers? And shall we forgive them for their excesses of warmth or coldness? Shall we forgive them for pushing, or leaning? For shutting doors or speaking through walls? For never speaking, or never being silent? Do we forgive our fathers in our age, or in theirs? Or in their deaths, saying it to them or not saying it. If we forgive our fathers, what is left?"
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radonx9 · 1 year
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Rosetta Falls
A Graphic Novel by Lewis Shelley (radonx9)
CHAPTER I: JESUS, ETC.
CHAPTER II: KICK OUT THE JAMS
CHAPTER III: HOCUS POCUS
CHAPTER IV: LOSING MY RELIGION
CHAPTER V: AGE OF AQUARIUS
CHAPTER VI: FINAL
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On growing up:
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notes on psychological loss in the coming-of-age novel / “Hardest Part,” Noah Cyrus / “Kids Again,” Sam Smith / “When,” dodie / “Before the Line,” dodie / “hope ur ok,” Olivia Rodrigo / “Never Grow Up,” Taylor Swift / “Older,” Alec Benjamin / “Older,” Ben Platt / The Green Ember, S.D. Smith / quote by N. R. Narayana Murthy / “Moving On,” The Mad Ones / quotes from Lost Girl by Kimberly Belflower / 1 Corinthians 3:11, KJV
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Series Recommendation:
Aristotle and Dante - Benjamin Alice Sáenz
Aristotle and Dante Discover the Universe (Aristotle & Dante #1)
Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World (Aristotle & Dante #2)
Genres: Young Adult, LGBTQ, Romance
Keywords: Coming-of-Age, Feel Good, 1980s, Friends to Lovers, Identity
Length: Medium
Rating: #1 - 4/5, #2 - 4/5
Find on Goodreads:
Find on StoryGraph:
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ashitakaxsan · 1 year
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  Men's love-com manga were around long before Rumiko sama.However  Maison Ikkoku is original,cause the main girl is a Widow!
  Godai is frustrated  by his offbeat and mischievous tenants,in the Maison Ikkoku boarding house.Due to them he can’t concentrate to the study and pass the entry exams for university.He’s about to abandon it,but he is stopped at the door by the beautiful Kyoko Otonashi, who announces she will be the new manager.Immediately he’is in love with her,so he decides to stay,and win her heart. Despite the running Sadness(caused of  tragic death of Kyoko’s first husband , Soichiro Otonashi),the persistent  antagonist  Shun Mitaka ,the numerous misunderstandings he was with High Spirit. He bravely tells to Kyoko how he Loves Only her.Thus with honesty she warmly affirms she loves him by quite long ago.Shortly after they get married :)
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schreibenwelt · 8 months
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Tsuru-gumi - Ikko (on Wattpad) https://www.wattpad.com/1381918717-tsuru-gumi-ikko?utm_source=web&utm_medium=tumblr&utm_content=share_reading&wp_uname=SarahSander1&wp_originator=1uIefgbR83Fg3V4UUs4VYhFel9dnKCndcgamtrvSnUP4%2BtNA1JvC9P5jovjITh75Y8cWHlaApW64%2BHuikpq1XgYq1BmbxU8xdV9ezgoC2QUGCvEguEyEONvZkn7biUz0 Ikko Tsuru, Sohn eines Yakuza-Bosses, soll nach seinem Uni-Abschluss den Clan übernehmen. Doch Ikko hat eine völlig andere Vorstellung vom Leben. Angefangen bei seinem zukünftigen Studienfach. Aber viel gravierender ist die Wahl seines Partners, ausgerechnet der junge Kassierer im nahen Konbini. Und als ob die Geheimnisse Ikkos nicht schon schwer genug wiegen würden, droht auch noch ein Bandenkrieg auszubrechen.
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nothieflike · 1 year
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Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret (2023)
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★★★★☆
Written and Directed by: Kelly Fremon Craig
Based on the Novel by: Judy Blume
I definitely read the book by Judy Blume back when I was a kid, probably around 1986 or so. Unlike other books by Blume that seemed to speak a little more directly to me (the Fudge series in particular) which I read multiple times, I only read Are You There the one time so it never quite embedded itself into my subconscious the way other books did. Which is all to say that I went into this movie knowing I'd read the source material but not sure how much of it I really remembered.
Having now seen the movie, I can say with authority that this is not the kind of review where I have any business bothering to compare and contrast the original to this adaptation. Certain bits like the chest-growing exercise mantra ("I must—I must—I must increase my bust!") were familiar and I did recall there being a lot of discussion about the main characters' first periods and other puberty-related milestones which is reflected in the screenplay. But, for example, I didn't recall the book having religion as such a core factor in the overall plot though a quick scan of the Wikipedia entry for the book indicates it was central to the novel as well.
So I can't say whether or not this film is particularly faithful to the source, but I can talk about how the movie plays as just a regular coming-of-age story set in 1970 New Jersey made in 2023. And from that perspective there is a lot of great stuff to talk about. One comparison I am comfortable making is that this feels a lot like Pixar's Turning Red from last year. In fact, I'd be shocked if Are You There God (the novel) wasn't a huge inspiration to the writers and producers of the animated film. Are You There God is obviously a lot more grounded and aimed at audiences a little bit older (Turning Red definitely Disney-fied the most overtly sexual elements of pubescence which Are You There definitely does not shy away from). But there are parallels between the friend groups the protagonists rely on, the meditation on the changing nature of relationships between mothers and their children as those daughters begin to grow up, and the awkwardness of youthful forays into romance and relationships.
Are You There God? It's Me Margaret tells the story of Margaret Simon (played with fearless gusto by Ant-Man alum Abby Ryder Fortson), who comes home from camp the summer before sixth grade and finds out her father (played affably by Benny Safdie) has been promoted and they're moving to the New Jersey suburbs before the start of school. Margaret's dad is Jewish and her mother, Barbara (Rachel McAddams, bringing an earnest but lived-in energy to the role), is a lapsed Christian whose parents ostracized her when she chose to marry a Jewish man. They've chosen to raise Margaret without a formal religion and are allowing her to choose when she's older. As such, Margaret has forged a unique relationship with God, where she has casual prayer-conversations that serve as sort of a verbal diary.
Immediately after moving into the new place, Margaret is introduced to a neighbor girl her same age, Nancy Wheeler (played with complicated mean girl perfection by Elle Graham). Nancy inducts Margaret into her tight-knit circle and they begin a club in which they talk candidly about their crushes, the size of their bras, and the status of their first periods. A lot of the second act of the film is comprised of a series of loose vignettes where Margaret and her friends try to buy sanitary napkins for the first time to practice with, or prepare for an awkward birthday party where the class plays spin-the-bottle type kissing games. Margaret visits her paternal grandmother (portrayed with force-of-nature aplomb by Kathy Bates) back in New York and asks to accompany her to Temple. She joins one her friends at a raucous southern baptist service, noting afterward that she isn't sure she feels closer to God as a result, but she sure enjoyed her time. She learns about her maternal grandparents and why she's never met them, and struggles with jealousy and mistrust among her close friends.
Eventually Barbara stumbles into a partial reconciliation with her parents, leading to a tense scene where her parents and grandparents share an uncomfortable meal together before the religion issue rears its head and forces Margaret to question whether there is value in religion at all. In the end, she adapts as best she can and the film ends on a positive note where it's clear not all of Margaret's problems are completely solved, but she's in a better space and looking forward to middle school.
The film is sweet, funny, and utterly charming. The cast is great all around and McAddams in particular does some excellent work elevating a role that could easily have been buried in the editing room but works to provide a wonderful counter-weight to Margaret's tale as it highlights they way uncertainty and indecision can have repercussions long after adolescence is through. There is one scene in particular where Margaret is asking about the grandparents she's never met. Barbara is trying to calmly and dispassionately relate the high-level version of events but it's obvious the wound she thought was so old and unserious is far more painful and present-tense than she expects. She casually swipes the tears away, tries to change the subject and downplay the impact her parent's intolerance has had. But as Margaret grows incensed on her behalf, you can see Barbara's pain begin to overwhelm her even as she's touched by her daughter's indignant rebuke of people she's never even met. It's such a real-feeling, dynamic bit of screenwriting, directing and acting.
Even bit players like Isol Young (as early bloomer and source of savage envy from Margaret and Nancy, Laura Danker), and Kate MacCluggage (as future blueprint for Nancy, Jan Wheeler) bring a little something extra to their roles. Director Kelly Fremon Craig wrings every bit of sincerity and warmth from the film's modest hour and forty-five minutes.
The complaints I have about the film are sparse and relatively minor. A few of the more emotionally intense scenes feel a little choppy (which may be the director/editor working around some young or inexperienced performances), a handful of plot threads seem a little under explored (Margaret's crush on someone other than the class stud causes her to break her own "no lying" rule but this isn't remarked upon, even when Nancy's own lies cause a rift between Margaret and Nancy, as one example). I also wondered if the old-fashioned feel of the movie (in terms of filmmaking, pacing, and direction, not setting) might make age-appropriate middle school audiences a bit restless. I suspect this film plays best for adult audiences—particularly those who grew up in the 70s and 80s pre-Internet/mobile phones—for whom I suspect this will be ridiculously nostalgic even if they hadn't read the book. But none of it sours what is otherwise a fantastic bit of filmmaking.
In the end I recommend this movie. It's exquisitely crafted and wonderfully entertaining for most audiences, though younger viewers may find the laughs a bit too spaced out and the prominence of the adult characters a bit perplexing for a movie about kids trying to grow up. But I suspect that even though I can't remember it well enough to do a thorough comparison, if you or your kid enjoyed the book, you'll have a great time with the movie as well.
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xuramory · 5 months
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╰╮𝗩𝗜𝗖𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗬 𝗣𝗔𝗖𝗘 - chapter three ┆man up, butter cup ┆✶ :: genre — ( romance ) ┆✶ :: word count — ( 1, 023 ) ╭╯ :: content warning — ( X ) ╰୧ :: song — ( the olive man )
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“Look, ‘Ey! It’s lover boy.”
Nick pursed his lips with a shy smile as he neared the workshop. He never liked the environment. All the men were taller and bigger than him, standing at an average of six feet and two inches while Nick was a small weak blond from Europe, the main land, standing at five feet and nine inches.
“Hey.” He waves slightly, the paper bag in his hand swinging. Nick’s maroon cap was on backwards with his curls fluffed up. Oddly enough he was chewing his hoodie’s string.
“You here for ‘Naki?” “What are your intentions?” “Whats in the bag?” “Aren’t you a little short?” “Short? He looks like he’s in high-school still?”
The interrogation went on for another five minutes with Nick not being able to put a single word in. He came in for one thing and now he was being over whelmed.
“You know how to change tyers?” “Pop quiz, what happens if [] —Ow!” “What will happen is I will shove my wrench up your—” Anaki emerged from the office with a deep glare on her face. What had everyone left work to chat about? “Nick?”
The Belgium boy held up the paper bag with a smile. That was all the explanation Anaki needed.
“Don’t you have a lecture.” Anaki folded her arms. A smile curled on her usually stoic lips. “I did.” He shrugged, voice low and soft as he lost himself in her eyes. “But prof cancelled. And I was hungry and thought, you might be hungry too.”
The group of men around the two awed, which lead to the German girl punching the shoulder closest to her. “Go back to work. I’m not your mom to remind you.”
Some of the mechanics snickered or laughed as they walked off.
This left the two Europeans looking at each other with soft smiles.
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“This is the seventh time you’ve spent money on me this month.” Anaki stated with a mouthful of burger as she brushed her bangs from her face. “It’s only been two weeks into April, too. You’re gonna go broke.”
“Its food.” Nick tried to reason shrugging. He dusted the sand from his hands before picking a bunch of fries from the box. “You want?”
Anaki leaned forward, eating out of his hand. It was a nice windy day for the beach. A little too windy because Nick’s hair was all kvet the place and sand was flying into Anaki’s mouth and eyes.
“I never asked.” Nick starts the conversation after a few good moments of silence. His eyes were on Anaki who’s watching the surfers navigate the waves and the waters. “What brought you to Australia? Born in Germany, moved to France. Then Australia. How’d that happen?”
Anaki took a deep breath, taking a long sip from her iced tea before passing the bottle to Nick who watched her intensely. Her eyes were moving along with the guys on the water, trying to collect her words. “Well, my plan A . . . I wasn’t able to complete it. So now I’m just working. I’m saving enough money to afford tuition. And once I do, I can get a degree and get a stable job to support my family.”
“Must be a nice family.” Anaki looks back at Nick, a small smile curling on her lips, the whisper of a ‘yeah’ slipping from her tongue before she goes back to watching the surfers. “My mother’s side of the family, I mean. They . . . they, helped me get back on my feet after it all fell apart.”
“Oh.” Nick furrowed his eyebrows in thought. “Was that why you didn’t like your experience in germany?”
“Mostly, yes.” Anaki nodded. She straightened her legs out on the sand and leaned back on her forearms, enjoying the sun with its warmth. “My grandfather wasn’t- wasn’t really the best. I was in his care most of the time and I didn’t really get to- to be a child.”
“What do you mean?” Nick turned towards her, folding his legs and leaning closer to her.
“I don’t know how to do most things a normal human being should . . .” Anaki looked at him with a blank expression, but Nick could still see the taste of a frown on her face. “I didn’t get to play with other kids and make friends, or go to carnivals, or even learn how to swim . . . I was a prodigy. He wanted to make me the best, just so he can destroy all his hard work afterwards.”
Nick stayed silent trying to process her words. Anaki didn’t say anything after, she only squinted her eyes so she could look up at the blond. “What about your family?”
Nick looked at her confused. “Mine?” “Yeah . . . Do you not want to talk about it?” “-No no. There’s. My family’s fine. It’s just me, and my mom.” He shrugs. “We’re doing- we’re good.” he nodded. “My mom used to work as a teacher at an aquarium back when I was younger. I guess my love for sea animals kind of stuck.” He chuckled slightly, nodding towards the aquabio textbook to his left.
“Cute.” Anaki tilted her head with a small smile.
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“Hey, ‘Naki?” Nick flicked up the visor to his helmet so he could see the girl without the tint. Anaki gave him a hum in acknowledgement as she pulled off her helmet and climbed off his motorbike. “You never told me, what was your plan A?”
Anaki looked up at him for a moment, taking a few steps backwards into the garage. “Motor sport racing driver.” She replied simply, tossing him the helmet.
Walking back into the car workshop, a guy came up from behind her whistling out. “She’s growing soft.” The ginger head sang out as Anaki pulled on her pale blue coveralls.
“Oh grow up, Jack.” She rolled her eyes, elbowing him lightly as she waved back at the guy in the office through the window, indicating the resume of her shift.
“What? It’s not everyday our Seventeen gets heart eyes.” He teased with a smile following her. “Its not everyday I shove my wrench up your—”
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gregor-samsung · 1 year
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“ In English my name means hope. In Spanish it means too many letters. It means sadness, it means waiting. It is like the number nine. A muddy color. It is the Mexican records my father plays on Sunday mornings when he is shaving, songs like sobbing. It was my great-grandmother's name and now it is mine. She was a horse woman too, born like me in the Chinese year of the horse—which is supposed to be bad luck if you're born female—but I think this is a Chinese lie because the Chinese, like the Mexicans, don't like their women strong. My great-grandmother. I would've liked to have known her, a wild horse of a woman, so wild she wouldn't marry. Until my great-grandfather threw a sack over her head and carried her off. Just like that, as if she were a fancy chandelier. That's the way he did it. And the story goes she never forgave him. She looked out the window her whole life, the way so many women sit their sadness on an elbow. I wonder if she made the best with what she got or was she sorry because she couldn't be all the things she wanted to be. Esperanza. I have inherited her name, but I don't want to inherit her place by the window. At school they say my name funny as if the syllables were made out of tin and hurt the roof of your mouth. But in Spanish my name is made out of a softer something, like silver, not quite as thick as sister's name—Magdalena—which is uglier than mine. Magdalena who at least can come home and become Nenny. But I am always Esperanza. I would like to baptize myself under a new name, a name more like the real me, the one nobody sees. Esperanza as Lisandra or Maritza or Zeze the X. Yes. Something like Zeze the X will do. “
Sandra Cisneros, The House on Mango Street; 1st edition: Arte Público Press, Houston (TX), USA, 1984.
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abs0luteb4stard · 10 months
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W A T C H E D
Back when i was a kid my mom shot down my being able to see this. For some reason I guess she thought it was maybe like horror or gory or something. She said "your too young" or "that's not a movie for you", but then she let me watch TERMINATOR 2. Also BATMAN (1989) was way darker and more violent by far than 'Babysitter's Dead'. 😂
Now 30 years later I found it on streaming and we watched it together. She thought it was cute and doesn't remember telling me that. She said "I guess I was crazy..." 😌☺
I had the strangest feeling we had rented it on VHS in the mid-90s, but it never got watched and we had to return it before the late fee. Lol Who knows...
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radonx9 · 1 year
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R O S E T T A  F A L L S
CHAPTER III: HOCUS POCUS
Pages XIII - XVII
<< Pages I - VI || < Pages VII - XII || Pages XVIII - XXI >
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theoffingmag · 1 year
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Image: side by side photo of the author, Christine Kandic Torres, sitting and smiling, and the book cover of The Girls in Queens
Studies have shown that so often Black and Latine children are sexualized and adultified at very young ages, and I think because of that, we become intimately familiar with managing this dichotomy at an early age. [...] We are cognizant of the male gaze, of the precipice of danger, before we should have to be, and I find that time interesting to write about: how we learn to navigate our own sexuality within a white supremacist patriarchy.
Read: Q&A with Christine Kandic Torres, author of The Girls in Queens
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mylifeinfiction · 2 years
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The Saturday Night Ghost Club by Craig Davidson
This city is haunted by ghosts.
All of its themes come together well in the end, and filled me with that knowing sense of sadness that instantly makes you revisit memories of moments in your youth looking for cracks and inconsistencies. But, seeing as I found it on the Goodreads list of "Readers' Favorite New Horror Books", I wanted significantly more 'horror' than this had to offer. The fact is, Craig Davidson's The Saturday Night Ghost Club is barely a horror book, at all. It's a coming-of-age story about memory and the piercing of that thin veil between childhood and adulthood. It’s a study of grief as a ghosts; a rumination on the traumatic memories we've been burdened with and those we've since stowed away.
6.5/10
-Timothy Patrick Boyer.
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