#book 3 I definitely vibed with more; I felt like I actually understood everything that was going on lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anthonyjlockwood · 3 years

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17 OF THE 50 WAYS TO SAY I LOVE YOU FOR LALEXIE PLEASEEEE

em, my fellow luke angst lover, my lalexie brain rot-causer, my beloved <3

here is your prompt on ao3. tw for discussions of luke wanting to cross over. please read responsibly💜

Luke’s song book has been through a lot over the years.

It’s had tears soaked into its pages. It’s had crumbs stuck in between its binding. It’s had dozens of songs written on it in fast, messy handwriting, thousands of words based on Luke’s inner thoughts, feelings, hopes, and dreams.

It’s survived years worth of scribbles, cross-outs, rips and tears; even hugs and kisses, when Luke’s written something he’s sure will be a hit someday.

It’s survived death, some time in a dark room, and a tumbling trip back to Earth twenty five years in the future.

And now, the boy who’s been writing in it for all that time, whose soul is attached to it in ways most people wouldn’t even understand, is using its pages for something else.

Something no one would have ever expected.

A list.

Ways I Can Cross Over.

He thought that maybe, Unsaid Emily would’ve been it. There was a small part of him that had expected to just vanish into thin air the second Julie handed his parents that sheet of notebook paper.

His notebook is almost empty now. Luke thinks that that’s fitting; he’s spent most of his soul onto the pages. He’s a ghost. He’s got nothing more to give. Maybe it’s even a sign -- a sign that he’s not going to need to write music for much longer. The notebook is running out of space. It’s running out of time, just like he is.

He wonders if he could even use a new songbook. It wouldn’t be a part of him, the way his old one was. It would be empty; a blank slate for him to start a new journey in. A whole new marathon to run just as he’s crossing the finish line of the last one.

And… he doesn’t want to.

He’s tired of running. Running from his parents. Running from Caleb. From things that he broke, from things that were threatening to break him. From things that were hurting his friends.

Luke’s always been one for impulsive decisions.

So after he makes his list, he dog-ears the page and gives himself a time limit.

He has until the pages run out in his notebook to figure out what his unfinished business is… and finish it.

The problem is, Luke’s life on Earth wasn’t that long. He’s had seventeen years to start things, and practically no time at all to finish them. The possibilities of what his unfinished business actually is are endless. There was that music festival the guys had wanted to play at the end of summer ‘95. Countless world tours they wanted to go on. He wanted to sign an autograph for Dave Grohl, shake hands with Mick Jagger. He wanted to drink chocolate from the world’s largest chocolate waterfall in Alaska.

So few of these things he could actually do, now that he was dead.

Even fewer of them he could do without the guys. If his unfinished business really had to be just for him, maybe the band stuff wouldn’t be enough.

He never finished high school. He never learned how to play the bass -- he’s always wanted to; after all, Reggie could play the guitar, so Luke should know how to play his instrument, too.

And the only other thing he could think of that was absolutely, one hundred percent his business to finish… was his relationship with his mother.

Julie bringing “Unsaid Emily” over to his old house had been something. It filled the hole in his chest just enough that he could pretend it wasn’t there. Having his mom finally see how he felt about her, how much he regretted leaving, was like putting an ice pack on a burn. It eased the pain for the moment, had him thinking maybe that would be enough, that it would heal properly. But the ice pack’s melted, now; it’s gone back to room temperature, and his heart is still screaming.

Luke wonders what else he would have to do to get rid of the guilt.

He knows -- he hopes -- that the guilt won’t follow him to the afterlife. Because it’s really the only thing about this ghost-limbo that he wants to escape from. He doesn’t mind the invisibility, or the intangibility, because those things have never really prevented him from playing music. Music, though, he’ll miss, but Luke thinks it’s a small price to pay. After all, Alex and Reggie should’ve had their whole lives to play music. And even if Luke crosses over, they still can. He’s the one who caused their untimely deaths in the first place.

And he can never undo that, but… something he’s realized as all of them have adjusted to being ghosts is that he’s not really needed.

Sunset Curve could go on as a trio. Julie would still have her found family in Alex and Reggie and Willie. Reggie would have his friends that remained, as well as Ray and Carlos to fill in any gaps.

And Alex and Willie would have each other.

For Willie, the whole concept of “unfinished business” is just… not really on his radar. He’s pretty content in his afterlife. He is, as the kids say, vibing. He’s moving along, singing a song. He was never in any rush to figure out what his unfinished business was, and he was especially never in any rush to cross over, to fade out of existence entirely and into the unknown.

He also never really understood why other ghosts would want to do that. Until he met Alex and the others, and realized that sometimes, urgency forces your hand. Outside circumstances throw you out of your comfort zone, force you to do things you never would’ve considered before.

But also, since meeting Alex, the tiny part of his soul that’s always been curious about what his unfinished business was -- curious about crossing over, about what’s on the other side -- has pretty much shriveled away to nothing. Alex gives a whole new meaning to Willie’s life -- to his afterlife, really -- but the drummer makes him feel alive again in a way that he hasn’t felt in decades. Long before he’d forgotten the age-old saying, look both ways before you cross the street.

Willie wouldn’t call himself the most observant person on Earth. Sometimes, he can be a little oblivious. He can be blinded to the truth, only see what he wants to see -- he can deny what’s right in front of him. Give people the benefit of the doubt who don’t deserve it, like he’s done with Caleb so many times before.

He tries not to stress about things. Tries to just be. Live -- or do whatever he’s doing as a ghost, honestly -- with no regrets, no looking back. He doesn’t worry about consequences. But at the same time, he’s also scared of disappointing people. Scared of how he’s coming across to other people. He needs to make sure he’s not messing up too too badly, because he wants the people he loves to love him back -- he wants them to want him to stick around.

So he pays attention. He misses stuff sometimes, sure… but Willie’s mission in his afterlife is simple. Chill out, do whatever he wants to do -- it’s not like he can get caught; he’s invisible. Just don’t get on Caleb Covington’s bad side.

Love whoever he still can, and be loved back.

Willie loves Alex. He’s loved him since the museum. He’s needed him since he ran into him on the street with his skateboard. But lately, Willie’s started to realize that he might also love Luke. Not any more or less than he loves Alex, which is a confusing problem in itself. And not really in a different way than Alex, either. His heart does somersaults when he’s around Luke now, too.

He might need him in different ways than Alex, though. Alex calms him down, grounds him when his head’s in the clouds or he’s too distracted by other things. He brings him back, makes him aware of what’s most important in the moment. He makes him laugh. Makes him think. Makes him stop and appreciate everything around him, instead of just whipping through his afterlife with no concerns. Alex makes him care.

But Luke… With Luke, it feels like he’s stuck upside-down at the top of a roller coaster, but there’s no one else he’d rather be stuck with. He feels more dangerous with Luke, willing to do things that he’s too scared to drag Alex into. He feels like there’s no limits. In one of Luke’s songs, he wrote face first, full charge, and that’s the exact energy he brings when he’s around Willie -- when he’s around anyone, really. He’s passionate, and driven, and so unafraid. Willie doesn’t have to be as careful around Luke.

And they’re both super protective of Alex.

Willie needs Alex for the slow rollercoaster ride to the top of the hill, and he needs Luke for laughter, for thrill, for excitement. For the thrilling, twisty way back down.

Willie’s not sure that anything feels complete without Alex and Luke.

So, since they’re both a part of Willie in ways that he can’t even really explain, Willie watches. He pays attention to both of them, taking in everything about them in quiet, soft, subtle ways.

That’s how he starts to notice that something’s off with Luke.

A week goes by, the pages in Luke’s notebook are dwindling, and he still has no idea what his unfinished business is.

It’s frustrating, having to narrow his entire life down to one possible milestone he’s never gotten to achieve. There are far too many. And the nagging voice in the back of Luke’s head -- the one telling him that Alex and Reggie have just as many milestones -- isn’t helping matters at all.

Luke just wants all this to be over. He deserves it -- he’s not sure whether he deserves the questionable peace crossing over would bring; everyone always says death is peaceful, anyway. But he definitely deserves the “no longer existing” part. And Alex and Reggie do deserve it. They deserve everything that life -- or afterlife, really -- can still offer them. Luke’s tired of holding them back. It feels like nothing’s ever good enough -- like he’s wearing shoes made out of lead, or something, trying to walk across a desert, and he’s got a time limit to get there. And Alex and Reggie are chained to him -- stuck in the same predicament, because they just had to follow him to that hot dog stand. He’s tired of getting them into these messes. First death; and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, into the Hollywood Ghost Club with Caleb Covington, all because he just couldn’t let his grudge against Bobby -- Trevor Wilson -- die.

He’s still writing music, but his lyrics aren’t as powerful anymore. They’re not as confident, not as inspiring. And he writes with Julie, but he thinks Julie can tell that his spark has dimmed.

He hopes that she thinks he’s just going through writer’s block, or something. Something fixable.

He’s been working on his list for the past week, too. He thinks he’s got his unfinished business pretty much narrowed down; there’s three things on his list he wants to try. School. Bass. Emily.

He needs Reggie’s help with the bass one, so he’s been putting it off. And Emily…

Luke has tried to steer clear of his old house since Julie gave his parents the song. Because… the fact that it didn’t help, that it didn’t ease the ache in his heart in exactly the way Julie hoped that it would, made Luke feel guilty. And he doesn’t really want to see if the song made a difference for his parents. Because what if it didn’t?

What if they’re like Luke, just wishing for more? More interaction that they can never have -- an actual conversation about the regrets that he touched on in the song? A physical hug, the weight of their arms around each other, a look of real, actual understanding in their eyes that Luke’s never thought he would actually see.

And the thing is… if his parents are Luke’s unfinished business, what the hell is he supposed to do about it?

The prospect of being chained to the Earth forever because of something he’d screwed up beyond repair when he was alive has his stomach churning, almost as badly as it was when he’d eaten that hot dog.

The easiest one for Luke to focus on is school -- which, if someone had said to him twenty-five years ago that school would be at the top of his priority list, he’d have laughed in their face -- and the easiest way for him to do it is through Julie.

Julie’s sufficiently banned him from actually showing up at her school, but that doesn’t mean he can’t do other things. Like homework and studying. So Luke’s plan is this: he’ll study with Julie, maybe convince her to let him do a couple of her homework assignments. And if she aces her next math test because of the work they’ve done together, Luke’ll consider it a win.

It’s the best option he has. It’s not like he can sit in a classroom anymore, or take his own tests.

He sneaks up on her one afternoon as she’s sitting in her bedroom, chewing on a pencil, face scrunched in confusion.

“Hey, Jules. Whatcha doin?”

At the sound of his voice, Julie looks up at him and her confusion transforms into a smile. “Hey, Luke! Just homework.”

“Need any help?” He shuffles a little closer to the bed, mindful of Julie’s distaste for having the boys in her room.

Julie’s face flips back to confusion like a lightswitch. “You… want to help me with my homework?”

“Yeah!” Luke huffs out an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… was curious, I guess. About what you’re learning in school.”

“Why?”

“You know, I never finished high school!” Luke says. “I’ve kind of always wondered what it would’ve been like if I had. Y’know, walking across a stage in that dumb cap and gown. Um -- accomplishing something. Being able to finish something important!”

He’s saying too much -- he knows by the way Julie’s expression shifts, confusion into curiosity into concern.

“Hey, wait,” she says, placing her pencil down and closing her textbook. “Are you okay? Is there something you want to talk about, Luke?”

“What? No! I’m fine!”

He hates the way his voice comes out, rough and high-pitched and decidedly not fine. Julie looks like she’s about to argue, so he opens his dumb, not-fine, impulsive mouth once again. “Seriously, Jules. I’m good. Gotta go meet the boys now, see ya!”

He poofs away, but he can still see Julie’s worried stare still fixed on him behind his eyelids.

“Don’t you think he’s been acting kinda strange?”

Willie is sitting in the garage, Reggie on the couch to his right and Alex behind him, braiding his hair like he does when he gets nervous.

And he’s trying to console Alex, to tell him to relax, that they’ll make sure Luke is fine -- only the confidence that Willie’s normally so famous for is dwindling.

Alex is worried about Luke, and Willie would love to reassure him, except that Willie thinks that Alex has a point. Luke has been acting strange lately; way too over the top during rehearsals, more trips to see his mom than usual -- trips that he thinks they don’t know about -- plus, he’s been reading books.

Julie’s school books, which he takes out of her room sometimes and stashes up on top of the loft. Books that Alex found there earlier that day, when he was looking for his drumsticks. Books that Alex had asked Willie about… and they’d both determined that it was Luke who had brought them up there, because Reggie wouldn’t hide the fact that he was teaching himself Trigonometry, and Luke’s been acting really weird as it is.

“You said he’s doing math?” Reggie asks, eyes wide. Willie figures Reggie must know just as well as he does -- if not better -- what Luke doing math could mean: that he’s not acting like himself.

“Yes!” Willie flails, waving his arms wildly -- to make a point -- and knocking into his boyfriend, who flinches back, tugging on Willie’s hair in the process.

“Ow!”

“Well you didn’t have to jump like that!” Alex hisses back. “Stop moving. I’m trying to stress-braid.”

“Sorry, Alex,” Willie sighs, straightening himself on the sofa. Sometimes, Alex just needs to stress-braid his hair. It gives him something to do with his hands; it’s a way for him to occupy his mind -- to focus on things other than the anxiety. And Willie’s usually all too happy to provide that service (what feels better than having your hair braided, especially by a boy you love?)

“Do you think he’s okay?” Alex mumbles, fingers once again fumbling through Willie’s hair in his unpracticed, clumsy way.

“Why don’t you guys just talk to him?” Reggie asks. “D’you have any idea what could be wrong?”

“No,” Willie huffs. “He’s just been acting so weird. I know it’s something. He’s doing stuff that he’s never cared about before -- like math. But also just… the stuff he normally loves, music. He’s… acting like it’s gonna be taken away from him, or something. Haven’t you noticed how hard he’s pushing you guys in band practice?”

“He’s acting like… like we’re running out of time,” Alex realizes. “But why?”

Just then, the boy in question poofs into the garage -- like he was rushing to get there; his landing’s not clean, and he stumbles around for a moment before catching himself on one of the microphone stands. He straightens up and sees that he has an audience.

“Hey -- hey, guys,” he stammers. “What’s up? We gonna practice?”

His eyes fix on Reggie, then, and he perks up. “Oh! Reg! I’ve been meaning to ask you -- can you teach me how to play the bass?”

“Can I--” Reggie stops, stares at Luke for a moment, trying to piece everything together.

Alex, though, right in front of Willie behind the sofa, looks like he’s already figured it out. He blinks at Luke. “You want to learn how to play bass?”

“I always have,” Luke shrugs. Alex studies him, and Luke twitches under his gaze.

“I just thought it would be cool, ya know, to know all our instruments. So can you teach me, Reg?”

“Um -- I --” Reggie’s eyes dart between Alex, Willie, and Luke, probably trying to figure out what the right thing to say is. Willie doesn’t know, exactly, but he knows one thing for sure: there’s no way Luke’s sudden interest in learning the bass is a coincidence.

Alex seems to be on the same page, but unlike Willie, he’s more inclined to take charge, to do something about it. “Reg, can we talk to Luke alone for a minute?”

“Yes,” Reggie lets out a sigh of relief and poofs away, leaving Willie and Alex to deal with… whatever this is. Willie still isn’t totally sure.

He’s once again enormously grateful for Alex, and the fact that his boyfriend has a pretty good handle on what’s going on in the world seventy-five percent of the time. Because it shocks Willie just as much as it does Luke when Alex says, “Why are you trying to cross over?”

What?

Willie hasn’t put the pieces together nearly as well as Alex has -- in fact, he feels like they’ve been working on entirely different puzzles. Why would Luke be trying to cross over? Why would he want to leave all the guys, and Julie, behind forever?

He wouldn’t. It doesn’t make sense.

Except the second the words leave Alex’s mouth, Luke freezes, eyes wide like he’s been tossed into the path of an oncoming train, shoes welded to its tracks.

And Willie starts to think that maybe his boyfriend wasn’t so far off the mark, after all.

“There are people who love you, you know.”

Luke blinks up at Alex, still frozen, still thrown for a loop, still… not understanding how Alex figured him out.

“How do you think we’d feel if you crossed over?” Alex continues, his intense gaze still fixed on Luke, Luke squirming uncomfortably underneath it. “Without us? Is that… is that something you want?”

Alex’s voice finally cracks, betraying the emotion underneath it, and it’s almost too much for Luke to take. His wild eyes dart around the studio, looking for something -- anything -- to focus on, to take him out of the moment… and he finds the string lights, hung across the walls and the ceilings. He starts counting the bulbs, reciting the numbers in his head. He only makes it to seven before Willie’s voice breaks his concentration.

“Luke?”

“How… how did you know that’s what I was trying to do?” Luke mumbles.

“Well… the math’s what clued me in,” Willie lets out a half-hearted laugh as Alex takes slow steps around the sofa and sits down.

“Come here,” he calls out to Luke -- and although every bone in Luke’s body is screaming run, get out, get far, far away from this conversation… he finds himself joining them, sitting down in the spot on the couch they’ve made in between them.

“We just want you to know there are people who love you,” Willie says. “People -- people who need you, Luke. You can’t leave us, okay? You can’t cross over. Not without us.”

“But you -- you guys and Reggie and Julie -- you don’t need me.”

“What are you talking about?” Alex asks. “Of course we--”

“You and Reg would still be alive if it weren’t for me,” Luke growls. “So don’t say you need me. All I do is mess everything up. You guys, our careers, my parents…”

“Hang on, Luke,” Alex reaches a hand out, momentarily caught off guard. Luke doesn’t see why; it’s not like what he said was that complicated. He’s messed up. He breaks things. He ruined his parents’ lives by running away. He almost ruined Julie’s life, by getting involved with Caleb. And -- and Alex and Reggie…

“None of that’s your fault,” Alex says with conviction.

“Alex--”

“No!” Alex gets up, suddenly, and starts to pace around the room, fingers digging through his hair. “You have to know that. We don’t blame you for any of that!”

“Luke, Alex is right,” Willie reaches a hand out, cautiously, and takes one of Luke’s. When Luke doesn’t pull away, Willie pulls him even closer, into his chest, and starts gently running his fingers through Luke’s hair.

Luke sinks into Willie’s chest, eyes following Alex’s nervous pacing -- he’s biting his lip, and his hands are shaking slightly. Luke hadn’t realized that it might be hard on Alex, too, dealing with Luke’s current mental spiral.

He pulls away from Willie, ignoring the other boy’s whine of protest, and sits up to face Alex. “Hey, Alex,” he calls out quietly. “Come back and sit down. I’m-- I’m good. You don’t have to worry about me. Just… take deep breaths, okay?”

“Are you seriously trying to calm me down right now?” Alex snaps. A flash of hurt crosses Luke’s face -- one that he must not be quick enough to hide, because Alex’s own face softens at the sight of it.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Luke… I--”

“Just come back here and hold me, please,” Luke croaks.

Luke… doesn’t cry much, if he can help it. He hates tears, both his own and other people’s, and generally tries to avoid them at all costs. But… the look on Alex’s face, the tone of his voice -- his scared, anxious, desperate voice as he snapped at Luke for trying to calm him down -- has the dam breaking, finally, and the tears are bursting out of Luke’s eyes and running down his face before he even knows what’s happening, running down and soaking into the collar of his flannel shirt.

At the sight of Luke’s tears, Alex startles, and makes a beeline for his side. Luke is thrown into a group hug, Alex and Willie on either side of him.

And he just lets himself cry.

It takes a while, but finally Luke calms down a bit.

He stays on the couch, sandwiched in between two of his favorite people on the planet. Willie’s hands are still running gently through his hair; Alex’s thumb is rubbing small circles on his wrist.

His tears have finally stopped, but there’s this annoying, puffy ache in his head and behind his eyes that feels like it’s going to linger for a while.

It’s quiet, and the quiet allows Luke to think about everything that’s happened that day -- after weeks of his stupid, ill-advised mission to complete his unfinished business, he’s been found out.

And he found out that people -- Alex and Willie, who are love and sunshine and light and everything beautiful about the world personified -- would actually miss him if he was gone. That people care, that they don’t blame him for the stuff that he’s been blaming himself for for months.

It’s… a lot to wrap his head around, and even though the tears have stopped, the uncertainty and anxiety and desire to not be a burden is still swirling around in his head, leaving him silent and still as he sits there in between Alex and Willie, his head now resting on Willie’s shoulder.

He knows that those feelings, like the ache he feels in his heart and his head, will probably be around a while.

“I’m sorry for making you worry ‘bout me,” he mumbles, burrowing his face even deeper into Willie’s loose-fitting sweatshirt. Willie’s arms wrap around him and hold him there, and Luke takes in a deep, slow breath, inhaling Willie’s musky scent, shutting his eyes in the first moment of contentment he’s felt in weeks.

“I meant what I said, you know,” Alex whispers. “None of it’s your fault. There are people who love you. We…”

He stops, and Luke turns his head as much as Willie’s grip will allow to try to see why. He’s able to just peek at Alex out of the corner of his eye, and he sees that the other boy’s frowning. Like he’s unsure of what he’s about to say. Like he’s nervous.

“Alex?” Luke struggles out of Willie’s grip, and reluctantly, the other boy lets him go. He shuffles to the other side of the sofa, closer to Alex, and the drummer opens his arms for Luke willingly.

Being in Alex’s arms is different than being in Willie’s, too. Alex is sturdier; less teddy-bear like than Willie is, but comforting and warm and inviting all the same. Alex’s arms feel like home just as much as Willie’s do, and Luke melts into the hug instantly, like an ice cream cone on the hot pavement in July. Alex’s hand runs up and down Luke’s back and Luke shivers, eyes threatening to slip closed despite his need to hear Alex’s answer.

“Willie and I love you, Luke,” Alex says softly. There’s no more uncertainty -- a hint of nervousness, but Luke doesn’t doubt what Alex is saying for a second. There’s a conviction in his tone -- a confidence -- that Alex only really uses when talking about people he loves. This… defensiveness, this love, this conviction.

“We don’t have to figure everything out now,” Alex continues -- probably realizing Luke’s been through enough that day. Luke appreciates that, actually. There’s only one answer he would ever give to Alex and Willie -- only one thing his heart’s ever wanted; Luke can see it now, now that the sound of his heartbeat is pulsing in his ears, now that he feels like he’s both standing on the edge of a mountain, about to take a leap of faith into the crisp winter air below -- and at the same time, on solid ground, in no danger of falling, of stumbling, of getting hurt. He feels safe and exhilarated all at the same time, and this feeling is both familiar and completely new, more amplified than it usually is. Not what he’s used to.

But Luke feels like he’s ready to take the leap now. He still feels guilty, still isn’t actually sure whether his friends -- his family -- would be better off without him. But Alex and Willie have never steered him wrong before.

When he’s sitting in between them, their arms around him and their warm, soft hands running through his hair… Luke feels like maybe he can get through anything.

#julie and the phantoms #julie & the phantoms #jatp #jatp fanfiction #jatp fanfic #luke patterson #alex mercer #willie wilbur williamson #lalexie #angst #prompt fill

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himooonlight · 4 years

Text

who are you? pt. 3 (reggie x reader)

pairing: reggie x reader

word count: 4.7k

plot: you dream about reggie constantly and when you see him perfoming with julie, you decide to ask her about him

warnings: sad stuff?

A/N: hello again! i'm super excited about this chapter, so hope you all like it :) two things though: 1. this story takes place after the season finale and i'm trying to keep everything accurate and 2. the dream is in italics. NOW ENJOY!!

oh and just in case you missed, here's chapter 1 and chapter 2

- You know, I was thinking. - Reggie says as I wave my sister goodbye. She did talk to Julie's dad about having me for dinner, making sure he was okay with it, just like I knew she would do. Mr. Molina seems like a very nice person. - “I’ll always find you” sounded a bit creepy. How about “we’ll always find each other”? That way I’m not the only creepy stalker in the relationship. We can be weird together.

Reggie knows I can't reply, but I can't help but smile. He's too cute.

- Y/N, come in! - Mr. Molina screams from the door.

Daisy goes back to her car and when I can't see her anymore due to all the plants and trees in their front yard, I walk inside. The first thing I notice is a large wooden straight staircase and a lot of different carpets on the floor. Everything is neat and in brown tones. A lot of frames are decorating the yellow walls; some are pictures and some are paintings. Everything is elegant and cool, detailed even.

- Julie, Y/N's here! - He screams at the bottom of the sairs. He's looking up, so I'm assuming Julie's room is upstairs. Soon enough, his daughter appears and smiles at me. I like how her front teeth are separated and she doesn't wear much makeup; it makes me feel more accepted and understood somehow. - Girls, I'll be in my room working on some editing, so behave, ok? Oh, and there's some fresh strawberries in the fridge. Maybe you can make Y/N that smoothie.

He winks at Julie and goes upstairs. Meanwhile, I'm frozen, inebriated with a memory.

Fresh strawberries. That house. The open kitchen.

I've seen that place before in my dreams. With Reggie. When I was a man.

The cabinets were light blue and the orange chairs gave the kitchen some sort of happy vibe even though I wasn't comfortable there. A few people were sitting on the counter, close to the big fridge, holding cups. The strangers were flirting, kissing and singing with the loud music that was playing. Overwhelmed, I looked for Reggie.

It was the same house. The floor was covered in white porcelain tiles and there was a big leather couch where Julie's dinner table was, but I knew it was the same place.

- Are you ok? - Julie asks me.

Her dad is gone and suddenly I feel inadequate. I have to focus on breathing normally while trying to remember more details. Everybody is connected somehow, I know, and maybe recalling a conversation or recognizing something could help Reggie and the boys.

- I need to explain my connection with Reggie. - I whisper. My voice is shaky and she looks worried. Reggie tries to hold my hand and fails, making me smile softly at him. It's nice to know he is around, somehow. - I've been here before, in my dreams. It's… are the boys here as well?

I look around just for a moment, taking in more details. The curtains in the dream house were beige. There were a lot of plants around and a few picture frames in the living room. I can't quite see the faces in the photos, but it's a family of three in front of a Christmas tree. There's too many people around me and it's overwhelming.

I sit on the floor and Julie follows me. Closing my eyes, I try getting back to that dream just in time to recall Reggie touching my shoulder and saying "there's some fresh strawberries in the fridge; you said you like it so I bought you some".

He looks shy for a moment and I can't help but stare at his eyes in awe. I don't feel very relaxed at the party and Reggie picks up on the way I play with my fingers in agitation and look away, trying to see if we can go out. He takes my hand and soon we're at the back of the house, in a big garage with a lot of instruments.

- Thanks for coming. I know you're not a huge fan of parties, but I'm glad you're here. It wouldn't be the same without you.

His stare is too much for me to handle, so I walk around the place, looking attentively at the instruments. The drums and a guitar are inviting to the touch, but I hold back. Even though we are alone, it's like being with him is wrong so I act like I'm walking on eggshells. Feels right liking him, but it's wrong; it's a fight that I know my head will win and my heart will be devastated.

- I came here to say that I… - I start, not looking at him. He's too pure and I'm too weak. The music is still playing in the background and we can hear a lot of screams and laughs coming from the house. - that we can't do this.

Reggie looks offended.

- Do what?

- This. You and I. - I replied, turning to face him. He looks perplexed. Did I misread the signs? - My parents would kill me.

I can cut the tension with a knife. However, I don't have to try because Reginald is doing that for us by putting a mask on and looking frustrated. He opens his mouth a few times, as if trying to justify or explain himself.

- Ethan, what are you talking about? - He asks, with a scoff. I don't recognize that reaction on his face. It's like he's trying too hard to play a part he doesn't even want to. - We're friends. I like girls. I flirt a lot, sure, but it's all a joke.

He bought me strawberries as a joke.

He held my hand and called me pet names for the laugh.

He was pretending when I thought he felt something more.

- I'm sorry. - I said, staring at some papers on the floor. Probably unfinished lyrics. A notebook is open with the name Emily on the top of the page and then it hits me: he could never love me the way I loved him. I was the weird one; I was wrong. - I have to go.

- Y/N. - Julie touches my arm, making me open my eyes. - Tell me what is going on.

She's fairly calm. Reggie, however, looks like he's about to scream.

- They are here, right? - I inquire and Julie nods in response. - I've been having dreams about Reggie for a year now. The first five dreams or so were different. I was a man and he was… himself. But things were different somehow, not just me. The world was not the same. The last dream I had before meeting him as me, a girl, I was at this house. Again: this was not your place. The decoration was totally different and people were dressed like they were in the 90's. He said his bandmate was throwing a party since his parents weren't home and that I should come. I actually did and he said he didn't like me because I was a guy. So I left and the next thing I know I'm me and he's asking for help, saying he needs me. At first I thought he changed his mind, cause we were going on dates, talking about the future, laughing and just enjoying everything together. In my dreams, of course. Now I just... it felt like different lifetimes, to be honest. And I liked him in both.

- Alex is asking when was the first time you two met. - Julie says.

- I don't know the date, but it was at a book club. He said they were going to play there, but they mostly ate. And one of his friends was super engaged with the people there, listening to them talk about literature and life. I can't remember their faces very well. I just remember one was brunette and the other was blond, just like your band, Julie.

- Luke asked when was the last time you had a dream about me. - It's Reginald's turn to be his friends' messenger.

- Thursday night. Reggie said something about having to go, not knowing how to stay. It was very emotional. - I answer. - But a friend of mine sent me a video of your concert on Friday night. She was at the Orpheum and she said you were great. I just couldn't stop looking at you and wondering if I'm insane. Am I crazy, Reggie?

- If you are crazy, so am I. - Julie declares when the boy next to me doesn't say anything. It's too much to take in. The three of us are still sitting on the floor and the silence is loud. Loud because it means a lot; that we're all confused. - Alex, wait.

- What? - I ask.

- Alex stormed off. He asked us to come to the garage.

Reggie beams, looking ashamed, and we go to the place I've seen before in my dreams. The garage/studio has chairs in the ceiling and a lot of plants, along with a beautiful piano and a bigger window. Beside me, Julie seems nervous and suddenly two good-looking boys appear in front of me, playing the guitar and the drums.

The brunette and the blond that I didn't recognize before are playing loudly, staring at me with indecipherable expressions and furrowed eyebrows.

- This is the only way you can see us, when we're playing. - The drummer screams. - I'm Alex and this is Luke. - In cue, Luke smiles a little. He is definitely the one that enjoyed metaphors in my dream. - Do you remember anything else about the book club?

- Why? - Luke inquires.

- Just sush. - He says.

- Anything like what?

- Like the address.

Luke looks at Alex like he just said the biggest nonsense he has ever heard. Reggie is standing next to me, speechless. I can tell he's conflicted, so I don't push. I'm confused as well, trying to focus on the first dream, realizing that the details are not very clear anymore; all I can recall is Reggie being adorable and my feelings all over the place. I remember walking around the house unpretentiously with him, thinking about his features and his personality.

- I don't know. - I state.

- Do you think this is about your unfinished business too? - It's Julie's turn to make questions. - The book club? Y/N? What is going on? After Friday I figured we would stay together, but now you're actually considering going back out there?

I have no idea what she is talking about. I just feel like I'm intruding and should just let go, pretending that Reggie is just imaginary. I don't think I'll dream about him again, so I could always just do like the night I said "I have to go" and leave again.

Nobody really talks about leaving. Songs are written about being left, books tell the story of the ones who leave, movies focus on the girl moving on after getting dumped. It's never about the villain, the person who decides to leave because it's too overwhelming, too much to handle. Nobody talks about how hard it is to live with the weight of the decision to go away - it's always focussed on the consequences, not the responsibility of leaving.

- I wanna know. - Reginald says. - I think I need to know.

- And I think I remember the address. - Luke sounds serious. He is still playing just like Alex (who looks tired), but keeps trying his best to continue. - Do you think your dad can take you to Echo Park right now?

The car ride is a bit awkward. Julie is sitting in the front with her dad, that doesn't question when she asks to go to the park. She justifies with a simple "we want to see this house for our drawing class, so we can get some inspiration" that he answers with a smile and a "let's go". Luke and Alex teleport, while Reggie stays behind to accompany me.

- I'm trying to remember that day, I promise. The day we met. - His voice is low and I feel an urge to hug him. - There's something here - He points at his head. - about the party, but I just remember feeling bad for lying about something, then Luke said we should play and that's pretty much it. What does it even mean? How can you dream about that? Are you a ghost too? Ok, just ignore that last question. But how? Why? What is happening?

- You know, Y/N, I really think that friend of ours should just learn how to teleport, right? - Julie says, turning her head around and looking at Reggie. He apologies and disappears.

The rest of the way is basically Mr. Molina asking about school and making me feel at ease. He is kind and bright, which makes me wonder about Julie's mom. Was she as bright? Or maybe more quiet and calm? Collected maybe? The way her dad talks about Carlos, Julie's brother, makes me think that they're doing alright, that they are healing. Julie engages a little more when he talks about the concert and when the cars slows down close the address Luke gave us, my heart is going wild.

- This is the house, right? - Mr. Molina asks.

It is. Luke is right; that's the friendly two-story white house that works as a cultural center. Big windows, big porch. There's a few flowers and a swig, but the rest is just like I remember. Looks like there's a small gathering going on and I can see some people in the front yard, talking and drinking what looks like orange juice. A "Hope Cultural Center" sign greets people with a smiley face and blue letters close to the door too.

- Yep, that's it.

- Dad, do you wanna go park somewhere? We'll take some pictures and wait for you here. Maybe go inside a little? Our friend said they have book clubs, so maybe there's some expositions and stuff like that too.

- Sure! I'll be right back.

Julie and I get out of the car and find Reggie sitting on the sidewalk, observing the house attentively. I assume the boys are with him as well.

- Should we go inside? Just to check it out? - I can't recognize my own voice. It doesn't sound like the same person that was contemplating running away. I sound excited. - What do you think?

Both of them nod and we take the few steps that separates us from the gates. It's open and everybody looks very friendly, so we go on, holding onto the "Hope" sign. Hoping we can discover something important, any information that can help us. I wouldn't say out loud, but I could add "life changing" to that list as well.

- Oh, hello there! - An old lady says. Her voice is almost like summer days and cotton candy. - I've never seen your faces around here.

- Yeah, we were just passing by and…

- Welcome then, my dears. We're happy to have you with us today. - Her smile melts my heart. It could be her fluffy hair or the wrinkles in her eyes; perhaps everything about her screams "I'm a nice person". - We're celebrating our 30th anniversary! There's some expositions on the second floor, food in the kitchen area, back there, - She points somewhere like we know the place already and that makes me feel warm. - and music in the backyard too. Help yourself and if you need anything, let me know, ok?

- She is so nice. - Reggie says, smiling too. - So, what are we looking for? - When everybody stays quiet, I feel panic rising in my chest.

- Y/N, I'll stay here to wait for my dad. You go ahead and look around, see if you remember anything. The boys will do the same. - She looks around and I assume she is making sure they know what to do. - I'll text you when my dad gets here.

As I take the first step further away from her, the panic intensifies. I have to put it aside so I can focus and try to find anything that's remotely relevant.

I find myself going to the backyard, amused that everything looks so similar to my dream. The grass is greener, the fence is now brown, yet I can almost see Reggie and his friends standing at the same place.

There's only one girl out there sitting with a guitar in a small stage made with wood pallets, seeming nervous. I take one last look around before heading upstairs. Reggie is by the kitchen and Julie is probably still at the door, so I find the stairs and take in all the frames by the wall. Some are poems, some are drawings and everything is beautiful, soulfull.

When I get to the actual exposition, I find a photo that grabs my attention.

It's a group picture with at least 6 people. The date says it's 1995 and everybody has a book in their hand and a silly look on their face, apparently happy to be there. Probably the old lady knows who they are, but I don't see her around, so I just continue my quest for the unknown.

That is until I recognize Alex in another frame that also dates 1995.

He is holding a paper that says "best poem" and I feel goosebumps all over my arms. My throat closes.

They are really dead. Reggie is really dead.

Death took him away from me and I feel so selfish for feeling sad about it: I feel sad because I can't be with him anymore. My first thought is that it's disappointing loving someone so impossible like him. The second is "he was so young and had so many dreams… why?". Questioning death and all its mystery is probably normal, still I hate the feeling of not knowing more. Why is he a ghost? Why so early? Why him? Would I ever forget him completely?

Life really is just a competition to see how long we can stay alive and well, tricking death. Death really is just about the living grieving because their love has no place to go.

These people probably don't even know about Reggie, Alex and Luke. When they see the picture, they might think Alex is probably old, married and maybe doing something boring. Maybe they don't even suppose anything about him like it's not relevant, not worth it.

It's impossible not to notice the bitter sensation in my mouth. I guess it's something like frustration or the weight of everything coming back to me after the insane day I had.

- That's Alex. - Reggie's voice scares me and I jump a little. He's examining the picture carefully. - I don't remember being here, to be honest. No matter how hard I try.

- Alex and his friends were the living proof that you can always try harder. - I hear someone's voice. When I look around, the old lady is standing next to me.

I can't bring myself to say anything. My whole body is tired and my thoughts are not clear anymore. All I can do is keep all my attention on that picture and hope I can go home soon.

- They were great. - She continues, not minding Reggie. The lady can't see him. - They were in a band called Sunset Curve. My best friend is this guy's mom. - She points at the cheerful Alex immortalized in the photo. - Alex and his friends died that year and she was devastated. Everybody was. I've heard that one of the boys' parents searched the whole town for him before knowing about his death. Apparently they weren't on good terms.

She is talking about Luke, making me feel like an intruder. Again.

- Do you still talk to his mom? - I continue my way through the expositions while she follows me around. It's a timeline with different occasions, different people. Everybody is joyful and in bright colors, always doing something in a group, sustaining the idea that everything is better when you're surrounded by nice people. - Is she alright?

- Oh, yes, darling, she is. His parents opened a coffee shop downtown. They've been involved in a lot of projects, volunteering to help the community. A few years back they decided to focus on kids and I think they found their purpose in life again with that. Let me show you something.

Her hand flies to meet mine and I feel positive energy running through us. She is very vivid, which is a great match with her colorful clothes. She's wearing green pants, a pink shirt and orange shoes. Her smile is decorated with red lipstick, contrasting with a few missed teeth. It's inevitable to like her and her unique way of dressing and expressing herself.

- Here. - We stop in 2018. The walls are white so the colors scream, begging for attention. - This was two years ago. Lisa and her husband, Jarred, Alex's parents, made a project to help kids and teenagers with music. They had workshops, competitions, small concerts at their cafe. It was amazing. They actually found...

She is pointing at a few pictures where kids are playing instruments, wearing wigs and a lot of glitter. They all look delighted and excited and I can almost see the spark in their eyes. At the top, on the left side, I see something that makes me stop in my tracks, feeling dizzy. She shouldn't be wearing nice shoes, considering I might throw up at any moment.

- Y/N. - Reggie calls. He probably sees the same thing I'm seeing.

It can't be. I wanna go home.

I can't be there anymore.

- There you are. - Julie screams. My body is so stiff I can't turn around. - Y/N? What are you guys doing?

- I was just showing her this picture. - She doesn't notice the way my mind is about to explode and continues. - It was back in 2018. These two boys were awesome and even covered Sunset Curve a few times. I think their names were Luke and Reggie, if I'm not mistaken. They haven't been around in a while. Jarred said they look just like Alex's bandmates, but this one - She points at Luke. - was an orphan and was kind of a troublemaker. And this one - It's Reggie's turn. - was having problems at school. They just assumed they didn't want to come to the workshops anymore. But my point is: his parents found their peace with their son's death. They managed to make something beautiful and honor Alex's name. It's all that matters, right? We can't change the fact that they died. All we can do is decide how we're going to use their influence in your lives.

Julie is probably just as confused as I am. I hear an "excuse me for a second" and suddenly she is gone. I miss her colors and being oblivious to that information. That Reggie and Luke were alive two years ago.

- What is going on?

I can clearly see Reggie and Luke playing at a small stage, sharing a microphone. They look so connected and carefree. The quality of the picture is so good that I can't even question the date; there's no way that was taken before 1995.

Alex is nowhere to be seen in that photo.

- We need to find them, Y/N. We need to know who they are, why they're pretending to be Reggie and Luke and... what is going on?

- Guys. - Reggie is still staring at the picture like his life depended on it. - Guys. I… I think I remember this. This place. Luke, you remember too right?

It's the first time I see Reggie so unstable. He's not making jokes to hide his feelings; he is genuinely confused and afraid, like all of us. I feel like this is the first time I see him and it's scary. Not being able to help, frustrated that I can't stop the wave of uncertainty and fear that he's experiencing.

Luke's answer is not audible to me. Reggie is saying something yet I can't hear him because I'm busy engulfed in hesitation. Should I give them privacy and go home? Should I ask around about the coffee shop? Should I stay quiet?

- I'm confused too. Maybe we should call it a day and just go home for now. We can come back another time. - Julie speaks. - Come on, Y/N. My dad is waiting outside.

I ask Mr. Molina to take me home, with the excuse that I don't feel good. It's not really a lie. He is very polite and says I should come back another time so we can all have hot dogs together. Julie agrees and I wonder if we'll be friends. I hope so.

When I get to my room, my mind runs to the picture. It's so clear, so confusing and so aggravating. We're getting played by faith, destiny or the universe; some unknown force with strong powers to make people sick to their stomach. Their goal might be to drive people crazy. Who knows? Surely not me.

I eat dinner with my family, finish my homework, take a shower and read a little while listening to some music. When it's almost nine, I hear a knock on my door.

- Come in.

My eyes are playing tricks on me. Reggie is standing there, with his hands in his pockets and red eyes.

I stand up, not minding my bunny pajamas. He doesn't seem to mind either.

- Nice candles. - There he is, the same flirty Reggie. I relax and he steps closer to me. His gaze is so intense and I want to cry. - Look at you being romantic.

- This was actually me trying to summon you, but alright. - I reply and he laughs. It's not genuine. - How are you?

It's ironic how my playlist is called "slow dancing in my room". Soon enough, Reggie shows me his palms, as if inviting me for a dance. Not going all the way and trying to touch him, I smile weakly and almost wince with the urge to hold his hand. We sway and keep our eyes on each other.

- I'm sad. - That's new. He's never this transparent. - I don't understand what is going on. I remember that day with Luke. At least I think I do. I don't know what's real and what's just my mind desperate to be alive again. I thought just playing with Julie was enough, but…

He doesn't finish. The song ends and we keep dancing slowly, letting our eyes talk for a moment. I can notice the pain, the sadness and the urge in his face. It breaks my heart.

- What do you wanna do now?

He tries touching my hand and misses it. His eyes scan my room, probably running away from me and my questioning eyes.

- I wanna know everything, but Alex is not taking it well. He's not very good with changes.

I nod and turn my head a little, demanding his attention on me again.

- Take your time, ok? Talk to them about it, make a list on why you should and shouldn't go to that cafe and... I don't know, - We're still dancing and I'm still crushed, but at least being with him calms my heart. - breathe. Just breathe. Everything will be alright.

- How can you be so positive right now?

- Well, if people can be negative for no reason, I can be positive for no reason too. - I shrug and he sighs. - Scratch that. I do have a reason.

Reggie gets closer and I can almost feel his nose touching mine.

- What is it? - His voice is just above a whisper.

- I want that to be true. I want you to be happy and well. I want you to feel loved too. That's exactly what you deserve, Reggie. Happiness. Love.

Before I can say anything else, he steps back and says goodnight. My chest hurts and when I wake up in the morning with a text from Julie saying "let's go to that cafe today", I don't feel happy. Or loved.

I'm just scared.

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booksbeyondimagining · 3 years

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Send Me Their Souls (Bring Me Their Hearts #3), by Sara Wolf

Publish Date: November 3, 2020 Published by: Entangled Teen Length: 429 pages Genre: YA Fantasy My Rating: ★★★★☆ (4 out of 5 stars)

Synopsis:

There are worse things than death.

With the rise of Varia d'Malvane comes the fall of the Mist Continent. Cavanos is overrun by the brutal rampage of the valkerax, led by its former crown princess. Vetris is gone. Helkyris is gone. As each mighty nation falls, the grip of the crown princess closes around the throat of the world.

But Zera Y'shennria isn't out yet.

Alongside Malachite, Fione, Yorl, and her love Lucien, Zera seeks aid from the High Witches and the Black Archives, with the valkerax horde hot on their heels. Seemingly unstoppable, Varia can track Zera through her dreams, ensuring there is nowhere to run. Thankfully, an ancient book holds the key to stopping the incursion forever.

But at what cost comes freedom?

At what cost comes love?

At what cost comes the end of the world, and the beginning of a new one?

My Review:

I just want to preface this review with what I read in the acknowledgements: that this book was mostly worked on during quarantine; so while I am still going to write out my opinions, please take it all with that thought in hand as I myself am. Onto the actual review. This series blew me away. I know it took me forever to read them, but I don't care because that is going to make them stick with me longer. I loved the characters, their arcs, the plot, the magic, the world-building - everything. It is so beyond well-written - I swear every other line had me swooning with the word combinations alone. (I mark quotes that I love and I swear there was at least one every other page.) The way Sara Wolf writes is gorgeous in how she captures every day moments and feelings in ways you would not have imagined, and end up giving such depth and life to these moments that you hadn't thought of before.

Anyway, enough waxing poetic about the prose. I definitely enjoyed how this trilogy ended, but I did feel like some of the character dynamic was off. The best way I can describe it is that the main characters - Zera, Lucien, Fione and Mal - felt more like the teenagers they actually were supposed to be than how they had been acting in the previous two books. There was this weird shift in the beginning when Zera decided to stop punishing herself and be with Lucien and the others, and while I liked that shift it aslo felt a little abrupt compared to the previous books. Maybe it was because the hunger wasn't as strong, and that seems like a plausible explanation, but it just felt off for me because of how I had grown to know Zera and how I felt like I had missed something of a character growth? Lucien, too, felt off. Yes, I was beyond thrilled that he spent most of the book being happy and in love with Zera, but also, there was a war going on. His own sister had murdered his parents and destroyed over half his kingdom and was being controlled by an angry ancient tree of magic. While he definitely had many moments of self-reflection and worry and anger, I just felt like those light-hearted moments were so opposite in their emotion they almost didn't feel real. I was kind of disappointed in Varia - I never really felt like she redeemed herself. I know what she had planned wasn't exactly what she got, and had resulted in far more death and destruction that she wanted, but she still made that decision. The way she had treated Zera in the second book and how she frightened and tried to control her even in this one, and the way Zera still put her first because Lucien and Fione loved her, hurt. I was just so disappointed in how she reacted to Zera at the end despite the fact that Zera was saving her life, and even worse [SPOILER] how she spoke about her own son [END SPOILER], I just felt like I will never understand why she is so beloved. I will say that ending left me with many questions. Sometimes I like open-ended conclusions, but sometimes I need more. [SPOILER] For one, I REALLY want to know how Zera survived. There are SO MANY questions concerning that - did she live through the explosion? If so, where was she for three years? Or did the Tree of Souls save her somehow? Did it just mess up on returning her to the right moment in time? Has she aged at all? And what the hell is up with the jewelry? How is it that the two pieces that Malachite and Lucien were able to find were the two pieces that had clasps, and the one ring that she had on was not found? And they were undamaged?? Also, just in general, I never felt like I quite understood how Zera knew from the moment that she realized she had to heal the Tree that she would not survive it. [END SPOILER] On a more positive note, I want to talk about how much I loved the extended world-building in this book. It honestly made me disappointed that the first two novels took place mostly in Vetris. With all these new cities and places the four of them visited, with all the interesting technology and characters, I wanted more. I knew towards the end of the second book when the description of Evlorasin had me thinking of Haku from Spirited Away that I was starting to get Studio Ghibli vibes, but this one - with the airships and the matronics - cemented it. All the mentions of other countries and cultues - I just want more stories from this world because it is beautiful and has so much potential. Also, a map. I want a map. Taking into consideration what I said at the beginning that this book was written during the Covid-19 pandemic lockdown and that may have influenced certain aspects of the characters and plotline, I still have to say that this was a wonderfully almost-satisfying conclusion to this part of Zera's story. I know that she will have more, and maybe we will get to know some of it and maybe we won't. But I know that this trilogy will stay in my heart (or unheart) for long, long while.

#book review #send me their souls #sara wolf #bring me their hearts #ya fantasy #favorite reads

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thelifeoftuan · 5 years

Text

Journalism Hell

There’s a little known fact about me. Or a fact that is usually forgotten. Either way. In college, apart from my Biochemistry major and pursuit of a career in medicine, I was also a Journalism major.

We’ll backtrack a little bit. Spring 2010 of my sophomore year of college, following a meeting with my advisor within the College of Arts and Sciences for my Biochemistry degree towards the end of that semester, I sort of spun out of control into this existential crisis. Hahaha! Why, you might ask? Well, it was at that meeting that my advisor was reviewing all of my credits and told me that I was on track to graduate the following Spring. And I was like, “What?” He looked over all of my requirements and said that with some good planning, I am set to graduate the following year. And in my head, I, for some reason, started to panic. Hahaha! I was like, “Um, excuse me dude, I’m only a sophomore. I haven’t even taken the MCAT yet, let alone apply for medical school. I’m not ready to graduate.” I remember asking him what my options were, and he was like, either book it and take the MCAT two months ago and apply to medical school yesterday then saunter on over to the commencement department and get ready to apply for graduation... or, do something else. I went home and stewed. ...like stewed to the point where the stew burned. And I was like, “what the shit! I didn’t plan for this!” Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know, why am I complaining, right? The prospect of graduating a year early from college isn’t something to be butt-hurt about. But at that time, I was definitely not ready, mentally or emotionally. Not to mention I was nowhere near ready to really plunge into the horrid process of applying for medical school. That would have required me to get together letters of recommendation, transcripts, take the MCAT (and do somewhat well), apply for our pre-medicine committee interview (a stupid and unnecessary process, honestly, in retrospect), decide where I wanted to try to go to medical school and get those applications together... within a matter of weeks, because if memory serves me right, the application cycles started in the summer. So after I (rather unnecessarily, I will admit) agonized about this, I was like, “nah bro, we’re staying the full four years.” And it was at that time that I then embarked on my existential crisis. What the crap was I gonna do that will effectively prolong my stay in college to the appropriate four years? And it took a couple of days. I didn’t want to squander my time (or money, to be honest) doing something that wasn’t worthwhile. But I also didn’t want to over-tax myself. At first, I was like, well? I’ve always seen myself as a writer, maybe I should delve down that route. I initially thought about picking up an English major or minor. I spent hours and hours pouring over the coursework and projecting my class schedules and how that would pan out or if it would even work. And I discovered that it would if I picked up an English minor. And this department was within the College of Arts and Sciences, and so I wouldn’t have to really branch out too far from “home base.” But then I delved further into the required classes and read up on the syllabi (syllabuses? ...silly buses?) and looked up the instructors on the university online database, and review after review for course after course... they were all mostly bad with, at best, a B- average for grades, and I was like, “...I actually don’t think this is for me.” Being a literature buff was not my thing, and I think the English minor/major at my university trains students for that... which, in my opinion, was not worth my time or energy. I barely knew how to read, let alone critically analyze literature. I definitely was not going to risk something that would take shots at my already teetering GPA if I could help it, especially if it was something additional I was taking on. At that point, I would’ve rather graduated a year early and figure it out from there. So I scrapped that idea. And then it was back to the drawing board. Another several days of searching and seeking counsel... and then one day, a random thought came into my head. There was this nice building at the southern corner of the campus that was one of the newer colleges of our university, the College of Journalism. I would always walk by this building but never ventured in. One nice summer day that Spring semester of 2010, I did. And immediately, I felt sort of the same “at home” vibe I had felt all those years ago when I decided I wanted to become a pediatrician. Another little known fact. I actually started writing (for lack of a better term, honestly) before I even decided medicine was my calling. I remember in kindergarten, I had started writing and I remember my teacher reading some of my stories to my classmates. It wasn’t talent. It was a whim. Some sort of strange whim that has carried me forward throughout the years, just like how my aspiration for a career in medicine did. Within the College of Journalism was a major known as Professional Writing. I went home immediately after that day and did all the research I could on this. There was, unfortunately, no minor offered for any of the journalism majors. But the more I read about the Professional Writing track, the more and more I was sold. This major would train me and give me the skills I needed to become a more proficient writer and actually give me an avenue and motivation to continue writing as a potential career. None of that literary crap that made me despise high school English class, but stories that I would actually enjoy writing. I meticulously planned out my current coursework remaining for my Biochemistry major and overlay the required coursework for a Journalism-Professional Writing major... and it was like over-packing for a trip (another one of my wondrous qualities), borderline impractical and insane, but doable if done correctly. I asked myself, “how invested are you in this, Tuan?” I remember taking an afternoon to think about this, seeking opinions from some of my friends. And then, by the end of the day, I decided to go for it. I scheduled a meeting with an advisor at the college who, honestly and I think appropriately, questioned my sanity. I concretely remember him, one, looking at me with his eyebrows raised when I told him my background and experience (or lack thereof), and two, asking me repeatedly, “Are you sure about this?” But when I expressed my extreme interest and drive, he complied and laid out the requirements for me. I would have to take an entrance competency exam (basically a reading and writing exam). Thank goodness the foreign language requirements were the same among colleges, because I was not about to go down that route again (Spanish 3 is a story for another time...). That summer of 2010 would end up being my busiest summer. Because I picked this new major, I would have to get the required prerequisites out of the way before I could even think about starting any Journalism classes. So this required me to take two journalism classes over the summer. And I had also enrolled in a Biochemistry course that summer. So, three classes during that fateful summer of 2010. Hahaha! Not my smartest decision. But it felt like this new endeavor into the world of Journalism breathed new meaning in my life, and I felt rejuvenated and excited. Well, that feeling did not last too long. Hahaha! Mind you, yes, the entire way until I graduated college, I loved my Journalism major and classes, and it was definitely a reprieve away from my science classes and the stress of applying for medical school. But the very first class I had to take, and I will always remember the course ID to this day, was JMC 2033: Writing for Mass Media (JMC stood for Journalism and Mass Communication and was the ID used for all Journalism classes at my university). This was the introductory “weed-out” class for Journalism majors... which shocked me when my teacher, an impassioned writer and, in my opinion, rather poorly directed masters student who took pride in making this class the hardest it could ever possibly be, said to us on our first day, “If you are taking this class in the summer thinking that it was going to be easier, think again.” In my head, I was like, “oh shit.” No biochemistry professor of mine ever said that in any of my classes on the first day, and here I am, at a place I thought was the greener side of things, and there’s this crazy 20-something-year-old lady with an ego the size of the screen projected at the front of the classroom ready to skewer each and every one of us for the next 8 weeks. ...and skewer us she did. She definitely found some sick joy torturing us students in that class that summer. And I was so out of my element. I knew that I had a disadvantage and that this wasn’t something I had a true strength in. Other people in my class seemed to have read all the time and knew how to pick apart articles, had an eye for ads and design, understood the basic workings of PR and broadcasting. Me? I was the lowly writer who really only had the skills of an unpolished kindergartener. ...but I will be damned if I let my first step into the Journalism world be a misstep. So that summer, even more than my Biochemistry class, I worked my ass off more than ever before. Because it was a summer class, we crammed 16 weeks of work into 8... which was not the healthiest thing, honestly, because that required working and studying every single night, because this lady would present us with quizzes almost every single day of class. And this class was Monday through Thursday. Not to mention you had to make a C average or above in this class to be accepted into the College of Journalism (which, yes, is a given for anything, really), but as you will see from the quiz averages of this particular class, that was kinda touch and go, and I feared for my life and the life of my classmates at several points. And thus arrives the main topic of this post. Hahaha! (That took a while, right?) These quizzes we were subjected to tested absolutely everything (but truthfully, essentially nothing) about the supposed skills a journalist should have. Looking back... honestly, it was mostly hogwash, as you’ll come to see. Hahaha! This class was so bad and so hard that I ended up making daily Facebook status posts about it and then compiling them all together in a singular post titled “Lessons in Journalism Hell” posted on my Blogspot exactly 9 years ago today. I think the funniest (and frankly most appalling) thing this teacher did for this class was each morning, she would post the quiz averages of the day before on the large projector in front of the class, which I always wrote down so that I could relay how horrid this class was, and she also put the highest score and the lowest score on the projector and always, without fail, revealed to the class who made the highest score. ...if she had revealed who made the lowest score, she probably would’ve been murdered, honestly, because no one in the class liked her. And if someone made a perfect score, she would put the student’s name up there for all to see. ...it was kinda insane what this lady did. I look back on this course with such comical contempt, because I was like, “if all of my Journalism classes are going to be like this, I have made a grave mistake.” Thankfully, this was not the case. JMC 2033 is, notoriously, and especially when taught by this one particular crazy lady, is the hardest class in the college. I think what made it hard was it was an introductory course that attempted to teach all Journalism majors the basic concepts of journalism and mass communication, which included advertising, broadcasting, PR, and professional writing, and incorporated the necessities of media literacy and competence. I will say that I learned a few things from this class. But was any of it particularly useful? I mean, a good majority of our assignments and preparation for quizzes was to read or watch or listen to something that was published within a specific time window the day/night before and remember every single goddamn detail we possibly could and hope that we even read, watched, or listened to the right thing so that we could answer quiz questions the following morning. ...perhaps that only useful thing I did pick up from this class was a stronger resilience and work ethic than what I had previously. Haha! And so, without further ado, I would like to repost my Lessons in Journalism Hell on my tumblr today, to commemorate a rather miserable yet pretty laughable time in my life 9 years ago when I decided to pursue a Journalism major the summer before my Junior year of college. Each lesson is numbered and dated with a short sentence or two I devised to describe what the quiz was about, followed by the class average (and often my own personal commentary on such average). I don’t remember my own grades from these quizzes, as I didn’t write them down. It felt like it was poor form. Also, the teacher took back our quizzes after we had five seconds to review them (for some dumbass reason I will never understand), so I don’t have them in any archives of mine. But anyway, I present to you, Lessons in Journalism Hell, June 9 - July 29, 2010. June 9 | Journalism Hell Lesson #1: Copy-editing marks. A journalist MUST learn how to copy-edit using the CORRECT symbols and marks. Class avg: 57.7/100 ...HOLY CRAP! June 10 | Journalism Hell Lesson #2: Making distinctions. A journalist MUST learn how and when to use who vs. whom. Class avg: 79.6/100 June 14 | Journalism Hell Lesson #3: AP Style. A journalist MUST learn how to use AP (Associated Press) style of writing. Class avg: 63/100... and teacher said she expected great things from this quiz -.- June 15 | Journalism Hell Lesson #4: Newspapers. A journalist MUST learn how to read a newspaper--and figure out what content the teacher will quiz over. Class avg: horrendously low... T_T June 16 | Journalism Hell Lesson #5: Language Lapses. A journalist MUST learn that you feel bad NOT badly, that mobs are always angry and beatings are usually brutal, and finally, that you are usually nauseated, NOT nauseous...unless you make OTHER people want to vomit. Class avg: 97.3/100 :] June 17 | Journalism Hell Lesson #6: Newspapers Round 2. A journalist MUST learn how to read the newspaper (again), analyze it, memorize important facts, and rely on sheer gut about what the heck the teacher will ask on the quiz. Class avg: 68.2/100 ...my Buddha. -.- June 21 | Journalism Hell Lesson #7: Diversity. A journalist MUST know the difference between an oreo and a twinkie. Enough said. Class avg: 75.7/100 June 22 | Journalism Hell Lesson #8: Diversity Part 2. A journalist MUST learn how to read online news sources about blacks, Native Americans, and gays. Class avg: 43.7/100 ...OH MY SNAPS! We're getting killed by these quizzes! June 23 | Journalism Hell Lesson #9: It's anyone's guess. A journalist MUST know that if he/she WERE smarter, he/she would have made a better grade on this quiz. Class avg: 77/100 June 24 | Journalism Hell Lesson #10: Huffingtonpost.com. A journalist MUST... oh, what the hell. This quiz was completely insane and taught me nothing besides how terribly vague and untimely the quiz content was. All I learned was that huffingtonpost.com updates multiple times and the time frame we journalism students were given was within a 10-hour time span. Class avg: 58.8/100 -- I'm starting to get worried... June 29 | Journalism Hell Lesson #11: AP style round 2. A journalist MUST continue to learn how to use AP (Associated Press) style of writing. Class avg: 70/100 June 30 | Journalism Hell Lesson #12: The Week (online magazine). A journalist MUST not give up. As we are all getting tired of this, refer back to lessons 4, 6, and 10. Class avg: 71.9/100 July 1 | Journalism Hell Lesson #JUST KIDDING: There was no quiz today. WHOOPEE! July 6 | Journalism Hell Lesson #13: Us Weekly. A journalist MUST not let his/her brain melt while reading this tabloid-esque trash. Class avg: 78.1/100 July 7 | Journalism Hell Lesson #14: AP style round 3. A journalist MUST continue to learn how to use AP style of writing. Class avg: 93.2/100 ...WOOHOO! July 8 | Journalism Hell Lesson #15: Pluralizing. It's bitches and hoes! Class avg: 85.9/100 July 12 | Journalism Hell Lesson #16: AP style round 4. Class avg: 85.9/100 July 13 | Journalism Hell Lesson #17: AP style round 5. Class avg. 82.1/100 July 15 | Journalism Hell Lesson #18: NPR. A journalist MUST listen to 20 stories of Morning Edition on NPR (National Public Radio) and remember all the details. Class avg. 76.4/100 July 19 | Journalism Hell Lesson #19: NBC Nightly News @ 5:30 p.m. A journalist MUST watch the 5:30 p.m. programming of NBC Nightly News with Brian Williams. Class avg. 89.3/100 July 20 | Journalism Hell Lesson #20: AP style round 6. Class avg. 85.7/100 July 21 | Journalism Hell Lesson #21: Advertising Age (AdAge.com). A journalist MUST be familiar with AdAge.com. Class avg. 70.9/100 ...and we were doing so well. -.- July 22 | Journalism Hell Lesson #22: PR Newswire (prnewswire.com). A journalist MUST be familiar with a PR tool website. Class avg. 72.9/100 July 26 | Journalism Hell Lesson #23: ESPN.com. A journalist MUST ...seriously?! This is by far the stupidest thing I've studied. Class avg. 75.4/100 July 27 | Journalism Hell Lesson #24: The First Amendment. A journalist MUST memorize the First Amendment... word for word. Class avg. 81.5/100. Awesomeness! July 28 | Journalism Hell Lesson #25: TMZ.com. A journalist MUST read more trash. Ugh. Class avg. 68.6/100. ...GEEZ! July 29 | Journalism Hell Lesson #26: Gawker.com. And so, the last lesson in Journalism Hell before the shit hits the fan. A journalist MUST read even MORE trash. -.- Class avg. 71.2/100 Hahaha! There you have it. Needless to say, I got through this class with an A (thank Buddha. I honestly would have been a little upset if the decision to pick up a second major in college brought down my GPA and further hurt my chances of getting into medical school). My teacher called out my name a number of times because I had made the highest grade on a quiz, and I think my name showed up on the board twice because I had made a perfect score on two quizzes. Each time, I just sunk into my seat and avoided eye contact. I definitely did not take these instances as accolades, because it made me feel really bad because the class averages were so low, and my classmates honestly were not having it with this lady, so I definitely did not appreciate her putting me on the spot. But regardless, I persevered and left JMC 2033 in the rear-view mirror as I started my actual Professional Writing classes the following fall semester. It gave me a giggle to go through this post again. Some comical memories of a pretty grueling summer, for sure, but productive and successful nonetheless. In the end, I definitely enjoyed my classes at the Journalism college, and it was definitely a decision that I did not regret. Anyway, just thought I’d trek through memory lane for a bit on this late night. Till next time. :]

#life of tuan #journalism #professional writing #lessons in journalism hell

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ineedtopopmyzit · 3 years

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2020

As I am laying on my bed, tired of cramping and feeling low, I want to reflect back on this year—the year most hated by many. Although this year was vastly different than many other years I have lived so far, I can’t say it was the worst year. Of course, this is just an opinion from my perspective and it’s not taken into the account of the many people who have passed away and whose lives have been affected by the virus. And may be this may sound selfish and careless because I am only merely looking at how this year affected me at the personal level. I think the more people emphasize this year, the less I want to give attention to it. In the end, what’s happened was supposed to happen, however it happened, why it happened isn’t as important as the happening itself. And I want to accept what’s happened/happening as graciously as I can. Not because that’s what I am supposed to do, but because I don’t like feeling devastated that something else was/is in control of my life. I honestly think that if things were normal this year I’d be actually more devastated. Perhaps me saying that is lacking self-belief and confidence, but I don’t know if I would have found a job this year. I don’t know if I would’ve been happy if I did find a job this year. I don’t know if I would’ve been as rested as I feel now. I don’t know if I would’ve feel as grounded as I feel now. For the last couple years, I feel like I was sprinting. And now that I was nearing the finish line, I was starting to doubt what I was running towards. I was running at such full speed that I couldn’t even remember why I was even running. Maybe I was running from depression, running from the past, or maybe running to the past, running from myself... whatever it was, the problem was that I was running and I was forgetting to stop and absorb and to reflect. And if it wasn’t for year 2020, I believe I would probably still be running towards something not realizing it’s probably not what I want. Don’t get me wrong, I am still directionless but at least I stopped running.

I want to reminisce at some of the memorable things that happened this year. And remind myself that I am still making life even when it feels stale, static, and unmoving. While it may seem lazy, unmotivated and lifeless, those fragments make white spaces that make a whole picture feel resound.

Remember we started the year by revisiting Little Women? It brought back memories of childhood. And I felt myself aligning home. Like two shadows of me emerging into one. And I appreciated Louisa May Alcott for writing such story that many others call mundane. I also felt a sense of pride for having a same birthday as her. Jo March, a character who marched to the beat of her own drum. She may slip out whatever words she conjures in her mind but she’s fearless, truthful, independent, free-spirited and self willing. And she always resonated with myself ever since I was little.

Then the dreadful breakup came. And honestly, the year didn’t start out great because of him. So breaking up with him in the first quarter was the best thing that could’ve happened to me this year. It was an extremely hard breakup but also it was relieving. He asked if I could consider keeping in touch with him once I healed, but now revisiting that conversation I think he was selfish to even ask that of me. I don’t know if I will. I guess I still need more time.

The breakup help transpire what came next. Which was just a dating binge. I have never been on so many dates in such a short span of time. I was on so many dates that it takes a little too much effort to remember them all but I shall try. The first date was with a German of course. He cooked me bratwurst and sauerkraut. I went to his house in LB after he allured me by telling me he’ll cook me dinner. Though I told him I am only going as a friend. I really considered having sex with him. But he just really wasn’t my type. I kept being reminded of someone I used to date whom makes my pussy so dry now. After that I lose the order of which guy came first. But I remember the Romanian lawyer. (I know I just had to paint a full picture of the guy I broke up with by making him into fragments... the guy I broke up from was a German lawyer) I think the Romanian lawyer is someone who I would give the most honorable badge to. I told him I was looking for a stranger to have a one night stand with. And I clarify that I didn’t want some cheap one night. I wanted it to be magical and everything I ever dreamed of. I would say this was like redoing my first sex experience. When I told him of my reasons why I wanted to do this, he was so on board with it. So much so that what’s happened between us can be a transcription of an adult novel. I bought a lingerie, he booked an airbnb over looking the ocean with a balcony, also we ordered a couple sex toys. We dreamt up whatever that was going to romance us and this was the time we were going to relinquish them all. Through the 2-3 weeks of planning, he was played the role well of a sensual romantic but not a sleaze, and someone who made me feel comfortable by opening himself up. The only thing I worried was that in person, he may not be my type. But to my surprise, when he showed up after an hour and a half drive to our location, he was definitely up to par. the way he dressed, and his friendly manner was all i was hoping to see. oh and of course the sexual tension was so pulling between us that we just had to get it out of the way when we met. He kind of reminded me of my ex, which was where i hesitated. But he gave me the most magical night imaginable. There were some awkward moments but he listened, he played, he caressed. We talked all night as we fell asleep after 2 or 3 rounds of long pleasure. and they way his eyes devoured me while wearing a lingerie is the look i will never forget. especially after my breakup, it felt really nice to be tantalized and wanted. he wanted me bad. and i wanted him more. but i’m not gonna lie, the sex was a lot of work. our good bye was bittersweet but that's the way it needed to be and nothing else. we were supposed to be two strangers who comes together to make a night of love that we’d imagine we’d receive and never to see each other again (although i couldn’t forget and had to see him 2 more times after this). let’s see... another date i had gone on was with an artist. i think i saw him a total of 2 or 3 times i can’t remember. i do remember the first date though, it was particularly memorable because we had bahn mi sandwiches on a beach i had never been to with couple of beers and that night when i had sex with him, i left with a yeast infection. yup. i particularly remember this because the planned parenthood i went to was the same exit as his house and instead of making a left turn, i had to make a right turn to get to it. i remember my date with a guy who was married to a half korean wife. he took me to gen and talked about how ridiculous it is that we all had to wear masks. it was clear from the dinner that what he wanted out of it was sex. then there was the jewish guy from new york. who clearly stated on his bio that he was separated from his wife. i had the most fun chatting with him but he was definitely looking for one thing. and somehow i understood that, but i just couldn’t bring myself to be one of his weekly girls. i felt downgraded. so i declined his offer. i went on a date with a guy who seemed really willing to move on to more than just sex but i was physically not attracted to him.. but what’s more was that he knew that... and kept asking if it was his height. and i think that to me showed lack of confidence and drew me even further away from wanting him. another date i went on was with a director guy from pasadena. he drove all the way to oc to meet up with me. and i generally had a good vibe with him but in the end we never hit each other up again. he even ended the date with “you are a really cool chick” but i guess it was one of those... you are a really cool chick for someone else. i also was not attracted to him in that way. this is when i realized, i prob like taller guys though i don’t want to admit that because it’s an age old socially constructed sexist belief. i had a phone convo with a guy who wanted to have me over and cook me wellington. he even said i could invite my sister. but the whole thing was fishy and he was real butthurt when i declined his offer. and clingy too. so i decided to never meet up with him and even blocked him. i went on a date with a banker. he wrote poetry and they were beautiful but it was ashamed that the writer had won no integrity from me. his words became distasteful because of his characteristic flaws of ghosting and showed signs of irresponsibility. he also seemed more immature than other guys. then on the last week of my dating binge, i went on a total of 4 dates. one was with a guy from my ceramics class. it was a friendly coffee date on a saturday morning. i really enjoyed his company although later on, he was a little too pushy about his feelings towards me and i had to be more direct with him about my intentions. then on one week day of the same week, i met a guy from baghdad who worked at verizon. i was hesitant about this one because he started the convo with “i can lick your pussy” but in person, he was rather more reserved. then that same night, i met up with another guy from baghdad except he was a much better choice. he was the second noblest out of all the guys i dated this year... he was even going to pick me up in his motorcycle from long beach. he held me, heard me, let me rest all my weight on his shoulders and we never spoke to each other again. then i had a virtual date with a guy who was in a severe motorcycle accident only 3 years ago. i thought we clicked but he ghosted me on our second date plan. i wasn’t even the one to bring up the second date. edit (1/9): i forgot 3 more dates... one was with a pessimistic korean guy. i figured i should ditch the archaic notion that all korean guys are bad. it comes from the divorce and mostly mom educating me based on her one experience of bad marriage. i thought his photos weren’t so bad so i went on a date with him... it was interesting to say the least because first of all, i got pissed at him because he was so opinionated while being rigid. he failed to understand my pov, and kept patronizing me. so i voiced that i am getting really frustrated that he wasn’t open to my pov, so he apologized. he also said that his friends would be shocked to find out that he apologized. also that he went to trader joes to top off our charcuterie board that i mentioned i wanted to do during our chat. oh and he brought me a handful of daisy sort of flowers on a gatorade bottle filled with bright colored water which i thought was really cute. but overall, i just couldn’t get passed his negative point of view of life and love. i felt like he was looking for an optimistic savior who would turn his opinions around. which definitely wasn’t going to be me because being a heroine for another movie other than an autobiography is def not my style at all. the second date i missed to tell was with a scientist who was a front-end developer at some bio tech company. very intelligent and eccentric. like shy but outgoing, relatable yet standoffish. the intrigue was that i couldn't quite figure him out. but there wasn’t any sexual chemistry. perhaps because he said due to covid he couldn’t get his veneers done and he had been wearing his temporaries for 3 months or some obscure amount of days exceeding its freshness that i couldn’t stand to smell his breath 6 feet away. and the not so memorable date was the one hot lawyer who had no personality. it was so disappointing. i had high hopes for him too. but needless to say, he was looking for a hookup. while i appreciate the honesty and upfront-ness, i don’t like the frankness of the situation. i would like to be romanced into having meaningless sex with you. but then maybe that would make me develop feelings. but he was so vanilla that i couldn’t imagine our sex any hotter. he was drier than a textbook. so standard that his cliche line for getting me into his bed was “i can give you a massage.” bore me. i get it... he said his sister was going through chemo and he really needed some good distraction. poor guy. but come on dude. he said he genuinely wanted to see me again... but he genuinely never reached out to me again. so that’s vaguely a totally of 15 dates? in the span of... May-Nov? 7 months? i guess that’s not too bad or too good.. it’s only 2 dates per month ish. i could’ve done more damn it. well i did have multiple dates with one guy(s). also i just remembered that one weekend was a back to back sex with 2 different guys. my pussy was not okay that weekend. the second night guy thought he did a lot of damage but the truth is it’s the first guy who did. it only boosted the second guy’s ego. but he needs it anyway.

This year, I traveled solo for the first time. it felt liberating.

Also, I decided that i want to go back to school and perhaps live in Europe. I am feeling encouraged every day.

I reconnected with my dad. I figured it was time to forgive and reestablish a new relationship that i can nurture myself in. so far, i find it a little challenging at times but it’s definitely better than completely ignoring him.

I no longer feel so broke, i had time to earn some money and put it towards savings. not a lot but i am not scrabbling for pennies every month like i was when i was in school.

I think I've grown closer to my sister. we have a lot of fun times together always laughing and eating. we fight but i am trying to enjoy our friendship together until one day we have to part our ways and not live so close to each other anymore.

I gained more self confidence? it’s more so that i feel better living in my skin. I try to appreciate my body and see less as a superficial shell.

i have grown new level of appreciation for some of my close friends.

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pebblesandjamjam · 6 years

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JAM’s Top 8 for 2017

I retired the concept of publication years in 2016 and that tradition holds this year. When you meet a book matters more than when the book met the world. You’re a certain sort of person when the text comes into your life and if you read it at a different time, you’d likely see it in a different way. What’s more: there’s just too much in the world for me to focus on what was published when–so this list represents the best of what I experienced in 2017, independent of its publication date. It represents me, my year, where I started, and where I ended. Hope you enjoy the ride.

8. Jackass // Scarlet Beriko (2015, tr. 2017)

Scarlet Beriko is one of the best cartoonists in the game and their chosen field is: BL. Lucky, I think. I have always admired their variety and control of line weight, wielding it carefully to allow the tone to turn on a dime. (Their comics, including this one, are hilarious.) But with Jackass in particular,I think what I admire most is how much affection each character--even the secondary ones, the nameless ones--seems to show.

The main pairing is two high school students and best friends, Keisuke and Masayuki. Their relationship ends up in a strangely sexual place when Keisuke accidentally puts on his older sister’s pantyhose--and Masayuki discovers a kink he never knew he had. The comic is impressive enough in that the accidental putting on of pantyhose is actually believable in context, but the true mastery is how protective the boys and their friends are of one another. A secondary romance is built between Keisuke’s childhood friend, Katsumi, and the school doctor, but even this romance is less about the two characters and more a vehicle for emphasizing Keisuke and Katsumi’s friendship--which is a relief, as I generally frown upon even fictional student-teacher relationships for reasons that should be obvious. All of these boys (and, notably, Keisuke’s sister) love each other, take care of each other, treat each other preciously--the way I wish all the precious men in my life would treat each other.

The major flaw of the book comes with the character Miyoshi, another student. Even he becomes part of the flow of affection, but the character uses the word ‘queer’ pejoratively quite a few times, which is to be understood as a sort of defense mechanism given the completion of his arc--but of course, does not undo the violence of either the nature of the word’s use or its larger participation in queerphobic narratives. I very much enjoy the deep love this book shows, which is why it’s frustrating (to say that absolute least) to see it casually undermined by queerphobic language and themes.

It was one of the best books I read this year, but that enjoyment was tempered by the sharpness of that experience. If you do decide to enjoy the book yourself: please do so carefully.

7. Mix-Plate // Emily Forster (2017)

BL brought me other gifts this year, but this time from a surprising source: the West. In 2017, seven Western cartoonists put together Boy, I Love You: a BL comics anthology, a work collecting pieces inspired by and celebrating the genre. The anthology itself was enjoyable on the whole, but Emily Forster’s piece, “Mix-Plate”, was an impressive standout.

Not unlike Jackass, affection looms large throughout the story, though this one is much more familial. Jordan is a teenager whose parents don’t quite support him as they should. One day, he meets another boy named Eli who has a different relationship with his family. Jordan eats with Eli’s family on the beach several times and the family’s affection for one another is arguably the true primary relationship of the story.

The imbuing of culture and setting is also key to the story. Though it is never said directly, the comic is ostensibly set in Hawaii given Eli’s family uses Pidgin with significant frequency. This element may be the part that I liked most of all--if anything because I don’t get to read many comics that invoke elements of Hawaiian culture and daily life by cartoonists from Hawaii. The authenticity shines through as much, if not, moreso, than the romance itself.

The comic feels warm and, ultimately, welcoming. Just as a love story should.

6. Akira, vol 1 // Katsuhiro Otomo (1982, re-translated 2017)

I’ve read volume 1 of Akira three times in my life, across about five years. I’ve seen the film several times. And now, I think, Otomo and I are beginning to understand one another. Part of it is certainly that this go round I’ve been reading editions with higher production quality and significantly better translations--but I think I needed to sit with the book for a few (or several) years before it began to resonate.

Finally, after Time Number Three, I understood Kaneda’s cool, Kaneda’s foolishness, and the quiet implication of Kaneda’s tragedy--maybe because they’re all the epitome of youth, or perhaps more accurately, the epitome of lacking control. Ultimately, Akira is really a story about attempts at either control or the illusion of control. What’s cool about Kaneda is that he gets thrown into the center of a government conspiracy and simply rolls with the punches. He’s cool; he’s in control. But what’s foolish about him is even the thought that he’s in control, that he knows it all, that he’s got it figured out. You can’t have one without the other. And the tragedy is what robs him of the control in the first place, what seems to control him, what he has to settle for instead of control--which are things Otomo carefully intimates but never says outright, because..well, tragedy, isn’t cool. Kaneda is at the edge of everything because his youth and his edge are all he has. And you roll with it, just as he does, not just because that edge is cool but because you too are lacking control. You too want to roar in defiance, to make someone or something remember you, even if you can’t. It took some time, but, I got there.

I’m glad I did.

5. Navigating Trauma // Shan Murphy (2017)

Navigating Trauma is a 2017 mood if I’ve ever seen one. I saw it go by on Twitter and was immediately staggered. I looked it several times that day. I’ve looked at it several times since. It depicts the feelings with immediately recognizable truth and honesty. It lets you know where you’ve been. It lets you know where you’ll eventually be. Though this is my first time coming across their work, Murphy’s work here is reminiscent of Tove Jansson’s Moomin strips--in both style and tone, I think. There’s a sweetness and a sharpness. Something gentle that will not lie to you about the difficult portions of life. But also something that will comfort you through them. A fantastic piece.

4. Stages of Rot // Linnea Sterte (2017)

I’ve been thinking for a while about how to describe what’s good about Stages of Rot and I keep coming back to the notion of it representing the quietest, stillest, and most undisturbed parts of my heart. It’s the art, mainly. The narrative relies much less on words and much more on “vibe,” as my friend and colleague Shea Hennum is wont to put it. The story doesn’t even matter to me, all that much. I have trouble keeping it together, though the description on the back helps:

“An alien desert comes to life around the body of a dying whale. Animals, insects and ancient peoples scramble for her remains and make their homes among her bones, struggling through a millenia-long process of decay.”

As I said, though, it’s the art. The lines and colors are both, at once, soft but definitive. Any more words would ruin it because it’s the feeling--the feeling of being in tune with something across time and space. A kind of purpose and significance to the movements of the earth, and you. It’s something holy. A pure experience.

3. Shinobeba Koi // Yukue Moegi (2014)

Well, it’s BL again. Sorry, not sorry. And even worse, it’s a title that hasn’t been translated to English (yet). I know, I know, but I’m even less sorry than I was previously. I’m speaking it into the universe such that some intrepid young licenser will come across this post and think, yes, today I will, because honestly, I’ve read this comic about 6 times this year and I am moved each time.

Shinobeba Koi is a two-volume comic that is actually a spin-off from a different comic, Nirameba Koi. It follows the older brother of the main character from Nirameba, but that doesn’t matter because Shinobeba is entirely enjoyable without that context (and is a definitively superior comic.) It tells the tale of a long love between Tora (the older brother) and Tetsuya. The story starts when they’re older, working at a hair salon together, but readers learn that they knew each other from before, when the two were teenagers. Tetsuya was 18, the leader of a bike gang and Tora, 16, admired him deeply, desperate to join his gang.

The depth of their feelings is apparent and holds throughout the narrative, gently but firmly. There are a number of opportunities for Moegi to overdo it, but she never does. The story is always told with restraint and deep sensitivity, which is particularly fitting against the setting of an extremely masculine bike gang. I’m continually swept away by the gentleness and the certainty of affection between the two leads, even at troublesome intersections. I love a story of a long, patient love--perhaps because patient love is the sort that I feel that I need--so this one is among my very favorite.

2. On A Sunbeam // Tillie Walden (2016-7)

I almost put On A Sunbeam on last year’s list, but it hadn’t finished yet, and I have been burned by the floppy endings of too many otherwise brilliant works to make similar mistakes again. With that in mind, I should note how I felt reading the end of this comic.

It had been finished for a few weeks, but I was already three or four chapters behind--and I was also a bit depressed. I wasn’t interested in much, couldn’t do much, didn’t want to do much beyond feeling bad about not being able to do or wanting to do much. My friend Mark suggested that I read the final chapters of the comic, in hopes of improving my mood, but I told him I didn’t want to, since the weight of those final chapters possibly being bad (or worse, middling) seemed like too much additional sadness. And then I would never know if the comic was bad or if I was bad. And that too seemed too much.

So I waited. I waited for a day that I felt, at a minimum, okay, and then I read it. And, of course, once I did, I was ready to spin-kick the sun out of the sky. (I say that a lot for things I like, because it’s the only thing that really adequately describes how it feels when I experience something I love, so you may have heard me use the phrase before.)

I could write about the sheer industriousness of Walden’s work on this webcomic--she was putting out 20-30 pages...a week, never mind a month--or I could write about it in context of how much I love her other work, but really, I just want to say that On A Sunbeam is chockful of artfully restrained and fine feelings--of love, of fury, of warmth.

It’s a space comic that, in one timeline, follows Mia, a girl working as a part of a ship’s crew that restores various buildings for money, but then also follows her at a different time, when she’s at a new boarding school after some troubles at her old one. The work emphasizes the forced closeness of spaceships in the vast distances of space, how crews live together and become families. Use of space and architecture are probably my favorite things about Walden’s comics and On A Sunbeam is no exception. My experience of the comic was always relief, gratefulness, and joy at having such quality work available to me on a regular basis.

It’s going to be published in print in 2018, if webcomics aren’t your thing. I hope it brings you as much relief, gratitude, and joy as it brought me.

1. Finder, vol 1 // Carla Speed McNeill (1997-present, collected in 2011)

Finder is a miracle comic, I think. It behaves as though it’s real, which a lot of fictional works strive for, but rarely actually achieve. I was immediately engrossed after the first few pages and the huge library volumes collected by Dark Horse in 2011 are massive--664 pages, precisely. But it’s likely the casualness of it all, the evidence of the world building without explanation, and the compelling character (protagonist is the wrong word, in the context of Finder) we have in Jaeger, an Ascian sin-eater. If you haven’t read Finder, you don’t know what either of those words mean, but that’s fine, don’t worry--whatever I tell you about it won’t be as good as if you just pick up the book and let McNeill tell you herself. Or, I don’t know, let Finder tell you itself, as it almost seems to function on its own.

That’s part of it too. McNeill’s work is impressive such that the seams, the hand of the creator is almost, oddly, invisible (even though it could in no way happen without her, dare I say, genius.) There are many comics that I can imagine working on myself, even several of the ones by the greats (I admit, audaciously) but Finder is its own separate, brilliant thing that I could never either conceive of or create, even knowing about it after the fact.

I imagine I’m frustrating you because you’ve arrived at #1 and I haven’t even told you what the comic is about but, to be honest, I don’t know! I can’t say. Anything I’d say would be incomplete and a disservice to an undefinable truth. I can tell you that some of it is about Jaeger, but much of it isn’t. My favorite parts are about him, but there’s plenty I love that’s hardly related.

It’s a comic I can’t define with all my words and critical prowess, can’t create with all of my imagination and sense of structure, but absolutely love. It’s a world. It’s several. It’s a life, a series of lives.

And how on earth could I adequately tell you about that?

#finder #shinobeba koi #jackass #tillie walden #on a sunbeam #stages of rot #linnea sterte #shan murphy #emily forster #akira #katushiro otomo #carla speed mcneil

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wroef · 7 years

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how would you characterize the finches (as in who are they a person, what is their personality like, their aesthetics, etc). you don't have to write essays, i'd just like to know what you think of each of them. that would really interest me.

mod milton just went to go get food which has left me unattended so (peace sign emoji)

(EDIT MOD MILTON GOT BACK FROM GETTING FOOD AND IM ONLY ON WALTER, you can’t tell me to not write essays i will anyway im trying to be as brief as possible this is just how i AM)

milton is the aesthetic dude so he can either reblog or go back and edit this with what he thinks everyone’s aesthetics would be, i’ll just give descriptions of them and their personality. also im only gonna do the ones with portraits!!

odin - probably has an attitude a lot like dawn? i mean, he uprooted his whole house to sail to america to try to escape the curse. so like, paranoid family man that wants to keep his family safe. also probably likes boating/fishing or something. he’s probably sorta like my dad in that he cares deeply about his family, doesn’t like really anyone else, and can almost be sorta hotheaded when it comes to something getting in the way of him and his family. i sorta get that vibe? idk

edie - probably like how mod milton has described her before, like a kooky but weirdly lovable grandma? like the kind that would babysit the kids and then give them a bunch of chocolate and candy just before sending them back to their parents or something. probably a sweet old lady but also the kind that’s like ‘youre too nice wtf’ because she’d also be weirdly paranoid and such because of the family curse. definitely a person you could sit with and hear all of her stories though.

molly - i feel like she’d be the kinda kid who’d eat bugs and stuff as a kid and break her toys to figure out how they worked. she reminds me a lot of me as a kid, just more happy? and more interested in sea stuff. i feel like she’d be the kinda girl that you’d have to drag away from the beach whenever yall had to go home. just super bubbly and sweet but with sorta a weird fascination with dissecting things and figuring out how the innards of stuff work together. also probably spends more time eating than doing literally anything else

barbara - definitely the cute blonde that everyone said ‘she’s gonna be big one day’ and she did. she probably woulda loved watching child star stuff and when she had the opportunity to be in a movie she begged edie to let her audition. as she got older and america ‘grew out of her’, she probably was a theater kid type in high school, just waiting for another big break and auditioning anywhere she could. definitely the kind to roll her eyes whenever she had to babysit her little brothers, but she still cared a lot about them.

calvin - the kid to have probably gotten his head stuck in a fish bowl pretending to be an astronaut more than once. he was probably a big nerd growing up about space, begging for stuff like a telescope or astronomy books or anything he could get his hands on. he was the kid who said ‘im gonna be an astronaut when i grow up’ and was actually gearing to do just that. he was probably amazing as heck at school and sam might have even had him do his homework more than once. so smart kid, very hardheaded. think of like, how the majority of the fandom portrays clay terran from ace attorney (if anyone around here plays AA?)

sam - perfectly content staying on the ground, thanks. total one-with-nature type kid, probably wanted to be a nature photographer before calvin died. after the fact, he probably geared himself more toward military because he figured the thought of achieving your ‘true dream’ was all bs since he had then lost two siblings trying to achieve their dreams. so he dropped the photography except for recreational usage, and focused on gearing toward the military probably because this is vietnam war time and he didn’t really have a drive to go for anything else. he liked the structure that being in the military gave him and raised his kids with the same strict schedule, but it was probably a combination of his general stubborn pessimistic personality (which was never shown around the kids, of course) with his history and being away from the kids for a lot of their younger years because of the USMC that lead to his and Kay’s divorce. i feel like ive rambled a lot about sam for someone who doesn’t like him. tl;dr bad dad but also sad dad?

walter - my poor, sweet, paranoid delusional baby. he was probably the type to, like molly, enjoy the sea a lot. he probably wanted to be a marine biologist growing up, and when barbara died because of the supposed ‘monster’, being exposed to that kind of trauma of literally hearing your sister’s last words as she screams while being killed, that would kinda fuck you up. i could see him locking himself in his room for days on end, eventually forcing edie to have to drop him out of school and homeschool him. it probably took him months to even be able to step outside of his room. when calvin died he probably re-shut himself in, just terrified of everything. it said in game he had been down there for 30 years, and since he died at 53, that would mean he retreated to the basement at 23 years old. possibly, when no one else was living in the house aside from edie, she and him worked together to create the bunker that took a few years to make before it was livable.

dawn - she probably took after her dad a lot, not in the fact of the hunting or other activities he enjoyed but more in the pessimistic view of life. she’s seen in his story reading a lot and i feel like that’s because she’s the quiet type that would rather submerse herself in a fantasy world in a book than she would interact with the real world. sorta like how the whole “sam seemed to go out of his way to meet [death]”, conversely, dawn tried to stay away from it as much as possible. she probably grew up wanting to explore and ‘see the world’ before she died, which was why she started joining volunteer programs to help people in other countries. she probably became more religious after her dad passed but hid it more when she got close to sanjay because of religious differences, which was why she and sanjay would have decided to raise their kids without religion. she cared a lot, but she showed it in a weird way; she was angry and paranoid, sure, but she did care. sorta like how i wrote odin.

gus - rebel kid. probably grew up with a resentment for his dad and saw him as the source for ‘mom leaving’ and such. gregory died when he was around 8 years old, which is just around the time hormones are about to go wild and puberty sets in, so he probably launched himself into a punk rock lifestyle to sort of rebel against his parents and deal with his grief in his own way when he felt no one else really understood him. since dawn was pretty hardheaded and stern and pessimistic like their father, gus probably didn’t feel all that comfortable talking to her, so he just bottled a lot of stuff up. sad baby

gregory - i feel like his story sums him up personality wise pretty well, idk, hes a baby

lewis - stoner kid. he probably grew up in india learning both english and hindi from his parents, and was generally a normal happy kid until his dad died. when he did and they moved back to the states, he would have been about 14, with milton at 10 and edith at 3. milton and lewis probably got along a lot for the year they were together in the finch house and while they were being homeschooled, and when milton disappeared he probably fell into a depressive state as he had no one else to really talk to around his age about the losses he experienced. not to mention as another anon said, he was the only finch to not really show any artistic talents, which further ostracized him from his family and everyone else. he probably took to drugs as a means to cope, which became a habit. when he graduated and isolated himself in his room to smoke and occasionally talk to edith, that’s when dawn signed him up for a job at the cannery to try to help coax him out and into a more healthy life, which of course backfired. overall though, he would have been a really nice person, if not sort of standoffish emotionally. he loved spending time with his siblings and his dad, though never really had much attachment to his mom. nice dude, 10/10, would smoke a bowl with him

milton - (in the words of mod milton: college art student doesn’t get sleep) ok thanks mod milton. ok so like. i see milton as being the super artsy kid in class, the one who’d say ‘i wanna be an artist when i grow up!’ and fucked around with paint all the time and stuff. as he got older he figured out how to make stuff work better (might have even been signed up for art classes) and figured out how to make landscapes and animate (with flipbooks) and such like that. he was probably a kid very eager to learn and discover new things, like how in an entire year he managed to find all the passageways in the finch house and disclose that information to lewis before he disappeared. very smart kid, practically a prodigy for his age in the world of painting and art

edith - sweet sweetheart baby child. probably grew up like the others, wanting to learn and figure out as much stuff as she possibly could. she took to drawing a lot and maybe even took pointers as a young 4 year old from her 11 year old brother milton before he disappeared. when he disappeared this probably raised a lot of curiosity in the young child and she wanted to learn more about her family history, but dawn wouldn’t allow it and edie wanted to respect her grandchild’s wishes despite her great-grandchild’s arguments. once they stopped being homeschooled (which idk what age that would be, i’d have to do math) and edith started going to public school, she may have been kind of insecure and introverted and kept to herself a lot of the time. when lewis died and she had to switch schools she probably gained more confidence from being in a place where no one knew her or her family history anymore and got herself a boyfriend which would lead to current situations in game.

I KNOW YOU SAID TO NOT WRITE PARAGRAPHS BUT THIS IS JUST HOW I DO MAN SORRY

-mod lewis

#wroef #how do i tag this #mod lewis #mod milton add aesthetics #Anonymous

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