Twenty-First Lovely

    "Dad!" I jumped. I lifted my head to see my son staring down at me as I lay down.
    As my nerves calmed, I sat up. "Hey...I thought you and Couro were on a walk with Dot." 
    "We were," he drawled. Hesitantly, he made his way to my bedpost. "But then Serena came outside and she and Couro wanted to play with him together." I gave him a moment to continue and tell me that he didn't leave my eight-year-old daughter alone on a whim. When he didn't say anything, I started to worry. 
    Pushing myself off the bed, I asked, "...Where are they now?"
He shrugged. "Told them not to leave the area though, so they can't be too far." Taken aback, I stared at him for a moment. It wasn't as if she'd never played outside alone before. I just preferred to take precautions, such as giving her an old phone, setting a curfew, and giving her firm playing boundaries. 'The area' was too loosely defined for my liking.
    Sighing, I reached for a jacket and quickly put it on. "Gora--"
    "Wait!" He jumped into my walking path. "I, uh, actually wanted to talk to you. About Mom." His desperate brown eyes begged me to stay and I gave in. I let the jacket slip off my arms and leaned against my bedpost.
    "What in particular?"
    "You never gave me the details of it," he said finally. "Told me almost the same story you told Couro." Thinking back, I remembered how important it was to Kutu that Gora wasn't fully aware of her condition. She believed that she'd one day get better and didn't want to scare him. Right after her passing, it was a mixture of grief and fear that kept me from telling him anything. 
    Since then, it was just fear. Something I was slowly realizing I was gonna have to start facing to fix my mistakes. "Gora..." I took a deep breath, "I have been so scared of telling you. Scared of pitting you two against each other. Scared that Couro might blame herself."
    "What?" Pausing, I beckoned him to come and sit on the edge of my bed with me. He delayed for a moment--it had been years since he last sat on the bed--but he eventually joined me. It reminded me of when Kutu would push me to make him sleep in his own room as a toddler. All I wanted back then was to never let go of my son. We would sit on this very side of the bed, whining and complaining to Kutu, begging her to allow him to sleep between us. She would giggle from the opposite end, mock scolding us until I picked Gora up, threw him over my shoulder, and carried him to his room. We were only joking, I once had a talk with him to make sure he knew that his mother had a valid point. A three-year-old Gora then looked up at me from his rocket ship bedding and told me that he knew. "Mommy's only trying to help me."
    I looked at Gora now, around thirteen years after that memory. "Taking care of the three of you was hard," I started. "I had been your mother's organizer for so long, I never really considered anything else. But she didn't make any art for those last few years. And you can only do the same shows over and over before people get bored. Picked up a dozen or so strange jobs in those years. I had a rapidly growing toddler, a rapidly changing adolescent, and a rapidly dying wife--all depending on a sinking business and several crummy part times that I kept losing and picking back up. I was falling apart at the seams and had some morbid thoughts here and there. I can remember coming home after a dozen or so hours of working to an infant Couro crying for her mother who was too sick to even stand. I looked my baby--my baby, Gora--in her eyes and briefly wished she had never been born.
    "I don't want you to look at Couro and feel that way. The twisted relief I sometimes felt in the months after Kutu's death..."
    "Relief?" The crack in his voice brought in a wave of shame. I put my hand up, asking for a moment to recollect. On the dresser beside the bed was my half filled water bottle. I stretched over to get it and downed what was left.

    Refreshed, I explained, "It was sepsis. Technically postpartum. Back in 2010, your aunt Gigi had fallen sick with infectious pneumonia and Kutu rushed to be by her side the moment she heard. As Gigi recovered, Kutu started to not feel well and next thing I know, she's in the hospital too. I don't know, maybe something wrong with the IV, but then we're being told she had a blood infection. It was then, early 2011, that Kutu told me she was pregnant. It wasn't too bad at first. But her sickle cell and pregnancy made it worse. Three days after Couro's birth, it was full-blown sepsis. 

    "Couro wasn't really affected. She had unrelated breathing problems and a bit of flat head later on. Also, she inherited Kutu's sickle cell. After two weeks in the ICU--she couldn't breathe and her mother couldn't feed--I had to take her home alone. Kutu stayed much longer. The sepsis did a number on her lungs and immunity. Over the next few years she was constantly falling sick and hospitalized four more times due to me not knowing what to do. About a year before her death, a lung failed, then we had to constantly treat her at home. I remember how much she hated it. Sometimes, she'd ask me to just let her die and focus on you two. 

    "One day, we were out shopping for pumpkins. We had Gigi watching you two--she felt so guilty and always offered to help any way she could. Kutu was eyeing a particularly large pumpkin and I was holding her hand until she just...fell. A stranger called the ambulance while I did everything I could to wake her up. Then they came and took her away. A white stretcher and a matching pillow. Kutu looked so...hollow. And just like that, I have a funeral to plan. I don't remember which treatment she missed, but it was intentional. The police tried to blame me, seeing as I was her sole caretaker. That was a whole another heartbreak, but they let me go eventually once they pieced it together. 

    "But suddenly, every thing eased up. We still had older hospital bills, but they stopped charging us more. No more juggling medications and therapy and treatment. Longtime gallery visitors heard and were willing to offer up donations and condolences. I was able to drop down to just two part times and finally had time to search for an employer. It allowed me to mourn in peace. But honestly, there would be days when I wouldn't even feel the grief. I would just be so numb and checked out of everything, and on those days, I felt relief at how much less I had to do."

    Gora let the words hang in the air, taking in every bit of what I just said. I could almost see his brain processing everything. "I... I think I remember that. I remember how much I just wanted you to acknowledge Mom's death. You wouldn't. I seesawed between hating and loving you for that."
    "Even in my frenzy, we still spent so much time together back then." I scoffed and playfully pushed him "Well, more than we do now." 
    While he bobbed back up, I could see his nerves relaxing. He looked at me, it was the same look I had given him earlier. "No, Dad. We just used to actually get along."
    I swallowed my smile. "Why don't we now?"
    "You don't like to listen." He waited for a moment, before huffing and sliding off the bed. Almost immediately, I grabbed his arm.
    "Wait, no, I'm sorry," I begged. "Please, talk to me."
    Rolling his eyes, he shook my arm off of him. He then sat back down and explained, "I'm not saying you're a bad father. I see how you are with Couro, you're a good one, really. But I had a couple issues going on a while ago, and you've just never let them go. I was fourteen when I lost my mother, Dad. I lashed out because I was barely processing. But ever since my freshman year outburst, you've always seen me as if I'm about to do something. In your eyes I'm always plotting, always unhappy, always looking to irritate you and Couro. I want to do better, but I can't if my own father doesn't believe I can or will.

    "Don't get me wrong, I fuck up a lot. A lot. And I'm not going to say you're responsible for any of it. But you're not at all helpful. You get so mad at me for the littlest things and I sometimes can almost see the hatred coming out your ears. It hurts. Makes me not really care because apparently, I have to make extravagant gestures for you to not suspect me." He gestured towards the red wrapping in the corner of the room, from the sweaters he bought a few weeks ago.
    I hung my head. "I am a shit father sometimes--"
    "And there you go not listening again," he raised his voice. But his eyes weren't angry. It was a mixture of fear and frustration. "Very first thing I said was that you're a good dad. I'm pretty sure you do this subconsciously because of how I behaved. I was a shit child--still am--and you do is treat me like one. It's my fault." His eyes started to well with tears. I tried to pull him in but he fought me. "Remember Casey?" he hiccupped. "You said she was just toying with me and my dumb ass snuck out to go dump my birthday money."

    "...You did that?"
    "My point exactly," he laughed. "And, uh, remember Kylie Rivers? Tall--taller than me, actually--red, waist-length hair, dark brown eyes, pale skin. She's sixteen now." We shared a face, one that confirmed my assumption.

    I smiled at him, "Hey, she's in your age range this time."
    He nodded, wiping his eyes, "I've been meaning to mention it. Among other things...like how I really need help finding a job."
    "Anything in mind?"
    "If it pays, I'll look at it." Clicking my tongue, an idea came to me. I pulled out my phone and printed out a flyer Mr. Evans had been passing around. I signaled to the door and Gora got up and went downstairs. He came back analyzing a piece of paper. "So what, I'll be working for you?"
    "On the same floor as me, sometimes," I confirmed. "And if you sign up soon enough they might ask you to help out at this year's holiday showing."
    Keeping his eyes on the flyer, he slowly eased out of the room. "Thanks, I'll think about it." He closed the door on his way out, leaving me in the silence on my room once again.  
    I fell back onto the bed, sighing, only able to think one thing: I needed to go get my kid.

My Dearest, Darling - "Portrait" Colde x Anderson Paak R&B Type Beat prod. wavytrbl

 My dearest, darling--

with a comma after dearest, applaud it.

I hope that I've caught you

in the best-est of feelings, good vibes.

If not, it's alright.

But that's something to be fixed, yeah adjusted.

Cause you, darling you,

deserve the happiest of moods.

Whatever you want, whatever you need,

we'll figure it out just talk to me.

And I'll be right here, help you prepare

for any bullshit you can imagine.

I want you to smile, I want you to dream. 

I want your face to glow that pink.

I want you to laugh, want you to relax, 

and take a moment to think of--

Our fantasy world, running in the terrain.

Where we cuddle up against the pain.

I'm sorry it's like this.

Nevertheless,

despite the distance,

loving like this-- 

it's something precious.

Let us make it until the end.

So darling, dearest,

won't you be

my official boyfriend? 

Beat That Inspired This: Colde x Anderson Paak R&B Type Beat ''Portrait'' (0:21-1:23)

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Poem Prompt: Terror

 Don't think I can't hear the faintest of footsteps.

You mortals all bore me with your "latest" inventions.

A millennia I've been here, somewhat new to the vineyard.

Yet, I've seen it all before, all your famous explorers

who died at my feet, imploring for mercy.

And still evermore, you ignore their losses--

my sympathy's all gone, good luck scoring more.

So go on, try and surprise me, maybe I won't roll my eyes.

Put on all your fancy gear and suit up for your demise.

But once that door opens--be sure that I'll sense it.

Just like my father taught me, I'll relay my family's rhymes,

smiling because I know my music's echoing in your mind.

In fear you'll start to tremble

before we even reach confrontation,

you humans are so cute when you've neared your damnation.

And when you see me, hell will truly break free.

All your nightmares come alive in me.

Your delicate life will barely be able to comprehend

the sight of a demon waiting for your descend.

You'll feel your mind start chipping,

you'll feel your reality slipping.

I'll pull out my fangs and it'll be time for my favorite part of the day.

As I inch closer, your humanity slowly fades

to spare itself, your soul escapes, and bends at my gaze.

I could turn you, if I feel generous, spare another useless mortal

or have some fun instead and watch you get emotional.

I sink my teeth into your neck, drawing up the blood

press in deeper, pierce your vein--I know you won't survive--

but it's so entertaining to watch the terror in your eyes.

Relentless, I eat up until you can't get up.

And when you're down, just for good measure, I may rip your heart out.

And you'll scream when you die like the last I be rid of.

Happy Birthday 'Rona

    Today marks a year since the first traceable corona case. As of today, there are 11.6M total American cases with 250K deaths and 55.6M global cases with 1.34M deaths. On November 16, 2020, there were 1,724 new cases on America soil alone. A 55-year-old from Hubei, China is the closest that we have to the first corona case. Although, we aren't even sure on this and it could have easily originated elsewhere earlier. Scientists are sure it started in the pangolian bat, but which human had it first and how is still uncertain. The 55-year-old's case was already more than a month prior to the first corona cases documented by doctors in December. There were up to five to sixty new cases every day in that one-month time period. 

    I bring this up as a reminder to myself, and consequently others, of the current situation. Online, I see many people that have simply...given up on quarantine. People are taking vacations, having weddings, going to parties, etc. And I get it, it's summer and this whole thing was meant to be over back in May. But it didn't end. Covid is still here, killing hundreds every day, and the vaccine we have is still in the testing phase. It was slowly getting under control, but because of a reckless summer, it's spiked again. My state and several others are going back into Phase 1 with no signs of progressing any time soon. Prisoners are being hired to bury dead covid bodies

    And no, I'm not saying covid is the end of the world. Honestly, it shouldn't be. But it very well could. With a 99.7% recovery rate, it really should've been as simple as to control the spread and get a vaccine. Once herd immunity is established, we can go ahead and start treating the virus like the flu. But because of how stubborn and reckless this country can be, here we are. A new spike, a new thread, a new statistic. And everyday I fear more and more that this might become our new way of life. There are babies who were born in March who are now approaching nine months. Nine-month-old infants who have lived entirely in quarantine.

    Eventually the virus will die down, yes. But this is generational trauma. More Gen Z and Millennials will be afraid to touch, afraid to go out, afraid of another outbreak. Yes we joke about it, but we're all so scared of losing lives to it. Even those who pretend it isn't there, their whole shtick is "don't let covid control your life." The fear of not living has pushed them to risk even being alive. But the way I see it, we've already lost everything to this virus. We've already lost an entire year--no way it'll be resolved by March 2021--and we're on the projectile to lose more. The world is operating completely virtually in some places. Who's to say it'll ever go back? The reliance on electronics and wi-fi has skyrocketed, but people are getting comfortable with their screen time nearly tripling. If we are ever free again, would we really want to go back? How many kids would go back to school? How many with options to work from him would start going into the office? How many clubs or extracurricular would re-set themselves up physically? 

    Humans are notoriously lazy creatures and have spent the past thousands of years gradually making life easier. In the past few decades we've seen a decrease in actual human contact with all the other options available. While I don't mean to whine about how terrible phones are, it's undeniable that they've transformed how we socialize.  I know it's changed how I socialize. And I truly fear that if I get comfortable with an entire relationship being over a screen and never be able to fully feel an intrapersonal bond again.

~~~

LiveScience

John Hopkins Corona Map

CDC | 8 Things to Know about Vaccine Planning

~~~

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Twentieth Lovely

Two days later, Gora had won. Couro felt the need to specify where she and Gora had growing up versus where I and Kutu had grown up. It was slightly irritating but made for an extra few lines to her presentation speech. And even though it irritated me, I couldn't deny that she needed more of those. So in between revising my show plans, I offered to help her out. With the speech done and reviewed, it was time for her poster.
It shouldn't have been too difficult. Her teacher had made and emailed out templates for their posters and all the kids had to do was fill in the blanks and customize the empty space. Couro and I spent an hour printing out pictures that represented our small family unit and Couro herself. I lamented them for her and she covered them all in glitter. They were just pictures of the food we liked to eat, games we played, certain days Couro valued--stuff like that.

I'll admit, I got more than a bit emotional going through and listening to her limited memories. It was mostly just stories of back when Gora and I got along. While our relationship had gone downhill since Kutu's death, we were able to be civil enough to give Couro a few years of good times together. And when she talked about taking a picture with her mother on the first day of pre-school, I had to choke back tears. It was the only thing she could remember of Kutu--and the most vivid. She so well encaptured Kutu's hazel eyes, her brown upwards coils, her contagious smile. I was normally much better with talking about Kutu--years of grief allowed me to come to peace with what happened. But something about watching Coro talk about her was made me so emotional. It wasn't until Dot ran into my arms that I managed to pull myself together.

Behind him, Gora followed, putting his leash back in the drawer.

I smiled at him, "Thanks again for taking him out."

Gora just grunted, then tossed a few pieces of paper between Couro and I. "Here's the template for the poster." They were printed sheets of the boxes Couro's teacher emailed out. All we had to do was fill them in, cut them out, and put them on the poster we just finished personalizing.

"Wonderful. Can you take Dot?" Again, he only grunted then shuffled away. Sighing, I scooped up the puppy. "Alright then..."

Couro got to work and started filling out the boxes while I watched. As she did, a certain pair had caught my eye. Two frames side by side labeled 'mom' and 'dad.' Eventually, she got to them, and I hyperfocused on her when she did. In 'dad,' she confidently scribbled my name. The way she wrote it, it was as if she had heard and seen it a million times. Her pen just glided through 'Samba Miske' as if it was her own name. When she got to the other label, she paused, her brain going blank. She looked up at me, her eyes asking for help. 

"Kutu Miske," I muttered. "K-U-T-U. Miske." 

While writing in the 'mom' space, she asked, "Daddy, what happened to Mommy?"
"She got sick." The same answer I always gave her. Telling her about the P.P.S. could lead to her blaming herself and that was the last thing this family needed. "She couldn't recover well and her body gave up." Couro made a face at me, clearly wanting a more detailed answer. I didn't answer and starring into Dot's coat, letting her curiosity die.
A moment later, she picked up a laminated label. 'کورو' This one, in particular, was her favorite. While gluing it down to the poster, she asked me, "Did Mommy speak Arabic?"

I smiled, remember Kutu and I's first meeting and conversation, which was purely in Hassānīya since we both passing through Assaba at the time. I chuckled at how awkward and embarrassed we both were, seeing as we really weren't supposed to have been talking at all. My Imam would have crucified me if he had heard of the encounter. It was an old feeling seeing where we had ended up...teenage me would've never seen any of this coming. "Yeah, fluently, actually."

"Can I learn?" 

So, I decided to teach her what I knew. Put Dot in a cage I had picked up and sat her down beside her finished poster. For about an hour, we sat on the floor, going back and forth with pronunciation and basic letters. Watching her eyes light up whenever I showed her new letters and how to pronounce them...it was so cathartic. All of my worries about the show, Dot, Rachel, the up and coming Thanksgiving--they just all fizzled away. In her interest, I saw Gora's eyes. Back when he was a small, little boy who loved when Daddy told him stories about where his family was from. Back when Kutu's sisters all lived minutes away from us and Gora would play with all thirteen of his cousins. Back when Kutu would fill the house with new murals every month.

Almost ten years ago.

"Daddy?" she asked, pulling on my arm. "How come you're so good at Arabic?"
"I grew up speaking it, sweetie. It was my first language." I shrugged her off. "I just don't really use it."
"Why not?" Her face turned, the way little kids did when they don't understand something. But I just shrugged again.
"Won't you forget?"
"You never forget your mother tongue. No matter what I teach you, you'll always have your English." Placing my hand on her head, I toyed with her brown coils. So similar to her mother's.
Right then, her stomach growled and she giggled at it.
"What's 'food'?"
"طَعام" 

I heard a scruffled laugh from behind me. Sulking and leaning on the doorframe, was my one and only son. "Gora..."

He didn't look at me at first. Instead, he walked over and stooped next to Couro, studying her crooked writing. "You used to teach me. Remember? I made a whole speech to the class once in, admittedly, very broken Arabic. No one understood me except for the one kid who was actually fluent. Man, did I shamed for that." 

He let out a raspy laugh and I couldn't help but chuckle along. "Was I that bad a teacher?"
"You're alright. Mom never wanted me to focus on it. I don't blame her. Monte's the only non-relative I've met who speaks--and he's back in Little Rock." Kutu was very adamant that the kids grew up in their homes and not ours. She didn't want Gora and Couro to be defined by their roots. We still spoke in front of them--immersing in their culture was always meant to be an option--but she didn't want it to be everything.

Abruptly Couro gasped. She whipped her head over to Gora, "You should join us."
"Sure."

"I'll go get Gora a pen." She scrambled to her feet and ran out of the room.

While she was gone, I so desperately wanted to talk to Gora. Seeing him in Couro reminded me of what our relationship used to be and I was willing to do anything to have that back. 

But just as I was about to say something, he dropped to the spot right next to me. Gulping, he sat up and looked dead at me.

"Hey, Dad. Sorry if it seemed like I was one-upping you the other day. It's just hard being the son of immigrants and not really knowing where you're from. Like I know you're from Mauritania but that's about it. I'm not immersed in the culture, barely know the language...my roots are here, Dad. And since we're not gonna be in Little Rock anymore, the only place I've really called home...it sucks, y'know? Probably only lashed out at you from frustration. So, I'm sorry."

For a minute, I just stared at him. Confused, but relieved, I pulled him into a hug. He squirmed a bit--a lot--but I was not about to let go. "I'm sorry too. I'm sorry that I let it get to this point, I really am. It never should have been like this." 

"Hugs!" I felt another pair of arms, admittedly tinier, wrap around my neck. Gora laughed and finally relaxed into the embrace.

Overdue Poem - "feel good" Rex Orange County ft. Brakence Type Beat [indie] prod. heydium

 I never wrote you a poem

in the time that I knew you.

Stop asking me why. Oh why, I

never thought I'd need to.

I'm on the edge of it all now,

thinking of our time together.

Emotions start bubbling, memories start flooding--

I'll hold on forever.

If I had wrote you that poem,

your long overdue lyrics,

I'm sure you would have smiled.

Maybe, now you'd even miss it.

But that's not the case...

I know it's all my own damn fault.

but if I wrote you that poem,

I'm sure it would have gone like:

Thank you for what you have done for me,

you truthfully helped me erase out some pain

that had been piling up cause of the month of love.

Stuff had come up, I was drowning above--

felt I wasn't enough, only made things worse,

my security blurred, thought for sure this was it.

Thank you for stepping up, always trying your best for yours...

Oh, truly, my biggest regret was 

rushing into it,

knowing we wouldn't last--

but that's not what's wrong.

I long forsaw that chapter. 

Happily ever after

wasn't where we were heading.

We simply enjoyed it, you sensed it I know it.

The end should have been crystal.

But because of me and my reckless deeds,

this became an entire thing.

I don't miss you, I'm sorry, 

just glad that you've started moving right along.

I only wish you the best, 

and I really regret never having told your story 

in one of my songs.

So here we are:

your overdue poem.

Beat Which Inspired This: (FREE) Rex Orange Country Ft. Brakece Type Beat "feel good" [indie] prod. heydium

Short Film Review - Shine

    Shine is a short, barely over four minutes, animated film. Released back in 2016 and as of November 12, 2020, has a 6.3/10 IMDb rating. It was uploaded to Filmalademie Baden-Württemberg's YouTube Channel. From the looks of things, the studio is fairly busy. See here. The film officially falls under the "short/animation" category, though I personally would also categorize it under romance as well. It was directed by Alexander Dietrich and Johannes Flick and produced by Mareike Keller. Here is all of Dietrich's previous work. 

   This video itself was very well-made if you asked me. However, I'm not a professional and simply just admired the aesthetics. Especially when "Shine" was drawn on the screen, it just gave me massive New Orleans late-night golden jazz vibes. Then when the unnamed creatures were shown harnessing light in the latern-lit sky my eyes just never wanted to leave the screen. Everything about it was just so pretty. It had me hooked. Then came time for the plot.

    If we're being honest here, it was a bit basic and kind of barebone. It was your typical guy wants girl but feels intimidated by a subjectively better guy. Their ability to harness light is really only used as a non-verbal way to show the competition between the two, essentially like peacocks. I was a bit disappointed seeing that was all they did with it, felt too much like wasted potential. But then again, it was a 4-minute video and the last full minute was dedicated to credits.

    There really isn't much to say here. They relied on stereotypes for any type of personality--attractive girl who wants what she wants, insecure guy who reaches, and overconfident macho--and the light competition and the cuddling at the end were the only relationships we saw. Which, by the way, they don't make it clear if macho man died or not. I was expected to see him burnt and barely alive somewhere in the credits, but we didn't. We just see him flying off and now there's this special light dust above the other two. I'm not saying they are, but you cannot deny that they could very easily be cuddling in this man's ashes right now.

    This is the description provided:
    "Two male, glowing creatures start a fight over trying to impress a female. Each one of them wants to win her over by giving a better light show than his competitor. 'Shine" is a visual love story showing the importance of healthy competition. The film shows that it is not always the strongest, fastest or most attractive that wins as sometimes it is the inner light that shines the brightest. The film brings a fresh perspective to the age-old story of men vying for the love of a beautiful woman, however in this instance, the men are two furry creatures who battle with the power of self-illumination. The battle to glow brightest is intense and the combat fierce. They are on fire... until one gets burned!"

    So it's canon that he was burned....

~~~

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Poem Prompt: Allure

"I don't even deserve you," she sings, knowing very well it was the wrong way.

"Yet here you are with me."

When I look into her grayed eyes I see the eye of the hurricane

that has tormented me for years.

Every blasted storm I've ever been caught in--

they all cease at her command.

My sense of reality crumbles apart and every worry fades into

the slight lines that align the sides of her smile.

So then tell me why is that when I leave her side

eveything comes back.

Life cracks its whip at me again and I fear what I could do to her.

I try to warn her--I do.

But her laughing snort is so enticing,

so encapsing, so alluring.

I fall apart when I hear it and I ask myself,

"How could you ever think of abandoning her?"

And I know she deserves better,

but she says she wants me and I'm sure as hell she doesn't want pain.

So I promise I'll make myself better, if not for me, 

then to protect her.

Childhood

    The prime foundation of humanity--childhood. Our personalities, beliefs, instincts, habits, etc. are all rooted in our first experiences in this world. Many people might have the wildest fears due to an unfortunate encounter when they were six. Some find themselves stuck in a similar routine that was instilled into them. And still, some spend years undoing what had been drilled into their head from birth. 

    Just look around and you’ll see what an influence childhood exposure has on a person. So many of the world’s problems are rooted in traditionalism and simply following what you’ve been told to do without question. Note, this isn’t an attack on traditionalist ideas as a whole. They are perfectly okay as long as you take into account how you’re affecting others. Which, is really a rule of thumb for any belief set. Consider the consequences of devoutly following any movement, religion, traditions, etc. As long as you as a human acknowledge that you could be harming yourself or others and actively avoid doing so, there is no issue. What I just described takes a hell of a lot of thinking, compassion, awareness, and processing skills. Something that young children do not have.
    While it is entirely possible to rope an adult into believing anything when they are in a vulnerable state--i.e. cults--childhood is eighteen years of vulnerability. More if you allot the extra six to eight years it takes for a human brain to fully develop. Teaching a child is teaching a person who is perpetually in a vulnerable state. That is why what a child absorbs is so critically important. Anything they hear or see they will soak it up like a walking sponge and it will affect their psyche. Really, anything you ever interact with or pick up affects you somehow, just less and less as you age. The elderly have a tendency to be so stubborn and unwavering because of the decades of life they have as a belief base. I myself have just over fifteen years. It makes perfect sense for me to question everything constantly because I haven’t established myself yet. And what I absorb and experience now will likely decide which hills I’ll be ready to die on in my seventies and eighties. This is especially true for young toddlers and infants, who have barely developed any sense of comprehension. Anything you tell them, they say--well, gargle--it right back and hold steadfast on it until challenged. While you have certain things that just come encoded into your being, a large majority of your personality and who you are is shaped by your reactions to your environment. And the environment that affects a person the most is the very first one.

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    It has been a rough past few months and honestly, all my 2020 resolutions have gone down the drain. With it, so did my motivation to really do much of anything. It wasn't a depressive state per se, just a lack of will to put effort into anything that wasn't school. However, I still enjoyed doing the things that I saw as effortless. So really, maybe I've just been lazy.
    What brought me back here was a school competition. Write-A-Book. Seeing it got my creative juices flowing and reminded me how great it felt to express myself creatively. It doesn't even need to be the elaborate metaphor I'm construing for my entry. Just sitting down and writing what's on my mind, my opinions, what I see in the world, etc. just makes me feel so...released. I've drafted and scheduled posts for the rest of the year, and even if I miss a few or don't put up my best quality, I'm happy to say that I'm ready to finish off 2020. Maybe not "strong," but I'm ready to move forward.

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