After working on drill and posting a few things to Twitter, I got away from my computer and opened my pantry. Some halo-halo would be good right about now, but, since I can't be bothered to put time or effort into what I eat, I just dumped some fruit cocktail into a bowl and plunked some ube ice cream on top of it. Now you know how to make halo-halo for lazy people.
My phone buzzed. Aside from a few Twitter notifications, I found a call from my mom. It's been a while since I've talked to her. During our last interaction, I had a total mental breakdown and said some things I shouldn't have. I don't remember exactly what either of us had said, but she stopped speaking to me for three years. Ever since then, I've been thinking less about my family than I should have, especially since I want to have one of my own.
I don't know if it's a subconscious form of rebellion against my mother, but I've always wanted the pleasure of fathering my own children. You see, I was forced to be a pageant girl from a very young age. I wasn't ever sure why, but I did remember my mother telling me "Don't ever get pregnant because it will ruin your body/take time away from your career" or something along the lines of that. If anyone was ever a stage mom, my mother Yoko Watanabe would have fit the bill.
However, as time progressed, the sweetness of the beauty pageant sickened me. I didn't feel any pleasure. I started faking sick whenever pageants came. Was I just burned out? Did I need to keep pushing through? Or was it something more? For one, I was sick of my appearance being picked apart as if I didn't have feelings. I had it better than some of the other girls, though. Some of them had to endure spray tanning sessions whereas I just had to go outside to get tan enough.
Some time during my teenage years, I really started to notice that something was off, not just with the lifestyle, but with myself. I felt disgusted by these...things on my chest. To make matters worse, I couldn't hide them. I had to be a pageant girl at every hour on every day. There was no way I could smile unless I was performing. Needless to say, I performed all the time. It continued like that until my senior year of high school when I participated in my last pageant. Although my mother wanted me to do ballet, I decided to do a flamenco routine. She claimed I looked better in a ballet tutu than a Spanish dress, but, on that day, I donned a Spanish dress as an act of rebellion.
All the curling iron burns? Stomp them into the ground.
Jealousy of my peers? Stomp that into the ground.
My mom and her quixotic standards? Stomp that into the ground.
The one thing that kept bouncing back was the feeling that my body wasn't right. I hated my curves and the dress only served to accentuate them. I hated the way my hair moved and the feeling of caked-on makeup. It wasn't me. As the music intensified, I tried harder and harder to stomp it into the ground. It didn't work, though. I shook my castanets in sync with my feet, played a bit of trumpet, and placed third in the pageant. It wasn't bad and I was incredibly proud of myself for working hard, but my mother always knew how to shatter my pride.
"Mallory, that was disgraceful. All those years of investment and that's how you perform?" I cried so hard that my supposedly waterproof makeup streamed down my face. After that, I decided I had enough. Fed up with being paraded around like a doll, I shoved everything off my vanity, hacked my hair off with a sword, hastily threw some clothes into a bag, and got out of the house.
After a week of de facto homelessness, I found my pill bottle and swallowed everything inside of it. I got checked into a mental hospital after getting my stomach pumped. In my time at the mental hospital, my mother somehow found me and visited.
"...Hi." I didn't know what she would say. I wrapped my chest in so many Ace bandages I felt like I was choking.
"Why did you do this, Mallory? Don't you love me?" I completely fell apart. I started building my identity as "M" and then "Mark" and my mother had the nerve to completely shatter it. I cut my hair, starved myself so I wouldn't have my period, and worked out like I was training for a marathon. What do I have to do to be a man in her eyes?
"You loved me as your daughter, but I'm your son now." After that, I screamed some things that I now regret. I was tempted to hang up, but I reconsidered it. I am not who I was in that hospital. I've grown, changed, and evolved into someone completely different.
I picked up the phone and said "This is Mark."
Thursday, June 29, 2017
Monday, June 26, 2017
Footlifters and Weaponized Foods (Steve)
What should my band play?
The Footlifter sounds like a good one for a fall concert. I have some rising percussionists that would sound great on this piece and it has a lot of unisons, but the tempo will keep everyone on their toes. The dynamic contrasts will keep audience and musician alike engaged. Aliyah's piccolo playing would sound great on this piece, but I'm not sure she can get soft enough on the quieter passages. Piccolo is a beast of an instrument and it takes a certain kind of person to control the beast.
Not only that, I'm getting them started on marching and it's so overwhelming. Seeing that I can barely operate my own feet, how am I going to get the feet of around 50 students to stay in time? I scrolled through a list of marching standards. Not liking any of them, I found an arrangement of Bad Apple, decided it was good, and went with that. Now, to design drill. How do I make eight to fives and basic turns look visually interesting without overwhelming a population of new marchers? I opened Pyware to find out.
My phone buzzed to remind me that I have to make another media appearance in about two hours. Dashing out the door, I took my usual route to the studio. When I reached the jungle portion of my route, Alex crossed my path and greeted me. She carried a duffel bag with a plastic ballet slipper charm on one of the zippers.
"I have an exam today." Alex looked more subdued than usual. She handed me an invitation and moved along on her way. Looks like I'll have to clear my schedule.
When I got to the studio, I found my room and got camera-ready. When it was time, I made my way to my seat. I would be live in three...two...one.
What am I supposed to say? Oh, right. I'm supposed to explain how schools are supposed to prevent needle cookie problems because I fell victim to one at the end of the year concert. Someone, presumably a band mom, personally offered me a cookie. The cookie was very sweet, but I felt a prick in my cheek and on my tongue and tasted something metallic. I spit it out to find a telltale red streak and a needle.
Naturally, I felt shocked as to why someone would offer me a needle cookie at a concert. The act had to have been intentional because no one carelessly slips one needle into a cookie on accident. Even worse, if I didn't eat it, a student would have. In that regard, I was glad that it was my tongue that got pricked. I Tweeted my bloody cookie mess with the following text:
Did anyone else get a needle in their cookie?
I got a few student responses.
@little_lise: No, I have not. Is this a part of the #AvengeHavencraft thing that's been going around?
@kenjisugihara: No. Why?
@aliyah-the-piglet: That is terrible! Are you okay?
@engelhardt.han: No. I'll be sure to ask others, though.
Among those responses, I also got this gem.
Land0nLakesButter: haha u deserved that go kys fagot mindcrack is next
LandonLakesButter: Do you have anything better to do with your life than misspell "faggot" and make pathetic, trite threats @Land0nLakesButter?
Until we catch the guilty party and find out her motivations, Mindcrack will only allow prepackaged, commercially sourced goods with intact ingredient labels and aforementioned packaging. It's the one alternative to a cookie ban that will keep my students and myself from falling victim to weaponized from food items. This will allow for some debate on whether schools should allow parents to bring homemade confections to school functions, but I just don't want anyone else to get suffer any injuries related to weaponized food.
The Footlifter sounds like a good one for a fall concert. I have some rising percussionists that would sound great on this piece and it has a lot of unisons, but the tempo will keep everyone on their toes. The dynamic contrasts will keep audience and musician alike engaged. Aliyah's piccolo playing would sound great on this piece, but I'm not sure she can get soft enough on the quieter passages. Piccolo is a beast of an instrument and it takes a certain kind of person to control the beast.
Not only that, I'm getting them started on marching and it's so overwhelming. Seeing that I can barely operate my own feet, how am I going to get the feet of around 50 students to stay in time? I scrolled through a list of marching standards. Not liking any of them, I found an arrangement of Bad Apple, decided it was good, and went with that. Now, to design drill. How do I make eight to fives and basic turns look visually interesting without overwhelming a population of new marchers? I opened Pyware to find out.
My phone buzzed to remind me that I have to make another media appearance in about two hours. Dashing out the door, I took my usual route to the studio. When I reached the jungle portion of my route, Alex crossed my path and greeted me. She carried a duffel bag with a plastic ballet slipper charm on one of the zippers.
"I have an exam today." Alex looked more subdued than usual. She handed me an invitation and moved along on her way. Looks like I'll have to clear my schedule.
When I got to the studio, I found my room and got camera-ready. When it was time, I made my way to my seat. I would be live in three...two...one.
What am I supposed to say? Oh, right. I'm supposed to explain how schools are supposed to prevent needle cookie problems because I fell victim to one at the end of the year concert. Someone, presumably a band mom, personally offered me a cookie. The cookie was very sweet, but I felt a prick in my cheek and on my tongue and tasted something metallic. I spit it out to find a telltale red streak and a needle.
Naturally, I felt shocked as to why someone would offer me a needle cookie at a concert. The act had to have been intentional because no one carelessly slips one needle into a cookie on accident. Even worse, if I didn't eat it, a student would have. In that regard, I was glad that it was my tongue that got pricked. I Tweeted my bloody cookie mess with the following text:
Did anyone else get a needle in their cookie?
I got a few student responses.
@little_lise: No, I have not. Is this a part of the #AvengeHavencraft thing that's been going around?
@kenjisugihara: No. Why?
@aliyah-the-piglet: That is terrible! Are you okay?
@engelhardt.han: No. I'll be sure to ask others, though.
Among those responses, I also got this gem.
Land0nLakesButter: haha u deserved that go kys fagot mindcrack is next
LandonLakesButter: Do you have anything better to do with your life than misspell "faggot" and make pathetic, trite threats @Land0nLakesButter?
Until we catch the guilty party and find out her motivations, Mindcrack will only allow prepackaged, commercially sourced goods with intact ingredient labels and aforementioned packaging. It's the one alternative to a cookie ban that will keep my students and myself from falling victim to weaponized from food items. This will allow for some debate on whether schools should allow parents to bring homemade confections to school functions, but I just don't want anyone else to get suffer any injuries related to weaponized food.
Saturday, June 17, 2017
Someone to Smile For (Alice)
I don't want to fight anymore.
There's nothing to live for but hospital treatments. I have no real family and no real friends. I just have a teacher whose time I'm wasting just by existing. I don't know why he's lying to me. He keeps telling me I'm beautiful, but all of my hair fell out and the rest of me isn't all that attractive. He keeps telling me I'm strong, but I can hardly lift a finger most days. He keeps telling me I'm brave, but I'm the one living off the kindness of others.
Everything's still going according to plan, so the nurses say. The radiation treatments left my skin burning and blistered; the lotion they provided helped a lot. I was in too much pain to do much of anything except languish and complete what I could of my schoolwork. I don't know if I'm getting any better or worse. I can hardly eat, but the nurses want me to keep up my strength.
"Alice, you have a visitor." Huh? A thin, tall man with the brightest red hair I've ever seen followed the nurse.
"Hi." He pulled up a chair and sat next to me. "It's Landon. If you're wondering why Steve's not visiting like he normally does, it's because he had a panic attack. On live TV."
"That's not good." I shifted. My back was sore from lying down. "Is he okay?"
"Yeah. He'll need to sleep it off. So, how are you?" Isn't that obvious? I look like a stick with bulging eyes. I threw up twice this morning. My skin is still sore. I have no desire to get better because I have nothing to look forward to.
"How do you think I am?"
The worst part of all of this is not the treatments or the nausea, or fatigue. Seeing the other kids' parents come and go that brings me more pain than any illness ever could. Some come more frequently than others. Most of the kids manage a smile for their parents despite their circumstances. I have no one to smile for. Rose liked me because I was a good worker in a bad situation, not because I was me. She never came to visit despite all of her "Alice-I-care-about-you"s. So much for that.
"I want you to know that I'll be there for you." A nurse came by wearing protective gloves. He ordered Landon to stay back. I felt the chill of alcohol and the familiar initial burn. "Don't you have any family?"
"My mom is probably glad I'm like this."
"I've heard. And your dad?"
"He's apathetic at best. I mean, he's happy for me when I achieve stuff, but only when I achieve stuff."
"That's no family." He put a hand on my shoulder.
"It's all I have."
"Since Steve's your father, I want a share in that too. I'm all in, no exceptions."
There's nothing to live for but hospital treatments. I have no real family and no real friends. I just have a teacher whose time I'm wasting just by existing. I don't know why he's lying to me. He keeps telling me I'm beautiful, but all of my hair fell out and the rest of me isn't all that attractive. He keeps telling me I'm strong, but I can hardly lift a finger most days. He keeps telling me I'm brave, but I'm the one living off the kindness of others.
Everything's still going according to plan, so the nurses say. The radiation treatments left my skin burning and blistered; the lotion they provided helped a lot. I was in too much pain to do much of anything except languish and complete what I could of my schoolwork. I don't know if I'm getting any better or worse. I can hardly eat, but the nurses want me to keep up my strength.
"Alice, you have a visitor." Huh? A thin, tall man with the brightest red hair I've ever seen followed the nurse.
"Hi." He pulled up a chair and sat next to me. "It's Landon. If you're wondering why Steve's not visiting like he normally does, it's because he had a panic attack. On live TV."
"That's not good." I shifted. My back was sore from lying down. "Is he okay?"
"Yeah. He'll need to sleep it off. So, how are you?" Isn't that obvious? I look like a stick with bulging eyes. I threw up twice this morning. My skin is still sore. I have no desire to get better because I have nothing to look forward to.
"How do you think I am?"
The worst part of all of this is not the treatments or the nausea, or fatigue. Seeing the other kids' parents come and go that brings me more pain than any illness ever could. Some come more frequently than others. Most of the kids manage a smile for their parents despite their circumstances. I have no one to smile for. Rose liked me because I was a good worker in a bad situation, not because I was me. She never came to visit despite all of her "Alice-I-care-about-you"s. So much for that.
"I want you to know that I'll be there for you." A nurse came by wearing protective gloves. He ordered Landon to stay back. I felt the chill of alcohol and the familiar initial burn. "Don't you have any family?"
"My mom is probably glad I'm like this."
"I've heard. And your dad?"
"He's apathetic at best. I mean, he's happy for me when I achieve stuff, but only when I achieve stuff."
"That's no family." He put a hand on my shoulder.
"It's all I have."
"Since Steve's your father, I want a share in that too. I'm all in, no exceptions."
Saturday, June 3, 2017
Silverfish In My Home (Landon)
A/N: This is another vlog transcript.
Title: TWITTER IMPERSONATOR and More
Uploader: LandonLakesMilk
Heeeey, guys.
This is going to be a different kind of video from what I usually do. I won't plug my other channels because...it just doesn't feel right. I've been on here since my 16th birthday (link's in the description) and this is my home. It really is...and I feel like there are silverfish in my home, so let's address a few things.
First off, there's a troll on Twitter whose URL resembles mine. This person's URL is Land0nLakesButter. That's my Twitter URL LandonLakesButter with a zero instead of an O. As much as trolls bug me in general, this one gets to me more because they're pretending to be me in order to promote some outright horrific stuff. I know that there are many parody, satire, and other accounts that use my name such as the-real-landon, EdgyLandon, and landon_lakes_cheesecurls, but these guys are just funny and don't cause any problems. This one, however, causes lots of problems.
First off, they're a raging homophobe--and I know you guys know that I don't use that term lightly. Especially since this is pride month and all that, I feel very disturbed that someone would say things like "I'll bomb your school's LGBT acceptance events. #homophobepride". They even went so far as to say "Havencraft needs to happen again since I didn't succeed in wiping the homos out the first time." Being gay myself, I would never say something like that. So...yeah. I have a homophobic impersonator. In light of it being pride month and all, I've done a little research on this person and they're also a pedophile YouTuber. I don't mean someone who thinks 16 and 19 year olds should be able to be in a relationship. I mean that they advocate having sex with children. Their channel name is Taylor E., so go report them on YouTube as well. Some of my fandub videos have been taken down due to "copyright issues", but content like this is still up. What the *censored*, YouTube? WHAT THE *CENSORED*?
Now that you know about fake Landon, let's move onto something that's affected me very deeply even though it's not directly related to me.
*pause for awkward movements*
You guys, I can't keep dredging up stuff about Havencraft, talking about gay stuff, or practicing my presentation skills and have this go ignored. This is something that happened on a larger scale than Havencraft and I think it deserves to be discussed because it brings light to a lot of issues that I find important. Ready? Here we go. *deep breath.*
Mindcrack Middle and High School had a suicide crisis. Around 200 total students were found dead, usually in the bathrooms. A former student told me that the bathrooms looked like war zones and that they were being cleaned out half the time because a lot of them were vomiting as a result of intentional overdose. And guess what? The administration did nothing until Steve, the band and now orchestra teacher at Mindcrack, confronted them along with others who were not with the school. The fact that the same people who banded together after Havencraft are the same people who are willfully ignoring Mindcrack's problem.
Anyone who's ever lost someone to suicide knows that it's absolutely devastating. I can't imagine how their parents, the surviving students, and the empathetic staff feel. The fact that this issue isn't being brought up and addressed bothers me to say the least. One suicide is one thing, but when the corpses of deceased students are littering the bathrooms, something is terribly wrong with the school. I don't have anything else against Mindcrack, just the fact that this has gone on for too long without attention to the problem.
If you know any Mindcrack students or staff, send them some good thoughts and things. They're probably all bewildered and searching for answers.
That's all I wanted to talk about, so, yeah. I probably ruined your day, but now you're informed.
Title: TWITTER IMPERSONATOR and More
Uploader: LandonLakesMilk
Heeeey, guys.
This is going to be a different kind of video from what I usually do. I won't plug my other channels because...it just doesn't feel right. I've been on here since my 16th birthday (link's in the description) and this is my home. It really is...and I feel like there are silverfish in my home, so let's address a few things.
First off, there's a troll on Twitter whose URL resembles mine. This person's URL is Land0nLakesButter. That's my Twitter URL LandonLakesButter with a zero instead of an O. As much as trolls bug me in general, this one gets to me more because they're pretending to be me in order to promote some outright horrific stuff. I know that there are many parody, satire, and other accounts that use my name such as the-real-landon, EdgyLandon, and landon_lakes_cheesecurls, but these guys are just funny and don't cause any problems. This one, however, causes lots of problems.
First off, they're a raging homophobe--and I know you guys know that I don't use that term lightly. Especially since this is pride month and all that, I feel very disturbed that someone would say things like "I'll bomb your school's LGBT acceptance events. #homophobepride". They even went so far as to say "Havencraft needs to happen again since I didn't succeed in wiping the homos out the first time." Being gay myself, I would never say something like that. So...yeah. I have a homophobic impersonator. In light of it being pride month and all, I've done a little research on this person and they're also a pedophile YouTuber. I don't mean someone who thinks 16 and 19 year olds should be able to be in a relationship. I mean that they advocate having sex with children. Their channel name is Taylor E., so go report them on YouTube as well. Some of my fandub videos have been taken down due to "copyright issues", but content like this is still up. What the *censored*, YouTube? WHAT THE *CENSORED*?
Now that you know about fake Landon, let's move onto something that's affected me very deeply even though it's not directly related to me.
*pause for awkward movements*
You guys, I can't keep dredging up stuff about Havencraft, talking about gay stuff, or practicing my presentation skills and have this go ignored. This is something that happened on a larger scale than Havencraft and I think it deserves to be discussed because it brings light to a lot of issues that I find important. Ready? Here we go. *deep breath.*
Mindcrack Middle and High School had a suicide crisis. Around 200 total students were found dead, usually in the bathrooms. A former student told me that the bathrooms looked like war zones and that they were being cleaned out half the time because a lot of them were vomiting as a result of intentional overdose. And guess what? The administration did nothing until Steve, the band and now orchestra teacher at Mindcrack, confronted them along with others who were not with the school. The fact that the same people who banded together after Havencraft are the same people who are willfully ignoring Mindcrack's problem.
Anyone who's ever lost someone to suicide knows that it's absolutely devastating. I can't imagine how their parents, the surviving students, and the empathetic staff feel. The fact that this issue isn't being brought up and addressed bothers me to say the least. One suicide is one thing, but when the corpses of deceased students are littering the bathrooms, something is terribly wrong with the school. I don't have anything else against Mindcrack, just the fact that this has gone on for too long without attention to the problem.
If you know any Mindcrack students or staff, send them some good thoughts and things. They're probably all bewildered and searching for answers.
That's all I wanted to talk about, so, yeah. I probably ruined your day, but now you're informed.
Friday, June 2, 2017
Satsuma Oranges (Mark)
"Lowell and LaCoste, you guys were great on Stammi Vicino. I could really hear the chemistry between you guys. Matsuda, bring your part out a little more on History Maker. Everyone, that was a great rehearsal. Go leave and kiss your boyfriends." I dragged a swab through my flugelhorn as I always do. It's not much, but it's enough so that I don't worry about finding maggots in my instrument. Just as I reached for my trusty bottle of Blue Juice, my phone buzzed. Seeing that the number was not an ad, I answered.
"This is Mark Navoa. How may I help you?"
"Mr. Navoa, this is Jia Huang. Were you aware that Respect Ability Minecraft was a fraudulent operation?"
"No, I was not. I mean, it seemed a bit fishy, but nothing struck me as outright 'wrong' at first glance."
"Well, you were successful in its exposure as such. After that woman's suicide, donations for Respect Ability Minecraft decreased by 500% and Alisha Netherfield issued a mass ban of the organization in all schools under her control."
"Wow." I had no words.
"Wow indeed." When representatives from the organization first came to speak at Mineplex, I remembered distinctly that they focused on the strength and willpower of students with disabilities. They didn't say anything about character like kindness or integrity and seemed to shun any kind of showing vulnerability. Not only that, it seemed that one had to do things their way at all times at all costs. "Would you like to do additional interviews?"
"Yes." Jia hung up just as I heard rapid footsteps approaching me.
"Hi!" It was Yuuto.
"Hey, Satsuma Orange." "Matsuda" sounds like "satsuma", which is a type of Mandarin orange. "My stand partner is scary. I don't think he likes me."
"Oh, Landon? He's a bit...standoffish, but he'll be super nice once he warms up to you."
"By the way, did you hear my part? Do you think Steve-kun liked it? Do you think my band teacher will be proud of me?" Just as he said that last bit, Steve walked over and Yuuto practically exploded. He started stammering in this rapid-fire Japanese/English hodgepodge. I don't think Steve understood a word Yuuto said, but he nodded and smiled all the same. He even took a selfie with Yuuto and, as usual, he tried to minimize his face's presence.
"Want to meet somewhere for ice cream?" Steve was always intent on being nice to his fans.
"Who else is going?" As if to answer that question, Landon came up to us rather furtively striding in a typical marching band eight to five. I wonder what had him so worked up.
At the ice cream shop, Yuuto took a seat across from Steve and grinned like a cartoon. He stole glances now and then at his idol's face, but he mostly fidgeted nervously. Landon took a seat next to Steve and seemed to fixate on Yuuto. I tell you, that guy does not warm up to people easily. I retrieved menus and passed them out to everyone.
Looking at all the flavors and wondering how they tasted, I decided to go with champurrado soft serve with extra cinnamon. Wanting to break the awkward silence, I asked if there were any other orders. Steve pointed to a smiling orange on the menu and Yuuto exclaimed "Yeah, same!" I guess that's two satsuma orange sorbets. That appears to be this particular establishment's speciality.
"Anything for you?" Landon had his eyes on the menu, but he didn't appear to really look at it.
"I'll get mine myself." He stood, approached the counter, and ordered something. I decided to get the champurrado soft serve with extra cinnamon. Since it was pride month, the place was decorated with rainbows. I even got a little rainbow chocolate in my soft serve. I hope Landon warms up to Yuuto soon since they'll be sitting together for at least the duration of the year. Well, what can I say? A bitter melon and a satsuma orange may not go well together at first, but they can with the help of other ingredients.
"This is Mark Navoa. How may I help you?"
"Mr. Navoa, this is Jia Huang. Were you aware that Respect Ability Minecraft was a fraudulent operation?"
"No, I was not. I mean, it seemed a bit fishy, but nothing struck me as outright 'wrong' at first glance."
"Well, you were successful in its exposure as such. After that woman's suicide, donations for Respect Ability Minecraft decreased by 500% and Alisha Netherfield issued a mass ban of the organization in all schools under her control."
"Wow." I had no words.
"Wow indeed." When representatives from the organization first came to speak at Mineplex, I remembered distinctly that they focused on the strength and willpower of students with disabilities. They didn't say anything about character like kindness or integrity and seemed to shun any kind of showing vulnerability. Not only that, it seemed that one had to do things their way at all times at all costs. "Would you like to do additional interviews?"
"Yes." Jia hung up just as I heard rapid footsteps approaching me.
"Hi!" It was Yuuto.
"Hey, Satsuma Orange." "Matsuda" sounds like "satsuma", which is a type of Mandarin orange. "My stand partner is scary. I don't think he likes me."
"Oh, Landon? He's a bit...standoffish, but he'll be super nice once he warms up to you."
"By the way, did you hear my part? Do you think Steve-kun liked it? Do you think my band teacher will be proud of me?" Just as he said that last bit, Steve walked over and Yuuto practically exploded. He started stammering in this rapid-fire Japanese/English hodgepodge. I don't think Steve understood a word Yuuto said, but he nodded and smiled all the same. He even took a selfie with Yuuto and, as usual, he tried to minimize his face's presence.
"Want to meet somewhere for ice cream?" Steve was always intent on being nice to his fans.
"Who else is going?" As if to answer that question, Landon came up to us rather furtively striding in a typical marching band eight to five. I wonder what had him so worked up.
At the ice cream shop, Yuuto took a seat across from Steve and grinned like a cartoon. He stole glances now and then at his idol's face, but he mostly fidgeted nervously. Landon took a seat next to Steve and seemed to fixate on Yuuto. I tell you, that guy does not warm up to people easily. I retrieved menus and passed them out to everyone.
Looking at all the flavors and wondering how they tasted, I decided to go with champurrado soft serve with extra cinnamon. Wanting to break the awkward silence, I asked if there were any other orders. Steve pointed to a smiling orange on the menu and Yuuto exclaimed "Yeah, same!" I guess that's two satsuma orange sorbets. That appears to be this particular establishment's speciality.
"Anything for you?" Landon had his eyes on the menu, but he didn't appear to really look at it.
"I'll get mine myself." He stood, approached the counter, and ordered something. I decided to get the champurrado soft serve with extra cinnamon. Since it was pride month, the place was decorated with rainbows. I even got a little rainbow chocolate in my soft serve. I hope Landon warms up to Yuuto soon since they'll be sitting together for at least the duration of the year. Well, what can I say? A bitter melon and a satsuma orange may not go well together at first, but they can with the help of other ingredients.
Friday, May 19, 2017
The Girl Who Sells Misfortune (Alex)
Yamete, yamete.
I moved to the music. Run over there, spin, and get up on your toes. Madame Garcia is just getting me started on pointe. I won't do any pointe solos yet, but this particular routine involves a lot of something close. It looks beautiful, but it's the hardest thing I've done.
"Get a little more altitude on the jump. Let's run through that again." I went back to my spot and practiced the jump again. I made sure to change my angle so that I would truly fly. "That's good. Now, relevé. Hold that position. Keep going." My feet screamed in pain; they started to waver underneath me. "A little more." I knew that my vocal teacher possessed incredible strength of mind. It is more important to be kind than to be strong, she said, while she went about her business despite being in pain that looked unbearable from the outside. A sudden pain shot up my calf and I fell. "That's enough for today. You should stay here and rest for at least an hour because of the amount of work you've done. I have food for you." Gladly, I obliged. I packed up my ballet slippers and, when I looked down at my feet, I saw that they were bleeding and blistered. Madame Garcia escorted me to another room with a refrigerator. Few dancers have this privilege, but I earned it by way of hard work.
After I did my stretches, she presented me with a plate of vegetables, crackers, cheese, and various cold cuts. I ate. Everything tasted good, but that could just be my hunger talking. I'll also have to practice my vocal showcase. Ever since Caitlin died, I never really felt like singing. However, that was going to change. I would sing remembering, not only what she directly taught me, but what she showed me by setting the example.
My phone rang. I checked it to see my new vocal teacher's phone number.
"Just reminding you that you should be here at 5:00."
"I might run a little late. I got some leg cramps during ballet and Madame Garcia wants me to rest." I massaged the strained area a bit more.
"Take as much time as you need. Ballet is not an easy thing to do."
"It isn't." I took another sip from my water bottle.
"Hey, by the way, I know you've experienced a lot of misfortune lately, so when you practice, I want you sell it to me."
"So...be the girl who sells misfortune?"
"You can put it that way."
(A/N: The first video is what the everyone else hears. The second is what Alex hears.)
I moved to the music. Run over there, spin, and get up on your toes. Madame Garcia is just getting me started on pointe. I won't do any pointe solos yet, but this particular routine involves a lot of something close. It looks beautiful, but it's the hardest thing I've done.
"Get a little more altitude on the jump. Let's run through that again." I went back to my spot and practiced the jump again. I made sure to change my angle so that I would truly fly. "That's good. Now, relevé. Hold that position. Keep going." My feet screamed in pain; they started to waver underneath me. "A little more." I knew that my vocal teacher possessed incredible strength of mind. It is more important to be kind than to be strong, she said, while she went about her business despite being in pain that looked unbearable from the outside. A sudden pain shot up my calf and I fell. "That's enough for today. You should stay here and rest for at least an hour because of the amount of work you've done. I have food for you." Gladly, I obliged. I packed up my ballet slippers and, when I looked down at my feet, I saw that they were bleeding and blistered. Madame Garcia escorted me to another room with a refrigerator. Few dancers have this privilege, but I earned it by way of hard work.
After I did my stretches, she presented me with a plate of vegetables, crackers, cheese, and various cold cuts. I ate. Everything tasted good, but that could just be my hunger talking. I'll also have to practice my vocal showcase. Ever since Caitlin died, I never really felt like singing. However, that was going to change. I would sing remembering, not only what she directly taught me, but what she showed me by setting the example.
My phone rang. I checked it to see my new vocal teacher's phone number.
"Just reminding you that you should be here at 5:00."
"I might run a little late. I got some leg cramps during ballet and Madame Garcia wants me to rest." I massaged the strained area a bit more.
"Take as much time as you need. Ballet is not an easy thing to do."
"It isn't." I took another sip from my water bottle.
"Hey, by the way, I know you've experienced a lot of misfortune lately, so when you practice, I want you sell it to me."
"So...be the girl who sells misfortune?"
"You can put it that way."
(A/N: The first video is what the everyone else hears. The second is what Alex hears.)
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
Life and Love
(A/N: THERE ARE PERSPECTIVE JUMPS. ****************** indicates a perspective jump.)
This katsudon is very good...or so I thought. I wasn't really tasting anything. Steve sat across from me shoving his pork cutlet around with a fork. Was he sick? I hoped he didn't catch what I had. The flavors muddled together into an indistinguishable mess, but I didn't really care to eat. I just wanted to get this over with. That's the thing about the old Landon charm. It's there at nearly every hour of the day, but, the moment I care, it vanishes as quickly as it comes.
I looked more at Steve. As usual, he looked absolutely perfect and I looked...less than that. I caught my own reflection in my glass of mineral water. Staring back at me was a man with a disfigured face. A reddish splotch spread from my cheekbone to my ear. He lost his appetite because he was repulsed by my face. I knew it by the way he kept looking up at me.
Shoving a bit of egg into my mouth, I kept chewing. I didn't want to say anything stupid or offensive like I usually do. I swallowed the nearly liquid mass and heard another pair of men talking.
"...You're cute."
"I know.
"Should we help them?"
"Yes." The dark-haired one came closer. That's Phillip. We've become good friends, even after I've almost punched him in the face. "Is everything all right? Things look pretty awkward over there." Steve looked up from his bowl, which he hardly touched. How long have we been sitting and not talking?
"Everything's great, just great."
"Doesn't look like it." The other spoke.
"Want to speak to me in private?" Phillip pulled me away and led me to a quieter corner of the restaurant. "Tell me what's wrong."
"He probably thinks I'm a blubbering idiot."
"Okay." Somehow, he knew that wasn't the real problem. "What's that on your cheek?" He narrowed his eyes. Of course he was talking about my birthmark! I'm just the disfigured, disgusting criminal everyone thinks I am. Tears spilled out of my eyes and fell onto the floor. Phillip tried to put his arm around me, but I shoved him away.
"Get off of me!" He looked bewildered and kind of miffed. As he walked away, I collapsed and buried my face until I could see nothing. There's no way Steve could want me now. Even if he did, it was probably just pity. Who could love someone like me?
At another table, two others sat with each other. Another waitress approached them with her usual friendly smile.
"Aren't you guys a cute couple?"
"Um...no..."
"I see. What would you two like to eat?" One of them said something in Japanese. I could make out "katsudon." Guess it's a popular dish tonight. The other ordered ten zaru. Sniffling like I had allergies or a cold, I made my way back to my table.
******************
"French roast with cinnamon and cream, please."
"Would you like some foamed milk?"
"When would I not like some foamed milk?" After ordering a bowl of macarons, I plugged my laptop into a nearby outlet. My computer connected automatically and I was good to go. I started entering grades. Band grades, especially among the flutes, tend to decline right before and after AP exams.
And guess what other change somehow correlates with AP exams? Spikes in cyberbullying. At Mineplex, cyberbullying runs rampant. One would think that cyberbullying decreases around AP exams, but no. It increases. My guess is that stress gets to the students and some take it out on others. Given the amount of fights I see, it makes sense that this would be the case with my school.
When I logged on to Twitter, the first thing I saw was some very nasty suicide bait directed at one of one of my students. Not cool, man. Not cool. I looked at the person's profile and, right away, I could tell that they were a dedicated hater blog. Sheesh, dude. What kind of deep-seated issues do you have? Since there is no reasoning with these hater blogs, I reported the person and sent this student a random uplifting meme. I've been criticized for my use of memes and "lack of professionalism", but why fix what's not broken?
I scrolled further to find another person tagging various students of mine saying "Tell your teacher to kill herself." If anything ticks me off, it's this stuff. If you're going to bait me, at least do it to me directly. Leave my students out of this. To my surprise, this person was not a troll. I decided to DM them and talk some sense into them.
Hey, it's not cool to tag my students in posts like these.
The person cursed at me, called me "extra hole boy", and threatened to get me banned. Like you'll ever succeed. Aside from the fact that I'm a top 10 Twitter user with verification and everything, I save screenshots and URLs. My notifications for DMs went off again. I'd know that name anywhere: @Yuuto-pia That was Yuuto Matsuda. He's the Impulsive Brass Band's new French horn and Steve's biggest fan. Judging from the Yuuri Katsuki icon that was recolored to look like Steve, I'd also bet that he is a Yuri on Ice watcher.
Yuuto is the best thing that ever happened to us; his positive outlook and innocent charm brought us back out of our slump. I opened his message and saw a cute GIF. Yuuto sends them to everyone who has social media. I replied with another GIF and whipped out my IP tracker. After entering my hater's username, I found that they lived in a nearby desert biome. After using a reverse lookup service, I found their e-mail address: kathryn_43@gmail.com.
As I typed out the E-mail, I found that all the coffee had moved through my system rather quickly. When the simple act of using the restroom made me want to peel off my skin, I had to maintain a good sense of humor. Such is the nature of life.
******************
"Hey." I saw the Bitcoin symbol on a woman's back pocket. "Do you know of any good starter Bitcoin miners?"
"I thought you already had a miner"
"It's for my daughter. I want to get her started on cryptocurrencies."
"All right." She invited me to sit. "How old is she?"
"She'll be twelve pretty soon."
"You can get some great deals on used AntMiner hardware nowadays. I don't know what a twelve year old would do with Bitcoin--actually I do know--but from what I hear she sounds like a trustworthy kid." She wrote some URLs down on paper and handed it to me.
"Okay." I stuffed the paper in my pocket. I've officially given up on Alex learning common academic subjects under my tutelage. The lessons only result in me snapping at Alex for not being able to grasp certain things quickly and her bursting into tears. Knowing that it was only a matter of time before lasting damage was done, I scrapped the standard curriculum altogether and built one of my own.
The purpose of attending school is to learn how to solve problems and think independently. Unfortunately, they just throw tests in your face and hope you pass. Alex deserved better than that, so I took it upon myself to teach her things that are worth learning. I let her choose five of them and I chose the other three. For the three, I chose cryptocurrency, the basic academic skills that I rotate on a daily basis, and blacksmithing. For the five, Alex chose instrumental music (trumpet and maybe percussion), musical theater, creative writing, public speaking, and combat.
Alex chose "The Girl who Sells Misfortune" for the dance portion of her musical theater showcase and "Aishite, Aishite, Aishite" for the vocal portion. I found the song choices unusual, but what was usual nowadays? I found her choice to be a way of expressing her grief through performance. Caitlin was certainly something special in Alex's life. Though I may never be able to get the old Alex back, I can at least help her to rebuild herself as she sees fit.
******************
Had I done something wrong?
Landon came back to our table with a face that was red and puffy from crying. He picked at his katsudon. Not being very hungry myself, I offered him some of mine. He refused and sat across from me so dejectedly that one might think I've intentionally slighted him. Of course, my device was not cooperating with me, so I couldn't use it. I could, however, speak the language of touch.
I turned my head and extended my arms outward. Apprehensively, I laid a hand on his cheek. Since he didn't punch me in the face, I gathered him into my arms.
"You probably think I'm disgusting, don't you?" Landon hiccuped and fell into my arms again. I wished I could say it at the moment, but, no, I don't think you're disgusting. I think zombie carcasses are disgusting. You're beautiful. Your eyes shine like steel and your hair is a reflection of your internal fire. The port wine stain just completes everything. I kissed the red spot as gently as I could and moved my mouth down to his. Our lips moved together. There were probably people swarming to get a picture of us, but I didn't care. I'll give them something to stare at.
I dipped Landon like a dancer and kept kissing him. For once, I didn't care what anyone thought. I just let my impulses guide me. Running my fingers through his hair, I felt him melt into my arms like butter. He felt light as a feather as I lifted him back into position. Who would've thought that Landon, someone that I wanted to punch in the face less than two years ago, would be my lover? We ended the kiss and, even if I had absolute mastery of language, I'd still be at a loss for words.
That kiss was unlike any I had done before. This was sincere. This was love. Not only was it that, it was an act of rebellion. People had this odd tendency of turning everything I did into a political statement that I had to address. This was living and loving for the sake of living and loving, not a middle finger to homophobia or whatever else people make of this. My life story is mine to tell, and, try as it may, Big Identity Politics will not get ahold of it.
And what would I say when I would inevitably face the camera tomorrow?
Don't let politics or social standards corrupt your relationships. Live to love and love to live. Anything else is pure misery.
This katsudon is very good...or so I thought. I wasn't really tasting anything. Steve sat across from me shoving his pork cutlet around with a fork. Was he sick? I hoped he didn't catch what I had. The flavors muddled together into an indistinguishable mess, but I didn't really care to eat. I just wanted to get this over with. That's the thing about the old Landon charm. It's there at nearly every hour of the day, but, the moment I care, it vanishes as quickly as it comes.
I looked more at Steve. As usual, he looked absolutely perfect and I looked...less than that. I caught my own reflection in my glass of mineral water. Staring back at me was a man with a disfigured face. A reddish splotch spread from my cheekbone to my ear. He lost his appetite because he was repulsed by my face. I knew it by the way he kept looking up at me.
Shoving a bit of egg into my mouth, I kept chewing. I didn't want to say anything stupid or offensive like I usually do. I swallowed the nearly liquid mass and heard another pair of men talking.
"...You're cute."
"I know.
"Should we help them?"
"Yes." The dark-haired one came closer. That's Phillip. We've become good friends, even after I've almost punched him in the face. "Is everything all right? Things look pretty awkward over there." Steve looked up from his bowl, which he hardly touched. How long have we been sitting and not talking?
"Everything's great, just great."
"Doesn't look like it." The other spoke.
"Want to speak to me in private?" Phillip pulled me away and led me to a quieter corner of the restaurant. "Tell me what's wrong."
"He probably thinks I'm a blubbering idiot."
"Okay." Somehow, he knew that wasn't the real problem. "What's that on your cheek?" He narrowed his eyes. Of course he was talking about my birthmark! I'm just the disfigured, disgusting criminal everyone thinks I am. Tears spilled out of my eyes and fell onto the floor. Phillip tried to put his arm around me, but I shoved him away.
"Get off of me!" He looked bewildered and kind of miffed. As he walked away, I collapsed and buried my face until I could see nothing. There's no way Steve could want me now. Even if he did, it was probably just pity. Who could love someone like me?
At another table, two others sat with each other. Another waitress approached them with her usual friendly smile.
"Aren't you guys a cute couple?"
"Um...no..."
"I see. What would you two like to eat?" One of them said something in Japanese. I could make out "katsudon." Guess it's a popular dish tonight. The other ordered ten zaru. Sniffling like I had allergies or a cold, I made my way back to my table.
******************
"French roast with cinnamon and cream, please."
"Would you like some foamed milk?"
"When would I not like some foamed milk?" After ordering a bowl of macarons, I plugged my laptop into a nearby outlet. My computer connected automatically and I was good to go. I started entering grades. Band grades, especially among the flutes, tend to decline right before and after AP exams.
And guess what other change somehow correlates with AP exams? Spikes in cyberbullying. At Mineplex, cyberbullying runs rampant. One would think that cyberbullying decreases around AP exams, but no. It increases. My guess is that stress gets to the students and some take it out on others. Given the amount of fights I see, it makes sense that this would be the case with my school.
When I logged on to Twitter, the first thing I saw was some very nasty suicide bait directed at one of one of my students. Not cool, man. Not cool. I looked at the person's profile and, right away, I could tell that they were a dedicated hater blog. Sheesh, dude. What kind of deep-seated issues do you have? Since there is no reasoning with these hater blogs, I reported the person and sent this student a random uplifting meme. I've been criticized for my use of memes and "lack of professionalism", but why fix what's not broken?
I scrolled further to find another person tagging various students of mine saying "Tell your teacher to kill herself." If anything ticks me off, it's this stuff. If you're going to bait me, at least do it to me directly. Leave my students out of this. To my surprise, this person was not a troll. I decided to DM them and talk some sense into them.
Hey, it's not cool to tag my students in posts like these.
The person cursed at me, called me "extra hole boy", and threatened to get me banned. Like you'll ever succeed. Aside from the fact that I'm a top 10 Twitter user with verification and everything, I save screenshots and URLs. My notifications for DMs went off again. I'd know that name anywhere: @Yuuto-pia That was Yuuto Matsuda. He's the Impulsive Brass Band's new French horn and Steve's biggest fan. Judging from the Yuuri Katsuki icon that was recolored to look like Steve, I'd also bet that he is a Yuri on Ice watcher.
Yuuto is the best thing that ever happened to us; his positive outlook and innocent charm brought us back out of our slump. I opened his message and saw a cute GIF. Yuuto sends them to everyone who has social media. I replied with another GIF and whipped out my IP tracker. After entering my hater's username, I found that they lived in a nearby desert biome. After using a reverse lookup service, I found their e-mail address: kathryn_43@gmail.com.
As I typed out the E-mail, I found that all the coffee had moved through my system rather quickly. When the simple act of using the restroom made me want to peel off my skin, I had to maintain a good sense of humor. Such is the nature of life.
******************
"Hey." I saw the Bitcoin symbol on a woman's back pocket. "Do you know of any good starter Bitcoin miners?"
"I thought you already had a miner"
"It's for my daughter. I want to get her started on cryptocurrencies."
"All right." She invited me to sit. "How old is she?"
"She'll be twelve pretty soon."
"You can get some great deals on used AntMiner hardware nowadays. I don't know what a twelve year old would do with Bitcoin--actually I do know--but from what I hear she sounds like a trustworthy kid." She wrote some URLs down on paper and handed it to me.
"Okay." I stuffed the paper in my pocket. I've officially given up on Alex learning common academic subjects under my tutelage. The lessons only result in me snapping at Alex for not being able to grasp certain things quickly and her bursting into tears. Knowing that it was only a matter of time before lasting damage was done, I scrapped the standard curriculum altogether and built one of my own.
The purpose of attending school is to learn how to solve problems and think independently. Unfortunately, they just throw tests in your face and hope you pass. Alex deserved better than that, so I took it upon myself to teach her things that are worth learning. I let her choose five of them and I chose the other three. For the three, I chose cryptocurrency, the basic academic skills that I rotate on a daily basis, and blacksmithing. For the five, Alex chose instrumental music (trumpet and maybe percussion), musical theater, creative writing, public speaking, and combat.
Alex chose "The Girl who Sells Misfortune" for the dance portion of her musical theater showcase and "Aishite, Aishite, Aishite" for the vocal portion. I found the song choices unusual, but what was usual nowadays? I found her choice to be a way of expressing her grief through performance. Caitlin was certainly something special in Alex's life. Though I may never be able to get the old Alex back, I can at least help her to rebuild herself as she sees fit.
******************
Had I done something wrong?
Landon came back to our table with a face that was red and puffy from crying. He picked at his katsudon. Not being very hungry myself, I offered him some of mine. He refused and sat across from me so dejectedly that one might think I've intentionally slighted him. Of course, my device was not cooperating with me, so I couldn't use it. I could, however, speak the language of touch.
I turned my head and extended my arms outward. Apprehensively, I laid a hand on his cheek. Since he didn't punch me in the face, I gathered him into my arms.
"You probably think I'm disgusting, don't you?" Landon hiccuped and fell into my arms again. I wished I could say it at the moment, but, no, I don't think you're disgusting. I think zombie carcasses are disgusting. You're beautiful. Your eyes shine like steel and your hair is a reflection of your internal fire. The port wine stain just completes everything. I kissed the red spot as gently as I could and moved my mouth down to his. Our lips moved together. There were probably people swarming to get a picture of us, but I didn't care. I'll give them something to stare at.
I dipped Landon like a dancer and kept kissing him. For once, I didn't care what anyone thought. I just let my impulses guide me. Running my fingers through his hair, I felt him melt into my arms like butter. He felt light as a feather as I lifted him back into position. Who would've thought that Landon, someone that I wanted to punch in the face less than two years ago, would be my lover? We ended the kiss and, even if I had absolute mastery of language, I'd still be at a loss for words.
That kiss was unlike any I had done before. This was sincere. This was love. Not only was it that, it was an act of rebellion. People had this odd tendency of turning everything I did into a political statement that I had to address. This was living and loving for the sake of living and loving, not a middle finger to homophobia or whatever else people make of this. My life story is mine to tell, and, try as it may, Big Identity Politics will not get ahold of it.
And what would I say when I would inevitably face the camera tomorrow?
Don't let politics or social standards corrupt your relationships. Live to love and love to live. Anything else is pure misery.
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