The day I started biting my nails was the day my mother asked if I bite my nails.
I’ve never seen the white tips on my father’s fingernails. I’ve never seen my brothers either. I have seen their nubs of dead skin, peeling cuticles, dried fingers. My hands have begun to resemble theirs.
It’s become a pattern of mine, to write about hands. For me, it’s hard not to; they tell so much about a person. My left thumb is currently a horrific sight. The skin surrounding my nail is rough and red and bare and missing at least 4 of its 7 layers. I know it hurts to pull at the skin but there is something in my brain that wants it all to be flat, for there to be no more things to bite, to feel smooth and clean. All that want leads to is more blood, more band-aids, more pulls of skin.
This week, my hands are looking particularly ghastly, indicative of a particularly stressful week. I often feel like my hands are a better indication of my mood than my face; they bear the burden of all my daily anxieties that most 17 year old’s have. I often daydream of breaking my nail biting habit and having hands that don’t look so weathered. I often remember when daydreaming that I notice everyone’s hands, and I never think less of short fingernails.
Elyse, a 23-year-old self-proclaimed Witch who I met in France; told me that I have the oldest hands shes ever seen, as in, my palms have the deepest lines. She said that the deeper the lines, the more lives a person has lived. I am not the biggest believer in the afterlife, but for some reason this was the biggest validation I could receive, it made my hands hold less ugliness and instead hold many years of something else, many years of something I don’t know.
Year: 2017
Gender Blog #2 -Origins by Jocelyn Ting
The Alchemist’s Heart
His heart pumped fast in his chest and then for a moment halted. The potion pushed through his veins, making their way to the alchemist’s ticker, brightening everything in its path. When it reached the alchemist’s heart, the fractured pieces seemed to put themselves back together. One by when they swooped into place, the magic liquid encircling them. With a jolt, his heart began again, stronger than ever, with a thump, thump, thump.
The Thornless Rose by Renold Mueller
Authors and Their Worlds by Madi Hart
The relationship between authors and their worlds has always fascinated me. Successful authors from every time period have been able to live lives as long as any of the rest of us, but have also been able to soak in, analyze, and beautifully frame the messages woven into the fabric of our society. It’s as if they have lived a thousand lives before, watching the subtle body language of those around them, noticing patterns in relationships, realizing that no matter the period, human existence has mirrored the experiences of those in our past and shot laser beams into the future, engraving the same path for us to move along. Just as our experiences simultaneously mirror and engrave, an author’s work is stuck in a constant cycle, portraying and affecting the world while they chronicle it.
The Red Thread – Sophie Browner
I was five years old when I met my sister. I remember my dad picking me up from kindergarten, and telling me that my mom was finally home after two weeks in China with our long anticipated baby girl. I remember cracking open a door and peeking through to see my mom holding a tiny, eleven month old baby who looked nothing like me. An ancient Chinese proverb states that each newborn baby is connected by an invisible red thread to people in their lives. They are bound together by fate, regardless of time and place. The red thread gets shorter as people who are destined to be a part of each other’s lives meet and become close.
My sister, Lia, went through several different foster homes and orphanages for the first 10 months of her life where she was not always given the care that she needed, and she has struggled to overcome this period ever since. Frequent night terrors and unexplained fits left our family feeling helpless at times, but constantly motivated. It was like putting together the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Finding ways to make her smile and help her open up not only helped her immensely, but brought our family together as well. With each giggle coming out of her adorable mouth, I felt the red thread tighten.
Gender Blog #1 – Identity by Jocelyn Ting
News Flash! by Sophie Browner
Count how many times a day you hear an adult say “In my day, we didn’t have phones! When we wanted ____ we had to…” 99% of the time I try and dismiss those comments, because I mean, come on. It’s not our fault that its 2017 and we’re using our resources. However there has always been one situation that I can’t help but kind of agree with: the newspaper. Online or print. When was the last time that you picked up an actual newspaper? Not for a school project, not even for the comics, but to find out what the heck is going on in the world.
I know that many people like to disassociate themselves from politics. Which is fair, because recently it seems like most of the headlines offend or scare a massive percent of the population. I just do not believe that dissociating yourself from politics is an excuse to disassociate yourself from current events as a whole. While Donald Trump has been distracting America with an attack on the NFL and violent threats toward North Korea, Burundi and South Sudan are both border lining genocides, Somalia, Nigeria, South Sudan, and Yemen continue to suffer from devastating famines, along with many, many more global issues going on as we speak.
Maybe it’s not the most positive and fun thing to learn about in your free time, but as global citizens, I think that it is incredibly important. We should learn current events in school. Taking three minutes at the beginning of class to read a few headlines could spark so much curiosity, action, and change.
A Few Words of Thanks to Russell H. Rupp Field
For the first time my name was called for the starting lineup.
For the interceptions and takeaways.
For the adrenaline rush of the corner.
For the teammates I’ve played with and the bonds we’ve formed.
For the hard work and the laughs.
For the sacks, bets, no sirs, yes cuties, unicorns, and sweet potatoes.