tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33121458119942948072024-03-12T16:14:23.672-07:00What life gave me.A journal of literariness by Khaya.Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-53113716311453957552015-11-14T14:25:00.000-08:002015-11-14T14:25:12.644-08:00Moisture.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JgyTq57TR_M/Vke0icHQXqI/AAAAAAAADQw/S3SLQqIQ9OA/s1600/hair%2Bagainst%2Bsea%2Bwaves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="246" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JgyTq57TR_M/Vke0icHQXqI/AAAAAAAADQw/S3SLQqIQ9OA/s320/hair%2Bagainst%2Bsea%2Bwaves.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GzD_9K7DrDw/Vke0iKPHglI/AAAAAAAADQs/Dez3SI0p0iY/s1600/hair%2Bagainst%2Bsea%2Bwaves%2Bgif.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-GzD_9K7DrDw/Vke0iKPHglI/AAAAAAAADQs/Dez3SI0p0iY/s320/hair%2Bagainst%2Bsea%2Bwaves%2Bgif.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-44251361999258316112015-07-28T13:54:00.001-07:002015-07-28T14:04:18.059-07:00Images from Lemon Tree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HAFlAS64L5w/VbfrpEXkqnI/AAAAAAAABTo/CKmxd88ImNY/s1600/lemon%2Btree%2Bseed.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="460" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HAFlAS64L5w/VbfrpEXkqnI/AAAAAAAABTo/CKmxd88ImNY/s640/lemon%2Btree%2Bseed.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g477/Khaya_Omarah_Ramcharita-Dillon/avatearing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i1103.photobucket.com/albums/g477/Khaya_Omarah_Ramcharita-Dillon/avatearing.jpg" height="400" width="313" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hhcLFTw1BFM/VbfrLGVw7QI/AAAAAAAABTY/YA57gvhNu3U/s1600/lemon.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hhcLFTw1BFM/VbfrLGVw7QI/AAAAAAAABTY/YA57gvhNu3U/s1600/lemon.png" /></a></div>
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(Lemon Tree was my first time scanning my artwork and making a video)</div>
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<a href="http://whatlifegaveme.blogspot.com/2013/12/lemon-tree-draft.html">The Video</a></div>
Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-59745392968370921902015-07-28T11:14:00.003-07:002015-07-28T11:58:27.180-07:00Smile<div style="text-align: center;">
(A sketch from high school)<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XjrO_oo4fUY/VbfGCUD14HI/AAAAAAAABTI/U93goyy_vh4/s1600/image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XjrO_oo4fUY/VbfGCUD14HI/AAAAAAAABTI/U93goyy_vh4/s640/image.jpg" width="528" /></a></div>
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Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-58557577266024196992015-07-28T00:29:00.002-07:002015-07-28T00:32:28.898-07:00Seamstress Autumn<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q37XLqwMndw/VbcuqLTuCmI/AAAAAAAABSM/e47CLTyZbPg/s1600/autumn%2Bbanner%2B2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q37XLqwMndw/VbcuqLTuCmI/AAAAAAAABSM/e47CLTyZbPg/s640/autumn%2Bbanner%2B2.png" /></a></div>
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(Older, anime version of Autumn from Thread pieces. Sketched, scanned, and colored on Gimp)</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NxXusBZKTQM/VbcwA92SLbI/AAAAAAAABSc/9ynQX5vyIZk/s1600/autumnavi3.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NxXusBZKTQM/VbcwA92SLbI/AAAAAAAABSc/9ynQX5vyIZk/s1600/autumnavi3.gif" /></a></div>
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Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-69242856901234647962015-07-28T00:21:00.002-07:002015-07-28T11:58:07.054-07:00Threads IIAutumn felt something stick to the back of her neck, like a bug taking unwelcomed settlement on a shoulder. It was something much bigger than a bug though, and bulky. Autumn shifted in her seat, trying to glance over her shoulder. Her movements were restricted, however, her hair feeling like it was pinned to the back of her seat. Autumn was still able to turn just enough to glimpse into her peripheral vision and see what was going on. The classmate who sat behind her had her legs up on the desk she was sitting in, just making herself at home. She was nonchalantly pressing the dirty bottoms of her shoes against Autumn's hair, which was draped over the hood of the chair she sat in.<br />
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This classmate of Autumn's always seemed to be trying to push her boundaries, seeing how far out of line she could go before getting in trouble. It was this reason that she was popular, the majority of the other girls in their grade flocking to her and trying to mimic her attitude. Her name was Michelle, the catalyst, the rotten apple. Autumn had been getting teased in school for as long as she could remember, but it was only when Michelle transferred in did it turn into a true psychologically damaging harassment.<br />
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There was only the voice of the teacher reciting the lesson in the room. Autumn couldn't bring herself to speak up, it would draw everyone’s attention and put her in the spotlight. Then again, at least she would gain the teacher's attention. Was being a tattle tale and getting Michelle in trouble wise though? She and her friends would hold a grudge and likely try to get back at her in some way. What were the other options? None of the Michelle uninfluenced classmates were sitting close enough to take notice and say something. She and Autumn sat in the back of the room, making it unlikely that the teacher was going to naturally take notice either. Were there any other options? She could just yank out her hair from the foot's hold. Time was passing, the class period was going to finish up soon, and Autumn was still trying to make a decision. Just trying to pull out the courage to act had her mental stream stirring and her adrenaline swelling.<br />
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Being chained down and controlled by her own strands, Autumn was beginning to feel like the toys she puppeteered. Taking their example, she finally decided to do nothing. She wasn’t sure if the choice was her being cowardice or wise.<br />
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After class, Autumn was face first in her locker when the voices of Michelle and friends passed by. They were intentionally intruding Autumn’s eavesdropping space, their chatter echoing in the metal closet. They were all giggling, a cynical implication in their breath.<br />
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“You were trying to see if you could leave a mark?” One said in a sarcastic tone.<br />
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“No, a footprint.” That qued a bigger burst of laughter.<br />
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“I wonder what happens when she lays in grass. Does it get grass stains?”<br />
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“Oh, or what would happen if you tossed her and a red sock in the dryer?”<br />
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“What?!”<br />
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The laughter suddenly muted as the voices turned the hallway corner, sound travel now blocked by a wall. A minute still usable before next period, Autumn went into the girl’s room. The ever reappearing huddle of girls fixing themselves in the bathroom mirror between classes was starting to dwindle. Autumn took the corner of the end mirror, wishing to stay discreet. It wasn’t really working. Ignoring some wandering eyes, she swept her mane over her shoulder and began brushing the seemingly invisible shoe crud. Not convinced the grime’s microscopic existence was gone, she wet her fingers with the tap water and began finger combing her head of fifteen hundred thousand bothersome strands. When sixth period beckoned with its bell, Autumn and the other two remaining girls dropped whatever prepping they were still doing and scurried off.<br />
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“I… don’t… want it brown…” Autumn cried between hiccups, into her balled up fists.<br />
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“But it’s going to look so pretty. Don’t you want to look like mommy?”<br />
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“Her nose is running,” Mr. Armstrong informed his wife and grabbed a nearby tissue. He brought it to Autumn’s face and tried to sooth her, “But now that it’s a more neutral color, you won’t get teased anymore.”<br />
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Autumn sat on a backless chair, her mother stood behind her with brown stained gloves. She was dying Autumn’s hair dark brown using a color rinse for at home jobs.<br />
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(To be continued)
Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-13411875430164614732015-07-27T23:29:00.000-07:002015-07-28T11:58:54.034-07:00Threads<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://www.cliparthut.com/clip-arts/779/spinning-wheel-clip-art-779905." imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.cliparthut.com/clip-arts/779/spinning-wheel-clip-art-779905." /></a></div>
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“What if Barbie and Optimus Prime got married?”<br />
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“What?! No!”<br />
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Autumn stared at Quinn, somewhat perplexed at his reaction. Her large childish eyes drooped down to their bottom corners as she gave it thought. It’s true the damsel in distress and then get hitched scenario is overdone.<br />
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“Then Barbie saves Optimus Prime and they become best friends.”<br />
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“Never!” Quinn barked.<br />
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Both of the children’s heads turned to the door that had begun to creek. The white translucent strings that outstretched and scattered all about the room from the girl's thin fingers dematerialized. Within that second all the standing toys, including a Barbie and eight-inch Optimus Prime, dropped to the floor.<br />
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“Hey, you’re being very loud Quinn. Be nice to your little sister,” their mother lectured as she fully opened the door. She looked at her daughter, who was standing on the bed with her hands in front of her. Mrs. Armstrong raised an eyebrow, the girl always seemed to be in that position when she came in. She waved it off, “Dinner’s ready, clean up now, alright? Remember your aunts are coming over.” Both Quinn and Autumn responded with a harmonized “’kay” as their mother left the room.<br />
The two began uncovering the carpet hiding under their toys. Their mother had actually told them to start cleaning a couple hours ago, but when you’re putting away things that keep catching your interest it’s hard to stay focused on your task--especially boring tasks like tidying up. This procrastination habit was even more the case for Autumn and Quinn, since playtime for them was like Toy Story come to life. At this time Autumn only knew she could produce these magical strings that could animate her toys like puppets. Quinn was the only other person that knew about her strange gift.<br />
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“There they are!”
“Oh my god, did they grow since our last visit?”<br />
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"Aaw, they look like -yin and yang balls, their heads side by side like that."<br />
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Autumn and Quinn came out to these clichéd greetings after stuffing their toys in their closets and under the bed. Their aunts were already here, they sat around the kitchen table while Mrs. Armstrong was preparing coffee. The family formality of hug exchange then took place. Mrs. Armstrong had three sisters, all older than her, all giving off an identical vibe she did not have. It was not just the elaborate way their aunts dressed or their strange yet familiar white hair strands, their mother just felt like the plain Jane amidst the eccentricity. After a short exchange of "How are you doing in school?" and "What's new?" the adults began to drift back into their own conversations.<br />
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"So how is the shop doing?" Mrs. Armstrong asked before taking a sip from her mug.<br />
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"Wonderful, we're still the top vendors on etsy," one of the aunts chimed.<br />
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"What do you think about joining now? We're more than financially stable."<br />
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"Mm, I don't think so..."<br />
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"Why not? It's not really a family company without you," the second aunt’s features began to shift into a frown.<br />
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"She wouldn't let the nickname seamstress sisters grow because you weren't there."<br />
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"You know why," Mrs. Armstrong placed her hand on her cheek and leaned her arm against the table. She glanced at her bored-looking children, she spoke a tone softer "I didn't inherit the gift. It’s not my forte.”<br />
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The aunt that was trying to convince her sighed, and reluctantly concurred with silence. <br />
"Oh, that reminds me, we brought souvenirs for the munchkins."<br />
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Quinn's bored face immediately began to perk up, eyeing the aunt that had begun to
shift through her tote bag. The spark in his eyes turned back off when she took out handmade clothes. He would have known what to expect, but it was only until the words "souvenirs for the munchkins" was outspoken that his attention was reactivated.
Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-74846842635026401402015-07-27T23:09:00.002-07:002015-07-28T00:50:10.962-07:00Hair Care Journey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Black hair is not simply hair. </div>
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It's political, it's misunderstood, it's a physical and emotional and mental struggle. Colored girls are raised in a world that treats their hair like an alien. There is still a lot of misinformation about it, a lot of it even coming from colored girls themselves. Kinky textured hair truly is alien and deviant, and colored girls still in the dark try to take care of it like other hair types. It's only recently with the help of social networking that girls are learning how to take care of it properly. </div>
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This isn't something girls, and boys, with other hair types can truly get. Learning to take care of kinky hair always has trial and error. It's a 'hair care journey.' This is a common phrase in the black hair care world.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PD6_J4H1g5c/VbcVz3IgymI/AAAAAAAABR0/1BRZCLbwqKM/s1600/hair%2Bcare%2Bjourney%2Bbackground.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="420" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PD6_J4H1g5c/VbcVz3IgymI/AAAAAAAABR0/1BRZCLbwqKM/s640/hair%2Bcare%2Bjourney%2Bbackground.gif" width="640" /></a></div>
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(sketched, scanned, and colored on Gimp)</div>
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Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-37272046451920611162014-07-30T21:54:00.003-07:002015-07-28T12:00:50.814-07:00Dollar Store BarbieWhat was supposed to be “just a moment” was turning into eternity. She told me to make myself comfortable, but the numbness circulating through my thighs and ass was evolving into insensitivity. Sitting becoming unbearable, my legs catapulted me up. In front of the couch I stood and stretched in an attempt to ease the lingering soreness. It didn’t help. This was my first time at her house, yet wallowing in my boredom, I didn’t even think to look around the room. A multitude of fashion and other girl type magazines piled on the café table. Pictures of her family, friends, and herself rested over the fireplace in a typical display. As I closed in on the small smiling figures, a familiar face popped out in an unusual surrounding. The picture was of a girl whose short brown hair was barely visible, hiding under a baseball helmet. The photographer captured the exact moment the swinging bat hit the flying ball. The girl’s face wasn’t plain or pretty, and possessed a crooked smile that stood out amidst the formal ones in the other photos.<br />
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“No! Don‘t look!” The girl in the picture frame was suddenly taken away by a hand with red painted nails. I looked over my shoulder to see that someone was finally ready. The girl that finally appeared hid the picture behind her back. Her makeup-ed features were churned with expressed humiliation, but in an understated rearrangement that looked like she was holding back. <br />
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“Why?” I asked in the same breath of a chuckle, a little annoyance carried in my voice.<br />
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“I don‘t look like myself in this picture...”<br />
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I was about to comment on the irony in her words, but instead became dumbstruck. I could swear I just saw the clothes she was wearing. It took me a second to realize her outfit looked like a replica of one of the pieces worn on one of the magazine covers lying on her table. I let out a sigh that was trying to escape, and commented, “Why do girls care so much about appearance?” She put the picture back where it was, but placed it facing down. Her now long and blonde stained hair faced me. She turned to me with a flirty look, “Because they want to look good for the guy they like.” This affectionate comment didn’t faze me at all. I ignored it and walked back to the sofa to sit down.<br />
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Two months ago she had asked me out and I really just said yes on a whim. But now I regretted it. She was one of the pretty ones in our group, and popular with the other guys. It was because she had this selfless and perfect presence about her, but getting to know her I learned it was because she lacked confidence. The confidence she tried to wear was fake. Everything about her was fake. I had decided that I would try to make use of this relationship and boost her confidence, but nothing. No changes were being made, in fact, her lack of confidence seemed to be getting worse with every date we went on. Still, I was going to keep trying.
She took my lead and took the couch cushion next to me.<br />
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"So, how can you say you don’t look like yourself in that picture?" I asked curiously. <br />
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At first she lightly raised an eyebrow, but then smiled, “Hmm, well one, I was such a tomboy back then.”<br />
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"So, you're not like that anymore?" I tilted my head a little bit, "What made you decide to change?" I added as I leaned back, hoping to find out more.<br />
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Her smile became even more forced looking, her eyes drifted a little, “Isn’t it normal to change as you grow up? I mean... you know, that picture was taken awhile back. I didn’t so much change, it was just, life, growing up… When you’re a kid, you just, you don’t know yourself yet, ” She was starting to mumble on like she had been put on the spot. <br />
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I thought about what she said for a moment, then sighed “Right.” I think she still didn’t understand herself yet. “So, then, what happened to baseball. In the picture you’re wearing a uniform, right? Grew out of it?”
“More of a tomboy back then,” she shrugged.<br />
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“But are you still a little of a tomboy now? Doesn’t mean you don’t like it anymore.“It’s… not so much I don’t like it anymore, just,” her fingers went to her lips as she smiled a little embarrassingly, “Use to give me sturdier legs.”
“… What?”<br />
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“You know, when girls take certain sports seriously, they get that, not very appealing, athletic look,” she stretched out her legs and raised them off the ground a little so they were in view, “Remember your friends joked about it just the other day? When they came across that female basketball game on TV.”<br />
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I responded with silence, the slit between my lips widening a little. I had never heard a girl agree to that, let alone say it. The guy was supposed to say that, and then any girls in hearing view would whine in retaliation. It coming from a female medium made it sound completely different. <br />
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Suddenly her skin turned transparent and I realized the problem was deeper than I thought. She wasn’t just wearing a mask, underneath she was hollow. She disliked herself that much. And now I realized why her insides were darkening. It was me. I was the one being shallow. I had been giving her act an encore. I didn’t like her, I only agreed to go out with her cause of her status. I didn’t even know her. All I really knew was that she use to like baseball. Any compliments I had given her went to the character she was playing. And she probably didn’t like me either. She was being a typical dumb girl, in love with love. She just wanted the affection of a guy to give herself a self-esteem booster.
She wanted confidence, but she was going about it wrong. She was making a mistake. If she didn’t change, she’d never have another goofy, messed up smile like the one currently faced down on the fire place. Now I understood how I could help her.
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“Christine. I think, I‘m breaking up with you.”Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-2841919574986425392014-07-30T19:51:00.002-07:002015-07-28T11:40:22.611-07:00Denmark's Sneeze<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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(Hamlet poem from high school assignment)</div>
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The wrinkled fruits look like they thirst water
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And stringy flowers will crumble if plunked
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All Mother Earth will soon disintegrate </div>
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Into a dusty breeze’s abrupt whisper
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Something is rotten in the state of Denmark
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Vegetation shrivels as if by snow
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A ghostly winter unseen by most eyes
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Father's leaving has left a bad aftertaste</div>
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Poor herbal Ophelia, light as petals
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She'd be one of the first to fly away </div>
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All Mother Earth will soon disintegrate
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Even organisms once part of nature
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Everyone will fly the end of this tale
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And once they fly, they can never come down
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Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-5210342236718698032014-07-29T13:48:00.001-07:002015-07-28T12:01:38.304-07:00Reflections of the Soul<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 2.4; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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Like ocean waves being pulled<o:p></o:p></div>
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I feel myself being pulled in by two moons,<o:p></o:p></div>
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And I am unable to tear away<o:p></o:p></div>
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And I have forgotten how to swim.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I never believed the sky was the ocean’s mirror,<o:p></o:p></div>
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Or that a god created the sky and ocean by dividing water.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But when I look into your eyes<o:p></o:p></div>
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I can see through the deep depths of the ocean,<o:p></o:p></div>
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And my reflection looking back at me <o:p></o:p></div>
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Drowning in the waves.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-42813806587057800852013-12-22T16:58:00.000-08:002015-07-27T22:38:48.398-07:00Messing Up Memories<div style="text-align: center;">
(Write about a significant memory prompt.)</div>
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My first memory, I think I was about two or three years old. I was standing, doing something, in the hallway of the house I still live in. There was another presence in my space, I think my mom. And that is all I remember of my first memory.<br />
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When I was a young teen I took out the old family albums in my mom’s closet and found a picture of myself when I was about two or three. I carried a smile that stretched as wide as my small baby mouth could. It looked like I was chasing after the person trying to take the picture of me. When my eyes first laid on the old white framed photo, it felt like deja-vu. My brain, without considering the evidence, told me that was a picture of my first memory. It took a few moments for me to realize that it couldn’t be, somethings were off. In the photo I was in the kitchen, not the living room. And my picture had not even been taken at the time. There were other noticeable things that were off, but I cannot remember now.<br />
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Now, I am in my early twenties, and my first memory is actually of building a castle of blocks and being okay with two of the boys in my pre-k class knocking it down.</div>Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-30893552926321489612013-12-06T11:53:00.002-08:002013-12-06T22:51:37.513-08:00Lemon Tree<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/Fuhj9OpBT30" width="420"></iframe><br /></div>
Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-14310681302159782792013-11-05T11:47:00.001-08:002015-07-28T11:16:42.303-07:00Spirit<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://i.picasion.com/pic75/0b3a2deccf3fcf0f54f53ad0f0c7a76e.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i.picasion.com/pic75/0b3a2deccf3fcf0f54f53ad0f0c7a76e.gif" /></a></div>
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(Just doodling with gif animation)</div>
Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-31347976712851183592013-10-27T18:14:00.001-07:002014-07-30T22:11:08.045-07:00Song of the Oyamel Tree<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i2NxWFj4mE4/Um26axGfUTI/AAAAAAAAAhw/Qj8xs0v1XnQ/s1600/song+of+the+oyamel+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-i2NxWFj4mE4/Um26axGfUTI/AAAAAAAAAhw/Qj8xs0v1XnQ/s640/song+of+the+oyamel+tree.jpg" height="640" width="453" /></a></div>
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(collage combining magazine cutout and quotes from Karen An-hwei Lee's poem)</div>
Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3312145811994294807.post-35971771269096949062013-09-28T21:33:00.000-07:002015-07-27T22:38:09.788-07:00Tied by a Rainbow<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dy82NoMuF7w/UkesxQyHmcI/AAAAAAAAAfA/JcL40SErYvs/s1600/earth+&+sky.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-dy82NoMuF7w/UkesxQyHmcI/AAAAAAAAAfA/JcL40SErYvs/s400/earth+&+sky.png" width="400" />
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( ekphrastic creation story )</div>
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Long ago, before the birth of humans, before the sky was too far to reach, the Earth and Sky laid close together like man and woman. They held each other closely, as if to become one being. The first lovers, the first bond.
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He was robust, yet his surface smooth and clean like the fresh skin of a newborn. She was the first beauty, but the true source of her allurement was the beauty of her heart –the sun.
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The Sky wore her heart on the outside. In this world, it was the most energy filled thing in existence and essential to everyone. The Sky’s heartbeat alone had the life of a thousand fires. She shared its radiance and energy with whoever it shined on, but her priority was always the Earth. Always entangled with one another, warmth absorbed onto the Earth like body heat.
This is where they truly met and became embodied.
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But there were dangers in the Sky wearing her heart out like a brooch. The brightness of it was so great it could easily be seen anywhere, and coveted.
The lonesome Moon was an example.
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The Moon was a god of water, and like water he was reflective. He was always mirroring the sun’s shape and light, which nourished his barren self with life and made him glow. His love for the scenic Sky morphed into an uncontrollable desire.
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To the Earth and Sky, nothing else existed but the other and the narrow slit between them. The invisible Moon became filled with jealousy. He always dwelled close to the Sky, but he camouflaged against her blue and cloudy background. The same source that the Moon reflected and that ignited him made him transparent. He convinced himself that was why the Sky never noticed him.
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To become known to her, the Moon draped a large blanket woven with night between the Sky and the Earth. The darkness blocked and blinded the star-crossed lovers, and the opposing dark and light made the once see through Moon visible.<br />
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The Moon held the Sky within his blanket and embraced her in the same manner the Earth did. He had successfully captured her, but his triumph was not long lasting. The Sky’s heart began to burst from the separation. Sunrays began to rip through the night. The sunlight that could be seen through the tattered blanket decorated it like a bejeweled sheet –the illusionary decor we now call stars.
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Guilt crept up on the Moon as he observed the Sky’s attempts to breakaway. He looked at the countless peepholes created in the night, and he construed that the Sky’s heart was desperately trying to exhibit itself to the Earth again. He was still her priority.
The Moon uncovered his captive. The night folded, only distance stood between the Earth and Sky. The Earth called out for the Sky to come to him. The Sky being light and weightless, however, was trapped hovering in the air.
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The Earth’s surface changed, it began to wrinkle. The bitterness grew within him and took the form of green vegetation, trees, and hills. They sprouted upwards trying to reach the Sky, but they were unable to make the stretch, his efforts were utterly futile.
The Sky began to change, too. She cried for the first time, her bright and aesthetic appearance turning an eerie ashen gray, her pulse becoming loud and rhythmic. The painful strikes in her heart manifested into thunder and lightning.
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The Moon watched the Sky and Earth’s failed attempts at reaching each other. He knew he was the cause of this tragedy. The Moon then used his powers to manipulate the Sky’s tears. It was all he could do.
Instead of rolling down her cheeks, her tears began to fall before her and onto the Earth. The first rain. The Earth bathed in the Sky’s tears, the cracks in his now wrinkled skin became pooled in salty water. Days of tears turned once dry land into oceans and seas.
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But the Earth was no longer sad. Finally their bond was recreated with the rain –a link from the Sky to the Earth. The Sky’s tears finally began to fade into a drizzle upon seeing what looked like a colorful bridge materialize. The first rainbow. Just seeing this phenomenon, she had also come to realize what the Earth had.
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And the rainbow was a reminder that bonds are strongest after the rain.</div>
Yahyahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16373646372722718010noreply@blogger.com0