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Joanne considered her options for supper: chicken soup with garlic bread, beef vegetable casserole with fluffy white rice, or some crumbed chicken fillet filled with pepper sauce? The thirty-two-year old college lecturer rolled her eyes heavenward, struggling to decide what to eat. “Nick!” she called to her nine-year-old son watching Jurassic World: Dominion on Netflix in the bedroom they shared. “What would you like for dinner tonight, buddy?” “What are the choices, Mom?” Nick asked as he walked into their tiny but neat kitchen. Joanne and Nick were living in a one-bedroom separate entrance since her divorce three years ago. Kevin, her ex-husband, had run up such huge debts that they couldn't continue staying in the house they had been renting. Once Kevin had lost his job, his behavior had changed. He became frustrated, started drinking too much, and developed a truly tempestuous temper. It was crystal clear to Joanne that their marriage was doomed. Divorce seemed the best route for her and Nick. Kevin had disappeared out of their lives after the divorce had been finalized as if he had only been a figment of their imagination. Nick had long ago stopped to ask after his father. “Well,” Joanne said, “we've got three leftover choices,” she said, listing the three dishes. During the Christmas season, Joanne tended to cook a number of dishes which she could warm up, saving her from having to cook every night. They often had a surplus of food though, forcing Joanne to either give away whatever they hadn't eaten to street beggars, or discarding the food. “Hmm, those are really hard choices, Mom,” Nick complained. “I know, honey, but choose one, please.” “Actually, I'm not all that hungry tonight. Can't I just have some milk and cookies, please?” Nick asked pleadingly. Before Joanne could answer him though, her cell phone rang. She was surprised to see that the caller was Simon, one of the senior students she was mentoring. He was a polite nineteen-year-old of whom Joanne was quite fond. “Simon, what a nice surprise to hear from you,” Joanne said, simultaneously nodding at Nick to let him know he could have his milk and cookies. “I'm really sorry to bother you this late, Miss Harper, but I wanted to ask you for something,” Simon apologized. “Nonsense. It hasn't even gone eight yet. What can I do for you?” Joanne asked. She intuited that Simon was embarrassed about whatever it was he needed, so she waited patiently for him to formulate his request. Clearing his throat a few times, Simon finally said, “I'm in a bit of a fix tonight, Miss. I feel truly bad to turn to you for help, but I didn't know who else to ask.” Joanne remembered that Simon lived on his own in a rented room in a house shared by other students. She was also keenly aware of his financial difficulties, thus she expected him to ask her for some money or a loan. What he asked for brought her nearly to tears. “Miss, do you have some food for me, please? I'm really hungry tonight. The only thing I've had all day was a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea this morning. If you don't have anything, it's fine. I'm very sorry to bother you, Miss.” Unbidden, an image of her stocked fridge and the dinner options she and Nick were deciding on swam into her consciousness. A well of deep shame opened up in the kind woman's heart; her motherly instinct to nurture set her soul ablaze with contrition for having taken for granted that others had three meals a day as she did. “Say no more, Simon. Please, come over right now. I have more than enough food. Have supper with me and my son and I'll pack some leftovers for you to take home as well,” she immediately said. There was a long silence on the other end of the line, making Joanne wonder if Simon had ended the call. “Simon, are you still there?” she asked just as she heard soft sobs coming over the line. Her heart broke anew; she realized that Simon was weeping. “Miss, you have no idea how much this means to me. I can't thank you enough, Mom,” Simon said, not realizing he had referred to Joanne as ‘Mom'. Simon's slip of the tongue stunned Joanne. Heroically, she collected her scattered thoughts, stilling her heaving heart. “I should be the one thanking you, Simon,” she said, her soul drenched in pure gratitude. Image: Marcos Paulo Prado (www.unsplash.com)

Please, kindly gaze at my standard rates for editing any thesis for graduates and undergraduates; 👉Thesis for undergraduates 150 US dollars per 5,000 word count 👉Master's thesis 250 US dollars per 5,000 word count 👉Thesis for PhD track 280 US dollars per 5,000 word count. How do l accomplish this task and produce quality work with a cardinal goal of drafting an appealing and winning proposal that meets your expectations, and aligns with the standards, and requirements of your institution? 👉During the editing process l review your write-up a couple of times, rectify any mistakes related to spelling, grammatical typos, reformulate poorly written statements, polish your arguments, improve on the flow of ideas, toss away ambiguous statements, complement your ideological inputs, and insight with fine-tuned ideas that align with your topic and the morphological structure of your rigorous thesis work, proof read your compilation prior to submission. N.B. 👉 Different institutions always dispose and recommend various formats, so you have the discretion to format your edited thesis to conform to the standards of your university. However, if you avail me the details and assign me this task to reformat your work, you will be obliged to pay 150 US dollars. 👉Contrary, if you are done with your thesis, and only engage me to proof read it, and focus on rectifying only spelling mistakes without upgrading your conceptual inputs or modifying your writing style, then the cost will elevate to 100 US dollars per 5,000 word count. 👉More so, if you submit your research topic and you assign me to document your research proposal from scratch, the rates vary as follows; 👉Proposal writing $1k per 10,000 word count 👉Report writing $ 1.5k per 10,000 word count 👉The above charges uphold for only clients who need their work ready within a timeline of not less than 10 days. But if a client expresses urgency in submission of their work, then they may be subjected to additional petty charges in a bid to address their urgency and need. *Payment plan* 👉Upon mutual consent and contractual agreement, a client meets the costs in two instalments ; 1st instalment will be upon initialising the assignment (starting phase to execute the task) and will always constitute 50% of the total cost based on the assignment and the workload, whilst the balance will be paid prior to submission of the assignment to the owner. 👉All payment transactions will be effected online through Western Union (WU) 👉It's always critical to ensure real-time interactivity with two contracting parties so as to prescribe real-time solutions for any queries likely to surface bilaterally! You can always ☎️ or WhatsApp: +256705862902 or click the following links to visit some of my online platforms where you will share your comments on account that you don't breach our privacy standards in regard to ensuring confidentiality of your research work! https://ssekolyarobertchangeicon.wordpress.com/blog/ www.biopage.com/sky100robert http://linkedin.com/in/ssekolya-robert-645868196 Thank you so much!

Today started off really well. I went on a date with a nice guy and we had a really good time. He acts like he wants to go on a third date and when I go home I break down. Why? I realized I forgot to take one of my anxiety pills and my anxiety rocketed. This made me want to crawl up into a ball in my bed and did for a little but I forced myself to get out and do some writing. Writing usually gives me some kind of perspective but I'm having a hard time today. I feel like I'm broken and that no one could possibly be want to be with someone like that. I know I have to keep fighting and that is the most important thing to do but I'm so tired of having to do that every day. And when I think that I will have to make this effort for the rest of my life it makes me feel really overwhelmed. I wish God didn't choose this life for me but I'm sure there was a reason for it. I just haven't figured it out yet.

I started talking to a guy yesterday that really impacted me. I know nothing will probablly come of it because of the distance but the conversation we had really resonated with me. Because he said he was a therapist, I immediately felt safe and calm during our text messages. We revealed a lot to each other, things that we don't usually share with just anyone. I discussed my struggles with my mental illneses and he understood and I felt like he really cared. Sometimes that makes all the difference in the world: finding someone that really truly understands and doesn't try to make it better; he just listens and acknowledges that dealing with all of these obstacles are very difficult. We have a lot of other similarites in common but him accepting me and all of my scars means more to me than I can put into words. I don't feel broken when I talk to him. I just feel like a normal person that sometimes has to work a little harder to find life enjoyable. I know we just met and you can call me crazy but he's already positively infliuenced me.

She was beautiful with her long, gently curled, brown hair hanging down softly just below her shoulders. Yet, her pale blue eyes always seemed to hold a hint of sadness and fatigue. I remember the few times when I peeked in her room and found her crying. As a child, I never understood why. Her hair, cut a bit shorter, reached just below her delicate earlobes. She still wore no jewelry but for the wedding band she received from her husband, my father, so many years ago. Some of the sadness has gone and her eyes seem a bit more alive than in years past. As a teen, I never understood why, nor did I care. She wore her hair in a shorter crop, just midway down her ears and it had begun to turn gray at the temples. In addition to her wedding band, she wore a small locket around her neck – another gift from her beloved husband for their 25th wedding anniversary. At times she seemed happy but beneath that glimmer, if you looked closely, you saw the unmistakable hint of wear, worry and fatigue. I didn't understand as I was a fairly new wife and mother, I was too busy to notice. Her hair now has turned white and she wears it as short as possible. Her pale blue eyes emit more sadness than imaginable. So sad. Such a faraway stare. No longer able to see, but for the memories in her mind. Her jewelry, throughout the years has never changed but with one exception, one new addition – a larger gold band that she wore on the middle finger of her left hand – right next to her own. As an adult, I understand. I finally understand!

“Am I beautiful enough?” “I hate to see the way how fat I am” “Your dark skin looks like you have been burnt right down in the sun seriously” “Go to this XXX Dermatologist, she will brighten your skin so it can boost your confidence just like mine, and voilá!” “Hands down. No wonder why her instagram-story worth hundred viewers, I kinda sceptic how pricey that beauty spa and salon maintenance might cost” “Look at this Hollywood Goddess, Scarlett Johansson, I absolutely about to dye my mediocre black hair to brunette-ish like her.” Have you ever heard at a very least one of these statements amongst our society on a day-to-day basis for certain circumstances? For me, yes. Kind of ironic yet realistically pathetic. This essay is written to digging deeper about how millennials in Indonesia for having ‘Beauty is White' sort of mentality, as in term of their measurement standard for beauty. The writer will encourage readers why it's important to start treating our own selves in a very respective way in aim to see ourselves as a whole genuine beauty without questioning the diversity. Living in the era of upgrades, it's not a secret that in the age of technological development like today, everything has become accessible. People have the ability to browse all various topic that might catch their interest in certain facets; from brand-new fashion updates in America until issue about chronic famine in Africa. This is because of the role of mass media for spreading information not only in local-based, but worldwide based. Fortunately, by only having a gadget, it let us gain information as quick as possible, as transparent as a simple click from our fingertip, emerge on various platforms, thus all being wrapped up called social media. Furthermore, the existence of social media is inevitable for millennials to not maximize the essence of social media functionality itself to different uses depending on the users' intention. Millennials in Jakarta, especially young grown-up girls are very obsessed with the nature of fashion industry. Media is over-emphasis on certain point for attractiveness to some extent. This phenomenon is, of course, cannot be separated from what so-called as advertising strategy realms. Longman defined advertising as an act of showing people publicly about a product or service in order to persuade them to buy it. Brand owners are often recruited models based on certain physical requirements suited on their products that are being sold, because truth to be told, it's important to employ model who also has physical attractiveness in order to maintain and escalate the level of elegance for brand itself because of some common physical traits model own i.e: pale skin, lean legs, slim waist, and wide hips. The latest research showed that Asian women are obsessed with having flawless white skin. From Indonesian millennials perspective, in contrast, these physical traits you see on social media are often to be considered as the ideal beauty that needs to be internalized. As (Botta 1999, Irving 1990) stated, people tend to compare themselves to other people that represent idealistic goals. These are definite signs that you are trapped in a zone called “Euro-American Centric” beauty mentality. Beauty is a complex issue. Saltzberg & Chisel defined beauty cannot be quantified or objectively measured, it is only the result of the judgement from others. The reasons Why do Indonesian Millennials are obsessed with ‘Euro-American Centric' beauty ideal can be stated below: 1) External Validation Seeker * Hyper-focus of physical appearance. Their time is wasted only dedicated to browse whitening beauty products as in hope to be ‘white or have lighter skin'. * Thirsty upon external validation for a serious amount of duration. 2) Having “White People are Better” Mentality *Narrow-mindedness due to not wanting to broaden their mindset in concrete opinion caused by cultural norm rooted in some of Indonesian Millennial's head: dark skin is associated with poverty, thus not being able to have buying power and afford beauty maintenance, such as whitening beauty products. While white skin is associated with wealth and high socio-economical status, more likeable, successful in jobs, marriage etc. 3) Poor Level of Appreciation *Lack of Self-Awareness: not aware that sometimes there is certain factor that cannot be changed due to the biological nature we have by genetics. * High Level of Self-Judgement: easy to judge people based on external appearance only. Wake up, fellas! We all have no time to judge other people as more important as ourselves. Why would you perceive yourself as ugly because of our nature DNA of healthy tan skin? It's time to start wake up and feel blessed because of the fact you are standing for who you are, you obligate your happiness. Never let society defines your level of beautifulness. Start treating yourself in a very respective way and stop seeing yourself as a total failure, because you are not.

I am a Fil-Am. A Filipino American, who happens to live in a cold place. It's take me years to let go of my stubborn want to wear flip-flops in winter despite the below zero temperature. Maybe it's my neuroticism managed. Sunshine, sunscreen, and sand are some of my favorite “S” words. I've lived in Alaska for nearly 10 years, and despite the dark winters, I still slather sunscreen on my face to combat wrinkles and skin damage. In Alaska I've never had someone make me feel more or less than I am based on my skin color. If I do what I need to do, do my job, my role, fulfill my expectations, I'm OK. From the outside. But on the inside it can be lonely, but I am whoever I strive to be. But sometimes in the Philippines, around certain people, physical appearance is over-examined. Specific features on my face are pointed out before someone even asks my name. My nose shape, my eyebrows, and my skin tone are coveted. Beauty is seen as a sum of ones outside parts, which can make someone feel like a strange fish in a tank that doesn't know how to hide from people staring at it. I stumble over a “Thank you” when someone praises the bridge of my nose, so confused, remembering years ago in the 6th grade when a girl teased me for having a “flat nose.” To each their own. In the Philippines, if you're pale, you are admired, distinctly pointed out. This can be strange if you don't understand beauty in Asia. It's something that worries me, as the younger generation grows into this concept of what beauty should distinctly be. In the U.S., we are seeing more acceptance and celebration for women of all skin tones. Diversity and representation being fought for in a plethora of fields. Beauty is not just skin deep, and isn't representative of capability or competence. But we don't ignore someone who is attractive. We all hold a bias to people who are symmetrically more beautiful. It's a fascination that will never leave the public eye, but we at least see a need for more inclusivity of people all over the color spectrum, and of a diversity of cultures and backgrounds. In the Philippines, there is an inherent bias for people of lighter skin tones. When a women has darker skin, she is made fun of, and seen as the opposite of beautiful. She's familiar with the jokes. “Negra.” “Uling.” (Charcoal). “Lagum.” (Dark). There is something in Asian culture that highlights status and allure of white skin. It has been a symbol of money and prestige. Hardworking people who engage in manual labor have no reprieve from the sun. People with power and money stay inside, having the luxury of staying away from backbreaking work and the heat. Maybe, at least in particular with the Philippines, we hold on firmly to skin lightening products and a worship of light skin becomes it pays homage to our colonizers. As if, at the core of our being as a culture, we hold onto this self-hatred of who we are. That we are not good enough. Dark is not the opposite of beauty. Skin is skin. It protects, it tells a story, but no person is defined by the shade of their skin tone. It is not a symbol of success. It is genetics, biology, it is an organ that is above the judgement of human eyes. Filipinos: let's examine our bias towards what we accept as beautiful. Let's tell our daughters and sons to embrace and love their skin, despite the shade that is on the outside of their bodies. They are worth more than the shade society deems acceptable.

“There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.” - Winston Churchill. Since I was twelve a horse was a large portion of my life. I found release and freedom from the world through her. But, I never understood this quote until I realized horses gave me wings. My aunt told me that kittens were at their barn. We were going to check on them and then go to the movies. My blonde headed self was so focused on small fluffy kittens, I walked past a horse and her massive body standing in the corner. I kept walking distracted with kittens on my brain. I find myself hearing something, “crunch, crunch, crunch.” I turned around, and I was disappointed at not finding what my mind was so looking for. Then seeing a large butt with a knotty tail I think cows are not kittens. Yes. I know, a dreadful miscalculation. Then, I realised it was her. Her, a horse, THE horse I saw two weeks prior. She was still matted with feces and her bones were visible. It was her though! I had whispered, “ I will get you, I promise.” My pleading prays at the dinner table had worked. I asked God, but it's was my parent's conscious I softened. Mischievous maybe, but it worked! After giving everyone a hug and saying thank you, I began to brush her. I named her, “Ladybug”. Her coat grew and her bones filled out. However, Ladybug suffered from separation anxiety and nervous behavior. I think, she most needed was love. Ladybug wasn't easy to train. I often had to walk back to the barn from where I had been thrown off. She'd get injured. I tried hard not to get hurt myself. The outside of a horse will teach you that you can gain submission of a thousand pound animal through force, but never trust. So I took her away from people who thought to win her was to wear down her spirit and control her. I stubbornly searched for a solution. After 3 years, I found Carrie Vinski a women, who when you meet her you automatically underestimate her, which is a bad move I found. Carrie Vinski is a woman with a spirit so fierce and kind she has a whirlwind of inspiration always surrounds her. She opened my eyes to a new understanding. She taught me to be still while Ladybug stormed. Carrie taught me to speak the equine language. On the inside I stayed calm when it seemed like all hell was about to break loss. She steadied my hands and showed me how to love better. Carrie valued the horse's selflessness. She left the horse training world for that reason. Ladybug and I began to move forward for the first time. We managed a few shows, better riding practices, and began relaxing together. I learned not to demand so much from a creature whose spirit was broken. I listened and showed kindness instead of demanding my way. Horse are complicated and mysterious giants. Everyday you discover more from them. She gave me wings as I rode her across seas of grass. Air was flying past as I was afloat in the atmosphere. The sound of her proud snorting filled my ears. The thunder drum beating of her hooves feasted on the ground underneath me as we took off. That feeling sank deep into my bones as every muscles flexed and worked. As one she carry us across fields, rivers, and forests always on our way to nowhere. A horse run with power, strength and grace. To be carried by such a creature is a honor. In the show ring you feel the most intimate connection. The response in a single small command to turn, hold back and to go. The grace and enchanting movement in the dressage ring answers all questions of the true beauty of connection between two beings. Horses dance with passion and run with fire in there blood. They are war machines of old because of there benevolent power. While the story of Ladybug and I was finally pushing toward a positive light, as so often happens not all stories end with happiness. I found her limping and with a gaping wound to her hoof and a large loss of blood. I had to let her go. It was the honest thing to do, but saying goodbye to her was the hardest thing I've ever done. I regret walking away afraid to watch the light go out from her eyes. I heard her drop laying on the floor in wailing agony. I felt my heart break. Yet, I walked out and held her head gently as she breathed her last. I said, “ I'm proud to have called you mine. I told her she did a good job. Thank you, Ladybug.” She passed away with the sound of cars passing in the distance. I finally understood Winston Churchill. Ladybug was never about self gain. She humbled my prideful spirit and quenched a part of my soul hadn't known was parched. The freedom and discipline she taught me is irreplaceable. The horses body reminds men that there is rare power far greater than we know. Joy can be found even in the most troubling of things and love to be gained from earnest pursuit. Ladybug taught me gentleness. All horses have the power of enchantment over men. They are the wingless that fly with wings that only heaven may know of. Horses tame men.