When I was in college here in Kentucky, I became Known on campus, or at least in the English Department. I wasn't the most punctual or active student, so I was not infamous for that. No, I was Known for a piece I wrote. I have ever been an opportunist. I wrote this piece about a negative experience I had with another student in the class: The Masturbator. I remember printing and stapling the piece- a 12 page masterpiece of vitriol and punishment- before handing it out that fateful Friday. He took one and I smiled at him. I wonder if he remembers that, as well. Here is, largely, the piece that slayed a man. Anytime I stroll into a classroom and it's outfitted with actual tables and chairs I unabashedly revel in the opportunity to have a place to comfortably put my belongings. I hate the cramped, little wrap-around desks that NKU seems to think are “efficient.” A tall, tanned fellow approached the chair beside me and paused. I flicked my blue eyes up to his dark ones and was rewarded with a smile from him. Not a bad smile, I guess, but boys' smiles don't affect me like they used to. It could have been an award-winning eligible bachelor smile for all I know. He asked tentatively, “Can I sit here?” His question struck me as odd—it's not like we were at a wedding or a school dance or something. I don't care where you sit in class. Honestly, I'm not the best conversationalist. I'm a passing fair smiler-and-giggler, but the truth of my social success, such as it is, is my arrogant meanness. My most recent nickname is “The Eviscerator,” for I often disembowel my male friends in semi-playful banter. I'm extremely awkward if I'm not being a heinous bitch. Class began and I remained basking in the glory of a separate chair from desk situation—arm hooked over the back, right leg crossed over my left, shoulders back. I spared my neighbor a glance and realized he was “arranging himself,” which I contend as the most distracting thing a guy can do, for all parties involved. Quickly, I realized he was arranging a boner. Fuck. I moved to shift in my seat, but hesitated. I decided to be cool, like I hadn't noticed. I figured it was embarrassing for most boys and it wasn't like he could help it. I decided to take it as a compliment and hoped it went away. Soon. A few minutes later, I'll admit, I peeked. I wanted to know if we were in the clear and nothing weird was going on, but there he was, long olive fingers wrapped around his dick, squeezing it rhythmically. He stroked it, moved it and squeezed it again. I don't own a penis, but I'm pretty sure this is not the recommended method for getting rid of an inappropriate woody. Upon this discovery, there were many words to describe my reaction, including, but not limited to: abhorred, disgusted, enraged, betrayed and revolted. We were thirty minutes into class when I noticed he had started pinching the head of his cock, still habitually looking at me. I was hoping to get out of class as fast as possible, but before I could skedaddle he asked about my tattoos. “Yeah, sure,” I said, which was not an answer. My eyes narrowed and all I saw was the door. I was angry. I had done nothing, which was the worst thing I could have done. He was momentarily rebuffed but smiled and purred, “I really like that dress.” I hope my eyes flashed as venomously as I think they did. An Evisceration was on my lips as I hefted my purse to my shoulder, but all I said was, “Yeah. I bet you do.” I saw the opportunity to tell him what I thought of his actions that day. I couldn't let him get away with it, and live his life without knowing. Dear Reader, I gave The Masturbator his own story. The day of my workshop I could not shake my nerves, I jittered and skittered through the entire day. I saw my friend, C, hanging in the hall, a text perched on her knees. “He's pretty mad, huh?” She asked. “Who?” I wanted to know. I was scared the teacher would consider my story highly inappropriate, or worse, side with the Masturbator. “You ought to check the blackboard,” she said, eyes wide behind her metal framed glasses. It was gold. A treasure trove of insults and accusations and acknowledgement. He admitted it happened. I did not name him, but he outed himself. I was elated. I floated to class that day. He didn't come to my critique. During my workshop, my professor asked me why I was the Wimp, not the Eviscerator. It was a shame, to listen to the professor tell on himself, as well. It was clear that he did not look at the Blackboard, that he did not click the little hypertext links to peruse his students' reviews. When I turned in my final draft I explained myself. The professor read my portfolio, complete with the ending of the Masturbator's tale, and emailed me. He said he would take it up with the Dean. I shrugged it off. The next semester, C, who worked in the Office, let me know she'd looked at the student files. They expelled the Masturbator. Eviscerated.

Did you ever notice that sometimes, the older generation are much more laid-back at festivities than young adults who are always tensed about appearances? I suppose the former's age gets muffins on them. It was my mother-in-law's birthday and the day I realised my mind's conscientious density was as lacking as that of a driver tooling his car with water instead of petrol. My family decided on celebrating the occasion at home. The guests for the fiesta included only people from the senior generation. It had been eight months since I was married into a Jain joint family. There were no pretences from them for a newcomer. Each of them were habitual around me. I tried being the same, only I was bashful. But being a discreet, weird, watchful, reflective thinker, only talking where may be necessary, I can say I went overboard with myself. Being the first amongst family and friends to get married, I had always been too apprehensive. The satisfaction of feeling accepted was my target. Even though I might have not needed to, I decided that the best way to express my adoration for the new folks was by impressing them by taking up the task of cooking all by myself with the secret ingredient of love, for the get-together. Earlier, cooking for me used to be all about melting cheese on bread, pun intended. Then I cooked only to find that no one ate it or it was too difficult or only to find that it looked like nothing in the photos of recipes on the internet. Over the years though, I had mastered ‘some' exotic looking dishes. It was a way to show-off my culinary skills and get a few compliments in my kitty. My sister-in-law and I prepared a menu for our little get-together. It all seemed easy (only someone should have told us that if it seems easy, we're doing it wrong). We went over it a million times, always trying to add something better to satisfy our guests and to make it part of the entertainment. Yes, food is the life and soul of the party here. Using the best of my knowledge in the area I tried and included the most delectable and colourful looking dishes to flaunt my skills. Well, cooking is like chemistry. Only by tweaking and mixing the most interesting substances do you get a reaction. In this case reactions would be appreciative or detractive. I sorted out the house to make it look neat before the guests arrived and kept all essentials like water, tissues and food. Sweating the vegetables for flavour, bruising herbs to bring out their full flavour and decorating it with a chiffonade of cilantro was all done. The appetizers which consisted of ingredients like paneer and bread were all prepared and the desserts and cake were baked – all in a birthday's work. It was now time to play the perfect host. A playlist that I compiled earlier with Indian melodies from the past started to buzz. A certain level of joy exuded while I greeted the guests. They hailed in return along with compliments about the décor, the clothes and the aroma of the special chemical tweaks from the kitchen. My timid nature came in the way and we all went about our own ways. Everyone was perfectly dressed. There were games and the whole bunch of elderly visitors enjoyed themselves as if to say nobody was watching them at the fiesta. There was a slice of merrymaking and story baking. The food was served, eaten and then I hit my head. I had liked the look and peel of the dishes but it did nothing to honour my mother-in-law. At the bake of my mind I hoped to turn bake the clock. It so happens that the celebrant didn't eat cakes, English-desserts, English-bread, cottage cheese or any dishes with ketchup which primarily constituted all of the dishes in the menu. My half-baked menu plan was a disaster! The quest to feel a certain way trapped my mind into ignoring the obvious. I expected a litany of salty complaints from my folks but to my surprise the whole situation was ignored. My kind-hearted in-law didn't eat anything but she discounted the situation. My fear of being judged was false. All I can say is that I'm lucky-fluky but that doesn't mean I did the right thing. I did bake a mistake. I put all of the attention to the taste of the food rather than the person who was supposed to be honoured with it. There was no change in the molecular structure and no chemical reaction. Like someone said ‘soiree' seems to be the hardest word. I can only remember one quote by Ben Tolosa- ‘Most jokes come from good intentions – and most mistakes too.' After all, tomorrow is another birthday.

So...lockdown's a thing now, and dare I say it's super fun, fresh, flirty and good for me! By that I mean, no, not at all, I am genuinely confused as to what day it is, how to process information, and just a general state of unease. It has led to more and more alone time, as I thankfully managed to spend 4 months away from my claustrophobic and highly tense household. A tiny glimmer of peace and quiet, however after, perhaps....3 days of on- my- own- gratefulness complete with "good evening moonchild vibes", I was struggling to keep things together. Keeping things together, maintaining a certain level of sanity differs from person to person, my version of this was making a conscious effort not to just, well to put it frankly, open my mouth and scream for a solid 28 minutes. (A personal all time record- not proud of it, well sort of, as a raspy, husky voice came out of my mouth for the next 5 hours.) The next stage of lockdown is well, what do I do now? The answer is- if you are already on the cusp of a low level identity crisis, to buy as many wigs as you can from a suspiciously cheap website, plaster your face in make up, and just go the whole hock. Not just the hock, I'm talking tail, snout, trotters, the whole shebang! Then you look in the mirror, giving yourself that pep talk, the 1 we all have, the 1 that makes us convince ourselves we can and will do anything, but ultimately leads to you crying, foetal position, on the nearest bed and or floor. The best ones end up with you on the kitchen floor, there is just something so gratifyingly pathetic, stupid, and disgustingly privileged of a "grown" white woman doing so. It's as if you think the cold hard tiles are a way of paying penance for being so ridiculous, but actually ends up feeding into the melodrama of the whole conflama of it all. After about 30 minutes of that hell-scape, what's the next step, what's the next stage? Well, you get up wipe off the make up, regretting it the entire time as you are perilously low on micellar water, oh the horror, and you realise you WILL be left with that black smudge underneath your waterline, for another day- minimum. Now that's done you check your fridge, freezer, cupboard and search for the serotonin lift that accompanies a sugar high; much to your despair, but unsurprisingly you can't find anything and it's too late to go to the shops. You curse yourself for having the audacity to refuse to buy junk food as you pledged to yourself not 2 days ago, to turn your li9fe around, get healthier eating habits, and for sure, workout feverishly, just so you can pretend you have some sense of control and discipline in your life. Fearing that even though they 're your friends they would somehow judge you for not losing that cumber band of fat, or not being able to solve world hunger and eradicate the patriarchy through the power of self love. The self love screamed at you anytime a petite influencer needs to sell the newest "fit tea", or indestructible toothbrush, not quite understanding the irony in the whole fuckery. Anyway, you have no junk food, you have no drugs or alcohol, so you sit in it, you sit in your feelings, your boo-hoo poor me feelings. It would almost be comical if it wasn't so inherently selfish and privileged. You need to combat those feelings and fast, quickly get yourself on change.org, sign a bunch of petitions, the more racially diverse the better, you find it eases the white guilt a bit and also you get brownie points, as you can brag to your friends, lord it over them, showing them proving to them that, yeah, perhaps I haven't lost weight, but at least I have proof that I'm a good person. I deserve to be seen. Please recognise me. Don't let me fade into the background. I'm clawing my way up the ladder of a superiority complex. Please just tell me I'm a good person, I don't want to be thrown into the fires below. Then you sleep, you've worn yourself on the emotional rollercoaster, you wake up the next day, and what do you know, you repeat the 3 day process again.

Each day of this quarantine is a little different. Some days there is energy and motivation, and other days there is beer with lunch. I am trying to manage my anxiety around reopening the world by continuing to stay at home as much as possible and see new people as little as possible. However, I did go to a small business craft store with my daughter the other day and was pleased with how they were making sure people couldn't sneeze on one another. It required suiting up with gloves and taking a sanitizer bath, but I felt safe and it encouraged a great conversation with my daughter around how we as humans will always learn to adapt to new situations. Today was a day that I woke up and thought, " Ugh, what am I going to do to fill the time between now and when I get to go back to sleep?" I wanted to just stay right there and not move until bedtime, watching episodes of Shrill or Bob's Burgers until my eyes were tired and eating bags of chips in bed until I realizing that I would now have to get up to clean the crumbs off of the sheets. But I have kids. My daughter has an open-air farm camp she needs to get to so she can stand in hula hoop away from the other kids while wearing a mask and trying to socialize, (see? we adapt!), and my son is 5 so he obviously needs me to come running into his room first thing in the morning so he can sing me the chorus to "Africa", (he prefers the Weezer version, sorry Toto), while still laying in his bed. So, staying in my own bed and being lazy all day isn't even an option. If it were an option, I would be horribly judged by everyone reading this because that would mean that my children were exposed to too much screen time, whatever that magic amount of "just enough" is, I have no idea, but I am sure a day of Bob's Burgers is probably past that point. Some days I get ready as if I were going to see people and wanted to impress. But like I said, each day of Covid living is a little different, so there are also the days where I decide I am fine the way I woke up and everyone else can shove it. Today, I am sure that putting on makeup would AT LEAST help pass the time, but I think I will save it for when I am super bored. Later, I will probably have to stand outside for an hour, minimum, while watching my son ride his bike up and down the street; a daily ritual that he will never get bored of and that makes me want to set something on fire. After that I will probably start a loaf of sourdough bread to feel like I contributed to the household economy and then let my son have screens for too long so that I can read/take a shower/stare at the wall for a while, and not have someone climbing on me or shooting me with Nerf bullets or yelling for me to come and take the arms off of his lego men. And tonight, after eating a dinner that my husband made and the kids won't eat, I will sit in bed with my husband and watch TV (finally) while the kids fall asleep in their own damn beds. When I wake up in the morning it will be a different day and I will wonder what I will do to fill the space between waking up and going back to bed. For now, it's lunch time and I think I am going to have a beer.

Is it just me or does the thought of going on a cruise ship immediately make you think of the part of "The Life Aquatic" where they get boarded by pirates or the scene in the "Titanic" where Leo is chained to a pipe and water is rising up around him? Knowing my luck, I would be on the cruise ship that was boarded by pirates while it was sinking and be somehow trapped in the room with the pipes. Cruise ships are a hard pass. Is it just me or does the thought of your neighbors being upset with your chickens make you wake up at 6:30 in the morning just to run outside and "shush" them while they strut around the coop screeching/boasting about the eggs they just laid or the eggs they're planning on laying, and then when that inevitably doesn't work you end up giving them all of your rice cakes so they don't wake up everyone in a 3 mile radius, but the thought of getting rid of said chickens makes you nauseous with guilt? Is it just me or is that sound outside probably a murderer? Is it just me or are these WEB MD diagnoses making it sound like I either have the common cold or the bubonic plague? No inbetween. Is it just me or do awkward moments in a TV show or a movie cause you to get up and leave the room with excuses like, "I have to go pee, you don't have to pause it for me," or " I am going to make 5 batches of cookies, leave it on, I can watch from the kitchen," ? Shows like "Extras" and "Curb Your Enthusiasm" are basically reasons for me to get things done around the house so I can avoid seeing other people make asses out of themselves. Is it just me or should we give these pickled beets I canned last summer to someone else so they can act as my poison tester. If they don't die after eating them then maybe I will open the other can. But what if they lied about opening them just so I wouldn't be upset that they hadn't yet? Or what if THAT jar was fine but MY jar is actually filled with botulism? Is it just me or is it too late to become that kind of parent that doesn't give their kids screens? And if I take screens away do I have to replace it with something? Or can they just figure that shit out themselves? Is it just me or is my Memoji prettier than I am in real life? Is it just me or did that prescription commercial just quickly list about 500 ways it could kill me, making me want to remember the name of it just so I can tell my doctor what I DON"T want should I ever develop the ailment that those middle aged, white collar, housewives had? Is it just me or did the cat puke in my sandals on purpose? Is it just me or did I say that thing that one time and everyone still remembers it and probably hates me? Is it just me or...?

Yes it's so nice when you're trying to get a new life together and you've got a million things running through your mind like; how to market yourself in a diverse market and how to fund myself for this new change in career focus that I'm embarking on, when the flu hit me and sent me straight to the toilet. It's never fun! lol So here we are now a few days later and I still feel crummy. I didn't get a wink of sleep and all I can do is sit and write which is a good thing right now. For 15 years it has taken me to strengthen my back and get myself to where I can sit up and write for awhile without too much pain providing I sit up a straight as possible. That gets hurt some too at times and then I take a good break. Good thing I get up frequently to stretch my limbs! But in all honestly the flu has me writing. I'd love to be helping someone right now. I wish I could offer my services in support work. I loved my PSW position with Paramed Oakville. But that was 18.5 years ago now. Wonderful people to work for and my job was fulfilling and my patients delightful. Last night, I laid in bed and thought about many things and the one question came to mind was, "How many people have a version of the flu right now?" I guesstimated that probably in my city at least 300 people. Thank goodness I'm not in need of the ER. I feel for the people who do. Well, I just needed to say Good Morning to you and I hope you're feeling well! LOL Thanks for the chat! :)

more an excuse than a problem an emotion more hypothetical than myths and more manipulative than a mother,has the ability to make you believe in imaginary and lose faith in reality.in a nutshell it makes a deadline seem ephemeral and a dead end inevitable. It is a force that guides you the night before exam to cram in the limited light,fight with all might and pray for your miserable plight. Tension is a teacher who preaches time is unlimited like doraemon ,but lacks the reasoning to justify its anecdote it forces things to the last nanosecond makes the employee work fast and the employer furious, Makes a work for months adjust in hours because we believe there is an image of ours to "banai rakhna"(maintain in front of lukewarm people). Positively it makes you work hard but obviously make you worry hard as well.it is a mechanism for delivery of what is available than what is the best possible. It is often associated with the loud thumping of the heart but with reduction in time grows to asthma and paralization. it isn't a wonderful feeling but does wonders, inculcates speed faster than flash and laws beyond physics as the calm world around you becomes a terror zone with the motto do or die.In the mind of a believer of the spirit of procrastination, it makes life exciting as we experience new events and act spontaneously, but what is forgotten is that critical analysis is no more considered a need and it has become an accessory,those who possess it now become a statue of awe. With the increase in the number of atheists in world there is a proportional rise of believers in unproductivity who believe that preparation isn't a necessity.it is a confusing feeling that begins with over confidence followed by low confidence. Individuals have begun to abundantly prove the word's existence and say its normal to to be tensed.explain this weird feeling with a million words, similes, metaphors but mostly has one simple avoidable cause that mankind choose to accept and refuses to change as we believe in comfort and support irrationality. lastly, many procrastinators tend to make themselves brainwash themselves to believe that the most unimportant tasks(at that particular moment in time) may be life changing, i would agree, a change for the worse. Over longtime of cultivating this sweet temporary pleasure you soon taste the diabetic fruit of regret, its fine as long as you are fine with just existing,not making a difference but #YOLO. It is never too late and obviously never early to do something productive,starting now would be right as you dont know how much time is left....or at least find a hobby. The author WAS the unofficially acclaimed representative of a procastinating and tensed individuals, time belongs to a person who thinks rather than one who is capable only to blink.

Akash Goswami age : 24 actor influencer

Onion side of social media Yes, onions. Remember that colleague who's just had that potato onion sandwich...or burger or whatever. Who comes slowly closer to you after lunch to explain something. Ughh!! You flinch…only u know in the world what you suffer at that moment. You feel like scratching out the head of this colleague (So much for the formal demeanor u hold in office). You fear that if you scratch the head out, there will be a lot more of that onion smell. Onions everywhere. Your thoughts shock you. You thought of murder and only onions stopped you. Murder or onion? Which is more lethal? You got the answer my friend. Onions!! So what is it about this pale vegetable that makes it so attractive to slice and eat it ourselves, but brings immense misery when someone else has it. That stinking smell. Strong, needed to please the taste buds, but so horrible to get a whiff of. Sorry. Enough of onions. I am extremely sorry I put you through this, for no fault of yours. I could only think of this when I thought of the flip side of social media. Everytime I think of discussing a serious matter, some mundane comparison comes to my mind. And I have to hide a laugh. What will people think. I thought in childhood. There was a fear that if I burst out laughing in the midst of a serious discussion, I would be scolded and punished. At times I did bear the brunt of it. But the comparisons didn't die. They kept growing funnier, as if some giggly stuff in my mind. Slowly I gave up being fearful of peoples reaction to my hidden giggles, or rather they gave up on me! So today I am into comparing onions with second side of social media. It all starts with that one profile you make, a facebook profile, a watsapp id, an instagram account. And there you are! Like a baby crab suddenly left behind by that big wave on the seashore. You are that crab yes, for all to see. This is just the start. There is this red carpet treatment you get at the start. People coo- cooing how they missed your friendship! (?) Long standing school, college, office, neighborhood friends. Even that classmate you secretly wanted to skin alive, is crying how they missed you all these years. You wave back, like back. Small crabby eh baby steps. Then all of a sudden you are in the sea, sea of pictures. The pictures of all those people you left behind in life for good and prayed they never meet you in hell again, are grinning back at you on earth itself. That school teacher who gave you that humiliating punishment in front of all, is alive and kicking. Whats more, you have to accept her friendship request and like her entire familys pics. That childhood neighbor who is the only living evidence of all your awkward growing years is back, reminding you of each embarrassing moment with an oh! Those were the days sigh. You smile back sheepishly. Why didn't they teach to strangulate living beings in school, your murderous thoughts are back again. People are born innocent, they live innocent, social media makes them criminals. Then there are the whatsapp groups. Congratulations! Today is that day when your graduation ceremony hat and robe will be taken away from you and you will be made to sit back in class with the same hooligans who sneered at you back then. So here you are, wishing their birthdays, nice pic comments on their anniversary pics, and so on. You realize you are still bad at the things you were bad at, in school and college. These guys are still good at playing one up over you and make you feel as useless as you felt back then. Your old time sympathizers are back too, this time with cute beer bellys, they give you some solace and remind you to bite into your burger. The instagram pics, numerous of all occasions. You wonder people are going to places or only clicking pics. The beautiful foreign destinations half hidden by the familiar teeths of your friends. They are all smiling pictures. Why would anyone be straight faced on a vacation right? No one suffers from journey exhaustion here. And no one has to rush to the washroom either. Everyone is picture perfect happy. Wonderful lives, perfect homes, perfect partners, sweetest kids. Exciting lives. Interesting events. You better smile too my friend, forget the onions for now, click click. Your picture is good. You are on social media!!

frog the air was cool, the water chilly the frog sat on a waterlilly for him to swim was not so pleasing he liked to watch the water freezing, practised jumps on the ice, and not very much later became famous as the worlds first and best figure skater.

I have trouble remember dates of most historic events. I am sure a lot of people probably have the same type of trouble. My hypothesis is that with my imagination I visualize the event as though it is a story, while first learning about it, I am given the date so I am able to imagine that time period. However, that is the last time I use the date when thinking about the events. So, when asked I have trouble recalling it, though I can recall a wide range like 500bc to 280bc ... I think the oddest part is that Icould probably describe the event very vividly like it is a story. Yet I cannot remember 3 to 4 exact numbers, and definitly cannot remember it, if months and days are requirements. My answer now is; If I did not know something in history occured or existed until today. Since I am imagining these evenrs taking place on this day. Then the date those days took place is TODAY, fore they did not exsist in my mind until this day. Mankind does not exist unless it is Present

I decided I will distract them and save that girl's life. I saw a  stone on the sand as I am good at throwing things. I threw it to the soldier in front then he was hurt and started bleeding. It stopped the rape and saved the girl then the soldier looked in the back and saw me I had to run. Lucky me, I was not sure of what I was doing but I have a gut and I started running fast. They took a car to catch me. I ran as I can and it was not easy then I started having a blurred vision which incremented as they were approaching and I felt unconscious because I didn't eat. I woke up in a cage with a lot of people. I saw that girl next to me greeting me and saying thank you for saving my life. She told me to rest but I was feeling not good I decided to know people and asked them questions then I discovered there were a war in my country where the tribe in power sold land to our enemies without respecting the country agreement law. So this led to a tribal war killing 1 million people. I discovered my parents were trying to run away in a car and we had an accident. They saved me and they couldn't save themselves. Directly, the leader of troops came. She was a female soldier. She asked me what's my name? i said "jo as I remember my name in the dream". "She said come with me" . "I refused but the guard brought me there and she said took off your clothes I refused, she put a gun in my head and unclothed me then she raped me. I was confused, it felt good but I didn't want it. I didn't like, I am crying and shouting leave me alone but it feels good. This changed my life. I fell asleep while sleeping, I saw my father telling me it is not your fault what happened to you stop crying. you are a born leader. Follow your dreams. Be a leader. I woke up and prayed to ask God to forgive her. I didn't want to tell anyone about it. I decided to help people like me and change the world. As i was looking for a way to run, I heard and saw a helicopter then it becomes 2 then it was like more than ten. It is the American soldiers coming to save us. Gun started popping from everywhere. I was afraid I saw innocent people getting shot and dying. I was panicking when I said I am a leader. I heard a girl voice screaming. I went down on some never seen underground escalator which holds a lot of prisoners. Nobody knew they were people underground as they were a small number of people in the cage in the rebel camp. So I didn't know what to do or where I was going again. I followed my heart and the echo of the girl I saved then found them. The front of camp exploded. Lucky me, I was almost 6 7 inch as I saw a light then i jumped. I saw a door with a dead soldier who was trying to get in and hide but was killed and his body covered the way in. I pushed that body I saw the sun then it was quiet. I screamed help me then a big and tall soldier. Shouted "we found you" . You are safe. I explained to him what happened he told me I am a born leader. Directly, I thought about my dad and mom. Let me make this long story short. I have moved to South Africa as refugees. I am still following my dreams. I am studying currently online at an American university. I am looking for money to pay for my school fees.   Despite what happened to me, I want to help people around the world who had an experience like me and change the world. One of my biggest dreams is the American dream. the dream always wins if you have the gut to follow it.

17 hours, I'd been on the move. Seventeen. As excited as I was to finally arrive in Winchester, the exhaustion had settled into my bones and I could hardly keep my eyes open even as the plane landed in London. After the three hours in the customs line and the horrifying realization as I was standing in it that someone had removed my luggage from baggage claim and placed them in the middle of the floor in an airport unattended, I finally loaded myself onto the bus waiting for me at Heathrow. In between dozing off and minor heart attacks at opening my eyes to find that the coach was driving on the left side of the road, I thought back to my layover in Portugal. It was pretty nightmarish. I didn't speak the language natively, and it wasn't busy. I spent my two hours there pacing between abandoned gates and frantically checking the monitor, seeing my flight, but never where I was to go to catch it. I had no WiFi, no cell service, and no hope when I trudged up to a random gate and asked if the desk attendant knew where I was to go. Evidently I'd accidentally found the right one. Finally I made it. University of Winchester. The place I'd dreamed of for months, wrote essays for, dug through the avalanche of paperwork for, and I patiently waited with my backpack to exit the vehicle. I thought about my camera in my rucksack, the monster DSLR that my best friend had lent me for the journey, and kicked myself for not tucking it safely among the clothes in my suitcase as it was so heavy. I put my foot down on the first step, but the trademark British rain had slicked the landing and my boots had little to no grip on them. I was going down. A crowd of international onlookers, all gracefully waiting for instructions, student helpers, and the director of the study abroad program watched as my hands reached out to grip the railing but to no avail. I was a baby deer, the child of an unattended mother giving a home birth in a bathtub of vegetable oil. My beanie went flying. One hand flew behind me in a desperate race to save the camera and my legs turned to branches in a hurricane. I tumbled. I hit the ground and tore open my jeans, blood starting to seep through where the ground shredded my knee like Parmesan at Olive Garden. I stood, astounded with myself that I could not possibly have been less elegant in my arrival if I'd done it blindfolded. I can only assume that I'd simply spent all of my bad luck in the first moments of my three months in England, because the rest was a dream. Even in the sleepy old town of Winchester, I spent a great deal of time either in the blur of crowded pubs or in the hypnotic daze inflicted upon me by the unfamiliarity. The most miraculous part of it was discovering the cure for shyness. I was forced into the harrowing ordeal of meeting a new person literally every single day for the first month or so. When the loneliness of being in a new country alone becomes too heavy, it's easy to shed insecurities and just dive right into any social opportunity. By the time the first week of lectures rolled around, I was so eager to make friends that I walked into The War on Terror and made the conscious decision to sit at the busiest table. Even more surprising was the welcoming attitude of the (evidently) pre-established group of friends. They opened me up to everything southern England had to offer. I likely would not have had quite so many adventures without them. The first of these was exploring my new home base. I quickly learned that the quirky city I would come to know so well was ancient, dating back to Roman times. Somehow this didn't really “click” until I stood tiny below King Arthur's Round Table, the stuff of legends and fairy tales. One of my favorite experiences was visiting the Winchester Cathedral. As strange it is to stand in a building created before your country was colonized, you're distracted by the ghostly echo of the organ music. Stained glass windows of a million colors caught the strongest rays of sunlight that made their way through the thick cloud cover. Exploring alone makes it impossible to ignore the feeling of being small; smaller, even, than you feel outside. The flying buttresses taunt the lowly tourist and house the remains of some of England's greatest historical figures. I saw the Atlantic Ocean from the opposite side. I walked through rooms of torture and houses of decadent prayer. I stood in front of the last pieces of a literary legend- Jane Austen- and met some of the best and worst and bravest people I've found so far. Most importantly, I confirmed my love of discovery and adventure, and became someone I can be proud of. Now onto the next adventure. Thank you, England.

A/N: 4 characters are Rose, Olivia, Rose's Autocorrect (RA), and Olivia's Autocorrect (OA). I wrote this scene for Emerson Festival for my school as the opening scene for our devised piece and it is my favorite thing I've ever written! Enjoy (: ---------------------------------------------------------------- (lights go up on Rose & Olivia) Rose & Olivia: (talking to themselves) Do I text her? Do I not text her? Do I wait for her to text me? Do I get ignored for a third day in a row? Do I suffer again? (beat) I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna text her. (Taking out their phones and “texting”) Hi! Rose: Wow, two minds think-- RA: Alight. Rose: Right? Olivia: … Alight? Rose: Damn autocorrect. I meant-- RA: Rewrite. Rose: DAMN IT! Not rewrite. ALIKE! ALIKE! Olivia: (uncomfortable) Right… anyways, you looked really-- OA: Bountiful. Olivia: Today, Rose. Rose: I looked bountiful? Olivia: SHIT. NO, no. Rose: Autocorrect? Olivia: Yeah, what I meant to say was that you looked-- OA: Bootylicious. Rose: OH? Olivia: BEAUTIFUL! Rose: What? Olivia: Nevermind. Rose: Alright… Uh, are you going to the football game tomorrow? Olivia: Nah. Those things give me-- OA: Acupuncture. Rose: Umm. Okay! Thats cool. Olivia: ANXIETY! ANXIETY! Rose: This conversation is giving me anxiety. OA: Smelly. Rose: OKAY LISTEN-- Olivia: IT'S MY AUTOCORRECT I SWEAR! SORRY. I AM SORRY. S-O-R-R-Y. GOD. JUST MY LUCK. Rose: Haha, it's-- RA: Fish. Olivia: (confused) Blub? Rose: Blub? I meant fine. Olivia: Fine… um-- I have something to ask you. Rose: Alright-- RA: Lay on me. Olivia: That's a first. Rose: LET'S NOT GO THERE. I WAS TRYING TO SAY LAY IT ON ME. LIKE TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT TO ASK. Olivia: Do you wanna-- OA: Go drought with me? Rose: There's a drought? Where? Olivia: OUT! GO OUT! Rose: Outside? Olivia: No! Rose: I'm confused. Olivia, what are you trying to say? Olivia: ROSE WILL YOU PLEASE-- OA: HATE ME! Rose: I don't want to hate you. I really-- RA: Dislike you. Olivia: What? Rose: WHAT? Olivia: So that's how you feel about me? Rose: NO! AUTOCORRECT! I LIKE YOU, Olivia! I DON'T WANT TO-- RA: Date you. Olivia: I AM SO CONFUSED. Rose: HATE. I don't want to hate you. Olivia: Okay. Mine was autocorrected too. I definitely don't want you to hate me. I meant to ask if you would like to-- OA: Debate me. Rose: In what? Olivia: DATE. DATE ME. Rose: So you want me to debate whether I should date you or not? Olivia: Wow. That autocorrect actually worked out. Will you? RA: Guess. Olivia: No? Rose: YES. Yes. I want to date you. Olivia: Nice. Rose: Nice. Olivia: Cool. Rose: Cool. Olivia: Thank you for saying yes. (END)