My dear children, let me tell you a story. A warrior princess who not just believed in empowerment but proved her metal by conquering her fears than just owning a castle of her own. An elegant soul with a pure heart mesmerized with the beauty of patriotism and valor, who adored her country so much that she decided to give it all. Myself being a coward tried to stop her but she had formulated her decision so firm, I just couldn't stop her. But…the day she wore her uniform for the first time, that very moment, a part of me felt proud of having her in my life. That marked the beginning of her journey striding through all odds. Soon, I realized that she was the one inspiring me and changing my perspective towards life. I took pride in the person I was becoming, all thanks to her! One after the other, badges were added to her uniform just like the feathers in her hat. One fine day, I decided to surprise her by joining the army. I wanted to show her, how blessed I am to have a companion like her in my life. The day I got the letter of my selection, I couldn't contain my excitement. The very next day she was going to visit me.               All good things come to an end, my happiness was shattered when I received her, not in person but in a frozen box. My poor heart knew nothing about the pain experienced when you lose your loved ones. I cried all day. I was finally able to conclude that I am going to walk in her footsteps and make her proud someday.            My dear children, I stand in front of you as a dauntless warrior who once used to get panic-stricken with every little thing. I have nothing more to say but one thing, your mother was my role model and her love kept me going.  Even at night when I look at the stars, I feel her presence so warm, I sleep tight knowing that everything is alright. Go to sleep now. It's getting late!

I woke up one morning, afraid, tense, frightened that the old one had left me, the part of me had vanished and disappeared. Darkness inside me, never faded away like memories walked away from my life. Are they really here? Or just darkness which made me blind. Am i real? Is this all real, the darkness, love? Photographs torn apart, memories are lost, and pieces i am left with, and love, one day it's shining down on you and the next day you're alone and its cold and dark. The one half of darkness repeats the gesture of elation, but the other side of frame is no longer joyous. But for my relief, i somehow discovered that piece of me in people's minds and in their reflection. I believed, that striving towards anything gets you closer to it. "He who thirst for truth or love, becomes a magnet for it." Reality born when you move forward to seek for it. What a person carries inside is what you see and experience. Since nothing cannot be, if you are not ready to accept it. As per Neil Gaiman said "I think hell is also something you carry around with you, not somewhere you go." What's inside you matter. Belief, acceptance, existence is what you carry in yourself and what you attract can change the whole idea and perspective.

I am sitting on the porch and reading a book. My daughter is occupied with her new toy. Everything as usual, but for me somehow, indescribably, different… I remember perfectly well every single detail of that seemingly ordinary day. It was January 7th 2000. My boyfriend and I were sitting in his room and talking about our future. We had been together for five years. I had finished the faculty and started working as a nurse in the local hospital. He was a soldier. He was very ambitious. I liked the way he thought, moved, spoke… He made the world go round. He was very thoughtful, gentlemanly and lovely. We were head over heels in love. While we were talking about our plans, the phone rang. He picked up the phone. The conversation was short. Then, he turned to me and said, “I'll go to Afghanistan.” My face turned white and I was shivering more than ever. “Ah, yes…I mean ok”, I said. He was staring at me. That was a long gaze. Eventually, I opened my mouth to say something, but the lump in my throat didn't allow me. He leaned towards me and kissed me. A tear escaped at the corner of my eye. I was crying. Seven months later, he left. I felt as if he took everything with him leaving me bare. The days were longer and longer. And the time seemed to have stopped. Suddenly I wasn't feeling well. I had nausea every morning and constant temperature every night. I was pregnant and after eight months Helen was born. People were quick to gloat over my troubles. I was young, without a husband but with a daughter. The rumours spread rapidly but I didn't take a notice of that. I realised that I had everything – I had a daughter with the man I loved. It is January 7th 2004. The air is motionless, tepid and thick. Yes, that was how it smelled when we were together. Tired of reading I am looking ahead of me now. I see a man in a green-grey uniform moving towards us. I am standing with Helen beside me. The corners of my mouth are turning into a big smile. I am not alone!

He made wanna be a good person, made me want to better myself. A great part of me was super lazy and honestly i had given up on love. I had lost all hope and accepted that i was going to be alone. But every time he called i felt it in my chest. Every time he texted, i felt in my chest. I do not know what i felt but i can tell you for sure i felt something within me. Was it hope, love or believe that at one time i was not going to be all alone. Because honestly i have been alone a whole lot of times, and it hurts. No amount of money, food or TV can feel the void i always feel but a simple hi from him made me forget. Forget about the loneliness, the pains and the regrets. It made me forget about the many things i would take back if i was given a chance. And because of him i was always hopeful, but he would never know. He would never know that i love him, that i care for him, that i'm crazy for him...............

My cycle of dreams were like , at first i wanted to be an astronaut, 2ndly wanted to be an aircraft engineer, but i ended up being an Accountant. Not yet professionally an Accountant but that is where i will end up. Being an Accountant is not bad i love it but i did not really choose it. I often wonder when exactly i stopped dreaming. I had so much potential growing up and so many dreams but when did i stop dreaming. when did i give up on my dreams.Every time i look back and try to figure that part out i never remember the exact moment but i do remember the cause of me giving up on my dreams. As a Zimbabwean child living in the ghetto, being an astronaut was just a childish dream, as soon as you start going to school that dream was just going to fade and be lost because the more you say it was the more people looked at you and give you those "you are still young to know looks" until u realize what they were trying to say. So yes that how that dream died. Being an aircraft engineer was The Dream, my end game. It was where i always saw myself at 25 being one of the leading aircraft engineer in Africa. One could say i was a dreamer. But that dream died in high school, after the ultimate humiliation. I was selected to be in the sciences class. This made me super happy and it meant my dream would go on. Later that same week we were re-screened and i was moved out of the sciences class into the commercials. If you have never been to be on the receiving side of bullying you would never understand what that did to me. I was laughed at. People made awful jokes about the school realizing you are not that smart after they put you in the smart peoples class. After a week or two i was given the option to go back into the sciences class but because of the comments i was already receiving over the humiliation of being removed out the class i chose to stay in commercials class. Because of somewhat bullying among my own peers i gave up on the dream i had for as long as i remember. Often i wonder what would have happened if i had been confident enough, if i had been bold enough to ignore the comments from my peers. Would i have been an engineer today? Where would i be?

Geoscope&National Geoscope Projects for all world regions&countries are invented and designed by me 1987 with many intentions&ambitions just like creation of artificial storms, artificial rains, artificial underground waters etc. Find out them in all websites by searching the name GEOSCOPE BY GANGADHARA RAO IRLAPATI.Make further research&develop,promote&propagate it.Recognize it by making references in your publications. This is not what Buckminster had made in 1962.Also there are many architectures in the name of Geoscope,Kindly recognize me as the Originator of the Geoscope in lieu of considering the immense efforts I have did for it and my quest to establish&implement it all over the world countries to serve the world people.

Wow everyone, the book is almost ready and I am very excited! I cannot wait to see my book in a complete book format! I am very excited and can't wait! Here is my Landing page for Viktor! Hope you like it?! Julie Ann :) https://julietrentin.weebly.com/

They say love can make you do strange and peculiar things. Others say it's exhilarating. But my husband, Will, and I think of ourselves as much too practical when it comes to life's important matters, such as love. And then we took a vacation to Belize. We read, researched, and planned. But only a few hours into our itinerary, we had to abandon it. As darkness snuck up on us, rain poured, and a windshield wiper on our tiny rental car didn't work. We dodged dogs and people moseying along the highway. The highway had no lights. Will suggested a place to spend the night but I countered, remembering reading about Hopkins Village. Little did we know, it would take us a white-knuckling, breath-holding 45-minutes to maneuver the four miles of unpaved, crater-filled so-called road. “Are you sure there is a village at the end of this?” Will asked. No, I wasn't. I panicked silently, wondering what I had gotten us into and hoping I hadn't made the entire situation worse. This situation being our vacation. I thought about shouting “We should've gone to Costa Rico!” but refrained. When the village's twinkling lights emerged ahead, I managed to breath. As we approached, the rain began to let up. The sea was straight ahead, and we arrived just in time to watch the full moon rising over the Caribbean. It was magical. So magical, it didn't seem real but more like an Elvis Presley movie set. The restaurant had thatch roofs, waves softly lapping, and this amazing moon emerging from the sea. And that was our very first night! Listening to the faint drumming sounds over a meal of fresh fish, the rain turned to a slow mist, melting the stress we had brought with us. And then we did something strange, peculiar, and exhilarating. We vowed to move to this little fishing village in Central America. In reality, there would be several more trips, extensive planning, and a five-year plan. But really, it was that first night, with the tropical breeze, delicious food, rum-drinks, and rain-soaked hair, that we fell in love with a place. We gazed at that moon and each other until our eyes succumbed to sleep. We wanted salt air, tropical moonrises, and authentic living. We wanted to fall asleep to the waves of the Caribbean Sea rather than the planes of Love Field. We wanted to ride on beach cruisers instead of sitting in traffic. We wanted beach walks not side walks. We wanted slow and relaxed instead of frantic and frazzled. We wanted Belize. Belize is a small little country about the size of New Hampshire with an abundance of nature—both sea and mountains. The rural country boasts of no fast-food or big box stores and it probably has more chickens than people. This developing country has much the romance of the wild west, complete with chaos, dangers, and take matters into your own hands' kind of place. And what an adventure it was! We decided to “go west,” buying and building. We planned to live in a little wooden cabana--Belize's version of a mobile home-- while building our dream beach house. We were so full of optimism. We embraced our setbacks and challenges with unabashed enthusiasm. No bed? We will sleep in a hammock. Can't find parts for the bathroom door? No problem. We will hang a hammock up for privacy like some hippies from the sixties. It could be months before any of furniture is ready? We'll reminisce our younger days—crates for nightstands…concrete blocks and boards for dressers. Four months later, we took delivery of bespoke tropical hardwood furniture. We took our time, we went slow, and soaked it all in. If we weren't blessed enough, it turned out the oldest bed and breakfast, our favorite vacation spot, with Lucy, our favorite beach dog, may be for sale. We'd known Lucy, the Irish wolfhound mixed with something much smaller, over the years and enjoyed our walks together to our favorite beach hang out. She trotted the two blocks to our place frequently. Some mornings we'd open our front door only to discover Lucy laid across it like a welcome mat. Lucy reminded us of our first dog—smart and funny. Will and I day-dreamed of Lucy and the inn being ours. We talked of importing expensive mattresses and soaps…of expanding the verandas and having romantic double showers. We drank dark rum. We strolled along the beach. We made love without worrying about rushing off to work. We were happy in this magical, quirky, little village. And, I could say “the end.” But it may not be fair to finish the story like that without also including that it may have been a rash decision to purchase a bed and breakfast to get a puppy dog. I could also add that we didn't do things the way they've always been done, upset the status quo, and made a whole bunch of people angry. No doubt, there were twists, turns, and stumbling blocks on our adventure. But even so, our goal of adventure-seeking was reached in record time.

I've noticed it doesn't take much to pass as a guy. As a kid, it's the easiest. You just need a short haircut, and since society is dripping in gender roles, that's all it takes. Too bad when you're a kid, you don't really know what gender is yet to work the system. I know when I was a kid, I didn't care about gender at all. I just really liked games. When I was six, on my mom's old computer, there was a pinball game. It was infuriating. The flippers at the bottom of the screen were never long enough to catch the ball, like a t-rex trying to use its hands. One day I spent hours playing it, and as if I was stuck in a time loop, I shot the ball up, it bounced around, then fell directly into the void. I couldn't shoot the ball back up, without starting over, if I tried. I'm nineteen, now. I know gender, and oh we are not friends. I was walking home from class. The college campus was cold, so I wore my green hoodie and a pair of khaki pants that hugged at the ankles. The wind kept tossing my short curly hair, which I continued to let blow into my eyes. The sting only slightly noticeable. Fall around here was like a hug of ice, and I wanted to be engulfed by it. Up ahead were two men. They had clipboards in their hands, which signaled to me I had to keep my eyes low and walk faster. I didn't want to sign anything, and these guys were tall enough to be ‘persuasive.' My shoes hit the pavement. Leaves crunching underneath me with every step. I just needed to look down. “Hey bro, come sign this petition,” the taller man said to me. I stopped. 'Bro? Did he think- no. I didn't even try today.' I looked up, startled. That was a mistake. I couldn't just pretend not to notice him. I noticed. I started to panic, my words tumbling in my head. 'This is what you wanted. For people to see you as a guy.' I swallowed hard. 'Then why do I feel like I'm gonna puke?' I processed the men's intimidating figures, and concluded they probably weren't trans friendly. In a split-second decision, my voice dropped to its lowest register, shooting down my throat like a pinball. Except this time, I wanted to lose. I wanted my voice to drop into the void. With a huff, I breathed out a low, shaky, “No thanks bro.” I quickly walked away. My non-existent Adam's apple hurting in my throat.

Alcoholism does not only affect the alcoholic; it mentally (and sometimes even permanently) damages their loved ones. It usually impacts children into their adulthood. Today, I recognize that I am mentally fractured from nearly two decades of neglect. Here are my honest feelings; from a child of an alcoholic and how it has impacted me. Honestly, I knew she frustrated me. Oh my God did she ever make the volcano erupt. Yet, I didn't clearly recognize she was an alcoholic until about a year ago. I don't remember a night where I wasn't isolating myself in my room, or throwing picture frames at my bedroom wall, or ripping apart her “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to say all of the cruel things that I did. I love you. Will you forgive me? I'm sorry Rayne. I love you so much” letters into shreds as I would stutter out the words; “If she was sorry, she would have stopped saying such disgusting things.” I was aware of the fact that she was drinking every night. Merlot would flow down her throat, and after the bottle was spotless, another one would appear. As the wine soaked into her lips, her personality changed. Her uncomfortable presence grew into a mellowed woman. It should be the other way around; but she was constantly hungover, so she never was calm. I tried avoiding personal topics. It never turned out that way. She would always pry. I had no interest engaging in conversation, because it was never a happy ending. I didn't realize it then, but looking back, she had tangled me up in a fucked up routine. She would drink herself stupid, then she would get agitated because of how I answered her questions; to which I had answered a handful of times. “Yes Mom, I use protection. Yes, I know what condoms are.” “No, I'm not self-harming anymore. Yes, I'm sure.” Her eyes were always attached to the television or her cell-phone, so it really didn't matter how I responded to her uncomfortable questions, she wouldn't listen. Most of the time, I ran off to my bedroom, followed by slamming the door behind me; immediately locking it as the stomping became noticeable. 95% of the time I was ordered to remove myself from hiding. I wouldn't even be three feet away from the outdated sofa before she would yell at me; “Come back here when you're ready to act like an adult. Stop being a bitch.” My face was flushed, and my eyelids were half shut from constantly crying, I was at stage one of having a panic attack. How inconsiderate of me, I'm such a bitch for having valid emotions. (This is part 1 of this blog. I am not yet finished. Stay tuned for the rest!)

You hear the phrase every day. When a father throws a baseball with his son, and his son doesn't throw the ball hard enough. “You throw like a girl!” When a boy is running track and can hardly keep up with his teammates? “You run like a girl!” From these examples, we gather that this phrase is generally used as an insult. Women drivers are considered to be worse than male drivers. Women are confusing, and emotional, and cry – they aren't as rational as men. Right? These are common ideas in today's society, something we don't even think twice about before saying. Why does a woman's ability to address her feelings and emotions make her lose her credibility and reasoning? Is there something ingrained in the female sex that makes being associated with them insulting? The last time I checked, a woman's insurance costs less than a man's. When was the last time you heard of a woman murdering a man because he refused to go on a date with her? The media often reports on stories of men murdering women after the men are denied something by the woman; and yet, women are stereotyped as emotional and irrational. Hearing these reports and stories -daily- you would think demeaning phrases including “like a girl” wouldn't be commonly used. But when was the last time you heard someone insult another person by calling them a boy? Personally I have never heard the phrase, “You're such a boy!” as an insult. When somebody is aiming to insult someone verbally, they always associate their insult with a woman. Why is this? The insult itself doesn't actually make sense, because there are many women that are physically stronger than men. In a sport that is dominated by strong, physically built men, Ronda Rousey has emerged as one of the biggest stars in MMA. When there are many famous women out there, like Ronda Rousey, who can dominate in a physical fight, why do people still continue to use the phrase “like a girl” as an insult? With women like Ronda Rousey, who needs Mike Tyson? She could easily put him and any professional football player in the hospital. With powerful women like Ronda Rousey, and honored soldiers like Leigh Ann Hester – who received a silver star for her heroic actions in Iraq–it doesn't make sense for women to still be the subject of degrading insults and jokes. Many women join the military every year; they receive the same training, go through the same tests, and fight the same people as men. I'm sure the men that fight in the army and alongside those women wouldn't use “You fight like a girl” as an insult with their comrades. Another phrase, one that has since been banned in many schools, that used to be used as an insult is “You're retarded”. Many people used the adjective in order to insult or shame another person. When it was brought to light that the insult is demeaning and offensive towards people that are actually mentally retarded, the phrase was no longer acceptable as an insult, and teachers in schools began to discipline children for using it. That insult was offensive towards a group of people, and it was disbanded, as it should have been. The insult “like a girl” is offensive towards a group of people, and yet it is still widely used. Unfortunately it is impossible to change everyone's opinions on the phrase “like a girl”. A single person can't force millions of people, and several generations, to stop using the phrase. However, maybe I can be one person that begins to shine a light on the subject.