There is this wonderful group, called Side By Side, that does many, many more things for the queer community than I can hope to fit in this post. One of those things is that they hold groups for LGBTQ+ youth. It’s a long, wonderful story about how I found them and what my first meetings (years ago) meant to me; a story for another time. Today, I went to a meeting for the first time in months, and it happened to be an evening with an extended sharing. This meant that anyone who wanted to (there were about 20 of us, 14-20-years-old) could raise our hand to present a personal share or problem. One person at a time, raised their hands and spoke for as long as they need to. After they finished, they said whether or not they wanted feedback/comments. This went on for about 45 minutes. I want to explain why this was so wonderful. First, the person would give a content warning if they felt it was necessary. You might know it as a “trigger warning.” Before they started, a person would give such disclaimers (if they were going to mention suicide, physical abuse, etc.) and a moment for anyone who need to, to leave the room for the moment. Next, the person would speak. And it was hard. People spoke about some positive things, but also about experiencing severe dysphoria, lack of parental support, and other personal pain. After they were done, they could request or deny feedback. When they invited commentary, again, people would raise their hands. And a few people usually spoke to each topic. We shared personal connections if we related to the topic, advice, and vocalized support. The best explanation I have for this is that it was a beautiful and fulfilling experience. I enjoyed the other people in the group, as well as the facilitators. There were three “leaders,” all in their late twenties. One of them spoke the most, but never took priority over what the group need to share. This led to a true opportunity for peer support, not being talked at. I appreciated the space she gave us to talk. I will definitely be back. It won’t all be free discussion, like tonight, as in, there might be evenings with scheduled topics. But, now I can trust that it is a safe space. And, yeah, that’s pretty exceptional.
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My summer has been crazy! I’ve had so many things I’ve wanted to blog about, but I obviously have not- eek! I’ve been traveling, writing (not on the blog), doing homework (ugh), and, oh yeah, getting life-changing-freaking-miracle-new-legs. But, this is me trying to get something down. It’s a random thought about handwritten letters. I published my 200th poem on my poetry blog today! I started it 2,453 days ago (almost 7 years) with my poem, "Mother" on 10/08/12, when I was 10-years-old.So, I was in this writing workshop (it was awesome, long story) and the woman leading it was amazing. However, there was one thing that she said that I could not take seriously. She was going on about how letters are so rare now, but how we should go back to them because back in the days letters were so beautiful and poetic and- Yeah, let me stop you right there. (Disclaimer: I love writing letters! I love getting them and I totally think people should write more of them.) Not all letters “back in the day” before texting were beautiful. No, you better believe we’ve romanticized the hell out of them for whatever reason. Plenty of people wrote plenty of s h i t letters before texting. Boom. I didn’t cry as much as I thought I would when I put the braces on for the first time. No, the tears came the next day. Let me stop to say that I respect the hell out of physical therapists- yes, even when I think I hate them a little- because the good ones always know that you can do more than you think you can. Jared is one of the good ones. I watched while he built me an obstacle course from things from all over the room. I was sure that I was going to die, but his confidence in me never wavered. When I climbed onto the first box, I just stopped and stared. The end was far (feeling farther by the second) away, at the other end of the room. There was a zip-line thing that I could hold onto for support, but the floor was lava. Without my new ExoSyms, there would have been no way I would have ever be able to do this. But, since I had them, I had to wonder. I had to believe in myself. And, so, I did. For a good three minutes. Then, near the end, I was short in making a step from one box to the other and fell. Don’t worry, I landed on my feet. Jared had to catch me, and I practically gave myself a second concussion by smashing the heavy handle of the support into my face, but I landed on my feet. I had to stop and breathe. Because I could breathe. I looked around and noticed my racing heart. Then, I reminded myself that I was here, and I could breathe. Then, I stepped back up and tried again. And I finished that damn obstacle course. So, that’s when I really cried. Because I had just done That.
On my GoFund Me: ExoSym for Whit[EDITED FOR BLOG] I am shutting down my GoFundMe page, but it doesn’t end here. You can follow me on Instagram
@walking.take2 for future updates. I am posting videos of all of this craziness because I just cannot put it into words. And why you shouldn’t take themI am proud of where I came from. I have spent a lot of time trying to trace my lineage and family with stories, books, maps, and history. I hate knowing that so much is lost to time. If you know me, you know that I don’t shut up about how crazy impressive I think know my family is. But, the trending DNA ancestry tests are not the way to go; and, these two Vox videos explain why, especially the first one (on the left).
My mom is teaching me to use Facebook. I feel so old, asking her questions like, “If I reply to someone’s comment, do I have to tag them?”
Everyone knows that every social media site has it’s base.
So, I’m stuck feeling like a little old lady who lived under a rock. What is your happy place? The place you go in your mind to fight stress; a place you’d never turn down being. Don’t worry, you can have more than one.
I have lots of happy places. The first thing I think of is summer camp. The sun is warm on my face and I’m surrounded by friends and song. There is no specific moment, just general Light. The other day, I was hanging out with my two best friends, and we were all sitting on Iris’ bed. Pillows behind backs, feet on laps, and blankets and conversation on top. That’s a safe spot to be. Summer day. Hammock outside. A good book. Anywhere with a good book. Bookshops. Used book shops with shafts of light that show dust spinning in the air from piles of words. New books with smooth covers, waiting to be read. People in bookstores, hungry caterpillars and shy cats hiding in the books. Oh, they will have the best conversations with you, if you stay. What are your happy places? When do you slip away to them? A refreshed thirst for justice, anyone? I’ve changed my website, here, a bit. There are two new pages, seen up top, “Political Blog” and “Unfortunate Truths.” This is not just for me to vent (fair warning: I might), I want you all to help me build a conversation. Terrible things are happening in the world. What are you going to do about it? There is a war on women raging fire outside your window. What is your action plan?
I want to collect articles and videos to keep myself education on the current information. I want to collect opinions like seashells and lay them out on the table to look at. More information on the pages on how it works! A lot will be uploaded at once. Note: My deleting of the “Help” page does not mean my fundraiser is over. More donations will still help a lot! My first appointment is now in 21 days… I identify as pansexual. And… I know that I’ve already lost some of you. I am still working on explaining this, not because it’s a new or crazy concept, but because there’s a lot of heteronormative toxicity to break down. But, here goes... I will start with what bisexual means. Bisexual is a sexuality that is defined by being sexually and/or romantically (that gets complicated*) attracted to both the same and opposite gender (usually men and women). And that’s great, but it’s different from pansexual. Pansexuality (pan, meaning all in Greek) has to do more with “heart over parts” in general. The idea is that I can fall in love with anyone, man, woman, or nonbinary person, because of their soul. It doesn’t mean I don’t have a type or find some people particularly attractive. I find it to be a more inclusive term that includes transgender and nb peeps without question. When I first heard of this term, pansexual, I was ecstatic, that it existed, because it felt like it actually fit, the first term to do so. I did not expect the push back, especially from the LGBTQ+ community. Some people ask why I don’t just say bi, or that pansexuality doesn’t exist at all. Also, note that this doesn’t mean I am attracted to everyone. That would be like a heterosexual woman being attracted to every single man she sees, like, no. Being LGBTQ+ means knowing that it isn’t a choice to be. Whether you want to/can/will embrace it depends on a plethora of matters. With labels, you get a choice, and that’s why I like them. But, some people don’t and THAT’S OKAY. I have friends who say they’re queer and leave it at that because any specifics don’t matter unless the conversation is with the person they have a crush on, or whatever. Others will just shrug, if you ask, and go, “Meh.” I think sexuality is fluid and it can change over time, and so does your understanding of yourself. If you spend one month or one decade calling yourself a lesbian and later find out you are bi or straight or none of the above, that’s okay. You can call it a phase if you want, but life is full of phases because things change. If you find a term, or lack therefore, that makes you comfortable, I hope you can use it (even if only in your head).
I started realizing I wasn’t straight in sixth grade and it took me three years to get to nonbinary and another to discover pansexuality. And that is pretty fast! Some people know when they are 5-years-old that they are gay™ and some people figure it out when they are 70-years-old, and that’s okay. There is no timeline or correct way to figure yourself out. I mean, unless, you are holding on to a handbook, please, let me know. I admit that I am a bit of a hopeless romantic. Or a lot of one. It made not understanding my own feelings even more difficult. I didn’t know if everyone felt this way or if all I would ever know is a vague lust, but never love. It sounds dramatic, I know, but I hadn’t admitting these feelings of confusion to anyone, and as a result, never found someone to tell me that I wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t sick. I am as normal as the next person. In the sense that neither of us are. I feel love painfully strongly. This ache shows up in my writing, in how I protect my friends, and, yeah, in the way that some crushes can make me lose my balance for a moment. But, I wouldn’t trade my intensity or the depth of my love for anything. It is a strength, not a weakness. I find power in my labels. It is my way to claim my identity and take control back. I’m the type of person who likes clear lines and definitions. That choice, to figure out a label, to share it or not, is so important. I like being able to tell a group of queer people that I am a nonbinary pansexual person and them getting it immediately. That is a good feeling to me. If I run across someone who hasn’t heard of it, I often will try to explain a bit, but sometimes I just shrug and say, “Meh.” * There are two main types of attraction (not including platonic, etc.):
GenderSpectrum.org is a good reference if you are searching for further explanations Fundraiser through an evening of painting is being run for me June 7th in Orange. More details on the "Help" page and my Facebook. It is exciting, but space is limited, so sign up fast!
I made a mini documentary of myself and called it, "Learning to Live Again." Feel free to share. It was my first video project! Excerpt from one of my novels in progress.“Why are you not afraid of me? I have been ordered by Death to bring you back to Hell, vampire.” I’m still looking at the flowery skirt the girl has on. I have to be cautious not to look mad because to the human eye, it looks like I’m talking to myself. So, I cover myself with a newspaper and sit down on the bench at the bus stop. I sigh, “Then, why haven’t you, Nadia?” She doesn’t remember me and the fact that I know her name shocks her into silence. “I thought reapers had some sort of super memory.” “I don’t, you don’t… you are cheating death by being what you are!” she sputters. I lean in close, “So are you. Oh, you don’t think I know how it works? That Death hand picks his minions from souls that perished in battle to do his dirty work? You are not dead either, reaper.” The bus is late, and I’m worried that I will miss my meeting. “If you don't follow me now—” “You are not going to kill me. You are going to crawl back to the cave that you came from and forget all about what you think you know about me.” She laughs, “Why would I do that? I see your little games, but you can’t stall—” “1542. I know how you died.” You can’t kill a reaper, but you can send it back to Hell for a few centuries. It’s a complicated spell but the key is to know their name and how they died. The more you know, the longer the banishment. I have evaded my punishment for centuries, so who knows what she has been told of me. Still, she is one of the only creatures that can take me out once and for all. I might just be her Achilles heel as well. She is still frozen. “Listen, I have an interview to get to. We can finish this later, m'kay?” And I step onto the bus before she can answer. The world responds to art, in the shapes of critic, analysis, and sparked ideas. In turn, as viewers, we respond to art. In a class, our study of late 19th century humanities, a screenplay by Henrik Ibsen came up. My teacher played a clip that I cannot stop thinking about. The play was radical for its time, and it still is, if you consider the historical context and controversy that came of it. The final scene depicts Nora Helmer telling her husband that she is leaving to find herself. Not asking, she has it all planned out, but wants his blessing if she can get it. It is not forever, but she explains that she needs space to find who she is without him or anyone else. She even says that she needs to figure out her own religious beliefs because she only knows what she has been told to think. These are not things women were socially acceptable, as well as often financially possible, at the time. And here is a play with a woman talking about it. She says that she needs to figure out her own opinions of the world, all her life all she has ever had was her fathers and now her husbands, but never her own. They do have children, and the husband says that she is forgetting her “sacred duties” of caring for them. He says, “Before all else, you are a wife and a mother.” I love her response, “I believe that before all else I am a reasonable human being, just as you are--or, at all events, that I must try and become one.” It is a powerful message.
In you have a moment, here is a clip from that last scene and the script for it. Video of “A Doll’s House” (1992), film directed by David Thacker. Actors shown: Juliet Stevenson (as Nora helmer) and Trevor Eve (as Torvald Helmer).
And that’s how it ends. She closes the door and the rest of her life is only known in whatever world stories live in. Note: the word disabled describes a person while handicaps are obstacles that affect disabled people.
You may not think of bathrooms as a major issue, but have you ever had to pee in a public place? No one likes it, but if you have to go you have to go. These are some things my perfect bathroom would have. I am NOT speaking for all people with disabilities.
Little things make a big difference when you need them. You probably don’t notice them if you don’t, and that’s okay. It doesn’t make you a bad person in anyway. When you learn about a struggle someone or a group of people may have that you don’t, they probably don’t need your pity. My advice would be to simply not ignore the problem or decide not to care at all. Speak up when you are in a position of privilege and can help someone, but be mindful not to steal their voices. Do what you can. If you don’t see any actions you can take, just educate yourself and be kind. Doors are heavy, so the open-door buttons were imperative if I wanted to get anywhere by myself for a long time. I could write a book on all of the loopholes people fall into legally and all the people trying to end ADA and cut costs that drastically affect disabled people. I don’t want to get into that, but at the very least I think we can all educate ourselves a little more. I hear the people saying changes are expensive. So what? Aren’t we worth it? Also, not in bathrooms, but literally everywhere else: please, I need chairs. I will be dying in a store and there is nowhere to go. Outside, in general. Anywhere to take a break. Please. This is not only for people with physical disabilities. So many people benefit from smarter bathrooms. Maybe not all or any of the things on my list, but I know that parents (especially traveling alone with their child of the opposite sex) and people caring for older adults often have similar problems with accessibility. I don’t have all of the answers, but there are people out there working on legislation and inventions to ease these struggles or eradicate them completely. And to them, I say thank you, you are doing something important. Watched this in my "Survey of the Humanities" class during our discussion about abolitionist literature in early America. Sojourner Truth wrote a book called "Ain't I a Woman," (ca. 1797-1883). It was her story that she dictated to Olive Gilbert, who edited it. Astounding recitation of section by Nkechi (nnn-KAY-chee). My great-grandmother passed away, at 94, in the winter of 2017, more than 30 years after her husband. Out of all of the stories I've heard of Marge and Walt, it sounds like true love. They met each other at boarding school, 1938-1942, where they were allowed to hold hands in the courtyard on Saturdays. They got married in their 20s and had four kids. Walt was drafted in WWII, and became an ambulance driver. To note, he was a conscientious objector and refused to carry a gun. My grandfather (their son) still has the letters they sent back and forth somewhere. The reason I'm writing about there is two-fold. In a few days, some family is gathering to spread my great-grandmother's ashes and I am not able to attend. I wrote something that my grandmother is going to read for me, as that is as close as I am getting, but it cannot possible be enough. Today, March 21st of 2019, would be Marge and Walt's 74th wedding anniversary. I believe they would still be together if there were alive. Right now, they are probably holding hands on some courtyard in the sky.
Competition makes us better. It’s why monopolies are banned if they “are established or maintained through improper conduct, such as exclusionary or predatory acts.” Without a reason to get better… we don’t. It’s why so many people work better under pressure. Competition keeps us moving.
So, no matter what the original intention, Democrats and Republicans are constantly competing. Ideally, it should keep one side from monopolizing politics in the US and due to the a wide span of ideals and opinions, but there shouldn’t ever be a winning team. These two parties should be pushing each other to make this country better. We don’t need petty fights and laws passed out of spite. We need people for what we elected them to do, which is to fight for us. To fight for the everydayers on the street, the people paying it forward and living whatever life we are living. Big issues are important, but small legislation can affect thousands so fast. The so-called “competition” in Congress should be there to make our legislators work harder, to motivate the growth of ever better ideas. It should not be the thing tearing our nation apart. If your only response is that, “This is how politics always is,” then, I don’t want to hear it. Politicians have a hard job because they chose it. Competition seems to be a common excuse, the reason behind mistakes. I still believe that healthy competition makes us better. If you keep having to remind the players that they playing for the same team, then something isn’t working. Are you already thinking about it? It’s a word that will change the atmosphere in the room in a split-second. Let it leave your lips and nobody is listening anymore. Hear it and see disgust scatter across the group. Call yourself one and you might be hit rapid-fire with questions completely irrelevant to the conversation. Your very morality is vulnerable to be questioned. “When are you guys going to grow up and face the real world?” “So, you believe in killing innocent babies?” “Are you, like, vegan?” “Guns don’t kill people, people kill people.” Do you know the word? Are you ready? Oh, I can’t even say it…. *whispers* democrat
Joanna Hausmann is a comedian and popular Youtuber. Among other things, she covers topics and unravels myths about Latinos. She is Venezuelan and white which is something I can relate to. I love her videos so much, they are seriously hilarious. However, this video is not funny. She talks about the turmoil going on in her home country and points about things people seem to be getting wrong. This is not about the politics, it's about the effect this atrocity is having on the people. Worth the watch. If you’ve ever had a conversation with me -or read my blog- you might know that I’m not subtle. So many people and movies and news stories in my life have told me to be quiet. Or urged me not to “make a scene” or upset too many people because I still have to deal with them after the fact. Yeah, it didn’t stick. I cannot walk through life with an armor made of lies. I’m not going to pretend that I’m okay with someone being homophobic or bullying or throwing our slurs they don’t understand. I have to call it out when I see it. It makes days tough sometimes, but ignoring the truth doesn’t make it go away.
Note: it is not always safe for people to say everything they want to, and I want to nod my head to you guys. The other day I realized something that shook me. It’s that there is nothing that anyone can say to me that will break me. They will never come up with anything worse than what I am already telling myself every day. I will not break because of hate. So, I don’t censor myself, but do I have to keep an eye on people’s reaction. I’ll mention a girl being cute and I have to watch their eyes. I roll my eyes at something in politics and I hold my breath. Half of my identity, just who I am, is a political statement. I’m gay. I’m disabled. I’m loud. My dad is an immigrant. I have mental illnesses. I didn’t choose this things and I wouldn’t trade them out. I am who I am and I am finally learning to like me. Hate me because of what I do, not who I am. If I’m mean to you, I’m sorry, but feel free to never want to see me again. Those are reasons I have power over, and you don’t owe my anything. But, don’t decide you hate me before you meet me. The people telling me to not be controversial were right. People will go pretty far when they don’t understand who I am. I can be friends with people who have different views with me, but not people who devalue other human beings because of the color or their skin or gender. I started thinking about this last night. I got the chance to meet Zyahna Bryant, teenage activist who sparked change in VA, before she gave a speech and it was amazing. She said something in her that I can’t stop thinking about. She challenged us to “do what sets your soul on fire.” |
Who Am I?Hi there! I'm Whit, my pronouns are they/them, and I write a lot.
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Painting by Whit Acrylics on masonite April 20th, 2019 Words are a Quaker saying. George Fox? |