Also In Regards To Paul, There Are Many Who Believe That He Was Either A Widower Or Divorced (perhaps

I WAS LITERALLY ABOUT TO REBLOG THIS WHEN I SAW THAT YOU TAGGED ME THIS IS SO TRUE AND I GET SO MAD ABOUT IT

dudes in their 20s who try to talk to high school girls are losers

A Pragmatic and surprisingly comforting perspective about the Trump 2nd Presidency from the ACLU

***Apologies if this is how you found out the 2024 election results***

Blacked out part is my name.

I’m not going to let this make me give up. It’s disheartening, and today I will wallow, probably tomorrow too

AND

I will continue to do my part in my community to spread the activism and promote change for the world I want to live in. I want to change the world AND help with the dishes.

And I won’t let an orange pit stain be what stops me from trying to be better.

A link to donate to the ACLU if able and inclined. I know I am

action.aclu.org

The ACLU is Fighting Back Against Trump

As the Trump administration moves toward the White House, the stakes could never be higher. But the ACLU is ready to fight back! As Presi

Plot twist: as a christian, homophobia offends and appalls me far more than homosexuality ever could.

Why worry about pleasing "God" and living your life to his standards instead of living for yourself and fulfilling your dreams and desires? I can't imagine living by someone else's rules and standards for a spot in an afterlife that i'm not even sure exists. I understand how strong faith can be, but why live by God's standards for a potential afterlife instead of living by your own standards now in the definite life you've been given.

As a Christian english geek, I am severely suspicious of your use of quotation marks. Because your entire question, in fact your entire world view, can be summed up by your usage of quotation marks in that question.

First up, do you know this “God” that you condemn to dubious ideology with your intellectually patronizing punctuation? Is “God” a lie or a fairytale to you? Is He a made-up story you tell kids, like Santa Claus or the Easter bunny?

Is He a vague, nebulous idea, filed away in your repertoire of knowledge, to pull off the shelf in time of crisis for some warm fuzzy feelings, like Love, Peace and Destiny? Because if you call Him “God”, it’s no wonder that you “can’t imagine living by someone else’s rules and standards for a spot in an afterlife that [you’re] not even sure exists.” Let me tell you about God. GOD cannot be contained to a cute little pair of quotation marks. GOD cannot be banished to history books and fairy-tales by academic snobs. He’s not just an idea made-up by people to control other people’s behavior. He’s not a historical figure in a book written thousands of years ago. He’s not a story or a religious figure or a symbol of the power in all of us, or a name for the forces of good and evil conflicting in the universe. And He’s not even just “someone else”. See, I don’t worry about pleasing “God”. I have the immense, undeserved blessing of knowing GOD:The architect of space and time. The composer of the stars’ song and the choreographer of the planets’ dance.The sovereign ruler of all that was and is and is to come. The infinite, almighty, omniscient, omnipresent, omnipotent, transcendent orchestrator of the universe. He who wove strands of DNA into a person. He who breathes life into our bodies.He who supplies our very power of thought. He who commands the winds and waves to fall silent and they obey. He who can stop the earth spinning on its axis and start it again. He who said “Let there be light” and there was.Because He is light. He is life.He is love. Before you were, or I was, before Jacob was, before Isaac was, before Abraham was, God IS. He always was. Always is. Always will be.All of what we know exists in the mortal world sprang from His imagination.  So I know who He is. And I know that He loves me. Wait…what? He loves me? He loves me! He loves me!!!! I know that He loves me in a crazy, scandalous, outrageous, incomprehensible, all-consuming, unconditional, inclusive, tidal-wave kinda way. Not only that, but as one person out of 7 billion on a planet that is only one millionth the size of the sun. The sun is only a small star among billions of stars in the Milky Way. And the Milky Way is one of hundreds of billions of galaxies in the universe. Okay, so just take a second to grasp the scope of how massive that universe must be. And then stop and try to grasp that the God who created that universe out of His head knows me and you personally. He knows the number of hairs that are on our heads. He pays very particular and very close attention to our lives and knows the intimate details of our hearts. He saw our unformed bodies before we were even a thought in our parents’ minds. He knit together our unformed bodies in our mothers’ wombs. He knew every single second of every single day of our whole entire lives before we were conceived. That’s how important and precious we are to Him. Okay, so not only do I know WHO He is, and HOW MUCH He loves me, I know what He DID. He died. He stepped out of heaven, out of paradise, out of light and love and perfection…into the dirt and dust and disgustingness of our world. Into the rape and the murder and the genocide and the abuse and the poverty and the injustice and the pain and the shame and the guilt and the ugliness and the wretchedness. Why? For all those reasons. For all the crap and the gunk. For all my mistakes. For every time I hurt someone I cared about. For every time I hurt myself. For every time someone else hurt me. For every single careless word we wish we could take back. For every sleepless night ending in shame and guilt and fear. For every panicked feeling of helplessness. For all the bitterness. For all the anger. For all the feelings of worthlessness. For “every daughter whose innocence was stolen by every son who couldn’t help himself” (Jason Gray). For all the fathers, brothers, uncles, cousins and friends who betrayed the trust of a young girl and left her despoiled, abandoned, feeling like garbage. For every affair that shattered a marriage into painful, jagged shards. For every child who was left on the streets because their parents died of AIDS, sniffing an oil-soaked rag to numb the hunger pangs in their stomach. For every child who was abducted in the middle of the night, had addictive opiates ground into cuts on their arms, handed a gun and told to shoot their mothers and brothers and sisters. For every child who was packed into a shipping crate and sent across the ocean like worthless cargo to a brothel where they were assigned a number and put on a menu for people to choose from for their perverse desires. For the thousands tortured and killed in the most inhumane ways by people who thought they superior beings. For every scar on my friend’s arm. For my friends porn addiction. For my friend’s eating disorder. For my pride and arrogance. For your broken heart. GOD, the architect of space and time, transcendent, perfect being, who need not even concern Himself with us, stepped right smack dab into the middle of our colossal mess. And He allowed us to mock Him, whip Him, put a crown of thorns on His head, nail Him to a tree, and let Him suffocate under His own body weight, when He grew too exhausted to lift Himself up to inhale. He could have commanded angels to rescue Him, but He didn’t. He suffered a humiliating, barbaric death and the complete human experience when God the Father turned His back on His son and dumped ALL our sin on His shoulders. So you know that huge list of terrible things I listed back there? That was ALL dumped on Jesus. He felt it ALL. Generations upon generations of pain and hatred and hurt and shame of all humans since the beginning of time and until the end of time stacked on top of each other. More psychological and emotional agony than you or I will experience in an entire lifetime, or even billions of lifetimes. All of it, on Him. Can you imagine the immensity of that soul-wracking Hell on earth? Nope. None of us can. By that point, Jesus was probably BEGGING for that physically-excruciating death. Whose fault is it? Who put Him there? We did. We didn’t mean to. We’re just trying our best. But we don’t really know what we’re doing and we screw up a lot. And we’ve messed up our world, so we can’t go to heaven when we die cause heaven’s perfect and we’re imperfect. But God is like “I know a way. It hurts and it’s terrible and awful and painful but it’s the only way to save these pitiful human creatures that we love so much for no reason other than that we created them.” And Jesus is like “whatever you say, I’ll do it. I love them. I love Katherine and Rebecca and Joshua and Anna and Daniel and Rachel and Kate and Laura and Jessica and Emily and Jonathan and Adam and….” …and all of them. Every person who every existed. Even for a second. Even if they didn’t make it past their mother’s womb. Even if they had no human name, all of our names are written on the palm of His hand. The same hands that took the nails. And so, instead of being bitter or blaming us on that cross, He remembered the names on His hands and He remembered what the nails were for. And He said “Father, forgive them, for they know now what they do.” THEN, not only that! But He went to Hell. Heck yeah, He went to Hell. This is like the Disney Hercules movie for goodness sake! He went to the Devil’s turf, his territory, his playground. And HE TOOK THE FREAKING KEY! He took the key to death. He went and trashed the place! He stole victory from the devil. He conquered life AND death. He broke every chain the devil ever had on us. Then He came back, and now we can live forever with Him in Heaven. My point is that if you’re still putting God in quotation marks, you DON’T understand “how strong faith can be” because you don’t even know what my faith is in. 

If you’re still putting God in quotation marks, you don’t know God. And now that I’ve tried to explain who He is and what He did, it has NOTHING TO DO with “[living] by God’s standards for a potential afterlife instead of living by [my] own standards now in the definite life [I’ve] been given.” I live a life of complete surrender and worship to the God who made me and saved my soul because it’s the ONLY LOGICAL COURSE OF ACTION. If you knew what I know, you would live your life the way I do too. Once I understand what He did for me, I can’t help but pour my whole entire life out as a living sacrifice of praise. Every breath I take, every move I make, every thought I think, every word I say, is only by the grace of God and I am aware of that. I’m just trying to give back all that I can for a debt that I can NEVER EVER repay. So yeah, that’s why I “worry” about pleasing “God”. Ha. Because He’s the only thing in the whole world that matters. Also, the bible says that what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal (2 Corinthians 4:18) so I would say that the afterlife is more definite than this one. If I accept that God is real, I accept that heaven is real, and I accept that He loves me and died for me. Therefore, worship is the natural, instinctive response of this wretched human heart responding to His love and grace. On a side note, from a purely human point of view, living by God’s standards sure as heck hurts myself and other people a lot less. It gives me a moral code that saves me from addiction and heartache. It makes me a kinder, more generous, more compassionate, more loving person. It gives me empathy and a passion for helping the less fortunate. It gives me hope and peace. And it has been scientifically proven to improve my health and extend my life. Why the heck wouldn’t you live life by these standards? They’re awesome! If everybody actually lived by these standards (instead of twisting them through their own corrupt worldview, ahem WBC…), this world would be a beautiful place, and not the terrible place it is today. Jus’ sayin’. ;) To wrap this up, if He was just “God”, I wouldn’t bother trying to please Him either. So I can’t really blame you for your question. But your misunderstanding comes from a place of ignorance. I hope you understand a little better what I believe now. He’s NOT just “God”. I know I may have sounded vicious in this post, but I’m not mad, just passionate. Always, Peace and love!-Katherine 

You don't have to distance yourself from those who speak out on behalf of you and your people group. Whether it be girls who don't identify with feminism or Pharrell calling himself "new black". You are allowed to acknowledge injustice afflicted on you. You are allowed to be outspoken. You don't have to be progressive and conciliatory for the sake of avoiding conflict. Conflict always accompanies change, but it doesn't mean that the change isn't necessary. You don't have to dissociate yourself from that.

I'm Turning 20 In 10 Days

"I've come so far but I've got so far to go." 20 strikes me as a very odd age indeed. You're two decades old. You're no longer a teenager. You have a different digit at the beginning of your age. I mean, you've had the same first digit since you were 10 years old. And we can all agree that 10 is a very young age. It's a big deal. You're entering into the decade of your life where so many things are supposed to happen. Between the ages of 20 and 30, you might finish post secondary education, start a career, fall in love, move out, get married and have kids. All of those things might happen while the number 2 is the first debit of your age. And I'm not gonna lie, that freaks me out. Adding to my disquiet is the fact that one of my friends is 20 and got engaged just the other day. I'm thrilled for her and panicked for me, and it's implications regarding the stage of life I am entering. Might I add that it did not help when my father said "that's how old I was when I got engaged." It does not worry me that I am single and will not be engaged at the age of 20. What worries me is that I might be expected to be engaged at the age of 20. There's only one day's difference between being a teenager and being an adult. Teenagers have a reputation for doing dumb stuff. But adults are expected to make informed, logical decisions in life changing situations. I know that 24 hours is not going to make that big a difference in my decision-making skills. 20 is a grown up age. But it will not belong to a grown up life. I still live at home. I still ask my parents' permission. I still eat Nutella with a spoon. I still have stuffed animals. I still hate homework. I still have sleepovers. I still get stupid little crushes. For all intents and purposes, I am a child! And yet I feel as though at the age of 20 I'm supposed to undergo some transformation and move out and have a career and find a mate. And then you begin contemplating the future. Do you know what it feels like when all the moments yet to come have weight and they press down on you? When all the breaths yet to be breathed turn to lead in your lungs? When you're suffocating under the expectations of others and your own expectations for yourself? The future is heavy with paths to be chosen, mistakes to be made, hearts to be broken, prices to be paid. Like a stormcloud with rain, it's full of successes and failures, joy and sorrow, triumphs and disappointments. And you begin to wonder, how on earth am I to weather these storms of life without an umbrella? I'm not entirely gloomy about this birthday. I know the future has limitless potential for optimism and that life is what you make it and I'm very excited to become an adult! I can't wait to move out and try new things and explore brave new worlds. That being said, I'm also straight up terrified. And with that thought, I bid you goodnight.

please reblog the fundraisers you see on your dash. please. if you claim to care about palestine, NOW is the time to prove it. everyone said gaza will be worse off if trump wins - well, now he has. the least anyone can do now is reblog and share and DONATE to as many fundraisers as possible. especially if you're american. you want harm reduction? this is harm reduction. help gazan families.

you can't decide where to start?

gazafunds

mohammad, nawal, and baby roaa

yousef, khadija, and baby majd

ahmed, his family, and their cat soso

nairuz and hussein's spreadsheet | gazavetters' spreadsheet | the butterfly effect spreadsheet

fundraisers linked on my blog

esims

pick a name. any name. read their story. realize that what you feel now, they feel everyday, a thousandfold. donate whatever you can. at the very least, reblog if you can't.

there is no excuse not to.

Short Story: Beauty is a Beast

            You know that moment when you step off the schoolbus in the afternoon, or when you shut your bedroom door behind you, or lie in bed at night, and just breathe deeply, finally completely alone. You know the person you are in that moment? That’s the real you, with all your true hopes and dreams and values. Nobody can watch you or judge you, or tell you what to do or who to be. People should be that person more often.

        I see it a lot. People are always totally themselves around me. I’m your corner store cashier. I’m like a part of the wallpaper. Because honestly, what effect do I have on the rest of your life outside this miniscule window of time for your trip to buy chocolate or scotch tape? It’s amazing the things I can learn about people as a cashier just by simple observation. I’ve worked here at my tiny corner-store-attached-to-a-pharmacy on the corner of my street for two years, and we sell everything from a turnip to tweezers. In two years of working 7-11 every day of the summer and 7-11 every Saturday and Sunday during the school year, I’ve gotten to know most of the people who live in our neighborhood, through routine visits and fragments of conversation here and there.

 For example, elderly Mrs. McAllister lives all alone at the top of the hill with her four cats, whose photos she carries in her purse. Boots is the black one with white paws, Snowball is all white, Mittens is yellow with a black triangle on his forehead and Tommy is orange striped. She buys a 2L of milk and a Big Turk chocolate bar every single Saturday morning between 7:00 and 7:30 without fail.

 I expect Mr. Watkins visit around 9 every second Sunday morning. He always buys Werther’s hard caramel candies, Purity cream crackers, a bottle of ginger ale, a loaf of bread and bologna. He carries two tiny school photos in his wallet of his grandchildren, Jeffrey who is in grade five this year, and Alyssa, who is in grade two. They love the caramel candies.

 Finally, there’s a tall, dirty blonde boy around my age who seems to live on Nestea and Peppermint Lifesavers. He visits my store faithfully every day at around 10 during the summer to get his fix and still comes back every Saturday and Sunday morning during the school year. I know that he likes the Red Hot Chili Peppers, that he plays basketball and that he goes to the school on the other side of the city even though he’s not zoned for it. Name? Not a clue. I call him Lifesavers-Guy in my head.

 I’m writing all this down because I want to tell you the story of a boy and girl. Well mostly a girl, but the boy is in it a little bit. The girl’s name is Purple-Monster-Girl. Or at least, that’s what I call her.

 She appeared on the scene around the end of June, right after I had finished grade 11. That day I was teasing 13-year-old Joshua about his first date that night as I put his comic book and Sour Patch Kids into a bag. He was beet-red, right to the tips of his ears and was probably all too happy to escape when my attention was diverted. The little bell above the door tinkled and I looked up to see who it was. My first impression was that she looked really...for lack of a better word, Normal. I wish I could say she looked Mysterious, or she was gorgeous but she looked sad, but she just looked perfectly normal. She was about 5’7’’, with dark brown hair falling in loose waves to her shoulder blades, looking like she had let it dry on its own. I will say she has a really pretty face, with nice skin. She was wearing knee-length cut-off shorts, a black tshirt with a colourful graphic on the front that matched her turquoise converse. She wasn’t stick-thin but she wasn’t chubby by any means. She was just...normal. She had two earbuds stuck in her ears.

 She picked up a bag of Doritos, a purple Monster energy drink and a pack of Stride Spearmint gum. When she brought it to the counter I pointed at her ear and said

 “What are you listening to?”

 She cocked her head and looked at me for a second, as if sizing me up, then she said

 “Nothing. People are just less likely to try and make conversation with me if I have them in.”

 Something told me I should have been at least a little bit offended by that, but I wasn’t at all. I just felt like I had passed some secret character test. She left the store and I was left shaking my head.

 “Weird chick.” I thought, and that was the last I thought of it, until she became a recurring presence. She came back every now and then for her purple Monster and  Stride Spearmint, though the junk food varied, sometimes chocolate, sometimes candy, sometimes chips.

 Around mid-July when I was selling popsicles and soft serves to droves of sticky, smiling children, she started coming in at 7 in workout clothes. She stopped buying junk food then too. It was around this same time that Purple-Monster-Girl met Lifesavers-Guy. She happened to come later that day, and both of them approached my counter with their usual purchases at the exact same time. Sometimes, replaying the scene in my head, it strikes me that it’s just like a movie. He stepped back like a gentleman and gestured for her to go ahead of him. She just looked up at him, right in his eyes and almost literally glowed at him, like, her smile looked like he was a child who had just said his first word. While I rang in her purple Monster and Stride Spearmint and she gave me the exact change without me asking her, Lifesavers-Guy asked her the pivotal question:

 “What are you listening to?”

 I looked at her quizzically. Would she be as honest with him as she was with me? She wasn’t. After a glance at me so fast it was almost imperceptible, she took one earbud out, smiled and lied. This is a perfect example of how people are themselves around me. She had no trouble admitting that she wasn’t really listening to music to the corner store cashier, but to this stranger, this boy, who might judge her, she had to lie.

 “Red Hot Chili Peppers.”

 And what a lucky lie. Lifesavers-Guy’s face lit up and they chatted eagerly all through his order, in which I had to tell him his total twice because he wasn’t paying attention the first time, and out the door. I could see them standing on the sidewalk outside the store. She laughed a lot and he smiled shyly, then they switched their phones and gave them back. I just grinned.

 As the days scorched and summer wore on, I sold a cool drink to every customer who walked in the store. August was giving us a beating this year. I stood behind my counter and watched harried fathers buying a box of cereal early in the morning, little old ladies buying tea bags and muffins, and people of all ages rushing in to pick up a card for various occasions and asking to borrow my pen. And I watched Purple-Monster-Girl and Lifesavers –Guy. Not in a creepy way, I mean when they came in the store. Sometimes, if he was alone, he bought Stride Spearmint or a purple Monster with his traditional order, or she bought Nestea or Lifesavers to accompany her drink and gum. Purple-Monster-Girl’s early morning workouts seemed to be working for her too, because the soft curves of June has transformed to taut, toned lines for August. As summer died with blazing red and orange sunsets, I saw them come in together sometimes holding hands. If one or both of them were in the store when Red Hot Chili Peppers came on the radio, I saw them smile like they shared some kind of secret. It obviously wasn’t such a huge secret if I was in on it, but nobody thinks of that.

 I guess they just felt special, as only new couples can. They were like a modern day Romeo and Juliet. Actually, scratch that. Let’s say they were like a modern day Beauty and the Beast. Not that either one of them was ugly and the other one was beautiful, I just think that story is infinitely more romantic than Shakespeare’s tragedy because it’s about seeing people for who they really are and looking past outward appearances. Anyway.

 The days grew shorter, the soft serve machine went into storage, and Purple-Monster-Girl, Lifesavers-Guy and I all went back to our respective schools for our last year. My time spent behind my corner-store counter was cut from seven days to two. But I still got visits from my favourite couple on the weekends. It was around the time that Crayola crayons and loose leaf were in big clearance bins at the front of the store, and big boxes of mini chocolate bars were on display that I saw Purple-Monster-Girl’s hair straightened for the very first time ever. She wasn’t wearing her workout clothes this Sunday. She was wearing shorts that were, in my humble opinion, too short. If not for the weather, at least for propriety. And she wore the same tshirt I had first seen her in. It hung on her differently now. It slipped right past her flat, toned stomach and didn’t even catch on her hips.

 And there was trouble in paradise for our neighborhood lovers. Or at least, that’s how I interpreted it. One chilly morning early November, I was organising a magazine rack and shaking my head at celebrities exploits when the two of them approached the store, seemingly in a heated discussion, judging from their faces through the glass. They stopped talking as soon as they entered the store. The tinny radio music couldn’t quite handle the oppressive silence, and only made it awkward when Red Hot Chili Peppers came on. I pretended to be totally absorbed in perfecting the magazine display, until they had paid for their items and left, still in silence.

 Chocolate Santas, chocolate Snowmen and chocolate Reindeer were flying off the shelves and we had our first snowfall. I smiled at all my customers and wished them a Merry Christmas as they left the store. The same five annoying Christmas songs played over and over the store speakers for a month straight, and everybody was jolly. And I watched tiny changes in Purple-Monster-Girl. Dark eyeliner rimming her eyes. A lower neckline than I’d ever seen her wear. Her hair was more often straight and more seldom wavy. She was still beautiful, but she packaged it more. She looked like beauty was no longer natural, but something she put on like a mask when she got up every morning. The day after school let out for Christmas vacation, they came in together, looking happy again. He kept his arm around her waist, not possessively, just kinda chillin there, like he was supporting her, or protecting her. And I saw the way he set his jaw.

 New Year’s Day the corner store was open. It closed only Christmas Day and two other forced holidays under the labor law. Anyway, I sold a lot of Advil, Tylenol, Coffee and Gatorade that morning. I didn’t try to make conversation with those customers, I just kind of smiled gently at them. One such girl laid a box of Advil on the counter with a purple Monster energy drink and a pack of Stride Spearmint gum. She didn’t really resemble the one who came in five months ago and told me there was nothing coming through her earbuds. Her whip straight hair had been highlighted with caramel streaks. That looked great to me. What didn’t look great was the tank top that looked two sizes too small and the painted-on jeans which revealed stick arms and legs and a waist so tiny it looked like it would fit between my finger and thumb. I stared at her for a few seconds in wonderment. There were dark circles under her eyes and her cheekbones had become very defined. I passed her her plastic bag of three items and wondered who she had kissed at midnight.

 It evidently wasn’t her boyfriend. No more did they enter the store together or buy each other’s items. Red Hot Chili Peppers on the radio elicited a stony face from him and...nothing from her, no recognition whatsoever. A week after we went back to school I watched Lifesavers-Guy stalk resolutely past the Monster cooler and refuse to let his gaze wander to the gum display next to the counter. I didn’t make any eye-contact with him as I rang in his Nestea and Lifesavers.

 The following month saw weather as cold and blustery as the night the enchantress sought refuge in the Prince’s castle. Business was slow. I sold contact solution, Benadryl, Root Beer and Reese’s Pieces. At home, I did homework and I started watching Beauty and the Beast again, to relive my childhood. I only saw the beginning before I fell asleep though. I saw the Beast shut himself up in his tower, ashamed at his own appearance, despising himself and repulse any human companionship. I felt bad for him. After all, who said he was ugly? Only society’s socially constructed ideas of “beauty” made him think that. It only took the right person to see the real him, and to see how beautiful he actually was. But I digress.

 Lifesavers-Guy came to the store less, probably because Purple-Monster-Girl still visited faithfully to get her energy drink and gum. She never put food with it, but I did get a few surprises. One morning I was just listening to 10-year-old Jess tell me about the latest Nancy Drew mystery she had read, in between mouthfuls of Skittles. Purple-Monster-Girl slipped in somewhere around the falling action. After Jess left, Purple-Monster-Girl placed her traditional energy drink and gum on the counter and then plopped down beside it a box of condoms. I said nothing, just looked at her. She wouldn’t meet my gaze. I rang through her order in what was supposed to be disapproving silence but I don’t know if she got the vibe. That was Saturday. The next morning I sold her more Advil.

 Three weeks later it was uncommonly crowded in my tiny store. Purple-Monster-Girl was coming in as Lifesavers-Guy was going out. Manoeuvering around her, he placed his hand ever so lightly in the small of her back, an unconscious, tender touch, but drew it back suddenly as though stung. A moment later she turned around to get her Monster from the cooler and I could see why. Her thin, tight shirt revealed every vertebrae in her back in sharp relief, clearly visible through flesh and fabric. I looked at her with sad eyes. She wasn’t the normal girl she was in June. Seven months had transformed her into an entirely different person, one who was quite evidently underweight. One who...was buying a pregnancy test. Heaven help us. I glanced quickly at her face, but her gaze was focussed somewhere past my left ear. I could only hope that I didn’t see her back here in nine months buying baby formula. After THAT experience, I examined all the labels on our condom boxes, and concluded that she should have bought the ultra-strong ones. They were 98.2% effective, which is a whole 1.2% more effective than the normal kind, but my faith in them was shattered forever.

 The next Saturday, everbody was buying boxes of Barbie valentines and candy hearts and Hershey kisses. But not Purple-Monster-Girl. I caught myself staring at her stomach, looking for a bump. I knew it was too soon, but I did it unconsciously anyway. She just looked as shrunken as ever to me. However, to my immense relief, this shopping trip featured a box of tampons. I actually had to restrain myself from sighing in relief.

 The ides of March rolled around and a lot of green was on sale everywhere. I saw garlands of four leaf clover and plastic cut-outs of leprechauns and the young and middle-aged elementary school teachers who bought them for their classrooms. And quite suddenly, Purple-Monster-Girl disappeared. Saturday morning when the bell tinkled I didn’t even look up, until I heard a much heavier footfall than what I was used to, and beheld a strange man in a suit buying Pepsi and a muffin. I waited and waited and waited. The end of my four-hour shift came and still no sign of her. Nobody made any utterance of where she was. They didn’t need to.

 Near the end of March, I served a woman whom I had never seen before. It wouldn’t be weird to me because I do that all the time, except for a striking resemblance to a girl who used to come in here all the time, and the fact that she was buying a purple Monster energy drink and a pack of Stride Spearmint gum. And did I mention this corner store JUST HAPPENED to be just over the hill to the hospital? The woman’s hair was disheveled and she bore unmistakable signs of fatigue in the shadows under her eyes and the droop of her shoulders. She spoke in hushed tones to the woman standing next to her, whom I assumed was her sister of friend. Completely unintentionally, I caught snippets of their conversation. “ ...still refusing to eat...heartrate dangerously low...better in time for prom...” As I handed her her receipt, I smiled at her and wished her a good day as sincerely as I could.

 That night, I tried to finish watching Beauty and the Beast but I only got as far as the dance in the ballroom and Belle wearing her beautiful yellow dress. I reflected that yellow doesn’t look good on many people. In the meantime, I knew the rose in the tower of the castle was wilting. Time was running out. This Beauty felt more like the Beast and I didn’t know if she would get to dance with her prince. This story of a girl and boy is shaping up more like a Shakespearian tale than a Disney movie after all.

 A couple weeks later, I looked up to see a tall, dirty-blonde boy enter the corner store. He didn’t pick up Nestea and Lifesavers this time. He went straight to the Monster cooler and picked out a purple one, then a pack of Stride Spearmint gum, then on the counter next to them he placed a greeting card. There was a cartoon Teddy bear on the front with a bandaid on his head and big bold letters above it: “Get Well Soon!” I wanted to say something, but what would I say?

 “I’m sorry your ex-girlfriend who dumped you because she’s sick and whom you’re obviously still in love with is in the hospital”

 Yeah, no, that’s a little creepy.

 I thought for a second, then threw caution to the winds and just said

 “How is she?”

 He looked up as though mildly surprised that I was speaking to him, and took a minute to process my question.

 “She’s doing better than she was.”

 I nodded. “That’s good.”

 Then he left.

 I remember clearly Saturday, April 28th Lifesavers-Guy came in my store again. He didn’t buy a single thing, just marched straight the counter and said

 “Can I show you something?”

 I was completely taken aback and slightly apprehensive. In the past, such a question had precipitated photos of cats in various attitudes of idleness, of school portraits of grandchildren, but I didn’t know what to expect from this teenager.

 “Sure.”

 He reached into his pocket and pulled out a photo. It was of a couple under an arch decorated with swaths of white tulle and flowers. He wore dress pants, dress shirt, vest and tie and she wore a beautiful yellow dress, a perfect fairy tale dress. I recognized the dark hair with caramel highlights and the smile I had seen the day they met – the same glowing smile like a child had said their first word. She still looked skinny but I could see signs of returning curves, like back in June when I described her as “Very Normal.”

 “That was at her prom last Saturday.” He said.

 I looked up at him. “She’s beautiful.”

 He smiled. “I know.”

 That night I went home and finally finished watching Beauty and the Beast.  As Belle and her Prince kissed at the end and fireworks went off, I reflected on how thankful I am that there are people in this world who know true beauty when they see it.

 You know that moment – when you step off the schoolbus in the afternoon, or when you shut your bedroom door behind you, or lie in bed at night, and just breathe deeply, finally completely alone – you know the person you are in that moment? That’s the real you, with all your true hopes and dreams and values. Nobody can watch you or judge you, or tell you what to do or who to be. You should be that person more often. Who cares what anybody thinks? Because I can promise you there is somebody out there who will love the true you. 

So clever, and so funny!

Fall is here! Cooler weather! Changing leaves! Ubiquitous fake pumpkin flavored baked goods and beverages! And best of all, modest clothes are coming out of the closet! The angels themselves rejoice as long sleeve sweaters emerge and head coverings become standard. Turtlenecks are popular!...

I'm pretty unexceptional looking...

And I'm about to tell you why that statement means absolutely nothing.

Most people would not describe their appearance as special or extraordinary. If someone were to ask you if you're attractive, you'd either say no, or you'd proceed to give a vague, equivocating description of your mediocre beauty. Even supermodels and movie stars have acute and sever insecurities. There's not a single person in this world who legitimately views themselves as head-turning attractive. In fact, I think we're all too comfortable with the idea of looking "average". We style our hair the way everyone else is doing it. We wear the same clothes every one else does. We all just want to blend in and not draw undue attention to our person. Our fondest wish is to look like everyone else. Do you deny it? 

HOWEVER, not one of us believes that we really are actually like everyone else. Whether you think that's a good thing or a bad thing is not for me to decide, but you know that you're unique. You know you're different from every single other person around you. If you do think that's a bad thing, I'm here to tell you that it's not. You have interests, skills, talents and passions that are unique and entirely your own. And that's awesome and super cool and you are special and amazing specifically because you are not like any single other human on the planet. 

But here's my point. Judging by appearances is literally the dumbest thing ever because the outward appearance gives absolutely no indication of who someone is. Too often we get too caught up in the outward appearance and it consumes us. We narrow our minds to the here and now, the tangible and touchable. Even though the physical body is present and right in front of us right now, it is a meagre representation of the person inside. Every single person is exceptional and extraordinary. People who look perfectly average and even might look "boring" have entire galaxies inside their heads. They have unwritten novels and unheard music and unknown inventions inside of them. They have love stories and ancient histories and imagined eternities in their hearts. So even though we spend most of our time trying to blend into our surroundings, our characters make us stand out from the crowd because of our various vibrant and dynamic personalities. 

That was definitely not as deep as I thought it was. I wish I could impress upon you how incredibly important this is to me. I don't even know if that made sense, I just really really wanted to tell you all my thoughts on this topic. 

Peace and love!  -Katherine