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Why I Hate the Hate Group Women’s March

I’m a woman who doesn’t agree with all the new trending hate groups that are popping up all over America in recent years. The Women’s March is one such hate group who has garnered millions of fans made up of men and women and all sorts of people with identity and gender crisis issues in between. The hate group Women’s March however, has a special place in my shriveled blackened heart of hearts because it’s a group which tries to claim to stand for all women. Well, they’re definitely not fucking standing up for this woman because I can stand up for myself without their hate and their bullshit.

What the hate group Women’s March really is is a disgrace to all women everywhere. From Madonna wanting to blow up the White House to Ashley Judd’s poem of being a nasty woman but not as nasty as President Donald Trump’s daughter Ivanka being a sex symbol to her father, to all the trash left behind by millions of people who littered in the streets and didn’t care, to the blatant message of treason of “standing up and fighting against” the President of the United States of America, to the supposed issues that women face today in America which is nothing compared to what women face in other countries around the world.

The hate group Women’s March creates a division in genders, promoting the discrimination of all males in favor of females by constantly creating the illusion that all females are victims. Does that plan sound familiar to anyone? The hate group, Black Lives Matter, did the same thing by creating a division between skin color and promoting the discrimination of all whites and people of lighter skin color in favor of all blacks and people of a darker skin color by constantly creating the illusion that all blacks and people of a darker skin color are victims.

I will always call hate groups for what they really are, hate groups. Here are some ways to recognize them.

Hate groups pretend to promote peace and love, but their messages are of spreading fear and violence and destruction and harm to others. “We just want equality for all women in America,” the hate group Women’s March would say. “We’re fighting to protect our rights and our children’s rights to having control over our bodies. Our vaginas are ours and we decide what we can do with them.” The actual message that the hate group Women’s March really says is this, “All men are chauvinistic pigs who can’t control their penises so we have to assume all men are rapists. Trump is a man so let’s blow up the White House so we can get a vagina in there who is like us. Trump’s ten year old son is a man so let’s compare him to a school shooter because obviously, men are more violent than women and he’ll grow up to be a mass murderer anyway.” Hate groups like Women’s March are sick and perverted. Once they hook people in with their fake message of spreading peace, they begin their real work on creating fear and causing violence and destruction and harm to others. Any group that victimizes children like the hate group Women’s March is just sickening.

Hate groups hide behind the excuse that they are the victims while victimizing everyone else. “Men rape women all the time. It’s just not accounted for. All men are rapists,” the hate group Women’s March would say. While pretending to be victims of rape, women paint a solid picture that all men are rapists and women must therefore hate all men and protect their selves from all men. “Women don’t get equal pay as men because we’re women,” is one of the many tired excuses of feminists everywhere. If women worked as hard as men did doing the same jobs and putting in the same amount of effort, then women would get paid the same, but they don’t. The wage gap isn’t because a man gets paid more to have a penis. The wage gap is because women choose not to work as hard as men do doing the same job because they have family and friends and other things that they want to do instead of putting in the hours at work. A woman would more likely choose their family and their children and their friends over working more or doing more work. So all these supposed women’s issues that exist because men are oppressing women are a load of bullshit. Women, stop fucking drinking every Friday night with friends and you might actually get that pay raise you’ve been looking for when you work as hard as the other people doing that same job.

Hate groups demand special privileges. “We deserve to be able to choose what to do with the growing baby inside our bodies that we got from having unprotected sex because we already made the choice to have sex, but we don’t want to bear the responsibilities of becoming actual adults and taking care of that child and raising that child,” the hate group Women’s March would say in their defense of a woman’s right to an abortion. “It’s still our bodies and no man is going to tell us we can’t kill the living child inside because it’s our bodies and our vaginas.” If retroactive abortion existed, the world would be a better place without such selfish and lame ass excuses of people who desires to kill a life without the consequences of being punished for murder. The truth is that while the hate group Women’s March pretends to be the sad victim of being born a second rate citizen due to their vagina in a world of penises, their only goal is to oppress and force special privileges to be made because of their fucking vagina. If women stopped having sex, period, they wouldn’t get pregnant. But no, all men are rapists and all pregnancies are caused by rapists so as a woman, they’re totally fucking innocent of being the sluts they are and opening their vaginas to penises. Women, stop fucking people and you wouldn’t have to worry about an abortion. A woman using her vagina as an excuse to demand reparations for false perceptions of social injustice because they still ultimately choose their circumstances doesn’t make their fucking vagina a valid excuse to murder a life because a baby is inconvenient to that fucking vagina who fucked around and got pregnant. Women are fucking drama queens. “I have a vagina. I’m special. I need special rules that puts me above everyone else because I’m better than everyone else.” This fucking type of behavior of a woman who flaunts their vagina as the be all, end all is disgusting and is absolutely disrespectful to all women everywhere. Your fucking vagina is not that fucking special. Get your heads out of your asses or should I say, get your heads out of your vaginas.

Hate groups always use famous names to validate their false causes and make their issues and concerns seem real and true. Madonna, the queen of pop who shamelessly said to the crowd at Madison Square Garden and to everyone watching that she’d give them a blow job if they voted for Hillary Clinton, also said that she has thought an awful lot about blowing up the White House because Trump is now president. While many people try to claim that she wasn’t serious saying either of those things, someone like Madonna who has followers and fans in the millions, is able to convince people that it’s okay to do such things. Her solicitation of oral sex for Hillary votes during the Presidential campaign and her treasonous call to blowing up the White House is by no means a joke or something to be taken lightly of.

Ashley Judd, a once upon a time decent actress, exclaimed she was a nasty woman to the cheers of hundreds of thousands of people at the hate group Women’s March. She continued to read a poem exclaiming how nasty of a woman she was, but that she’s not as nasty as President Trump who is a man. And while hundreds of thousands of stupid people are cheering on such disgusting behavior, they fail to realize that the disgusting behavior is the truth of this entire hate group, that there is no love and peace, that there is only hatred and ugliness.

Hate groups always need to point the finger to divert attention from what they’re really doing and they’ll be as bold to blame someone else for what they are doing. Actress America Ferrera said at the hate group Women’s March, “It’s been a heart-rending time to be both a woman and an immigrant in this country. Our dignity, our character, our rights have all been under attack and a platform of hate and division assumed power yesterday. But the president is not America. His cabinet is not America. Congress is not America. We are America. And we are here to stay.” It’s a shame actresses don’t have to be very intelligent. The platform of hate and division she’s talking about is really the hate group Women’s March whose sole purpose is to divide the country into fucking vaginas and bad penises, except for the penises that claim to be fake vaginas in this life or another life or whenever they feel like cutting it off. What a hate group does is instead of focusing on valid issues and concerns, they turn around and start blaming. “President Trump has a penis. President Trump is bad. President Trump’s cabinet has men in there. And those men have penises. And penises are bad.” Fucking hell. Isn’t it tiring to try and blame your own choices on someone else? Most of the bullshit women’s issues stem from choices women made. Women choose to fucking have sex. Baby results. Women kills babies because it’s an inconvenient truth of them opening their fucking legs. Women choose to party and go to clubs and drinks with friends instead of working. Work productivity declines because of lack of sleep and hangovers and other issues from a choice women made. Women puts in less effort at work. Women gets paid less. Oh, it’s suddenly men’s fault women don’t do so well at work because they choose to prioritize other things above work. Fucking fluffy special snowflakes who never take responsibility for their selves and simply want to blame everyone else for shitty choices they made in life.

Scarlett Johansson said, “President Trump, I did not vote for you. That said, I respect that you are you our President-elect and I want to be able to support you. But first I ask that you support me, support my sister, support my mother, support my best friends and all of all girlfriends. Support the men and women here today that are anxiously awaiting to see how your next moves may drastically affect their lives. Support my daughter who may actually, as a result of the appointments you have made, grow up in a county that is moving backwards, not forward, and who may potentially not have the right to make choices for her body and her future that your daughter Ivanka has been privileged to have.” While I respect her for calling him President Trump, she’s not that bright either. How in the world is a woman potentially not able to make choices for her body and her future? As far as I’m aware, America has not become a one-child policy country like China where millions of baby girls are discarded or killed because of their gender. America is not a women genital mutilated area like Mali. America is not a country where little girls are sold into prostitution and sex trafficking like all the countries of southeast Asia (Laos, Thailand, Cambodia, Philippines, Vietnam). America is not a country where women are gang raped to pay for men’s crimes like Pakistan. America is not a country where women have unequal education rights like Afghanistan. So exactly what kind of “privileges” that American women may not all of a sudden have? Oh, fucking abortion because in a country where women are able to do everything a man can, where women have equal opportunities for education and pay and being able to wake up and be dressed as slutty as they want, women are fucking worried about not being able to kill babies so they don’t have to live with the consequences of their actions. Women in America are a fucking joke. I will cheer when President Trump defunds Planned Parenthood and its baby murdering factories.

Singer Alicia Keys also said the same idiotic thing, “We will not allow our bodies to be owned and controlled by men in government or men anywhere for that matter.” Every woman in America with their fucking stupid first world problems needs to educate their selves on how women in other countries live and be active to help support those women who are way worse off than any fucking woman in America would ever be. Women in the Middle East are beheaded for having sex before marriage. Guess how many American women would’ve been dead if women had no rights as the hate group Women’s March is claiming? I would say every fucking vagina marching would be dead. But America isn’t the Middle East. Aren’t you vaginas lucky you live here and not there? Aren’t you happy that the only complaint you have is not being able to murder babies you got yourself pregnant with? Women in America with their first world problems are indeed a fucking joke.

All in all, I’m pretty sure the hate group Women’s March won’t be the last hate group that springs up to try and divide and conquer this nation and it’s people. Unfortunately, the people of America isn’t all that smart, at least not the millions that are following such hate groups around like loyal dogs. But, there’s still hope. People can learn to start to recognize hate groups for what they really are and people can stop accommodating and condoning and especially tolerating such hate groups and their agendas. It’s time to stand up for yourself and not allow some fucking hate group like Women’s March to stand up for you because you’re a woman. I’m a woman and I say fuck no to the hate group Women’s March.

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Posted by on January 22, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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The Great Love Affair That Never Was

When my friend says that she hates to see me lose my connection to Jesus…

I’ve never been very good at lying with important things.

I wish I still had the stupid optimism that God cared and that somewhere, somehow, he was working it all out for me for my good like the Bible says. I can paraphrase scripture quite well, but to feel God’s presence, I haven’t felt it in a long while now and I wonder if I’ve ever felt it in the first place. Maybe I was just delusional in my love for God, except now, I don’t think it matters anymore.

I used to miss Him so much. I used to love Him so much also. God was everything for me for a while. I couldn’t wait to finish this life just so I could be in His presence. I thought God would save me. I thought that in all the religions in all the world, if everyone was so against God, then there must really be a God and they’re all afraid of Him. He must be the only real thing. And I believed. I didn’t believe Jesus to begin with, but if Jesus was God and I believed in God, then I believed in Jesus as well too as Jesus was and is God. And so I stuck with it. I found something that filled the empty hole in my heart, that plugged up the yearning I had for something more, for a life with meaning and purpose.

I had always been involved with the supernatural and with magic, no matter how much I avoided it or tried to ignore it. It was a recurring theme in my life from childhood and even now. Now, I hardly do anything magical. I simply have bad dreams, give no more thoughts to them, and keep moving. God didn’t take away my bad dreams, even after I got baptized. Things in my dreams would taunt me and hurt me because I was so in love with God and Jesus. It would be worse. It didn’t get better. And demons didn’t flee at the name of Jesus. It made me wonder if I even had the right Jesus and not some guy named Jesus (Hey-Seuss). The only change that came from me giving my life to God was that I didn’t feel the emptiness in my heart anymore. I feel it now. I just ignore it. That emptiness, that hopelessness, yeah, it’s all there again.

I lost my faith in God after realizing one day that God didn’t love me. He didn’t want heathens and people who converted. We weren’t his first choice. We were never his choice. We were only a substitute for the Jews that He loved, the Jews that He tried to provoke to jealousy through giving us some of His great love. We were just an afterthought. And if the Jews weren’t such stuck up and self centered jerks, if they loved God like how He loved them, then none of us, no one would’ve been saved. We are at best, second in God’s great love, and at worst, we are just a tool to be used and manipulated by God to create what He wanted. I had no answers. God gave me no answers. And thus, I spiraled downward, wanting to know why I wasn’t as loved as I thought I was, or worse, why I wasn’t even loved at all.

Rachel, the girl with the tattoos who came with her mother and her mother got sent away, the one I called my best friend at one time and the one who calls herself Zim…I thought God wanted me to be nice to them and take care of them. And because I’m a horrible person, I told them that. I told them that I was only good to them because God wanted me to be. And I believed that. I couldn’t stand either mom or daughter, yet, I grew to love Zim because she reminded me so much of my idiotic wayward goth and rebellious little sister that I left behind. The were about the same age. I loved Zim like my sister. Sure, I was possessive, but there has never once been an instance in my entire life where I wanted to be gay. Never ever. And her mom got put in the shu and she would go out every day and yell for her mom. And every day, I would pray to God that she didn’t get caught so she didn’t end up in the shu either. And no matter how long Zim stayed at the window of the shu, talking to her mom, she never got caught. I was happy my prayers worked. And then one day, I said something to Zim that I didn’t even realize the truth of. I told her that if every prayer I prayed was answered by God, then it probably wasn’t God who answered my prayers. It was probably something else. And that’s the truth of it. I don’t think God was anywhere at all. It was something else pretending to be God for me. Something else wanting me to be foolishly and blindly follow in the name of god’s will when it was never God to begin with.

And isn’t that the story of men? We follow the will of God and commit atrocities. Through blind faith and vigilance, we killed and slaughtered and pillaged and burned and crucified and hurt. Perhaps it was never God that spoke to any of us at all, for I am reminded of one truth from the Bible, “This world belongs to him, the prince of the air, for he is the prince of this world”. The devil is the prince of this world and he owns it, therefore, until Jesus comes back to take this world after the tribulation, we are all servants of the devil.

I used to like the occult. All that stuff: magic, tarot cards, spirits, the dead, demons, visions, the future, etc, etc, I used to be interested in it and I used to search for it. I used go to psychics for readings and was the jerk who read them and told them they abused whatever ability they had so I was going to take it. I was the jerk who would mess with psychics hours on end just to laugh at them because there was nothing that anyone could tell me that I didn’t already know about my own future. Only idiots allowed other people, not very good ones at that, to determine their fates. Me? I decided my own fate always. I was the jerk that witches pleaded with to leave them alone because they were afraid of me. I was the jerk who pulled demons out of little kids and stuck them inside the flesh and blood vessels of others who had at least some 25 years left to their short lifespan.

I was a horrible jerk all around and I didn’t care because there wasn’t a meaning to life and none of this mattered. Invisible worlds. Invisible things. Stupid people who thought I could control the elements and worse, control demons—none of that mattered. It didn’t give me meaning to life. It didn’t tell me why in the world I was stuck here carrying around this slowly decaying carcass of rot. It didn’t kill me any faster.

God made it mattered once. Once long ago when I loved Him. And I resent Him for that glimmer of hope, for that idiotic vision of something holy and wonderful. My curse words have gone from fuck to Jesus Christ. It’s blasphemous, I’m sure, but it’s not intentional. It wasn’t as if I hated God enough that I started replacing my curse words with the name of Christ. Maybe on the inside, I hated God enough that I started replacing my curse words with the name Christ. It’s been a recurrent habit I need to break since hating God would waste too much energy spent for nothing. It only started after God and I had a misunderstanding and His silence isn’t an acceptable answer. Of course, I’m not entitled for an answer, and I used to get upset about that, but I don’t really care anymore. An answer. No answer. Silence. It’s all the same thing. Just the shadow of a supposedly loving God being His lovingly self.

Going back on topic to magic and the occult and the supernatural and tarot and such things, I used to care for them. I used to seek power. I used to crave knowledge. Now? I’m old. I’ve retired. I don’t care if the world ends today or if demons appear. I don’t care if I live or if I die. I don’t make a difference. I’m weary of this place. I’m even more weary of the other places, places I used to go hide and play in because this place is more annoying than having to sit through an opera of fat singers whose voices can shatter my ear drums. I have great disdain for this world and for all in it. It’s similar to a boil that festers and bubbles and hurts and pops with disgusting yellow green pus that smells like week old fish and boiled eggs soaking up the sun’s rays in the middle of a heap of reeking trash decomposing on the back of an overcrowded boat somewhere very close to the equator on summer solstice, the longest and hottest day of the year. I don’t care for magic and such frivolous shiny things anymore.

I’m not interested in dying gods on dying worlds saved by traveling mortal men (Angelus). Nor am I interested in horned gods who pretty much violate and rape unsuspecting and unwilling women and call that a tribute worthy of a favor (Ceros). I’m not interested in sacrificing virgins (as if such a thing even exists outside of very young children or infants). I’m not interested in the power plays of summer and winter courts (the faes). I’m not interested in blue wolves (Shaar) or demons (Az and Yaar and others). I’m not interested in pulling demons from people (too many idiots to name). I’m not interested in the others (the green eyed monster, etc) and I’m definitely not interested in my dreams anymore or why I have them (I’m looking at you, Death, and the various many ways I suffer and die in the dream world). I’m not even really interested in zombies nor vampires nor dragons and unicorns. There’s only one thing I’m interested in and it has nothing to do with magic or the occult or religion or spirituality at all. And that is a very long road ahead.

The love I had for God, of wanting to be the perfect Christian, the perfect wife, the perfect sexless humanoid angelic like being in the afterlife and whatever other things I believed in, it was all delusion. I am happy for people who believe in such things and I wish them all the best with whatever prayers I still have left in me to pray with, but it’s not for me anymore. Christianity was never meant to be for me. I tried it. It fit perfectly. And then I came out worse for wear because of it. I became someone else I wasn’t. I became this unblemished image of something so unattainable that the higher I climbed to reach it, the farther I fell, and the harder I hit the ground. The more broken I became. No one fixed me. I had to either fix myself or simply break to pieces.

I am not miserable. Rather, I am old and weary and I don’t care for the vapidness of this world or this place or this journey we call life or what comes after it or whatever happens to any other life that exists outside of my own since we’re all in the same boat anyhow. My bones creak. My mind is fraying at the edges. My heart is bleeding dry. I am tired. I don’t understand how many people can’t seem to understand that. They think I hate the world because I’m miserable. No, I hate the world because it’s full of stupid people and I don’t have the patience to deal with anyone’s stupidity or butt hurt feelings. I’m perfectly fine in my feebleness. Everyone else is helter skelter.

I don’t think God is for me. We will see. I don’t expect anything. Expecting things just makes you disappointed when things you hope for don’t happen.

 
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Posted by on December 28, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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It’s All Relative

“My old friend, how have you been?” he asked me.

I shrugged. “I saved a fae. That’s about it.”

We laughed. Charly took my hand and kissed my fingers. He was always a sweet gentleman. “And how goes the world?”

I smiled at the kindness, but shook my head at the question. “The world is a mess,” I replied. “It’s different and devolving, but what can you do? They’re just mere mortals.” He nodded in agreement. “Besides, I’m more interested in how you have been. How are things here?”

He drank his tea the same as he has always taken it, a lot of grey with a bit of Earl, just a sprinkle of a fingernail or a hair to add flavor to the cup. “You’ve been gone a long while,” Charly said to me. “It’s been quiet. There hasn’t been much that has changed.”

“I think it’s good not much has changed.” I drank my tea, sweetened with a bit of honey. I didn’t drink tea like how I used to. Everything tasted better sweeter. “Even I haven’t changed that much. I’m still running away from things.”

We laughed and he shook his head. “Is it always so hard for you?” he asked me. “You deserve some bit of happiness in your life.”

“I’m working on it,” I replied. “I’m just impatient for things to get to where I want it to be. It’ll get there, eventually. The hardest things are the kinks,” I told him. He leaned in to listen. “There’s just a bit of annoyance.”

“What annoyance?” he asked. “It’s hard to imagine things irking you.”

I laughed. “Try becoming human. Everything is an annoyance then.” He chuckled. I wasn’t sure if he was ever human. From the moment I met him, he had never been to that world. “I think I’m stuck,” I began again. “It’s like a loop that keeps playing over and over again.”

“Tell me more,” Charly inquired.

“Remember Anna?”

He nodded. “How could I forget?” he asked me. “She’s still married to our best friend.”

“Yes, him.” I paused for a moment. “When they met, the three of us were dark and corrupted, terrible and horrid in our ways.” Charly grinned. He knew exactly how we were. We weren’t kind by any means. We killed and plundered and did such evil things, it was a wonder as to why we all were able to retire quite peacefully and safely in this world. “Well, when Demonico met Anna, she was sweet and innocent and unblemished. A spoiled princess she was. He was smitten from the moment he met her and he wooed her with words I’ve never heard from him ever.”

“Are you still upset about that?” His cheery brows twisted with concern.

I smiled and shook my head. “It was long ago. I’ve long moved past that now.” He nodded and I continued. “Well, the annoyance was exactly that and them and how it just replays even now. Must we all be sweet and innocent and unblemished to be protected? Sometimes I yearn for that, just someone to say they’d save me, even if I never required rescuing. It’s just the comfort of being loved enough that someone would that makes it good to hear.”

“I would save you,” Charly said.

“You did,” I replied. “And I thank you for it.”

He gave me a smile and I smiled back. He saved me long ago when my home was burned to the ground. There was nothing left but ashes and a trail of slime which led into the waters, back to from where they came out of the deep. They were beautiful with their jellied bodies and flashing blue and red lights, bio luminescent in the darkness of the night. I should’ve said something. I should’ve warned someone. I was a helpless brain dead fool who couldn’t remember herself, let alone the generations she lived in that small coastal town where everyone she grew to love grew old and died, leaving her behind.

“Anyhow, it’s different this time. The annoyances aren’t much now, only sometimes when my mind becomes frantic with frustrations and fears. I will wait to hear him say the things I want to hear when he’s ready, when he means it, and when it comes from him and from his heart. It might actually work this time, this happiness thing that eludes me so much. I might have it and I hope I do.”

“I hope you do too,” Charly told me. His expression was the same, a bit soft and sharp at the same time, but he was happy for me. “I am glad it is working out.”

I nodded. “It is working.” I was happy about it working too. Another thought came to mind. “About the fae,” I said. “She is mine. I don’t think any harm would come to her and she should very well stay out of trouble, but the moment something happens, please give me a call. I am keeping one here following her in twilight, but you know how faes are. She understands that the moment she disobeys, she will be under lock and key and a prisoner. I doubt she wants that as faes love their freedom all too much, even if it’s only an illusion.”

“There hasn’t been any accidents,” he assured me. “Mayfel will be fine.”

“And if you ever need gold, you know where I stash mine.”

He laughed. Charly didn’t need gold, ever. We all retired handsomely with enough to last us until the end of the world and beyond. “Thanks,” he answered with a smile. He paused for a moment. “Must you go so soon?”

I nodded. “If I stay longer, you know what will happen.”

“You eat the food in my fridge?” He grinned and I laughed.

“Yes! But no, really. My mind will drift and I wouldn’t be able to hold consciousness in the other place.”

“So lose consciousness,” Charly said to me. “It’s okay for you to relax a little.”

“You don’t know my life,” I replied. “Relaxing is an understatement. Losing consciousness is an understatement.” I laughed. “I have to go. There are many, many things I should do that I’m not doing. There are things I need to find again, old gods I need to be friends again with and so forth.”

“Old gods?” He wasn’t sure if I meant what he thought I meant or if I meant something else entirely. The latter was the correct one.

“The ones that can’t kill us,” I told him. “We let them be what they are. They don’t know what we are and I like it that way.”

He nodded in agreement. There was something freeing about not being noticed. “I’m sorry about not being there for you,” he told me.

I smiled and shook my head. “It’s past,” I said. “We already spoke of it.”

“I didn’t hear you.” He felt pained.

“I know,” I comforted him. “I don’t hold it against you. When I died, I didn’t die, I simply faded into the ether. He thought I died. Silly old gods and all.”

“I’m sorry you were alone.”

“Don’t be.” I got up and walked over and hugged him. “I was lonely then. I wasn’t alone.”

I despaired at the time. I was foolish and hurt at the time. I was suicidal at the time. But nothing happened. I died. He believed I died. And I sat there watching him turn back to his millions of constructs and all his human subjects whose potential apparently was greater than mine. I was glad he didn’t see me cry. I don’t remember how long I was crying. Through blurry eyes, there was a hand and I reached out for it. The man with the green eyes. He came to me when no other heard my cries.

“I’m not losing consciousness anymore,” I informed Charly with a laugh.

“Does that mean I’ll get to keep you longer?” he asked with a smile.

I shook my head. “No, it just means I have other things to do. I’ll see you soon.”

“Come again, Chao,” Charly said to me. I nodded and made a mental note to come again soonish.

 
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Posted by on November 30, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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The “My Husband Doesn’t Need to See Your Boobs” Debate

It’s summertime. There’s lots of people half naked or mostly naked on a gorgeous beach somewhere or partying in the dusk with friends and loved ones. There’s going to be lots of legs, abs, butts, and chests all over social media in the coming months. And that’s normal. Again, it’s summertime.

If we were anything like European countries, we’d have naked people all over the place on beaches and social media, but we’re not like European countries. We’re a country of sexually repressed people who over-sexualizes men and women because seeing a naked body is, and has always been, taboo. Naked bodies are natural. People naked are natural. And yet, we’re not even talking about nakedness, we’re talking about nearly nakedness, about people in short shorts or spaghetti strap tanks because it’s hot outside. We’re talking about shirtless men and bikini clad women because it’s the beach and so on.

And some are offended because once in a while, their significant other will scroll down his Facebook feed and come across a picture of a female friend in barely nothing with shapely shoulders, deep collarbones, flat abs, and oh yeah, breasts covered with a bikini. And they will wonder if all of a sudden, their husbands and boyfriends are starting to imagine female friends in lingerie.

*sighs*

There was a blog post written in 2014 by a married woman titled, “My Husband Doesn’t Need to See Your Boobs”. Since it’s been taken off her website, it can be found here on the Internet Archive at: https://web.archive.org/web/20140612150401/http://applesandbandaidsblog.com/2014/06/11/my-husband-doesnt-need-to-see-your-boobs/

Lauren, the author, talks about how pictures of women in bikinis on the internet is a stumbling block in her marriage. Her own words below.

“I’m not writing to chastise you for posting your bikini pics from your lake outing…But I am writing to share the perspective of a woman who is fighting for her marriage. And for that reason, I want to tell you that I don’t need my husband to see your boobs…Anyways, what I’m saying is I don’t fault you…But I want to tell you that it’s a stumbling block in our marriage…Mostly I’m looking at your legs asking myself, How are there seriously people without cellulite????…And then I continue scrolling through my feed until something else seems interesting…I doubt my husband is so lucky. Actually, I know it’s next to impossible to take in images like those and erase them from his mind. Because our men are much less emotional and are much more visual. And as quickly as I can forget your picture, it is filed away in his mind, ready to be pulled back out whenever he so chooses…Again, I am not faulting you. And by no means am I faulting him. This man of mine diverts his eyes from whatever questionable images flash on the screen before him. But sometimes the temptation is too much…After Memorial Day, I noticed so much skin on social media that I half-yelled a warning to him as I ran out the door one morning. It’s summertime, honey! Beware the beach pics and half nude girls on Instagram! And like that, he was in solitary confinement from all virtual community for the next two days…Protecting his eyes, protecting his heart…I know you don’t mean anything by it. But I need to share one more thing with you…When your bare shoulders and stretchmark-less bellies and tanned legs pop up, I not only worry if my husband will linger over your picture. I worry how he will compare me to you…As I wrap myself into his arms at night, I wonder if he is seeing you there instead of my mess of a body left over from pregnancy. I wonder if he thinks I’m lazy and that I don’t take good care of myself. I wonder if he wishes I looked more like you than who I really am…And then the insecurity monster comes back to bite at our relationship again…me, begging for affirmation, and him tiring from saying the same thing over and over…Can I say it one more time? I’m not judging youBut would you, could you, keep your boobs out of my marriage? You can have your memories, and we can have our sacred hearts…”

 

I understand this. Insecurity and jealousy is a monster that rears its ugly head from time to time. I’ve been a victim to it. And I’ve allowed it to drive people around me crazy, but no more! There has to be a point in time when you shut out the criticizing voices in your head and demand, “enough is enough!” But unfortunately, some of us never reach that point. Some of us are still wondering if our husbands and boyfriends are thinking about someone else while they’re with us. And all their “I love yous” and all their “I’m committed” will mean nothing because we are afraid. We are afraid because we don’t love ourselves enough and because we don’t find ourselves worthy of our own love, we question the love that others have for us.

While I understand Lauren’s feelings, it’s also this type of perception that propels things like rape culture. It’s people saying, “Women, you need to cover up. Your shoulders are showing. Your pants are too tight. I can see your belly. You’re asking a man to rape you.” WTF? No, we’re not. A woman in a tank top because it’s hot outside isn’t asking for a man to come along and rape her. That’s not why she’s wearing a tank top. It’s damn hot outside and that’s why she wears a tank top.

I’ve always believed that you can never control another person. You can try, to no avail and much frustrations to both parties, but the only real thing you can control is your reaction to people and to situations. If people on social media in a small amount of clothing bothers you, then get off the computer and do something else. If you think your husband is staring at some female friend’s boobs on social media, then stop thinking! Even if your husband was looking at a picture of a female friend on his Facebook feed, it does not mean that he’s going to start comparing the two of you and start thinking about wanting to get with her instead. He chose you. That’s gotta mean more than your insecurities because you don’t like yourself enough. And yes, you don’t like yourself enough and that’s the real problem here. The problem isn’t your husband coming across pictures of female friends having fun at the beach in bikinis, but that you’re not ok with yourself. And having your husband reaffirm your worthiness, reaffirm your desirability, and even reaffirming his love for you isn’t going to be enough until you can learn to love yourself.

So stop comparing. Your husband isn’t comparing, only you are. So what if you think his female friends are attractive with perfect bodies? He might not even see them that way at all. One might be that annoying girl who always posts political things that he’d like to unfriend, but some of her posts might actually make sense once in a blue moon so he keeps her around. Another might be an old friend from high school that he doesn’t even talk to, but she was manager of their 20th high school reunion so she contacted him and he just never thought of unfriending her. Another might be someone who is close to one of his immediate family members like his sister or his mother so he keeps them around just in case they can’t get a hold of his sister or his mother. Whatever the reasons for him having female friends are, he has female friends and that’s ok. It doesn’t mean he’s constantly thinking about them naked or keeping them in his spank bank for private and intimate moments. It really doesn’t have to mean anything at all.

Telling him he can’t have female friends is trying to control him. Telling other females that they need to cover up is trying to control them. It’s also insulting to your husband that he’s so base, he can’t control himself when a picture of a decent looking woman pops up on his feed. It’s rape culture all over again.

Instead of worrying about how much hotter his female friends are, take a step back from your husband and think about yourself. Think about the things you like about yourself and the things you don’t like. Then try to connect the things you don’t like about yourself to the things you think he’s doing or thinking. You don’t like that you have cellulite. This one friend of his is always so tan with tone legs. So you think he’s finding her legs attractive and not yours because you don’t like your legs. But this is all just you over thinking! This is just all in your head! But you punish him for your own dislikes about yourself. Just because you don’t like your cellulite laden legs, you make a comment on how he shouldn’t be looking at female legs on the internet. He stays off the internet for two days just to make you happy because he loves you. Why does he have to suffer because you can’t love yourself? He shouldn’t and he doesn’t have to. Time and time again, he will choose you over anything and anyone else because he’s already chosen you. Let that sink in and then stop punishing him because you don’t feel good about yourself.

Lauren, like many other women, like myself, really need to get a grip on how we view ourselves and our self worth. We’ve got to stop blaming everyone else for not loving us enough or wanting to love us as how we are because we don’t love ourselves. It’s definitely going to be a work in progress, but it’s an easy start. All it takes is for you to do something nice for yourself. And nice doesn’t mean eating a piece of chocolate cake when you’re worried about your weight. Nice is a manicure. A foot massage. Anything as simple as putting on makeup or taking a shower. Do things that make you feel good about yourself. All in all, just take some time for yourself. Boyfriends and husbands are great, but you need alone time and so do they. Each one of you need time to just relax and be alone because it’s only in being alone that you can enjoy your own company and realize that you are not incomplete.

Good luck to you all.
 
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Posted by on June 18, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Am I Beautiful?

“Outer beauty pleases the EYE. Inner beauty captivates the HEART.”
― Mandy Hale

Being in love is a wonderful thing. It really is, except when it’s not. Society tells us that we have to look a certain way as women, and men should look a certain way as well although most women are more lax in their standards of men than men are in their standards of women. To many women, love doesn’t care about looks. Love doesn’t group attractiveness on body image or body size. To many men, love cares about looks. Love groups attractiveness on body image or body size. While this isn’t true for most people, it is for some and those some are the ones I’m writing this for.

Imagine a relationship where your boyfriend or girlfriend never tells you that you’re attractive to them. Imagine a relationship where you never hear the words, “you’re beautiful” or “you’re handsome”, by the one you love. How hurt would you feel? At this point, you’d even take, “you’re pretty” or “you’re cute”, but you don’t get any of those words from the person who tells you every day that they love you. What is wrong with this picture? Do they really love you? Do they even love you at all? Is there nothing about you that they find attractive? Is there nothing about you that they find beautiful?

The Little Mermaid teaches us that you just have to look pretty, be skinny, and be young to have “true love”. Unfortunately, to Disney, true love is defined as an obsession with a beautiful stranger in which one changes their self in order to have three days of trying to pursue and seduce that stranger into kissing them (or in modern terms, seduce that stranger into bed). Ariel, pretty, young, and skinny redhead that she is, gives up her voice to grow legs and chase after prince Eric, a guy that she is “in love with” all because he’s “so handsome”.

What if Eric was a wife beater? What if Eric wasn’t so charming even if he was handsome? Would Ariel still have traded her voice for a pair of legs then? Probably so. When you’re that young, Ariel is portrayed as being 16, love is based purely on looks. For a lot of people, they never grew out of that teenage stage where love is based purely on looks.

Let’s pretend for a moment that Ariel is 100 pounds. And let’s pretend that Ursula is 300 pounds. Now, going by weight alone, men can say that they’re happy with a woman that is anywhere in between that scale of above 100 and below 300 pounds. But, are they really? Would a lot of men choose Ursula? Sure, she’s got extra tentacles, but she’s fat. Let’s not candy coat it. She’s not aesthetically attractive at all. She’s trying too hard with way too much makeup in order to make up for her size. Ariel, however, is pretty and skinny. She’s attractive because she’s small and looks aesthetically pleasing to the eye. She doesn’t have to wear a lot of makeup and everyone loves a redhead. Almost all men would prefer Ariel over Ursula.

Now. Switch the two of them around. What if Ariel was the fat, ugly, 300 pound mermaid? And what if Ursula was a 100 pound, attractive, redheaded half octopus sea creature? Most men would now prefer Ursula over Ariel. Why is that? Is body size and looks that important when you’re in love? Sadly, it is when it shouldn’t be.

What is beautiful should be the person you fall in love with, no matter how they look like or no matter their shortcomings. Of course everyone wants to be beautiful and handsome to the one they love. It’s a shame that sometimes, the one they love can’t see what is beautiful about them. It’s not their looks. It’s not their body size or their weight or their height. It’s who they are as a person that’s beautiful.

I hope that everyone who reads this will appreciate the one they love and tell them that they’re attracted to them. Say it in words they can understand and words they need to hear: “you are beautiful to me” or “you are handsome to me”. If you’re not attracted to the person you’re with or you can’t tell them that, if you can’t find one single thing about them that is beautiful, then you don’t deserve them.

littlemermaidlooksmatter littlemermaidlooksmatter2

 
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Posted by on April 27, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Being in Love is Like Being an Assassin

I have this unhealthy habit of comparing myself to others in worse case scenarios.

Keera used to tell me about how she’d grow up to be an assassin and she’d make a ton of money being paid to kill people. We were young and stupid with no future except for the foolish made up adventures in our heads. She’d talk about how easy it was to just point the weapon and shoot, that it didn’t matter whose life was at the other end of that gun. After all, we didn’t like people, so it was the perfect job for the both of us.

Oh, sure, I’d be the perfect assassin! I’d get on a plane to Paris, sight see for the day, head on over to some location I had scouted ahead of time, watch the target in my scope and take my time to pull the trigger, eventually, pulling the trigger. Then I’d pack up and go home. I was never going to get married. I was never going to be burdened down with family or attachments. And I was never going to care about the person I just killed…or so I thought. Reality was much different.

I didn’t know how to hold a gun, let alone, shoot it. I’m deathly afraid of zombies, so any dead person isn’t ideal to me. There was this weird fantasy that I could be that kind of person, that I could easily just hide myself away and deal with the circumstances. The fantasy was that I could make myself into anything, even a terrible monster, because I was capable of being just like everyone else.

Being in love is like being an assassin. Worse case scenario, I’d get cheated on by the one I love, with someone I knew or have known, and they’d live happily ever after while I get to be brave and deal with the broken pieces of my heart. I’ve never been cheated on so this is simply an irrational fantasy in my head.

There’s this idea and this thought that if so and so’s relationship with this person ended up like that, then perhaps my relationship with that person would end up like that too. And what hurts worse than being betrayed by the one you love? It’s an experience I know all too well, but only from writing and from reading books. I imagine myself to be able to handle that kind of pain, to be brave and not give a damn about the past, and most importantly, to move on. So what if some guy I saw myself being with for the rest of my life broke my heart? Pfft. I’d heal. I’m an independent woman. I don’t need a man to rule over me.

There’s all these empowering thoughts, all these encouraging words, but I still have this worse case scenario fantasy in my head because my mind wants me to acknowledge that I am tougher than my circumstances, that I am going to be perfectly fine. I can handle pretty much anything. I am a badass woman. Hear me roar.

That’s not always the case. Worse case scenario for anything and everything is that the ones you love could be no more. It’s easier to deal with rejection than to deal with death. Death leaves an empty hole as it takes away a part of you that was attached to someone or something (a pet, for example).

What I’m doing is semi healthy and semi disturbed. My habit of continuously putting myself into these fake situations is two fold: I can prepare for the worse that happens and work through stressful and what could be mind debilitating problems while I’m still rational and calm, or I can masochistically torture myself with false illusions that never were, never are, and never will be which can indeed cripple my sense of self over time. Hm, to weigh the scales, which is which and is it worth it creating imaginary problems to test out my ability to handle such imaginary problems? Such a hard dilemma.

Being in love and being an assassin isn’t actually similar in any way. I really can’t compare because I’ve never been an assassin, but being in love is something that doesn’t need complications from misconceived ideas of what love is and what love isn’t. To be in love is wonderful and one should just enjoy it for what it is: love.

 
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Posted by on January 25, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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Do We Automatically Go to Heaven if We’re Poor?

I’m not understanding this. I’m not understanding a lot of things lately. This faith thing has been rolling around in my head for a while now, enough to make me want to find out what the truth is. Do we automatically go to heaven if we’re poor? Apparently, that’s what the Bible is saying.

Take the story of the rich man and the poor man that Jesus tells in Luke 16:19-31, KJV.

19 There was a certain rich man, which was clothed in purple and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day:
20 And there was a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of sores,
21 And desiring to be fed with the crumbs which fell from the rich man’s table: moreover the dogs came and licked his sores.
22 And it came to pass, that the beggar died, and was carried by the angels into Abraham’s bosom: the rich man also died, and was buried;
23 And in hell he lift up his eyes, being in torments, and seeth Abraham afar off, and Lazarus in his bosom.
24 And he cried and said, Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, and cool my tongue; for I am tormented in this flame.
25 But Abraham said, Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things: but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented.
26 And beside all this, between us and you there is a great gulf fixed: so that they which would pass from hence to you cannot; neither can they pass to us, that would come from thence.
27 Then he said, I pray thee therefore, father, that thou wouldest send him to my father’s house:
28 For I have five brethren; that he may testify unto them, lest they also come into this place of torment.
29 Abraham saith unto him, They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them.
30 And he said, Nay, father Abraham: but if one went unto them from the dead, they will repent.
31 And he said unto him, If they hear not Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded, though one rose from the dead.

There’s not enough information here to conclude anything except that Lazarus was poor and the rich man was rich. So being poor, I can only presume that Lazarus hoped for good things. And if we, being poor, hope for good things, are we guaranteed those good things after death like Lazarus? I’m confused. Does this mean that everyone who hoped for a savior, who hoped that someone would come save them from the miserable wretched life that they now live…will all those people go to heaven?

It is said that after Jesus Christ has died and risen, that we are to believe He is the savior. And if so, being that people long ago, hoping for someone to save them, who didn’t know of Jesus, but who hope anyways for salvation, if that hope is being counted for them as belief in Christ, our Savior, then why is it now that people who hope for a savior, can’t be saved if that savior isn’t Jesus? How is it that those people back then, who hoped to an invisible God, could be saved because that invisible God is automatically the Christian God, and yet, people have hoped and prayed and spoken in secret their heart’s wishes and desires and their worries and fears and that invisible God is automatically the wrong God?

My mother, who believes that heaven and hell doesn’t exist, and that if she is a good person, mainly good to others, then that makes her a good person regardless and that that goodness would be enough. There are many people who think the same way, that if we are kind and good in life and that if we treat others the way that we wanted to be treated, then our afterlives would be good because we are good. My mother isn’t buying her way into heaven. She doesn’t even believe in heaven. She simply believes that good begets good and bad begets bad. And isn’t that what we are taught in from the Bible? That a good tree will produce good fruits, but a wicked tree would produce bad fruit. So how is this any different from what the Bible does teach?

I’ve come to the realization that there is no salvation for one. Lazarus being poor and needy and having a hard life, was granted heaven in Abraham’s bosom. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t because Lazarus believed in Jesus. It seemed more that Lazarus was of the lineage of Abraham, and that faith wasn’t mentioned at all as a prerequisite for his salvation. For it was mentioned that salvation belonged to the Jews, and only after Paul was sent to preach to the world, that salvation was given to the whole world because the Jews denied their God and did not want any part in his Christ. Was it then that the rest of us are only an after thought? While many Christians argue that God, all knowing, had included the rest of us in his plan, it’s not as convincing to everyone who doesn’t like the simple fact that they weren’t good enough to be a part of that plan to begin with.

Imagine it as a single parent family, as God being a father, who raising twenty kids, decides to favorite one, and love five. That favorite one, is Jesus. And those five, are the Jews. What happens to the other fourteen children? How do they feel when daddy makes them eat after the others, makes them walk behind the others, and essentially, tell them that they’re not good enough to get Christmas presents? But wait, because the other five children were so spoiled and so loved by daddy that they didn’t want their toys on Christmas, daddy gets mad and gives those toys to the rest of the little boys and little girls who didn’t get any to begin with. For children who was denied the same love and same treatment and same privilege as their siblings, those presents were everything to them. Daddy loves them. Daddy gave them gifts. And when they grew up, they realized, that if daddy hadn’t loved the others so much that when the others rebelled and didn’t want the presents with their names on it, then they would’ve never gotten anything from daddy at all. And how then do those fourteen children feel, all grown up with the truth that their daddy didn’t love them? Their daddy loved their siblings and because their siblings refused that love, only then, out of wrath and anger, and out of trying to make their siblings jealous, did their daddy finally showed them a bit of love. How does that make them feel good about themselves, about how it’s said that their daddy loves them so much that he did everything for them, when in truth, their daddy was just someone whose love was unrequited and in an act of anger, he only loved those he never loved in order to make the ones he did love, fill with jealousy and turn back to him? Those fourteen children would feel confused and angry and cheated and betrayed. Their daddy never loved them. He showed them love because he wanted to make their siblings jealous. How is that a good father? And how is it love when their daddy’s only intention was to make his chosen ones jealous? It sounds spiteful and horrible.

Paul has said that, salvation came to the Gentiles only because the Jews refused the free gift of eternal life by God. Romans 11:11 KJV said, and this is Paul speaking about the Jews:

I say then, Have they stumbled that they should fall? God forbid: but rather through their fall salvation is come unto the Gentiles, for to provoke them to jealousy.

“…for to provoke them to jealousy.”

The entire purpose of salvation for the Gentiles was to anger the Jews to jealousy.

Take a love relationship for example. Imagine it as a man who loves a woman and does her bidding and provides for her and takes care of every single need and desire she has. And when that woman starts rejecting that man and no longer wants his love and affection, and takes upon herself many other lovers, that man goes out and seeks a lover, anyone would do, in order to provoke her to jealousy that she may return to him. But what of his other lover? He doesn’t love her. He’s using her to make his love jealous so that she’d come home.

We are but an after thought in the mind of God to make the ones he loves jealous so that they’d return to him. How is that love at all? It’s not. It’s not love. Not one single minute of being mind raped and manipulated that we are indeed loved and precious.

If Lazarus, who being poor, wasn’t of the lineage of Abraham, and the rich man, being rich and plentiful, was of the lineage of Abraham, would this story have been told a different way? For there is no mention of faith. There is no mention of belief. There is only the mention that Lazarus was in Abraham’s bosom, an implication that Lazarus was of the line of Abraham. Does faith and belief even matter then? Or is the only thing that does matter is who we can trace our ancestors to?

Salvation itself isn’t for one. We can, as individuals, believe in Christ and accept Jesus as our savior. And we’re saved, right? Unfortunately, that’s not the case. It should be that simple for a free gift, but nothing is free without strings attached. In order to be saved, you have to believe that Jesus, who is God, was born a man, lived for 33 years, was crucified and died for your sins, was risen three days later, and is now sitting at the right hand of God until the day of his return. Now, you have to accept that Jesus died for your sins personally, because the wages of sin is death, and if Jesus died your death, then you won’t have to die a second death, which is odd because you have to die a mortal death anyhow. And after that, you have to get baptized and be reborn again. And after that, you have to go spread the good news and tell how Jesus has changed your life. And after telling people about Christ, you have to also try and convert them. And the ones that don’t want to listen, you simply ignore them and move on to people who do want to listen and who do want to be converted. And not only that, you must now try to be as much like Jesus as you can. That means compassionate and helping and performing miracles and exorcising demons and raising people from the dead, turning water into wine. Lots of works. So these souls that you’ve convinced and won for Jesus, they will be added to you as a crown. And as it says nothing about the people who didn’t convert a single soul getting a crown, it’s safe to imply that they won’t have crowns. So even in heaven, there’s this hierarchy of people who won souls and people who haven’t and they’ll be distinguished by the crowns that they’re wearing. Now, as if that isn’t a cause for discrimination in heaven, from a God to whom all sin is equal, then surely there should be no distinction in heaven between Jews and Gentiles, between those who has converted souls and those who barely converted themselves. Even the angels have rank, and believe that in heaven, everyone saved also will have rank. Again it will be, daddy loves who he loves the most.

I don’t know. I’m tired of thinking. I don’t want to think about this anymore.

 
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Posted by on September 14, 2015 in Uncategorized

 

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