Let's get some shoes...

I forgot to type this after I heard the news. My sister is not pregnant anymore. She lost it.

And we are saddened and depressed but at the same time relieved that we won't have to be cleaning dirty diapers every time she comes to visit.

Just looking at the glass half full versus half empty.

On an unrelated note, I feel as though I have bought an excess of shoes to take with me to japan. More or less I will be taking up to ten pairs with me. I don't know why but I strangely feel as though those are way too many. But there is no way in hell I'm leaving any of them. Simply because to each they hold a purpose. Plus, no one wears my shoes because according to them, they are ugly.

I bought shoes for work, shoes for home, for traveling, sandals, heels, and some flats. Oh and of course these adorable ones:

I feel as though my mother wants to buy me all these shoes (I bought my nude heels, and got the sandals free for those thinking that I am "spoiled." Won't name names.) because she doesn't want me to buy anything over there. It may be true, and there is a good chance that all my clothes will survive the year that I spend in Japan. But what if I intend on staying longer? What then?

Buy abroad I suppose. Hopefully I will lose some weight to fit into skinny Japanese Kawaii clothes.

Babies

I found out yesterday morning that my sister may be pregnant. I found out later in the day yesterday that she is five weeks pregnant and will be having the baby in March. Just in time for spring.
I have always been telling my mom how much we need a baby in the family. The youngest nephew that I have is going into elementary, so all those cute moments are not as cute as they were. (not that I am saying he isn't adorable and I would eat him up if I were cannibalistic. I would). But having a baby with that new baby smell, the dumbfounded eyes when they look at you and ponder who you are. The toothless smiles they sprout in your direction. Drunken and clumsy first steps. First words.
All that I miss about babies. And it's a bittersweet emotion that I feel because I won't be here in march. I'll be in another country.
The only thing that helps me cope is the fact that I'll be surrounded by babies and children where I work. :D

No trouble seemed too far away...

I was expecting to blog today about the awesome times that I spent with my sister in Palm Springs. How we ate at Joe's sushi because I haven't eaten any sushi in a while, and just laugh and giggle as the sun would radiate our skin to an even darker brown. We would walk five paces in desperate need of shade, knowing that it would not help at all, because the heat is hiding in the shadows. And melting off my foundation and liquid black eyeliner.

Instead, I was given a simple excuse, followed by a metaphorical boot out of Palm Springs due to neglect.

Not saying that this was my sister's fault. But I won't take the blame for it either.

Is it safe to say that I just felt brushed off? Abandoned? Deserted?

There is a word that I am missing from the databank of the thesaurus. Sadly, at the present moment, I cannot define it.

Maybe empty.

Yeah, empty. And indifferent towards her indifference.

Thoughts on Japan and Amity

I have weird moments when I like to type something online and looking through threads to have my questions answered. Like when I want to know how to breed some dragons in my Dragonvale app that I have in my iPad, or if I can take my little Roku player overseas (that is, if I get offered the job to work overseas).

Currently, I have refrained from expressing anything to anyone about the Amity Aeon position, except my mother, because she was in the Suzuki when I received the email saying that they are requesting a background check. I can only assume that I am keeping a calm exterior due to the fact if I am denied, I won't take it as hard as the time I was not offered the position for Aeon, their sister school.

But in retrospect, as I am trying time and time again to recount where I went wrong in the Aeon private interview, and where I went right, I see that I did more wrong than right. I stalled, I didn't understand how to properly teach the lesson plan, the answers were wrong, I was gasping and taking time simply because I didn't know how else to continue with the ten minute lesson plan.

In short, I choked because I never had the practice. Sure, I read about it in the forums and what to expect, but I was sweating as much as a horse when I was put on the spot like that.

I felt that with Amity, for the private lesson, I was more prepared. And it wasn't as difficult because I was just teaching simple phrases and animal vocabulary. I thought that I did better, and planning out the lesson plan felt more mature.

The one on one interview also helped me out a lot. And now that they requested the background check, I cannot help but think that this can only be a good sign. Wherever they decide to place me, I already told them that I was an open book and don't have any specific preference, because I have never been to Japan and I know that wherever I go will be a beautiful adventure.

Stiff Upper Lip

I am taking a break on the outside backyard with Pandora playing what is considered to be artists that have the same sounds as The Weeks. It's a band I recently have become too interested in.

I just think the backyard is beautiful, even though there are so many things wrong with it. The weeds are sprouting from the cracks in the concrete. The center of the grass is dead with instances of survival around the edges. The incomplete house my dad started when he was fired- I mean let go.

The lawn mower is resting in the shade the orange tree is supplying. The mango tree is still covered.

Yet the sun is still inviting. It makes me want to stay out here and just remain in the sun even though it burns after a while.

For this instant, it's burning. But I am not bothered by its sting. I am welcoming it.

Reflection time part deux

I sometimes find it hard to actually have the urge to open up my macbook pro from its sleep mode and begin typing about my day, because it is very unproductive at the moment. I have only finals to think about.

But as I am procrastinating again on three edits that are due tomorrow in the morning, along with revision narratives one page each, I decided to reflect a bit and look back on my years.

My freshman year was less exciting than most. Where many were having fun and trying to get out, I was lucky enough to get a ride that first quarter because I didn't get my license over the summer. I luckily received it in october and began driving the car left and right. That habit died very quickly, as my parents constantly remind me.

On top of being in classes, I was unsure of the major that I was pursuing. I didn't know that I wanted to be a social worker. And the remedial English classes were deterring me from doing anything special with English. But I got good grades in my research papers, and teachers were praising me for the work I put into my English papers. And even more so, when it came to identifying the premise behind the story and not being corrected like I used to back in high gave me more incentive to venture into the world of English. By the end of my freshman year, I was getting enrolled in English.

Sophomore year had to have been the most dull that I can remember, because I was focusing a ton on my religious studies as well as a bit of writing classes. I took a religion class that both my advisor and I thought would help me but in the end I had to take a few additional religion classes, to which I am thankful for, because it helped me figure out where my true beliefs lie. I am not saying that I was converted. But I did feel more at ease with my spiritual and religious philosophies. I no longer stood petrified at the thought of life after death, and I simply just began living out what I have been calling life.

Junior year was a butt load of writing and English lit classes. I felt as though my popping out of story after story was proving to be uninterested, and started making me want to challenge my writing, and begin an outlet for creative non-fiction, which I loved. I still decided to write some fiction pieces, but without a thought I would have careless tossed in the trash bin where they belong. By junior year was also the time that I found a stable job that had specific hours to comply with, and I had people working under me and also working with me. Plus, it was on campus so that was also nice; I was saving up the gas.

Until finally, my senior year. I recall good memories and bad. I recall changing my position as a tutor towards an office assistant. I watched plays with friends and laughed when we talked about our stories in humor writing. I wrote with purpose again because I wanted to go for a humorous appeal while also contemplating what I would want to publish later on in my life. I studied an epic poem that further made me philosophically question my position in this world. I started a writing group which I intend to follow through in the summer as we collaborate and critique works. I have a checklist of books that are waiting for me to hop into bed with them, while the drawer light encompasses and gives me eyes I need due to my lack of night vision. I want to camp, go to the beach, run again, build up my knee strength to have it work again. But most importantly...

I need to find a job to pay my phone bill. *sigh*

Graduate and PhD?

I had to attend my senior seminar and we had a presenter come in from previous years to discuss how the class affected her in her career and her dreams. I couldn't deny that I was fondly moved as she discussed her inward struggle as she transitioned from a nursing program towards an English degree.

It inwardly made me reassess the process of how and what I wanted to do in my life with my career. I was always so hell bent upon going into publishing and editing, because I loved critiquing other people's works and loved reading, but now, I think I would want to go more into the teaching aspect of things. More so, I still wish to teach overseas and try to help spread my love of the English language.

But now, I would also consider going into a master's program here and studying for English Literature as I mold young minds that come here. I am sure that I would still be working as a student and possibly look for another area to work in, but a master's career never really strayed from my mind. And now, I am even considering a PhD in whatever I feel like specializing in. I think, however, that I would fall into a Greek Mythology category. If not, then Humanities like this presenter did. I don't know, there was just such a fascination that I developed in those 50 minutes of class time that made me reassess what it is that I want to do now. But it was as she said, "Never underestimate what you can do."

I don't underestimate my potential to do something great with my life. I do believe that God has a plan for many people in the world to do something great with their lives if they choose to do so. Maybe the reason that I don't have anything going for me other than family is because he wants me to do something that will be achievable and overwhelmingly positive?

Maybe he wants me to go into this graduate program, still working out my life to do something amazing. Maybe I was born to be a teacher and help young minds grow profusely. Maybe I have that unhidden potential to actually do more with my life.

Or I will crash and burn. But I won't know until I try.

Reflection Time

I looked through some of my old pieces of fiction and non fiction (also research papers, but who really cares for those, ;P) and noticed something about the two: For fiction, I write very poorly when I am not motivated and for non fiction, I still write as if I have walls put up.

I realized that the little short pieces for fiction were fun and playful, but the dialogue was a bit askew, the plot was submissive or inexistant, and it all had to do because as I was writing it, it gave me no pleasure in writing it. At first, it was something nice because there is a genesis to the idea of what I am writing about. For example, I thought it would have been a funny piece to write about a poor sad man who lived with his mother fall in love with a woman that he didn't know was a lesbian. At first thinking about it, I thought it would be a funny story. But it was just... sad. Nothing really happened, the characters stayed the same, the guy still lives with his mom, the girl is still a lesbian. I think the only good thing that came out of it was a practice round for how to establish semi-good dialogue. Even then, the dialogue lacked anything to bring the story into fruition. Now, I plan to have something happen, instead of keeping the story so static. That Long Project class helped me to better fix that. To give a point to the story, not write pretty phrases. Although they may be pretty, they lack anything of value to the piece.

My non fiction wasn't any better. Although I did enjoy writing about myself and my family, I felt as though I still needed to keep the laundry from airing out in the green fields. I wasn't sure whether it was a good idea to bring up the scenario with my sister, but I was also feeling as though it was really no one's business, and trying hard not to bring it up. But the problem was, there was nothing going on in my life other than the thoughts pertaining to my sister. So, I wrote with caution. Now as I think and look back, it would not have hurt anyone because no one knew her, she was just another person that was going through something. I failed to tell the truth. Failing to tell the truth in stories is misleading to the audience. Now, I try to bring out the truth, while peeling layers of skin off me to expose truth.

Anyways, this was just to bring out some thoughts about my writing, and how it has affected me in my writing style.

Thoughts... as Spring quarter is my last quarter

Spring is here, the birds are chirping away the infinite end to my long line of education. I can't believe that I am one quarter away from receiving my Bachelor's degree.

And what do I plan to do?

Fly off to another country.

I do want to go teach English in another country, simply because I feel as though I am a liberated liberal that is up to the challenge. I am not afraid of trying new things, and my thoughts are still in bound to try and make something of myself.

I just hope I get the opportunity to do something as thrilling as teaching in another part of the world. Who knows, I might make something out of it. :)

Headaches

I thought that my headache would go away if I ate a banana. It didn't.

I thought it would go away if I drank some water. It didn't.

I thought it would go away if I stepped outside. It didn't.

I thought it would go away if I wrote about it. It's not.

I believe that it was the coffee that I decided to drink today. Instead of the green tea that was being offered. Now, in retrospect, I regret not taking a green tea to pour into the hot water I could have gotten from my work place.

I just knew that it started to hurt (my head did) while I was drinking the last bit of coffee that was staining the white mug I brought to school today. Upon the first sip I thought it was too strong and needed a little sugar. But, being that I am a lazy at heart I just gulped it down in that bitter fashion. Bitter gulp after gulp.

Now, my head is spiraling out of control. There are these little instances it hits me like a boxer hits a punching bag, and I am that said punching bag. Other times, I am mellowed and calmly relaxed.

I feel my muscles tensing from time to time, and it feels like my fingers are developing a mind of their own because they are typing too fast for me to even begin establishing comprehensible thoughts. But, they also are beginning to write with errors so I still need to go back and correct their error in spelling.

I went outside and stayed on the steps and let the sun soak in my sweater. It's too cold in my work place, so that was a nice change. The dark navy sweater warmed my back up a ton, but it still didn't dissuade the headache from leaving me completely.

As I stayed in that spot letting the Vitamin D work its way into my skin, I noticed a bumble bee. Not a wasp, because they look orange and yellow. This was a bumble bee because it was fuzzy (I was that close to it), it was black and it was yellow.

My first instinct was to kill it if it came too close. And by close I mean a foot between my sandal and it. But it didn't, luckily, or else I would be wanted for murder in the first degree. I was just awaiting the subpoena papers that were going to present itself in a buggy fashion. Or would it be an insectly fashion?

The bee was rotating within itself; it didn't move from the step it seemed to have been stuck on. I just casually thought, 'just fly away bee. Why don't you fly away?'

I didn't give it much thought that it could have been hurt, its wings were damaged, or it was drunk and didn't know the way home. Maybe he had an abusive queen bee in the hive and he was not looking forward to returning. Maybe he was drunk off his honey nectar that he collected that day as he was pollinating the rest of the flowers.

Or maybe, and this thought I believed most to be true, was that it had a searing headache from drinking too much bitter coffee.

I knew exactly how it felt.

I know I sometimes get ahead of myself in deciding what fate has in store for me. I know that I dream big, as Juno rebutted to her step mom. But I can't help it. I have dreams for a reason.

And as I am looking at graduate schools, I am feeling that entire process into dreaming big flourishing into fruition. My mom tells me that I don't have a job to fully support me. It's not like I am planning to stay in this job. I will get one better hopefully.

But until then, I shall remain in my dreams. Because, as I recall the words of Cinderella, "They can't stop me from dreaming."

Just saying

Sometimes, I have the most random thoughts. There are times when I write them out in my journal, and once you write them in pen (ink is cleaner to an extent), you realize you wrote some pretty weird stuff.

Some have to do with what I was going through in that particular time of day, or just how that day was in general. Other times, I write fiction or creative non fiction which focuses on events that I try to recollect in my life with little help from outside sources.

I think that is one of the reasons that I write now. I feel as though by writing every event as well as I can recollect it, it helps my brain go back to that time and remind myself what I did, or what I dreamed, or how I felt. Normally, when I don't make any sense throughout the story, I know it is my way of rambling on paper. And that, although not clear to anyone, makes me conscious to know that I have something to say, but I just didn't have the proper words to say it.

Sometimes when I read my old journal entries, I get bored. Like in one of my travel journals of when I went to Mexico, I got so bored that I didn't even finish reading it, when I know that there is something that is useful. But I was bored, therefore I wrote boring entries.

Other times, I write with a fierce standpoint about a certain topic. But to write like that has been a while. I remember the last entry like that was one of an immigration reform that was going on this past year. That, I can safely say is the latest topic.

The majority of my writings are to keep myself from stopping. I don't want to stop reading or writing because it is what I love to do. I love pointing out certain emotions and going back to relate to them. I love reading how Mr. Darcy falls in love with Ms. Elizabeth and tells her straight out. I love writing about my dream that I had the previous night, and not on a computer monitor, but to myself. I am a strong advocate for writing in journals, because I feel that is when you have no one to impress but yourself. It is you with your own personal examination of how you feel that certain day, week, month or even that tiny second.

It's realistic to yourself. Why lie to yourself? It's not like you're trying to impress you. You already know that you are awesome.

A fictitious piece deserves a better title than this...

I am recently working on my story and am noticing that I am just putting together ideas. And although I have the concept of the idea intact, I still don't know how to begin this story.

From the authors that I have read countless times, they always start it at the middle of their life in time to begin the conflict, and others do it at the end and chronicle their past up until that point from which they are writing it.

I feel like doing it one way and then feel myself trying to do it another. I want to begin at the end when I haven't even started at the beginning.

I have to constantly remind myself, these pages that I am going to send out are only 25 pages. If I want to start at the beginning, I have to be able to point out the conflict as well as the beginning. But no climax would feel too much like a tease that didn't want to start the foreplay in the first place.

Still, I believe that starting from the beginning of her journey (or maybe somewhere in between) can prove it to be a better read. That way, the reader is already beginning to suspect that something is going on. A book that reminds me of this was Summer Sisters by Judy Blume, and how she began from the middle of the book and began from the very beginning. If anything, that should bring about an interest as well as a way to tell my story.

It's just these types of thoughts that stop me from going further. Where to begin?

I should begin where I feel the best way to begin.

Correction, I have six journals

This Sunday is the last Sunday before I have to go back to school for three more weeks until I take my finals and prepare either to hibernate for winter break or get everything packed up for Mexico. I can easily say I am looking forward much more into one over the other. And for those reading they already know which one that is exactly.

Anyways, on my break, I decided to troll around my different websites: this blog, twitter, and my Facebook, just to see what I can do after I finished reading Till we Have Faces by C.S. Lewis, a great retelling of the Greek myth Psyche told in the sisters perspective. In one of my notes that I posted on my Facebook, it said I had three journals that I actively keep up to date and in order. I found six that I write in (both randomly and actively) and two that I have never raped with a pen. Three of them are filled, as in there are two to three pages left or have no more room worth writing in, and the rest I have yet to complete. I don't remember much of what I was writing in these books, but after peeking in I found some vague matters of severe depression and paranoia surrounding my so called love life, the changes and different perspectives I have overcome that I would like to reflect on it here, vaguely.


Number one: more often than not I actually started with the dark blue journal with the purple flower encased with an orange portrait. I actually began writing in that one explaining simple fairy tale fantasies of a love struck girl that was contemplating returning to an old flame or not, further transforming to an ardent and unrequited love that actually made me question love in general to a love that was in no way ideal, and haunted me throughout the rest of my journals.

Number 2: two certain males that have affected my love life are written continuously throughout all six of these journals, making me realize I spent too much time with them and what I wanted from them. I needed to move on, but up to this point in my life, nothing good came along to change my views of love or who I should love. In other words, I am still somewhat stuck, and still take in what I feel for them in an affectionate tone towards anything romantic that I write to this day.

Number 3: dramatic indeed! Nothing in the majority of these journals was happy, or nice for that matter. I was a depressed young one, and never really gave it much thought. But I do have to admit, what I experienced in high school was so dramatic, it was begging for its own reality TV show on Vh1.

Number 4: there are some potential ideas that I haven't revisited in years. All these journals began comforting me in my freshman year of high school, and have followed me throughout the years as I continue on in college, still being filled, although I am mostly focusing on the big grey one.

As I conclude, I would like to say that I would love to write out everything in chronological order that is in my journals, showcasing my writings and what I want to do once I begin a career in writing. But in the end I am always and forever just a shy and protective girl. Like I told a friend, there are some things that you should remain a secret, because that's what can make you so irresistible. Plus, some of my friends already know the majority of these works, but they don't really know the truth of my emotions that I have over these certain events. They just know the façade that I have kept up to this day. Why would I want to change my mind now, when that drama happened too long ago?

Demands

Today, I was demanded by my professors to type up paragraph after paragraph about three pages that I had to read. You know, there is just so much that a person can actually b.s. throughout the quarter. I just feel about tuckered out.

Not to mention the fact that I am cramping up from stapling too much. Oh the demands are great but the fact that I am blessed with a job, as Max Weber would claim is being a good Protestant, I have to pull it off.

Working keeps me happy, because there is money going into my wallet and bank accounts. I could especially use the money now because I have just spent 25 dollars for my brother. But then again, I got a really cool necklace out of it.

Sic Parvis Magna: Greatness comes from Small Beginnings. For the Uncharted lovers out there, you know what I am talking about.

Oh the hard workings just to earn a dollar a day...

Do not get me wrong. I love my job. Switching from being a tutor supervisor to an actual office assistant has to be the best change I have made since the beginning of my senior year.

The ability to actually feel useful (and by useful I mean knowing what I need to do versus trying to go around math problems that I had no clue of solving) puts me into a great mood. It's sort of like when a person finds their calling and all that the body says to you is this is what you have been called to do.

I'm not saying I would like to be an office assistant until I retire. I would much rather call the shots and have people work beneath while I take on more of the responsibility. It just feels right that instead of waiting to feel needed I am actually needed. I am needed to file papers, organize folders, cover the front desk (which I have to say it's not hard unless I get stumped by a question that a caller gives me. Women need to learn to appreciate a desk job in my opinion).

I love my job so far. And I love how it is going to prepare me for what new jobs lie ahead for me.

Whew!

That Tumblr sure is addicting. Too addicting in fact, that it made me completely forget all about this blog and its contents.

Its like that new girl/boy at school that you know is gonna be cool, but after spending so much time with him/her, and after ditching your other friends, do you realize, "I liked it better when it was simple."

I like simplistic lifestyles, with an edge to creativity but still in the lines of organization. I feel that Blogger does that for me. I can just write and write and write on this site because that is all I am entitled to do. I accomplish in this blogger by practicing writing instead of going through tags, looking at gifs, spoilers to shows. Its like a twitter gone crazy where all the cool kids (or wannabes at least) are coming to play because that is where everyone else is at.

There is no humanization of people's minds. Very rarely.

All I see through the dashboard is ship wars, gossip, pictures (both nude and beautiful and sometimes a little bit of both), and some bits and pieces of advice.

But the creativity is stolen from me in Tumblr. I don't have the will to write like I would in this blog because that is all that I can do in this blog. But I like it that way.

The challenge of thinking as I type (even though I am better off just writing away in my journal due my obsessive need to be secretive), the simple distraction of just slamming my fingers against the keyboard; I can't find nothing like that on Tumblr.

Its probably just the underage kids who want to fight online that's making me want to blow it all off. Maybe it's too much glam for me. Maybe its that I have finally decided that I should grow up and continue writing, away from distractions that are found on that site.

I am not banning Tumblr from my life, I just have to make it less obsessive. I check that thing every morning I wake up, up to eight times during the day and before I go to sleep. Like I said, ADDICTING. It's another Facebook and Twitter for me.

There's the want for followers and to have people like your posts, when here it didn't bother me if people read this or not. This was my tale with or without comments. My emotions that would run amok with no views or with a million of people looking at it. I was happy with what I was publishing on this blog; there was no obsession with wanting to be liked, because I already liked myself.

Blogger, thanks for allowing me to come back after such a long absence. I haven't felt like writing in a while, and finding out that even after deleting you from my bookmarks, you still had me signed in on the dashboard, patiently waiting to say, "I told you so," reverberates like a melodious call that even the sirens from Homer's the Odyssey would become hypnotized to.

That you did. That you did.

Drips

I donated blood today. My first time too.
At first for some weird reason I was a bit scared. For one, a needle is going inside me, taking out blood, which is going out of my body. It was just terrifying to even think of when I give out blood samples when I am at the doctor's.
So Rosie and I walked straight into the student center as soon as we were done with breakouts, hoping to get the whole draining of blood over with as quick as possible. Our appointment was at 12:15, so getting there early would mean us getting out early right?
Wrong, we had to wait for the people in charge of the blood drive to direct us where we needed to go. We walked straight from one station to another, interrogated, pricked on our middle fingers to check iron levels, and finally motioned to lay down and begin the drainage.
My blood pressure was surprisingly low, lower than 120 beats when it was stolic, and less than 80 when it was diastolic.
I think the only time it really hurt was when the needle went into my arm. The constant squeezing of the tiny heart in my hand kept me from thinking about anything that was going on. And I wanted to honestly sleep on that flat bed, it wasn't comfortable or anything like that, I was just really tired.
It was all over in a matter of minutes. And the woman that took my blood even let me hold it and take a picture with it. I smiled from ear to ear and posted the pic on my tumblr. I really felt accomplished.
But now, I am sporting a minor headache, and water is filling my gut to the point that I feel like I am going to pop like a cell does when it has too much water in it (I think that's called hypotonic, thank you biology for being useful... sometimes).
Would I do it again? Would I give blood to save three more lives?
Yes, even if it gives me a huge headache. Because of this reason and this reason alone: There may come a time when I'll be needing someone else's blood, and I hope there are other selfless people out there to scratch my back when I need it.
Plus, they give out free food and a t shirt afterwards. And I love free stuff. :P

So I started a Tumblr

Technically it's still a work in progress.
I honestly can say I do not know how to feel about it, being that I haven't done much to it, just gave it a header and a few more applications. I posted a twitter feed as well as a facebook update. But if I feel as though I will get a little annoyed with the anonymous postings. I swear if anyone asks me if I like thumb in the butt I'm disabling it.
Anyway hope to see anyone that likes to read this blog there
premeritalove.tumblr.com
I'll still keep this one updated. I just don't know what I'm getting myself into. I mean, a journal, a blogger and a tumblr? I don't even write this much!

A man's world...

Today in Physical Education class, we got into the universal topic of men vs. women. Who was the superior race and what not. A bunch of words were thrown back and forth and it got me thinking: do I myself, wish that I was a man? Would I be more content as being a man?
Well, it's not easy being a woman. I mean you have to clean, cook, raise children, please the husband, work, be everything that many others lack. Have patience, be respectful, mindful of what you say, try to overcome in a man's world.
Would it be easier to be a man? To be overpowering on women, making babies without taking care of them? To be able to do things like stay out until the next morning because there is nothing at stake? Sure. I'm sure that it would be easier to not have to worry about putting on make up and doing my hair to look pretty and wear clothing that would attract a mate. I wouldn't even have to work hard at a relationship because when I get tired of the woman in my life, I could just get up and leave. Being a man means not having to worry about anything, except themselves. Selfish beings we all are, men and women, but the main difference is, women have to stop with the selfishness the minute life grows inside of them, because unlike a man, a child is a life brought into this world at the expense of the word love. And wishing nothing but the best is what a mother needs to do, not should do. NEEDS TO.
But deep down, no matter how easy it is to be a man, I think it's a blessing in disguise to be a woman. We have it hard, that much is true, but we also have something that man can never attain: perseverance. The strength to overcome a man in this man's world. To not just be a woman trying to survive, it's to want to live and prove that we are all equals in this world.
I am Woman, hear me roar with an intensity that shakes the very fabric of sexism.