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[stillnotadoctor]

Med Student Syndrome

So this week is endocrine week, unfortunely it’s the same week I’ve been having a group of symptoms that in order not to be overly tmi I’ll just call ‘under the weather’ but most unusually I have been incredibly hungry, like no food is enough food and I can’t sleep. For someone that is usually reasonably healthy and has a good diet this for me is odd. Made the mistake of consulting Dr Google only to dind my symptoms are those of hyperthyroidism (endocrine disease) still not as bad as the time I thought I had prostate cancer … I’m a female.

[probably-voldemort]

My family is not very religious most of the time.  We pray at Christmas and Easter and Thanksgiving dinners, and my mom’s entire side of the family excluding her parents and siblings is hardcore religious so whenever we do anything with them it’s kind of religious.

But the point is, most of the time we aren’t, but every year at Christmas time, a church in the next town over puts on a Bethlehem and it’s kind of a tradition to go.  They go all out.  The building is massive, and they’ve got it all decked out.  There’s animals and stalls and everyone is in costume and in character.  When you get there, they give you some pennies and you can go and barter for cool little trinkets, and there’s other more expensive things you can buy with your own money.  And they have the best apple cider.  All in all, it’s pretty cool.

But anyway.  We go every year, bundled up in hats and scarves and mittens, and have a good time.  We’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember, and my mom talks about going when she was a kid.

I’m going to mention again that everyone is massively in character, especially the really super hardcore religious adults.  Because this is an important fact.

Every year since I was about thirteen or so, there’s been this one lady who worked at a stall selling ponchos (I have, like, three.  They’re really cool).  She was probably there before that, but I was thirteen when she started trying to barter for me to marry her son, who was also about thirteen.

“What a pretty little thing.  I think you’d make a very good wife for my son.  These are your parents?  I’ll give you six goats for your daughter’s marriage to my son.”

Her son, meanwhile, is in the “shop” behind her looking absolutely mortified and like he’d rather be anywhere else than there, and I’m pretty sure I probably looked just as embarrassed.

My parents gave her some sort of excuse, like it wasn’t enough goats or they weren’t ready to marry me off yet or something, and we moved on.

The next year we’re back again, and come up near to the same stall.

“Ah!  You’re back again!  Have you married your daughter off yet?  I can up my offer to nine goats and three chickens for your daughter to marry my son.”

Somehow she remembered the exact people she’d tried to buy their daughter off of for an entire year?  So my parents are refusing her offers again and me and the son are trading embarrassed looks and we go on our way.

And then it happens again.  And again.  And again.  Each and every one of the last six years this lady has tried to buy me in goats to be her son’s wife. 

 A couple years ago when we were waiting in line to get inside my mom jokingly said that they should accept this year and see what she’d do and I completely refused because it was mortifying enough as it was.

One year we brought my friend with us and we’re waiting outside and my sister was like “Are you gonna sell Kee this year?” and my dad was like “Maybe if there’s enough goats” and my friend was confused as heck and I was like “This lady tries to buy me to marry her son every year.  I told you that” and she’s like “Yeah but I didn’t think this was a thing that actually happened” and she was still skeptical and by the time my parents had finished refusing the lady’s offer, she’s killing herself laughing and then spent the next few months telling me I couldn’t look at guys because I already had a fiancée.

Anyway, it happened again this Christmas and the son has somehow gotten almost ridiculously attractive since last year.  The speech this year had something to do with how I was far too old to not have a husband yet, and the son and I just rolled our eyes at each other as his mom tried to barter with my parents for me.

This year’s offer was twenty six goats and nine chickens.  My sister looked up how much goats are worth, and was mad our parents didn’t sell me so she could have sold the goats and gotten $2000-$8000 for them.  My dad says they’re waiting out on an offer of a camel.  My brother thinks they should have it more than once a year so he can get more apple cider.

Now I’m back at uni, and in my first psych class of the semester the guy sitting beside me looked really familiar.  

As in his-mom-tries-to-buy-me-with-goats-every-Christmas familiar.

That kind of familiar.

We introduced ourselves before class started and I sat there for a couple minutes readying to make a total fool of myself in case I was wrong before turning to him again.

“This is going to sound really weird if you aren’t who I think you are, but by any chance does your mom try to buy you a wife with goats every Christmas?”

His friend gives me a weird look as he walks past me to sit on the other side of him, but he’s definitely putting the pieces together.

“That’s you?  Bethlehem in [city name], right?  God, my mom is so mortifying.”

And we both kinda laugh and meanwhile his friend is giving us both weird looks now because apparently he didn’t know that his friend’s mom was trying to buy him a wife using livestock.

So he turns to his friend and is like

“Oh, I forgot to introduce you.  Danny, this is my fiancée, Kee.”

And I kinda rolled my eyes and was like

“I’m not actually your fiancée.  Your mom hasn’t offered my parents enough goats yet.  But apparently my dad will sell me for a camel.”

And he laughed and shook his head like

“I am not telling my mom that.  I don’t want to see what she has planned for if your parents ever accept.”

So yeah.  His friend was really confused by that point and we explained it to him and it turns out he’s pretty cool and we’re Facebook friends now and hang out in psych classes.  Apparently his mom only ever tries to buy me for him and she and my mom had gone to the same church growing up which is why she can always pick us out.

So yeah.  That’s the story of how some lady tries to use goats to buy me to be her ridiculously attractive son’s wife every Christmas, and how he’s in my class and we’re friends now.

[probably-voldemort]

It was the 23rd of December, 2017, and my sister had convinced her friend to come with us this year.

“And that’s where Kee’s fiancé usually is,” Sam explained as we stood in the line waiting to get inside.  Her friend gave her the same sceptical look she’d apparently been giving since Sam had first told her.

“He’s not my fiancé,” I pointed out, trying to rub some feeling back into my hands.  The Goat Guy had been texting me updates since that morning.  The organizers had discussed it at length, but apparently temperatures of negative eighteen, thirteen inches of snow, and a blizzard warning weren’t quite enough to have Bethlehem cancelled (or for my parents to decide to skip it this year).  Hashtag Canada.

The line was long this year, and we’d already been standing out in the cold for the better part of half an hour.  My brother was loudly lamenting the fact that we couldn’t get to the hot apple cider until we’d made it inside.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I braved taking off a glove to check it.

“Who do you keep texting?” my mom asked, not-so-subtly trying to peer over my shoulder at my phone.

“Gregory from psychology,” I told her, sending off a text informing him that we were still in line.  It wasn’t technically a lie, since, you know, that was his actual name and he was in my psychology classes.  It wasn’t my fault that my family only knew him as the Goat Guy.

“Ooo,” Sam teased, elbowing me in the ribs, her bony elbows hurting less than usual through all our layers.  “I’m going to tell your fiancé he has competition, and then maybe they’ll offer us something useful.  Like a car or a trip to Hawaii or something.”

I snorted again.  “One, he’s still not my fiancé.  Two, he doesn’t have competition, because I’m not interested in him or in Gregory.  And, three, this isn’t a game show.  If anything, his mom will just offer maybe a horse or something.”

“Can I have the horse?”

I rolled my eyes, glancing at my phone as another text came in.  Hurry up.  “Sure, Cole.”

My brother pumped his fist in the air.  “Nice.”

It took another ten minutes or so to make it to the front of the line, and my family had placed their bets on the amount of farm animals that would be offered this year.  My dad reminded me that he was selling me if they offered a camel, and I rolled my eyes, trying to act as reluctant to get to that part of the night as I usually was.  Apparently I didn’t do as good a job as I thought I did, since Mom questioned me.

I shrugged, feeling my phone go off again.  “I guess I’ve just decided to go with it.”

Sam rolled her eyes.  “She thinks he’s hot,” she told her friend.  Which, well, it wasn’t exactly untrue.  Objectively the Goat Guy was ridiculously attractive, but that doesn’t mean I want to (or have time to) date him.

We’d reached the entrance by that point, and were given our little pouches of pennies to buy small trinkets and ducked into the (compared to outside, at least) warmth of Bethlehem.

Roman soldiers milled amongst the people, asking for taxes and wanting to see our papers.  We didn’t have papers, obviously, but the soldier who checked us took an extra penny as a bribe.

“Wait,” Sam’s friend said, stopping in her tracks.  “There’s a petting zoo?”

There was, in fact, a petting zoo.  The petting zoo and the apple cider were there to keep us pacified as we waited for the soldiers to allow us entrance into Bethlehem, and Cole and our parents went off to get us something to drink while I followed Sam and her friend to see the animals.

“What is this?” Sam asked, frowning.  “Where are all the animals?”

There were significantly less animals than usual.  Two whole pens were empty, and I could see a few soldiers and townspeople whispering to each other in a panic.

“Maybe they were too cold,” I suggested, reaching out to pat a pig’s head.  It snorted and turned away.

My parents and brother returned with our drinks, and I sighed into the bliss that is Bethlehem hot apple cider, and, by the time we made it to the gates to listen as the soldiers reminded us of laws that I don’t remember, I actually had a bit of feeling back in my fingers and face.

I pulled off a glove, typing up a quick text.  We’re in.

The stalls were as neat as they always were.  I bought a wooden hammer to add to my collection for a couple pennies.  My mom dug out her wallet to buy a carved wooden bowl.  Sam and her friend took selfies with a girl from their soccer team who was working in a bakery and she snuck them a free scone.  Cole found another apple cider vendor and took three cups for himself.

“Look,” Sam said, grinning wickedly as she wrapped an arm around my shoulders.  “There it is.”

And there it was.  The Goat Guy’s mom was standing outside her shop, heckling with a couple over the price of a rug.

“That is a poncho,” I agreed, glancing at one hanging on the side of the shop and deciding I was going to buy it after this whole thing was over.

Sam rolled her eyes.  “You know that’s not what I mean,” she pointed out, craning her neck.  “I don’t see your fiancé, though.”

“That’s because I don’t have one,” I pointed out, stopping to look at the smithery so I didn’t look too eager to get there.

No one bought that I actually wanted to see some guy pound metal with a hammer (there wasn’t an actual fire or anything, so he was really just sitting there hitting it), so they dragged me across the hall, grins on their faces.

The Goat Guy’s mom, who we will henceforth refer to as the Goat Mom for sake of ease, perked up as she saw us heading towards them, finishing up her bartering and holding her arms out in greeting.

“Ah,” she called, grinning at us.  “Back again, I see.  Surely you must have found a suitable husband for your daughter by now.”

“Nope,” my mom said, giving me a pointed look.  “She’s still single.”

(And, yeah, I was, and still am, but she doesn’t have to be so judgy about it)

The Goat Mom gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.  “My dear, you’re far too old to be without a husband,” she cried, causing people to stop to watch.  I could feel my face heating up, and glanced around wondering where the Goat Guy was at.  We had agreed months ago that this was always far more embarrassing for me than it was for him, so why was he taking so long?

“You won’t be young forever,” the Goat Mom was continuing, grabbing my hands and forcing my to look at her.  “You’re running out of time.”  She glanced past me to my parents, a smug look on her face that said she got just as much enjoyment out of this as my family did.  “My son is still in need of a wife.  I’ll tell you what, I will give you thirty goats and ten chickens for your daughter.  She—”

“Aww, Mom.  You started negotiations without me?  How are they supposed to know I’d be the perfect husband for Kee if they can’t see how hot I am?”

The Goat Mom froze for a moment, her grip on my hands loosening enough for me to pull away.  I followed the shocked gazes of my family and his mom to the Goat Guy.

He was leaning casually against the shop, somehow managing to look good in clothes that were 2000 years out of fashion, a smirk on his face and a half dozen goats and a llama surrounding him.

“That’s Kee’s fiancé,” Sam whispered to her friend, as if there was any doubt about his identity.

His mom blinked out of her shock, narrowing her eyes at him.  “Are you drunk?”

The Goat Guy looked offended, raising a hand to his chest.  “What?  No!”

Cole started cackling.  I don’t think he had any more idea what was going on than the rest of them, but fifteen year old boys are weird.

His mom glanced back at us for a moment, and I had to look away to keep the grin off my face, and noticed quite the crowd had gathered.

She took a deep breath as she turned back to her son, pressing her fingers to her temples.  “Then why do you have goats?”

I couldn’t keep myself from snorting then, but, thankfully, everyone seemed too distracted to notice.

The Goat Guy rolled his eyes, relaxing back against the shop once more.  “I mean, you’ve been failing at bartering me a wife for eight years, Mom,” he pointed out.  “I think they just don’t believe we really have as many goats as you say we have.  So I brought goats!”  He waved the ropes in his hands, and sent me a wink.  “And a llama!  Girls like llamas.”

“I think that’s actually an alpaca,” my brother helpfully pointed out, and the Goat Guy grinned.

“You’re probably right, my man,” he agreed and turned back to me.  “I’m adding this alpaca onto the list of whatever my mom’s already offered.  We can ride off on it into the sunset.  What do you say?”

“I say it probably wouldn’t hold us.”  I was grinning now, too, no longer able to hold it in.

The Goat Guy just shrugged and stayed silent, letting our families stew for a moment.

“Are you sure you aren’t drunk?” his mom finally asked, glancing between us in confusion.  “Maybe you’ve been spending a little too much time at the, uh, tavern.”  She glanced at the goats and the llama (alpaca?), realization dawning on her face.  “Gregory, you had better not be the reason everyone is panicking about the animals going missing from the petting—trading post.”

“Not drunk,” he insisted, ignoring the part about him stealing the animals from the petting zoo as he thrust the leads of the animals into her hands before she had a chance to protest.  “I’m just excited to see my future wife.”  He crossed the distance between us, my family stepping back, still mostly in shock, and wrapped me up in his arms.  “How’s it going, Kee?”

I laughed, hugging him back quickly before pulling away.  “Hey, Gregory,” I echoed loudly, my grin growing at the gasp that came from someone in my family.  “How’d you find the psych final?”

He groaned, burying his face in my neck.  “Ugh, don’t even get me started,” he whined, an arm wrapping back around my shoulders.  “I didn’t fail, but that’s about all I can say.”

I hummed in sympathy, watching our families try to piece together what was going on and the crowd that was wondering if this was supposed to be happening.  His mom’s mouth was opening to say something as I caught sight of a couple of soldiers pushing through the crowd, and nudged him.

“You!” one yelled, and the Goat Guy’s head snapped of my shoulder, staring at the soldier in shock.  “He stole the king’s animals!”  One of the others came forward, pulling him away from me.

“You, uh, have the right to remain silent,” he started, fixing his grip on the Goat Guy’s arm.  The soldier who grabbed his other arm rolled his eyes.

“He doesn’t have any rights.”

“Oh, right.”  The second soldier nodded and turned back to the Goat Guy.  “You don’t have the right to remain silent,” he amended.

“Take him to the king,” the first soldier ordered, taking the leads from the Goat Mom.  “He should be tried at once.”

The Goat Guy regained his wits and started to struggle against their hold.

“Wait for me, Kee!” he cried as they dragged him back through the parted crowd.  “I’ll come back for you!”

By the time he’d disappeared and the crowd had filled in their path, I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe.  It’d gone better than either of us could’ve hoped.

I calmed down after a moment, and the Goat Mom was still staring in confusion in the direction her son had disappeared in.  I stepped past her to the shop, pulling the poncho I’d noticed earlier off the wall.

“I’d like to buy this, please,” I said, and her eyes snapped back to me.  I grinned and handed her the money, and she pocketed it without bartering, and I walked away, the crowd parting for me as I wandered towards the next stall.

My family joined me a few moments later, as I was browsing some blown glass ornaments and ignoring the fact that the shopkeepers were whispering about me.

“What was that?” my mom demanded.

I shrugged.  “That was her bartering for me to marry the Goat Guy like every year.”

“Yeah, that was not like every year.”  Sam snorted and I could practically hear her rolling her eyes.  “Since when do you know the Goat Guy?”

“Since January?”  I tried to look confused, but I’m pretty sure I was still grinning.  “You knew that.”

“No?”

“Yeah?” I countered.  “Gregory from psychology?”

The stared at me for a long moment before any of them spoke.  Sam’s friend was the only one who seemed more entertained than confused.

“That was Gregory from psychology?” my mom asked, and I shrugged, grinning wider.  “You planned this, didn’t you?  That’s why you kept texting him outside?”

I shrugged.  “I mean, we didn’t plan him getting arrested,” I admitted.  “But, yeah, we planned the rest.”

“How’d he steal the goats and the alpaca?” Cole wondered.

“He knows a guy.”

“Like that’s what’s important here.”  Sam rolled her eyes.

“Why?” my dad asked, and I shrugged again.

“Seven years’ worth of revenge.”

“That’s not what’s important either,” Sam interjected, huffing loudly.  “Kee’s totally dating the Goat Guy.  I called it.”

“We’re not dating.”  I rolled my eyes, pushing past them to continue through Bethlehem.  There should’ve been another apple cider vendor coming up soon, and I’d lost all the heat from the last one.

My family did not drop it through the rest of Bethlehem, and neither did any of the vendors who, apparently, knew exactly who I was (my toque was kind of distinctive, so I guess I’ll give them that) and let me know how sorry they were to hear that my man had been locked up just for trying to provide for his family.

We also saw the Goat Guy again, who had been locked up with the prisoners in a large cage, guarded by a handful of soldiers.

He grinned as he saw us approaching, calling out for me and sticking his arms through the bars.

“Can I borrow your notes later?” he asked.  “I’m in here for nineteen years, so I’ll be missing a bit of class.”

Sam and her friend posed for selfies with him, and then she made me pose for one with him that will definitely be used for blackmail at a later date.

And that was Bethlehem.  No one shut up on the entire drive home, or for the rest of Christmas break, for that matter, about the fact that I’d been keeping my knowing the Goat Guy a secret for almost a year—which I hadn’t, as I pointed out multiple times.  They all knew about Gregory from psychology, and he was literally in my phone as The Goat Guy.  It wasn’t my fault they hadn’t put the pieces together.

My family is convinced the Goat Guy and I are meant to be and still not entirely convinced that we aren’t currently dating, and I’m kind of dreading what that might mean for Bethlehem 2k18.  Honestly, I’d rather not have to deal with the fallout of my parents actually giving in and getting me a bartered husband, no matter how hot he might be.  But I feel like they’re going to accept one year, especially after what we did this year.  

The Goat Guy says his mom isn’t any better, and is already planning for next year but won’t let him know anything.  Maybe I can convince my parents that I never have to go back ever again.

Two weeks later, I caught the Goat Guy’s eye from across the psychology lecture hall, waving him over.

“Hey,” I said, grinning at him as he slipped into the seat beside me.  I turned to my friends.  “Guys, this is Gregory the Goat Guy.”

“Her fiancé,” he added, and I snorted at my friends’ incredulous looks and punched him gently in the shoulder.

“Not my fiancé,” I corrected, and turned back to him.  “The llama was impressive, but you know my dad’s expecting a camel.”

“Darn,” he said, laughing.  “I could have sworn you said llama.  I guess I’ll have to find a camel by next year if we ever want to get engaged.”  He paused, raising an eyebrow.  “But you know, I did get arrested before your parents had a chance to decline the offer this time.  Maybe they were going to say yes to the llama.”

“Wait,” my friend said, leaning around me to give the Goat Guy a once over.  “That story was real?  The Goat Guy actually exists?”

[rhetoricalproceeds]

I will be here and I will be waiting for the next bit of this story come December

[antyc67]

Me too

[mahamara]

My Mom Took Me Overseas and Forced Me Into Being a Teen Bride

Alone in a foreign country, I had to plan my escape on my own.

I was 6 years old when my two older sisters went to Palestine to “visit family.” At least that’s what my mom told me.

I was born in Chicago, like my sisters, but our parents are Palestinian, born in Jerusalem. I was four-months-old when our father died — he worked at a gas station and was shot during a robbery. After that, the four of us moved into the basement apartment of my mom’s mother’s house, where my sisters and I shared a room.

I worshipped my oldest sister growing up. She was rebellious and loved pop music and makeup, which my grandmother and mother couldn’t stand. We were raised Muslim, and while my mom didn’t make us wear hijabs — headscarves — to school, we did when we went to mosque on the high holidays. Every other day, we wore long-sleeve shirts and pants or knee-length skirts.

I don’t have too many memories of my sisters, but I do remember how much my oldest sister loved Usher. She was 13 and she’d sing along to his music on the radio in our room. She bought a poster of him, shirtless, and pinned it to the wall next to our bed.

He didn’t last long. My grandmother saw the poster one day and ripped it off the wall. She was screaming at my sister, and my sister yelled right back — she was feisty! But it didn’t matter; Usher was gone. And a year later, so were my sisters.

My mom said they were “going on a trip” to Palestine, but even as a 6-year-old, I’d heard rumors about a diary entry. Something about my sister kissing a boy behind a tree, or writing that she wanted to. I remember large suitcases and both of my sisters weeping as we said goodbye. I cried too, but I was more mad at them for leaving me. Who would I listen to the radio with late at night?

Still, I assumed they were coming back. So when my mother told me that they wanted to stay in Palestine, I got really upset. I missed them so much.

The only time I got to see my friends was at school.

In 8th grade, our class took a field trip to tour the high school. No one wore uniforms, like we did in middle school! I could even wear my skinny jeans there. Yep, as strict as my mom was, she did buy me skinny jeans that were super popular then. I remember being in the store and pointing them out and being stunned when she nodded yes, then paid for three pairs at the register. They were the only things I owned that made me feel like a normal kid.

But right before middle school graduation, I came home from school one afternoon to find my mother and grandmother rummaging through my closet.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

My mother was holding a garbage bag and my grandmother had scissors. They were cutting my skinny jeans into pieces and throwing them away.

I was so confused — she’d bought them for me! When I asked my mom why, she said, “They’re inappropriate and revealing. You’re too old to dress like this now!”

I was furious. All I had left were one pair of baggy jeans, which I hated. For the first time in middle school, I was relieved to have a uniform.

As soon as I graduated 8th grade, I started pestering my mom about enrolling me in high school. Every time I asked if she’d done it, she’d say, “Not yet.” In July, she said, “I’m signing you up for an all girls’ school.” But there was a wait list, so then it was going to be online school. I even did my own research and had pamphlets sent to the house, but nothing happened.

By September, all of my friends had started school but me. I woke up every day at 10am and watched TV, cleaned the house, and helped make dinner. I was beyond bored. Meanwhile my mom loved having me around. She didn’t work, and always said that it was important for me to learn how to be a good housewife. I cringed every time she said that — that was the last thing I wanted to be.

In fact, I really wanted a job, even if it was just working at my step-dad’s gas station. Anything to get out of the house. I even asked my step-dad if I could get a workers’ permit, which you can get at 15 in Chicago, and he said, “Sure!” But just like with high school, nothing ever happened. It was another empty promise.

My laptop was my refuge.

Facebook was the only way for me to stay in touch with my friends. I made up a random name that my parents could never guess and chatted with friends throughout the day. If my mom walked into the room, I’d switch the screen to a video game. She had no idea. Earlier that year, when I told friends why I wasn’t in school, more than one told me, “That’s illegal!” I kind of knew I had the legal right to be in school, but wasn’t sure who to tell. My parents didn’t care — it’s what they wanted!

A year passed, and the following summer, I was chatting on Facebook with a guy I knew from middle school.

When he wrote, “Want to go to Chipotle this Friday?” my heart skipped a beat.

I was super excited and typed back, “Sure.”

I told my parents that I was going to see my 24-year-old cousin. She was the only person I was ever allowed to visit. She’s also incredibly cool and promised to cover for me. I met her at her house, and then she dropped me off at the mall and told me to have a great time.

I did! He was cute, and super nice. I told him that my parents were strict and didn’t even know where I was. He was like, “No worries!”

It was the most fun I’d had in over a year. At the end of our date, I told him that I’d be in touch over Facebook, and floated home.

The next night, I was in the living room watching TV when the doorbell rang. My mom answered, and I heard his voice ask, “Is Yasmine home?”

I froze.

My mother started screaming, “Who are you and why are you at this house?”

He said, “I’m Yasmine’s boyfriend.”

I could see him standing in front of my mom, her back to me, and was trying to wave to him, like, “Go away! This is a terrible idea!”

She threatened to call the police, slammed the door, and then screamed at me: “Go to your room. You’re grounded!”

The next day, my mom went grocery shopping without me and locked the glass storm door from the outside, which meant I was trapped. For the next two weeks, I was literally kept under lock and key when she left.

And then one day, my mother said, “Pack your bags. We’re going to Palestine to visit your sisters.”

I’d only been there once when I was 10; I don’t even remember seeing my sisters then — all I remember is that it was dusty and dry. No green at all. I hated it. Plus, I speak only very basic Arabic, which is what they speak there.

I was dreading the trip. Saying goodbye to my little sister was painful — she was 8 by then. She was the only other person who knew, besides my cousin, about my date. I fought back tears and promised I’d be back soon.

My mom said we’d be gone for a month, but I didn’t trust her. On the way to the airport, I asked to see my return ticket. I wanted proof that it existed. She was indignant as she showed me the ticket, but it made me feel better.

My mother and grandmother and I landed in Tel Aviv, which was as hot and dusty as I remembered. I felt claustrophobic in the cab, which we took to Ramallah, the Palestinian capital. My grandmother has a house there, and both of my sisters lived nearby.

I was so angry about being there that I wasn’t even excited to see my sisters. I couldn’t believe that they’d left me all those years before. Now, they were both married with kids. But by the end of that first evening, I relaxed with them. I even told them what happened with my Chipotle date, and they started teasing me, like, “You’re such an idiot! With a white guy? Really?”

They thought that if he’d been Muslim, I wouldn’t have gotten into so much trouble. I wasn’t so sure, but it still felt good to laugh with them about it.

About two weeks into our stay, my sisters sat me down and started doing my hair and makeup. I was never allowed to wear makeup at home, so I thought it was cool. When I asked why, they said they wanted me to meet a friend of theirs.

Their friend was in his twenties but still lived with his mom, which my sister called “a problem.” I didn’t understand what she meant by that.

He arrived with his mom and uncle and started speaking to me in Arabic. I barely understood anything except for his asking me how old I was.

I said, “I’m 15. I just finished 8th grade.”

He looked perplexed. So was I.

After he left, I asked my sisters what the meeting was about. They explained that the way to meet suitors is through families. When a family thinks a girl is ready to be married — usually she’s part of that decision — they pass word along to other families that they’re looking for a husband. The couple then meets through the parents, and if it is a good match, an arrangement is made.

A week passed, and once again my sisters sat me down and started putting makeup on me. They said that another guy was coming to meet me. When I asked, “Who?”

They said, “Don’t worry about it. Just have fun.”

The doorbell rang and in walked a guy with his parents. I’m 5'8" and he was 5'4", nine years older, and missing half of his front left tooth. Everyone seemed very eager. I was repulsed.

I sat stone-faced the entire time they were there. As soon as he and his family left, my mom and grandmother said that they thought I should marry him. They said, “He has a job and a house.” That’s all it took.

I was furious. By then, I realized that they’d brought me to Palestine to get married and planned to leave me there. Instead of berating them, I immediately started thinking of ways to return home on my own. I had watched SVU. I knew this was totally illegal. I just needed to figure out a way to reach a detective in Illinois who could help me escape.

I also knew then that I couldn’t trust my sisters — anytime I complained to them, they’d just say, “It’s not so bad! You’ll learn to love him!”

He and I met two more times that week and each time, I hoped he’d figure out that I was being coerced. But then, during that third visit, all the men went into one room while the women stayed in another.

My sister, mother, and grandmother were chatting with his mother and sisters when I heard the men read the engagement passage from the Koran, which announces a marriage.

Startled, I said to my sisters, “What are they doing?”

My oldest sister said, “They’re reading the passage.”

I shouted, “No!” and fought back tears.

My worst nightmare was becoming a terrifying reality. I ran into the bathroom, curled into a ball, and dissolved into tears. How could my family do this to me? I thought about running away, but how? My mother had my passport. I had no money. I was stuck. I started thinking about different ways to die. Anything was better than this.

After his family left, I could no longer contain my rage at my mother. “How could you do this to me? I am your daughter!” I shouted. Tears were streaming down my face. I could see my mom was upset, too — she was crying, shaking her head. I think she felt bad about it, but she also felt like it was the best option. I felt so betrayed.

And just then, my grandmother marched into the room and slapped me. “Don’t disrespect your mother!” she said, before turning to my mother and saying, “See? She needs this. How else will she learn to be respectful?’

That’s when I learned that my grandmother had set the whole thing up. She’d met this man’s family at a mall the same week I met him! His parents owned a restaurant and spotted us shopping. They approached her to see if I was an eligible bride for their son. She told them yes, but that I had to be married before she flew back to the States. He had no other prospects, so they were excited I was one.

I never liked my grandmother, but I didn’t hate her until that moment.

The wedding was planned for September 30th, a week and a half away. I was still desperately trying to figure a way out of it. I told my mom, “I’ll find a way to leave.” She replied, “Either you marry him or someone way older who won’t be as nice.”

My sisters said the same. “You’re lucky.” As much as I dreaded what was happening, they made the alternative sound even worse.

A few days before the wedding, my oldest sister finally revealed that she was also married against her will. “I was kicking and screaming the whole way,” she told me. “But I learned to love him. You will too.”

I don’t remember the ceremony — everything is such a blur — but I do remember pulling away when he tried to kiss my cheek and my mother hissing, “Kiss his cheek!” I refused.

At the end of the wedding party, both of my sisters were so excited about my first night with him. They even said, “Text us afterwards!”

I hated them.

The first night was awful. The only thing I’m thankful for is that my husband was not a violent or aggressive man. It could have been so much worse. I get terrible migraine headaches brought on by stress, and I used them to my advantage in the weeks that followed.

He took that first week off of work and we spent most of it with his family. I did the best I could to tolerate being around him and his family while I tried to figure a way out of this mess. To do that, I needed to get on the internet.

When he went back to his job as a mechanic, he’d be gone by 9am. I’d get up, have breakfast and go to his mom’s house to help her clean and make dinner. She had a computer, so one day, I asked if I could use it to talk to my mother and she agreed. Instead, I logged onto Facebook and messaged a friend from 3rd grade and told her where I was and what had happened.

She wrote back immediately, “That’s illegal!”

Once again, I knew that, but I didn’t know what to do.

I had another friend I met through Facebook who lived in Texas. He was Muslim. I told him what happened, and he wrote, ‘You need to call the embassy!’ He even sent the number.

My heart was pounding as I wrote it in a piece of paper and shoved it into my pocket.

On October 14th, I was in our apartment in the afternoon when I finally worked up the nerve to call. I used the Nokia flip phone my husband gave me to talk to him and my sisters.

An American-sounding man answered the phone and I blurted, “I’m a U.S. citizen. My parents brought me here against my will to marry a man. I want to go home.”

After a moment of silence, he said, “Wow, this is a first. Hold for a moment.” He connected me to a man named Mohammed, who asked me for my parents’ names and address in the states.

I gave him all the proof I could think of that I was a US citizen. I didn’t know my social security number and didn’t have my passport. He said that was okay, but he needed proof that I was actually married. He asked for the marriage certificate. I had no idea where it was. Then he asked me for my husband’s last name, and I realized, I had no idea what that was either.

Mohammed told me he’d be in touch once he verified all my information. He called me several times over the next two months. During that time, I learned my husband’s last name, which was legally mine as well.

As I waited for news, I got lots of migraines.

On December 3rd, Mohammed called with the number for a taxi service and the address of a hotel. He told me to be there the next morning at 11am.

The next morning, I waited for my husband to leave and shoved all of my belongings — including the traditional wedding gold my husband’s family gave me — into my suitcase and called the number. That’s when I realized that I didn’t even know my address. I told the driver the name of the closest big store and then stayed on the phone with him, telling him when to turn right or left. He still couldn’t find me, so I ran down to the main street to flag him down praying no one would see me.

I held my breath for the entire 30-minute ride to the hotel. There, in the parking lot, I spotted a blond woman sitting with a guy in a black van.

“Are you with the US embassy?” I asked.

They said yes, and then she patted me down, explaining it was for security purposes, to make sure I was not strapped with any bombs.

I said, “Do whatever you need to do!” I didn’t care — I was so close to freedom.

When they put me in the back seat, I pulled off my headscarf and fought back happy tears: There, with these two strangers, I felt safe for the first time in forever.

We went to the US Embassy in Jerusalem where I spent the day filling out paperwork in order to enter into the foster care system back in the States. I had no idea what that meant other than from this one cartoon show called Foster Home for Imaginary Friends, but agreeing to enter foster care wasn’t hard — at least it was a new start.

That night, a diplomat accompanied me to the airport with two bodyguards, and I was placed on a plane to Philadelphia.

On my next flight, I flew from Philadelphia to Chicago O'Hare and sat next to a 20-something guy on his way to his friend’s bachelor party who asked me how old I was.

I said, “15.”

He said, “You’re too young to be on a plane by yourself!”

If he only knew.

At O'Hare, I had twenty minutes to kill before I was supposed to meet two state officials in the food court, so I went to a computer terminal and logged onto Facebook. I had two accounts at the time: one for friends and one for family. I wanted to see what my family was saying.

A three-page letter from my second oldest sister was the first thing I read. She said she never wanted to see me again, that she hated me, and that if anyone asked her how many sisters she had, she’d say two instead of three. I was devastated.

Then I read a group chat between my two sisters, my mom, and my mom’s sister.

It started, “Yasmine ran away.” “What? Where?” And then someone wrote, “She’s ruining our reputation!” Not one of them wondered if I was okay.

My aunt asked if I had taken my gold. When my sister said yes, my aunt replied, “She could have gotten kidnapped or robbed!”

That was the only mention of concern for my wellbeing.

As painful as it was to read those words, it made me realize that I had made the right choice.

The people I then met in the airport food court introduced me to a woman from Illinois’ Child Protective Services, who took me under her wing. It was 11am, 24 hours after I ran for my life into the streets of Ramallah to escape my forced marriage.

I first moved in with a woman who fostered several kids, and stayed there for six months. It wasn’t ideal — she was very religious and made us go to her Baptist church with her on Saturday and Sunday. But it was still better than what I’d left. This was confirmed when I had to face my mother in court to establish that I should remain a ward of the state, which is what they call kids whose parents aren’t fit to take care of them.

The first court date was two weeks after I arrived. When I saw my mom, I froze. She was sitting in the waiting room and refused to acknowledge me. She didn’t make eye contact; it was as if I didn’t exist. I felt an awful mix of hurt and rage.

A few months later, I had to testify in a courtroom. My mom was there with her lawyer. He showed photos from my wedding and said, “You look happy! And your mom said that you wanted to be married.”

I had to explain to a room full of strangers that I was faking that smile to survive and that my mom knew the entire time that I didn’t want to marry that man. On the stand, I said, “My mom is lying.” That was so painful to have to say — I wept in front of everyone. All the feelings I’d kept inside just poured out.

After that hearing, I officially became a ward of the state of Illinois.

By then, I’d already started ninth grade. I didn’t like my foster mom much. I stopped going to church on the weekends, but she wouldn’t let me or my foster brother stay in the house alone so we were locked out until she got home every weekend and weekdays too. It was hard in the Chicago winter, but the agency didn’t think I was in immediate danger, so I stayed put. Teens are hard to place.

By January 2014, at 16-years-old, I’d been in and out of three foster homes. My strategy was just to survive foster care until I was 18, when I would finally be on my own. So when a couple called Carrie and Marvin came to meet me one weekend, I didn’t hold out any hope.

Carrie and Marvin had two biological teenagers, both with developmental delays. They understood kids and were super warm, but it still took me a while to open up. I really wanted to make it to 18 living with them, but I never dreamed what actually happened next.

When I hit my one-year anniversary with them, they asked me if I wanted to be adopted. I was shocked! I figured I’d leave at 18 and just be on my own — I never thought there was an alternative. But they told me that they wanted me around forever. I cannot tell you how good that felt — to be wanted, by an actual family. I said yes.

No more waking up at 6am to someone saying, “Pack your bags — you’re out!” For the first time in my life, I could put things up in my room and it was okay. It was the first time since being in that van with the people from the embassy that I felt safe.

I saw my mother one last time in court, at the final termination of parental rights. Carrie had asked her for childhood photos of me, and amazingly, my mom handed them to me there.

It was a cold exchange. She was expressionless. At first, I was insulted. It all seemed so easy, her giving me up. But it was really nice to get the photos. She didn’t have to do that.

Now Carrie has them around the house. It makes me feel like I’m really part of her family, like I’m her kid.

I finally reconnected on Facebook with my sister a few months ago, the one who’d said she hated me. She admitted that she wished she’d had the nerve to do what I had done. Now I understand why she was so upset: I got away. She didn’t.

I just graduated from high school — the first in my biological family to do so! In September, I’m going to Illinois State University and just learned that I won a full scholarship, which means my tuition will be waived for the next five years. I plan to study mass communications, and may want to do something with computers, considering they are literally what saved me.

Regardless of what I end up doing for a living, the thing that makes me the most excited is that I get to choose — what I want to wear, who I want to date, or even marry, and ultimately, who I want to be.

[liquidheartbeats-deactivated201]

Wow.

[loveistheessenceoflife]

Incredible

[howaikr]

This is such an incredible story and hits home for so many reasons. I can’t stop crying..

[fantastic-nonsense]

Since this is starting to get quite a few notes, I’m going to signal boost some information on the subject and some organizations that do a lot of good work in this area. 

Forced and child marriages are not limited to any single race, ethnicity, nationality, religion, or place of residence. The US is no exception: while forced marriages aren’t something you think of as happening in the States, there were at least 3,000 forced and underage marriages that took place in the United States between 2009 and 2011. A national survey found that forced marriage occurs among families of a variety of religious backgrounds, including individuals from Muslim, Christian, Hindu, Sikh, Buddhist, Jewish, and other faith traditions, so again, there is no singular group of people being affected by this practice. While the majority of forced marriages involve girls who are minors and older teenagers, there are a lot of women in their early and mid-20s that become victims as well; men are also victims, though in smaller numbers. One of the (many) complicating factors in the US is the presence of ‘parental consent’ marriage laws, which allow 15, 16, and 17-year-olds to get married with a parent’s consent; the problem being, of course, that the parents consent to the marriage but the child does not.

If you are facing the prospect of a forced marriage, suspect your family is trying to take you overseas to get married against your will, are in the process of being forcibly married off, are currently in a forced marriage, or have a friend who is in any of the aforementioned situations, here are some resources you can utilize:

Tahirih Justice Center’s Forced Marriage Initiative: Email [email protected] with your story or call 571-282-6161 and ask for Casey or Dina; they run the Forced Marriage Initiative at Tahirih and are both professional caseworkers whose job completely revolves around helping people leave forced/underage marriages and preventing them from happening in the first place. 

The mission of the Forced Marriage Initiative is to end forced marriage in the United States, and this is taking place in several forms: Casey and Dina’s main objective, of course, is to directly assist victims and potential victims. However, they also run a very active education, advocacy, and legal campaign. Jeanne, who also works closely with them, does a lot of public policy work on the subject and is currently working on getting the minimum age of marriage raised to 18 in every state, while Archana does a lot on the policy and legal side of things to try and minimize the numbers of forced marriages happening in the United States.

Unchained At Last: a New Jersey-based non-profit that fights against forced and child marriage in the US. Founder and CEO Fraidy Reiss is a forced marriage survivor, and has dedicated her life to helping other people (mostly women and girls) escape forced and child marriage situations. You can fill out their form or call 908-481-HOPE.

The AHA Foundation: The Foundation deals with issues relating to female genital mutilation, honor violence, and forced marriages, though they focus on advocacy and victims in Muslim communities. Here is their Get Help page and their amazing resource directory, organized by type of service and state.

Manavi: an organization founded specifically to help South Asian women escape domestic violence, sexual violence, and forced marriages. Here’s their Get Help page and the number of their 24-hour hotline:[phone].

Girls Not Brides: A global partnership of over 900 civil organizations from 95 countries committed to ending child marriage. While the partnership itself is only a policy organization, they have a lot of good resources for finding assistance if you are a victim or prospective victim of forced/underage marriage.

The US Department of State has an entire page about the topic

If you are a US citizen or resident abroad, contact your local US embassy for assistance and they will help as much as they are able

Some articles discussing the problem in greater depth:

NPR: Thousands Of Young Women In U.S. Forced Into Marriage

New York Times: America’s Child Marriage Problem

PRI:  The US has a forced child marriage problem, too

Thomson Reuters Foundation: Forced Marriage in America: many women don’t know their rights, fear to claim them

TruthDig: Forced Marriage of Children Happens in America, Too

CBS News: The “ugly” problem of child marriage in the US

Al Jazeera: “Till Death Do Us Part: The Forgotten US Victims of Forced Marriage”

Girls Not Brides: It Does Happen “Here”: Forced and Child Marriage in the US

PBS: Uncovering the Problem of Forced Marriage in the United States

Good Housekeeping: Child Marriage Still Happens in America

Vice News: There Are No States in the US that Outlaw Child Marriage and the accompanying in-depth video

Washington Post:  Why can 12-year-olds still get married in the United States?

If you want to get involved in tackling this problem, each one of the organizations I listed above have amazing ‘Get Involved’ pages that detail several ways to help end child and forced marriage. You can also get involved by contacting local organizations focused on helping human trafficking victims (whose clients sometimes overlap with forced marriage victims), contacting your state representatives to help get marriage laws changed, and raising awareness and educating people about the issue.You can also get involved by volunteering or interning for one of the organizations: Tahirih in particular has a great internship program that I highly recommend for anyone interested.

[ask-the-multishipper-blog]

oh god what did i do

IT SUMMONS MAIL EVERYONE TRY IT

[nyfian-deactivated20150105]

HOLY FUCKING COW.

[carverly]

OKAY IT’S TRUE

[lookingforpack-deactivated20181]

WHAT

[imivi]

???

[kittyluvr69]

I THOUGHT IT WAS A JOKE

WHAT HOW

[daxin-freeborns-news-feed]

I’ve been wondering what message it sends for awhile now, apparently it’s random?

[kynisme-blog]

oh?

OH

[ohcaptainmycaptain1918]

#lmfao no way #why do i reblog these things #hahaha #urban legends #tumblr myths #im so gullible 

nO FUCKING WAY THIS JUST

[followpearlpinesnotthisblog]

gUYS NO JOKE I GOT “motor oil” IN MY ASK BOX I’M SCREAMINH

[goopy-amethyst-deactivated20250]

I HOPE U GUYS DON’T LIE 

[goopy-amethyst-deactivated20250]

THIS SHIT FUCKING WORKS WTF

[stach3nscarf3n]

you’re shitting me

HOLY MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THE WORL-

[blustrology-deactivated20180312]

i wanna see what happens

[annotateee]

it looks fun i guess

[little-white-noises]

Where did this even come from

[thefutaking]

This sho

[eddie-bullshit]

Wierd :o

[starlightdealer]

I want in

[mysterygirlsofficialtumbler]

I call doubt

[edeneye30]

Hmm

[amethysts-pants-official]

I D I D T H I S A N D I G O T A N A S K T H A T J U S T “ P A N T S ”

[nertleturtle]

i s2g-

[nertleturtle]

i fUKCIGN REBLOGGED THIS AND DAMN IT

[raging-kitten-deactivated201708]

I dont believe this

[thathighclassbitch]

My anon is off. Bout to catch this fucker.

[a-birdy-talks]

I don’t think it works like that…. It’s probably more like a deer, it won’t come out if it’s going to be caught… whatever it is that’s sending the messages x’D

[thathighclassbitch]

..what if it shows up as anon anyway?????

[a-birdy-talks]

O . O Then we know it’s a real myth and not just followers seeing you post this and sending random messages…. xD 

[angrybeardedbastard]

Hmmm

[katuki-yuri]

GUYS THIS SHIT WORKS

[lavendericy]

yolo

[decendedinhell]

I’m sure that this ain’t gonna work for me. Prove me wrong.

[totallynaf-deactivated20200218]

Hm.

[vampirojoto-remade-deactivated2]

ok i believe

[cuddlefights]

shrug emoji

[the-milk-was-expired-deactivate]

BITCH FUCK ME UP

[vorpalmango]

DROWN ME IN YOUR MESSAGES

[lvulic]

what is this mahogoney.

[cliche-ask-max-deactivated20171]

Dude wtf

[a-boy-and-his-gem]

((i am utterly confused))

[tabii-search-history-deactivate]

oh))

[neeancy-search-history]

Yeah right, as if it’s real…

(But I am actually desperately lonely and hoping it is)

[flowerscout-davey-search-history]

*rolls eyes* suuuure

[phoneykin]

//:^)))

[euphorickie]

pls

[retrostan-deactivated20180915]

NOT EVEN A MINUTE LATER

NOPE IM OUT

[sweetseaveydreams]

wot in tarnation 

can i get a hoopla

[themostbeautifulthing123]

Q?

[trashyeds]

I wanna see if something actualky happens

(UPDATE) it actually works

[finns-curls]

only doing this to see if something happens

(UPDATE - LMAO IT ACTUALLY WORKS)

[woahidiot]

OKAY LETS TRY IT

[vi-bi-bye]

Not even some magical being can make me get something on my inbox, that shit’s a fucking desert

[beep-beep-beverly]

Askbox empty will wait to see what happens

[beep-beep-beverly]

Ah it works I’m not having a crisis or anything I’m so confused

[vitalhemmings]

hm

[ask-the-multishipper-blog]

oh god what did i do

IT SUMMONS MAIL EVERYONE TRY IT

[nyfian-deactivated20150105]

HOLY FUCKING COW.

[carverly]

OKAY IT’S TRUE

[lookingforpack-deactivated20181]

WHAT

[imivi]

???

[kittyluvr69]

I THOUGHT IT WAS A JOKE

WHAT HOW

[daxin-freeborns-news-feed]

I’ve been wondering what message it sends for awhile now, apparently it’s random?

[kynisme-blog]

oh?

OH

[ohcaptainmycaptain1918]

#lmfao no way #why do i reblog these things #hahaha #urban legends #tumblr myths #im so gullible 

nO FUCKING WAY THIS JUST

[followpearlpinesnotthisblog]

gUYS NO JOKE I GOT “motor oil” IN MY ASK BOX I’M SCREAMINH

[goopy-amethyst-deactivated20250]

I HOPE U GUYS DON’T LIE 

[goopy-amethyst-deactivated20250]

THIS SHIT FUCKING WORKS WTF

[stach3nscarf3n]

you’re shitting me

HOLY MOTHER OF ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THE WORL-

[blustrology-deactivated20180312]

i wanna see what happens

[annotateee]

it looks fun i guess

[little-white-noises]

Where did this even come from

[thefutaking]

This sho

[eddie-bullshit]

Wierd :o

[starlightdealer]

I want in

[mysterygirlsofficialtumbler]

I call doubt

[edeneye30]

Hmm

[amethysts-pants-official]

I D I D T H I S A N D I G O T A N A S K T H A T J U S T “ P A N T S ”

[nertleturtle]

i s2g-

[nertleturtle]

i fUKCIGN REBLOGGED THIS AND DAMN IT

[raging-kitten-deactivated201708]

I dont believe this

[thathighclassbitch]

My anon is off. Bout to catch this fucker.

[a-birdy-talks]

I don’t think it works like that…. It’s probably more like a deer, it won’t come out if it’s going to be caught… whatever it is that’s sending the messages x’D

[thathighclassbitch]

..what if it shows up as anon anyway?????

[a-birdy-talks]

O . O Then we know it’s a real myth and not just followers seeing you post this and sending random messages…. xD 

[angrybeardedbastard]

Hmmm

[katuki-yuri]

GUYS THIS SHIT WORKS

[lavendericy]

yolo

[decendedinhell]

I’m sure that this ain’t gonna work for me. Prove me wrong.

[totallynaf-deactivated20200218]

Hm.

[vampirojoto-remade-deactivated2]

ok i believe

[cuddlefights]

shrug emoji

[the-milk-was-expired-deactivate]

BITCH FUCK ME UP

[vorpalmango]

DROWN ME IN YOUR MESSAGES

[lvulic]

what is this mahogoney.

[cliche-ask-max-deactivated20171]

Dude wtf

[a-boy-and-his-gem]

((i am utterly confused))

[tabii-search-history-deactivate]

oh))

[neeancy-search-history]

Yeah right, as if it’s real…

(But I am actually desperately lonely and hoping it is)

[flowerscout-davey-search-history]

*rolls eyes* suuuure

[phoneykin]

//:^)))

[euphorickie]

pls

[retrostan-deactivated20180915]

NOT EVEN A MINUTE LATER

NOPE IM OUT

[sweetseaveydreams]

wot in tarnation 

can i get a hoopla

[themostbeautifulthing123]

Q?

[trashyeds]

I wanna see if something actualky happens

(UPDATE) it actually works

[finns-curls]

only doing this to see if something happens

(UPDATE - LMAO IT ACTUALLY WORKS)

[woahidiot]

OKAY LETS TRY IT

[vi-bi-bye]

Not even some magical being can make me get something on my inbox, that shit’s a fucking desert

[beep-beep-beverly]

Askbox empty will wait to see what happens

[beep-beep-beverly]

Ah it works I’m not having a crisis or anything I’m so confused

[vitalhemmings]

hm

[mysharona1987]

[iiamsatisfiedwithmycare]

God …

[awwww-cute]

[mintschlar]

in a month’s time or very soon, most of us will be going back to school. if you’re the type of person that loves using printables cause admit it, they just make life sO much easier (also they’re very pretty), then don’t worry, i gotchu (⌐■_■)

some printables have a small description too, so u know what to expect.

[ warning! - long ass post ]

back to school printables!

school supplies list printable | by @studyvet / to write down what you need

back to school guide and printables | by @studyquill / v informative guide 

organize all the info for one class | by @solarstudy /  for when you want all the information about one class on one place

class information printable | by @studyquill / write all the information for one class on this 

grade tracker | by @thecollegekid / keep track of each assignment and what you got for it

daily planners!

there are many planners, but they all have different styles and elements included, so i recommend experimenting which one works best for you

vertical daily planner | by @cofene / cute, pastel, v functional, amazing

vertical daily planner | by @cmpsbls / cute, pastel, typography

vertical daily planner | by @arystudies / small, v organized and functional, 100% recommend, b&w and colors (i use these a lot)

weekly planners!

vertical weekly planner | by @vestiblr / pastel and minimal

vertical weekly planner | by @diehardstudyblr / colorful and cute

vertical weekly planner | by @revisingpotato / simple and minimal

horizontal weekly planner | by @cofene / vv cute and dotted

horizontal weekly planner | by @cofene / minimal, b&w and i like it vv much 

horizontal weekly planner | by @boligraff (liSTEN i used this one for 5 weeks straight it was so useful at helping me keep my shit organized) / b&w and minimal

to-do lists!

to-do list printable | by @studyvet / simple, has many spaces for tasks

to-do list printable | by @studeying / cute and pastel

weekly to-do list | by @studeying / cute, pastel, has slots for each day and for the next week.

study printables!

semi-cornell note taking outlines | by @studygene

study printable pack | by @marialearns

organic chemistry printable | by @colllegeruled

novel notes printables | by @ennui-for-me 

definition of terms printable | by @thearialligraphyproject 

semester course plan + weekly summary sheet | by @hexaneandheels

dot grid notes printables | by @studygene

pomodoro printables | by @cmpsbls

extras!

habit tracker | by @mincrvas

habit tracker and study schedule printable | by @cmpsbls

monthly earnings & spending tracker | by @boligraff 

go to sleep printables | by @educatier

another fun thing! you can make your own planner by using printables and resources from this masterpost by @highlighteurs , or just print out a few to put in your planner or bujo. 

other masterposts!

fav. printables | by @learnal

printables resources | by @study-well

printables masterpost | by @studyign

printable masterpost | by @studiyng

printables makers!

some also make calendar printables for the upcoming months.

@arystudies / @studygene / @educatier / @cmpsbls / @boligraff / @studeying / @hexaneandheels / @kouiro / @cofene / 

[reformedkingsmanagent]

HAVE A GREAT SEMESTER GUYS

[notaverycreativewriter]

me: *displays affection by giving you links to posts i think are relevant to your interests*

[notaverycreativewriter]

Ernest Hemingway: Write drunk, edit sober.

Me, a dumbass: Write while sleep deprived and heavily caffeinated at two am, no editing we die like men.

[notaverycreativewriter]

I wonder if in thousands of years time a new post apocolypic race with a different concept of time discovered new years...

David Attinbourough voice "at the changing of the big number they all drank poisen and attempted a year long fast that everyone gave up after a couple of weeks" ..."here we see an artifact of their spiritual chants 'new year new me!'"

[badassunicorn2016]

Writing Tip June 4th

A list of body language phrases.

I’ve included a very comprehensive list, organized by the type of body movement, hand and arm movements, facial expressions etc. In some cases, a phrase fits more than one heading, so it may appear twice. Possible emotions are given after each BL phrase unless the emotion is indicated within the phrase. (They are underlined for emphasis, not due to a hyperlink.)

Note: I’ve included a few body postures and body conditions as they are non-verbal testimony to the character’s physical condition.

Have fun and generate your own ideas.:-)

Eyes, Brows and Forehead

arched a sly brow:  sly, haughty

blinked owlishly:  just waking, focusing, needs glasses

brows bumped together in a scowl:  worried, disapproving, irritated

brows knitted in a frown: worried, disapproval, thoughtful

bug-eyed:  surprised, fear, horror

cocky wink and confident smile:  over confidence, arrogant, good humor, sexy humor

eyes burned with hatred: besides hatred this might suggest maniacal feelings

eyes flashed: fury, defiance, lust, promise, seduction

eyes rolled skyward: disbelief, distrust, humor

forehead puckered:  thoughtful, worried, irritation

frustration crinkled her eyes

gaze dipped to her décolletage: sexual interest, attraction, lust

gimlet-eyed/narrowed eyes: irritation, thoughtful, mean, angry

gleam of deviltry:  humor, conniving, cunning

kept eye contact but her gaze became glazed: pretending interest where there is none/bordom

narrowed to crinkled slits:  angry, distrust

nystagmic eyes missed nothing (constantly shifting eyes):  Shifty

pupils dilated:  interested, attraction to opposite sex, fear

raked her with freezing contempt

slammed his eyes shut:  stunned, furious, pain

squinted in a furtive manner:  fearful, sneaky

stared with cow eyes:  surprised, disbelief, hopeful, lovestruck

subtle wink:  sexy, humor/sharing a joke, sarcasm

unrelenting stare: distrust, demanding, high interest, unyielding

Place To Place, Stationary Or Posture

ambled away:  relaxed, lazy

barged ahead:  rude, hurried

battled his way through the melee:  desperate, anger, alarm

cruised into the diner:  easy-going, feeling dapper, confident

dawdled alongside the road:  lazy, deliberate delay for motives, unhurried, relaxed

dragged his blanket in the dirt:   sadness/depressed, weary

edged closer to him:  sneaky, seeking comfort, seeking protection, seeking an audience

he stood straighter and straightened his tie:  sudden interest, sexual attraction

held his crotch and danced a frantic jig: demonstrates physical condition – he has to pee

hips rolled and undulated:  sexy walk, exaggerating for sex appeal

hovered over them with malice/like a threatening storm: here it’s malice, but one may hover for many reasons.

hunched over to look shorter:  appear inconspicuous, ashamed of actions, ashamed of height

leaped into action feet hammering the marbled floor:  eager, fear, joyous

long-legged strides:  hurried, impatient

lumbered across:  heavy steps of a big man in a hurry

minced her way up to him: timid, sneaky, insecure, dainty or pretense at dainty

paced/prowled the halls:  worried, worried impatience, impatient, diligently seeking pivoted on his heel and took off:  mistaken and changes direction, following orders, hurried, abrupt change of mind, angry retreat

plodded down the road:  unhurried, burdened, reluctant

practiced sensual stroll:  sexy, showing off

rammed her bare foot into her jeans: angry, rushed

rocked back and forth on his heels: thoughtful, impatiently waiting

sagged against the wall:  exhausted, disappointment

sallied forth:  confident, determined

sashayed her cute little fanny:  confident, determined, angered and determined

shrank into the angry crowd:  fear, insecure, seeking to elude

sketched a brief bow and assumed a regal pose: confident, mocking, snooty, arrogant skidded to an abrupt halt: change of heart, fear, surprise, shock

skulked on the edges of the crowd: sneaky, ashamed, timid

slithered through the door:  sneaky, evil, bad intentions

stormed toward her, pulling up short when: anger with a sudden surprise

swaggered into the class room:  over confident, proud, arrogant, conceited

tall erect posture:  confidence, military bearing

toe tapped a staccato rhythm:  impatience, irritation

tottered/staggered unsteadily then keeled over:  drunk, drugged, aged, ill

waltzed across the floor:  happy, blissful, exuberant, conceited, arrogant

Head Movement

cocked his head:  curiosity, smart-alecky, wondering, thoughtful

cocked his head left and rolled his eyes to right corner of the ceiling:  introspection

droop of his head: depressed, downcast, hiding true feelings

nodded vigorously: eager

tilted her head to one side while listening:  extreme interest, possibly sexual interest

Mouth And Jaw

a lackluster smile:  feigning cheerfulness

cigarette hung immobile in mouth: shock, lazy, uncaring, relaxed casualness

clinched his jaw at the sight:  angered, worried, surprised

curled her lips with icy contempt

expelled her breath in a whose:  relief, disappointment

gagged at the smell: disgust, distaste

gapped mouth stare:  surprised, shock, disbelief

gritted his teeth:  anger, irritation, holding back opinion

inhaled a sharp breath:  surprise, shock, fear, horror

licked her lips:  nervous, sexual attraction

lips primed: affronted, upset, insulted

lips pursed for a juicy kiss

lips pursed like she’d been chewing a lemon rind: dislike, angry, irritated, sarcasm

lips screwed into: irritation, anger, grimace, scorn

lips set in a grim line: sorrow, worried, fear of the worst

pursed her lips:  perturbed, waiting for a kiss

scarfed down the last biscuit:  physical hunger, greed

slack-mouthed:  total shock, disbelief

slow and sexy smile:  attraction, seductive, coy

smacked his lips: anticipation

smile congealed then melted into horror

smile dangled on the corner of his lips: cocky, sexy

smirked and tossed her hair over her shoulder:  conceit, sarcasm, over confident

sneered and flicked lint off his suit: sarcasm, conceit

spewed water and spit: shock

stuck out her tongue: humor, sarcasm, teasing, childish

toothy smile:  eagerness, hopeful

wary smile surfaced on her lips

Nose

nose wrinkled in distaste/at the aroma

nostrils flared:  anger, sexual attraction

nose in the air:  snooty, haughty

Face in General

crimson with fury

handed it over shame-faced

jutted his chin: confident, anger, forceful

managed a deadpan expression:  expressionless

muscles in her face tightened:  unsmiling, concealing emotions, anger, worried

rested his chin in his palm and looked thoughtful

rubbed a hand over his dark stubble:  thoughtful, ashamed of his appearance

screwed up her face:  anger, smiling, ready to cry, could almost be any emotion

sneered and flicked lint off his suit: conceit, derision, scorn

Arm and Hand

a vicious yank

arm curled around her waist, tugging her next to him:  possessive, pride, protective

bit her lip and glanced away:  shy, ashamed, insecure

brandished his fist:  anger, threatening, ready to fight, confident, show of pride

clamped his fingers into tender flesh:  anger, protective, wants to inflict pain

clenched his dirty little fists: stubborn, angry

clapped her hands on her hips, arms crooked like sugar bowel handles:  anger, demanding, disbelief

constantly twirled her hair and tucked it behind her ear:  attracted to the opposite sex, shy crossed his arms over his chest: waiting, impatient, putting a barrier

crushed the paper in his fist:  anger, surrender, discard

dived into the food: hunger, eager, greedy

doffed his hat:  polite gesture, mocking, teasing

doodled on the phone pad and tapped the air with her foot:  bored, inattention, introspection

drummed her fingers on the desk:  impatient, frustrated, bored

fanned her heated face with her hands: physically hot, embarrassed, indicating attraction

fiddled with his keys: nervous, bored

firm, palm to palm hand shake:  confident, honest

flipped him the bird: sarcastic discard

forked his fingers through his hair for the third time:  disquiet/consternation, worry, thoughtful

handed it over shame-faced:  guilt, shame

held his crotch and danced a frantic jig:  physical need to relieve himself

limp hand shake:  lack of confidence, lack of enthusiasm

propped his elbow on his knee: relaxed, thoughtful

punched her pillow:  restless, can’t sleep, angry

rested his chin in his palm:  thoughful, worried

scratched his hairy belly and yawned:  indolent, bored, lazy, relaxed, just waking

shoulders lifted in a shrug:  doubtful, careless discard

slapped his face in front of God and country:  enraged, affronted/insulted

snapped a sharp salute:  respect, sarcastic gesture meaning the opposite of respect

snapped his fingers, expecting service:  arrogant, lack of respect, self-centered

sneered and flicked lint off his suit

spread her arms wide: welcoming,  joy, love

stabbed at the food: anger, hunger, determined

stood straighter and smoothed his tie:  sudden interest, possible sexual interest

stuffed his hands in his pockets: self-conscious, throwing up a barrier

sweaty handshake:  nervous, fearful

touched his arm several times while explaining:  sign of attraction, flattery, possessive

wide sweep of his arms:  welcoming, all inclusive gesture, horror

Sitting or Rising

collapsed in a stupor:  exhausted, drunk, drugged, disbelief

enthroned himself at the desk:  conceit, pronouncing or taking ownership

exploded out of the chair:  shock, eager, anger, supreme joy

roosted on the porch rail like a cock on a hen house roof:  claiming ownership, conceit, content

sat, squaring an ankle over one knee:  relaxed and open

slouched/wilted in a chair and paid languid attention to:  drowsy, lazy, depressed, disinterest, sad, totally relaxed, disrespectful

squirmed in his chair: ill at ease, nervous, needs the bathroom

Recline

flung himself into the bed: sad, depressed, exhausted, happy

prostrated himself: surrender, desperate, miserable, powerless, obsequious, fawning, flattering

punched her pillow:  can’t sleep, anger, frustrated

threw himself on the floor kicking and screaming: tantrum

Entire body and General

body stiffened at the remark:  offended, anger, alerted

body swayed to music:  dreamy, fond memories, enjoys the music

bounced in the car seat, pointing:  excitement, fear, eager

cowered behind his brother:  fear, shyness, coward, desperate

curled into a ball:  sorrow, fear, sleepy, defensive

heart galloping:  anxiety, joy, eager

held his crotch and danced a frantic jig

humped over his cane, each step shaking and careful: pain, aged

inhaled a deep breath and blew out slowly: buying time to find words/thoughtful, reconciled

quick and jerky like rusty cogs on a wheel:  unsure of actions, self-conscious, tense, edgy

rocked back and forth on his heels:  impatient, cocky, gleeful

manhandled the woman into a corner:  bully, anger

slumped shoulders: defeat, depressed, sad, surrender

stiff-backed:  priggish, haughty, affronted

stood straighter and straightened his tie:  sexual interest, wants to make an impression

stooped and bent: aged, arthritic, in pain

stretched extravagantly and yawned:  tired, bored, unconcerned

sweating uncontrollably: nervous, fear, guilt

tall erect posture:  confidence, military bearing

was panting now at:  afraid, exhausted, out of breath, sexual excitement

-Sharla Rae