#personal article

[in-defense-of-the-horror]

Horror is one of the oldest and most influential genres, but it’s not always portrayed in the best light. How many times have you heard the phrase “I just don’t like those kinds o…

An article that shares the main intent of my blog - defending the horror genre. 

[oracse]

Reigniting Inner Child

I’m sure we have all heard these phrases in our life before, “stop acting like a child”, “grow up already”, or “you’re a grown up now so you should act like one.” We spend our lives rushing to grow up like we are in a marathon that we later find ourselves forcing others that do not follow this to also behave and grow up.

Growing up is a phase everyone has to go through even if we do not want it. It is sad and hard since you can’t do what you usually do as well as being expected to do everything on your own, even if you might not be able to reach their expectation but still strive to survive and live a comfortable life.

Unlike when we were in school, when you make a mistake, the worst that could ever happen is being scolded or the teachers have to take over it but if that were in the adult world, no one is willing to help you and will be severe consequences ranging from loss of money or the reputation you have built through the years and the worst is lives being harmed—it is no wonder that everyone would soon forget their inner child, pushing it back into the deepest part of our minds and forget to enjoy the little things in life.

In our lives, there is always a person or a group of people we envy either because they have everything we don’t have or just seem like they have the perfect life since they become excited about the little and the big things, having a great weather or someone simply greeting them back. It’s because they’re fully embracing their inner child which results in them living with a higher level of happiness compared to those who choose to leave their inner child buried deep within them.

This is why books such as the Harry Potter series or the Percy Jackson chronicles as well as games such as Pokémon by Nintendo, Genshin Impact by MiHoYo and the Japan only game, Twisted-Wonderland worked so well—they light the imaginative part of our brain. They made a world so real that people from all over the world rushed to see and experience worlds filled with endless possibilities that contain magic and mystical creatures.

To those who think that they no longer have their inner child, don’t worry because our inner child never leaves even if we’ve buried or pushed it away, it exists inside of our hearts and minds. It is going to be difficult to reconnect with your inner child, but it is possible as long as you look deep enough. Remember, don’t be afraid to lose yourself in the unbelievable sometimes and never release your sense of wonder and imagination because it’s what created many wonderful things in our life. Play to your heart's desire, don’t think that it is childish to do so and have fun with your family or friends. It’s okay to let loose because life is not all about the hardships—be adventures and don’t lose that curiosity. Once you’ve found that inner child again, you’ll thank yourself in the future.

[untoldstoriessworld]

I am Amber | میں امبر فاطمہ

I am Amber | میں امبر فاطمہ | Urdu Aap Beeti

I Am Amber میں امبر فاطمہ

I Am Amber | By Amber Fatima             امبر فردوس تخلص؛ :آیت فاطمہ

        میرا نام میری پہچان. اللہ تبارک و تعالیٰ نے مجھے آج جس مقام سے نوازا ہے وہ مقام سب سے بلند نظر آتا ہے…. بات کچھ یوں ہے کہ میں سمجھتی ہوں جو شخص خود کو پہچان لے، اپنی صلاحیتوں کو سمجھ لے، اسے اگر دنیا مقام نہ بھی دے پھر بھی اسکا مقام سب سے بلند ہوتا ہے اور میرا تخیل مجھے اس نظر سے ہی بلند مقام…

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[nickjgoodsell]

What Annoys Me (Or Just Completely Pisses Me Off)

What Annoys Me (Or Just Completely Pisses Me Off)

The title is pretty self explanatory, but I thought I’d switch things up and write something thats not what I normally put on here. It’s more about myself and not about books or reviews for once, and it was kind of fun/therapeutic/etc to make an extensive list about the annoyances I face everyday. It’s supposed to be funny, it’s supposed to be serious, it’s supposed to be relatable.

Please…

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[thurstiantsui-blog]

An Ode to Professionalism

I hope it’s not bad form to write this post. On December 19th, 2016, the Russian ambassador to Turkey, Andrey Karlov was assassinated while attending an exhibition called “Russia as seen by the Turks” at an art gallery in Ankara, Turkey. Burhan Ozbilici who works for the Associated Press in Turkey was attending the event by chance after hearing about it and going to see a friend. As he says in an…

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[mayoperry-blog]

That Backwards Hat

This is a small personal essay I wrote about one of my most profound moments in my life. I was only 16 when this happened, and it changed my life. It changed how I viewed the world, others, myself, and it’s the moment I truly realized the impact one can have on someone else. 

It had been a long week. A week filled with tears, scrapes and bruises, and far too many reprimanding talks for the amount of girls in the cabin. For two years now, I’ve worked at a week-long, sleep-away summer camp as a counselor. Each session is the most grueling, emotional, hard-hitting, amazing experience of my life. Each week that I spend in those conjoined cabins, two weeks in the summer and one long weekend in the winter, my life is changed. This past summer, however, I realized something that I never thought I would experience, especially not at the ripe, young age of 16. 

Every morning at camp, we have to wake up around 7:30 to make it down to breakfast in time. As a teenager, I can barely drag myself out of bed in a timely fashion, forget rallying eight pre-pubescent girls changing their outfits three times before deciding on the first outfit they tried on, fighting over who gets to hold who’s hand on the walk, all while collecting the daily necessities: sunscreen, band aids, spare jackets and the occasional security stuffed animal. The simple quarter mile hike down to the dining hall can be easily mistaken as a three day trek. Keeping track of kids trying to run ahead, pulling girls off of slippery rocks even though they “need to show you their newest gymnastic trick”, chasing down whichever giggling child grabbed my hat and snatching it back before they put on their own head. By the time we actually settle in for breakfast, every counselor is exhausted, and the kids are completely energized. On this one particular morning, no one was in a good mood. Halfway through the week, everything deflates. Patience gets shorter, the tension between co-counselors is more obvious than a chin zit the night before an actor’s debut performance. The entire cabin, the eight girls, my three co-counselors, and I, had been through enough. We woke up late, scrambling out of bed not long after the alarm had gone off. Everything that went wrong, could have. We couldn’t find a favorite jacket, someone had a tummy ache, another refused to put on her pants, the toothpaste was all gone, smeared across the sink counter rather than the toothbrushes it was intended for. The counselors decided to split the group in half, with the six already dressed girls getting a head start down to breakfast, while the remaining two girls and I stayed back until the campers deemed themselves “presentable for Benny in the B7 cabin”. The three of us finally made it out of the door, and began down the hill to the road leading to the dining hall. Up ahead, we could see the rest of our cabin as they met up with another group of girls also heading to breakfast. The camper on my left, Sarah, took off before my hoarse voice could instruct otherwise, barely making it down the hill without face planting before she caught up with her friends. Then it was down to two. The remaining camper, Jenny, held tight to me as she rambled on about her favorite foods and how she hoped breakfast would be pancakes. I selfishly tuned out her voice as I ran through the days schedule silently while trying to locate a desperately needed stray can of RedBull from the depths of my backpack.

Suddenly, I was jerked back by my hand as Jenny stopped in her tracks, gasping. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “We need to meet up with the rest of your friends.” “We can’t!” She protested. “Why not?” A little agitated, I lightly tugged her arm, but she stayed firm. “I forgot something in the cabin. We need to get it.” The fuse to my mental bomb shortened with every word. I could feel my fingernails digging into the palms of my hands, and to this day I’m surprised I didn’t draw blood. “Go get it!” Through clenched teeth, I used my patient, overenthusiastic voice as Jenny skipped back up the hill, clearly not detecting my irritation. I impatiently popped the tab on my lukewarm blue and silver can as Jenny came back down the hill, her smile ever present while mine had long gone. She skidded to a stop and beamed up at me, showing off her toothy smile that was missing a couple of teeth. A blindingly bright, neon pink trucker hat sat atop her head.

“I got my hat. Now we can go.” Jenny stated, matter-of-factly. We ambled down the hill, taking our time. I knew it was past the point of making it to breakfast on time, and decided to ease up on myself before I short-circuited due to stress. We stayed silent for a while, Jenny and I. She seemed content with humming to herself, and I welcomed the moment of peace before I had to deal with the rest of the seven preteens who had left us behind. “You know how I went and got my hat?” Jenny asked. I nodded. “I decided to start wearing hats now.” I nodded again. “You wanna know why?” “Why?” I responded, deciding to indulge my camper. “Because you wear hats.” She stated simply. “You wear a hat now, because I wear a hat?” I confirmed. “Yep. We can be twins.” She smiled. I squeezed her hand in agreement. We walked quietly for a few hundred yards before Jenny spoke up again, this time more timid than before.

“I wear my hat, because you wear a hat. And because I want to be like you.” I stopped in my tracks for just a beat before continuing, not wanting to let her know that her confession had struck me. At first, I was confused about why she wanted to be like me, why she chose to wear her hat the way I wore mine. Sun protection? I wear a hat for no other reason than I like the feel of it pressed against my forehead. Some people have a favorite necklace or a lucky pair of shoes, I wear my hat.

We made it down to breakfast, and that morning I ate quietly. Jenny’s declaration played in my head as I filled my stomach with hard boiled eggs and another classic RedBull. Right as the breakfast bell sounded, I realized what Jenny had really said. She looked up to me. I realized that by trying to dress how I dress, she tried to emulate me. When people look up to a someone, they wear the brands that the person wears or endorses, listen to the music the person listens to. Jenny saw something in me, something that she wanted to be.

Before that day, I had no idea the impact that I had on people. Parents had told me that “I was a unique kid” or that “I had something special” but I think that’s because parents have to say that to prove that they can be civil to children other than their own. I didn’t realize that I was someone worth following, worth looking up to.

For the rest of the week, I started to notice little things that Jenny would do to match me. If I crossed my arms, hers somehow twisted themselves into the exact same position seconds later. The colors I used on my lanyard somehow ended up in hers in the exact same order. Never before had I realized how, by just being themselves, one person could touch someone else. I was unaware of how by just being the one person who encourages a kid to take a chance they were scared to take, by applauding them for the small, trivial victories, one could give that child the support that they may not have ever had before. I have so many role models that I look up to. Soccer stars, celebrities, my ninth grade english teacher. I never thought that I would be in that position of wonder for someone else. I never thought someone would want to wear their hat the way I did, because I did. In one week, I influenced the life of a girl who needed someone to look up to, and that nine-year-old girl opened my eyes to the impact that one can have on anything by just being supportive and open-minded, by being themselves.

[mayoperry-blog]

At 16, I’m Practically the Newest Kardashian.

Another article that I wrote. Ever since I was young, I dealt with medical issued that lead to appearance and self confidence issues. A decade later, I was able to look back and reflect on what I thought was the worst thing in my life. 

Rascal Flatts calmly croons through my phone speakers as I lounge on the couch with a bag of frozen peas sitting on my face. Three days ago, I had a procedure on both eyes to raise the lids and turn the eyelashes upwards, giving my eyes the illusion of being open and symmetrically aligned. On April 1st of this year, I opted to have my left eye surgically centered, so that my pupils point forwards and my left eye doesn't turn in.

As a child, I had more medical issues than you could count on both hands, feet, and ears. Being too young to participate, my parents made the decision to focus on my breathing and vision issues before the cosmetic issues. Until I was in middle school, everything was always up in the air. My airway was, and still is, a jigsaw puzzle for every doctor we've seen. Throw in a dozen ocular problems, and I'm a medical Rubik's cube. When I was 13, my parents sat me down, and told me what I thought was the best news of my life. "For now, no more procedures. The next time that you have a surgery, it will be on your terms, totally your decision." To me, that read as "no more surgeries. Woohoo!"

Fast forward two more years, and I wasn't so sure. Freshman year of high school, and everything changes. Middle school is awkward, and almost everyone has either braces or glasses. Lucky me, I had both. Everyone knows that middle school is a bumbling mess of acne and bad decisions, and it's okay to screw up once, twice, or 30 times in those three years of school. High school, though, that's when everything should be in your favor, right? All the boys lengthened out, and some even became “cute,” according to my straight and boy-crazy friends. The girls grew and became bustier, makeup and Lululemon leggings became essential. Personally, I wasn't so sure about my transition. Still riddled with glasses and a full mouth of braces, I accepted those.

Something I couldn't get over was my eyes. No matter how much I grew, or how much I changed my style or my interests, my eye still turned in, drooped, and became a magnet for wandering eyes and curious questions. Whenever a little kid was around, I dreaded hearing the question that I know is inevitable: "Why's your eye like that?" Or for the bolder children, there's the statement: "your eye is funny." I respond the same way every time, "I was born like that." I give them the answer that their mother would give them. The answer that they get in order to avoid telling their kids the truth, "I don't know honey. I'm wondering the same exact thing, only I have a social filter.”

I spent years feeling different, and not knowing why or how I could change that. I have a whole different set of problems compared to a normal teenager girl when it comes to body image. In eighth grade, we had to submit baby photos for the yearbook for a special segment about "how much we've grown" or some shit like that. Going through photos with my mother, I was hoping for one thing- a normal photo. We sifted through maybe hundreds of images, from being a newborn until preschool. In each photo, front and center, stands my droopy and swollen eyelids, like I was in a messy bar fight that went too far. I finally decided on one that seemed normal enough, after many hours of deliberation and considering submitting a baby picture of my younger sister to avoid all of the questions. Looking through the yearbook with friends months later, I sat awkwardly as they all cooed over each other's photos. "Look how cute he was!...aw, baby!...So small!...Perry, this is...cute? ...Oh my gosh, the next one is adorable!" Giving a tight-lipped smile, I quickly turned the page to get as far away from my photo as possible.

In the modern world, image is everything. Instagram, Tumblr, magazines and film all push images of what people “should be” or what the ideal American human should “look like.” On one hand, as a female-identifying person, you’re supposed to be this hyper-contradictory perfect image: small waist, petite body, flat stomach, long hair, et cetera. Yet changing yourself to fit into those molds is simultaneously frowned upon. It’s the double edged sword of the modern day. Be skinny, but naturally, because dieting for a body is desperate. Have the perfect face, but don’t use too much makeup or plastic surgery, because that is fake. Be yourself and be an individual, but be an acceptable individual. There’s only so much wiggle room in this iron cast mold of beauty. People break themselves, bruise themselves, kill themselves trying to squeeze into the unattainable template.

I know that plastic surgery is a taboo, and yet a sign of elitism and the finishing touch on the “perfect Los Angeles Woman.” Kim Kardashian’s plastic surgery has brought her millions of fans, tens of millions of haters, but nonetheless, more social media follows and publicity than virtually any other contemporary celebrity. I’ve realized that plastic surgery is something that no one wants to have, but something that everyone secretly wants to say they have. For me, it was never a sign of wealth, or something that I did to turn heads. It was, and will remain as, something that I had to do for myself. When I first heard that celebrities get fake breasts or new noses because they wanted to, I would think what everyone else generally thinks- “Just because there’s the technology to change your face 40 different ways, doesn’t mean you should”. Us normal folk have to deal with the faces and bodies we were dealt, right? I’ve come to realize that it’s not about the money, and it’s not about status. It’s all for me. I did it because I want to feel and know that I look how I want to look. I could not care less if you think it looks nice, or if you think it’s “morally acceptable” to willingly put silicone in my face, because it is not your face. It doesn’t affect you in any way what I do with my body.

This year, I gained a whole new perspective on the world, and on Hollywood beauty culture (more like a cult) through my own experiences. Maybe not a respect for the celebrities that I used to judge for being “fake” or “plastic,” but rather, an understanding. I can now clearly see why they get breast augmentations, or facial reconstructions, and I feel for them. So, with that in mind and my experiences to back my decisions, I am ready. Someone call Kris Jenner and tell her to adopt me, because I’ve had enough plastic surgery to qualify as the newest Kardashian sister. That’s how this works, right?