fickle: (disney: esmeralda whee)
Or, at least, finals are. I turned everything in, parents are flying up on the 26th for commencement, and I am going to do my best to catch up with my flist again,

So, that said, FLIST, talk to me! We just had a crazy season ending for House. And Desperate Housewives sort of KILLED me. *pokes you all* I know you guys watch those shows, so talk to me about them! I'm cutting for spoilers, even.

Desperate Housewives DESPERATELY needs to make sense, stat! )

House M.D last, so you don't have to read the DH stuff if you don't want to. )
fickle: (disney: esmeralda whee)
There's a meme opened up where you make gifts for random strangers or people on your flist. I think it's a fantastic idea. We just finished Sexual Assault Awareness month, had the mess with the Open Source Boobie Project and there's a feminism fiasco going on to do with WoC feeling marginalized, so something cheerful and positive is definitely a great idea from where I'm standing.

Currently, I have completed gifts for Dani and three total strangers.

Edit at Saturday, 9:10AM EST: Add in three more strangers and also, [livejournal.com profile] princessjessia.

Current total: 8 overall, 6 strangers, 2 friends.

I pretty much choose whom to give gifts for based off their username and if we have any shared fandoms. And I'll probably keep going until it maxes out on comments. If anyone reading this signed up as well, link me to your comment via a comment here and I'll throw something your way as well!

Anything you throw my way is ♥, pretty much. April was a grueling month and finals are coming up, and I am very easy to please.

the ☂APRIL☂ showers bring ✿MAY✿ flowers meme
fickle: (a pure square of cornflower blue)
Today's the National Day of Silence, a day of silent protest against the harassment and discrimination that GLBTs face. This year, they're mourning the death of an 8th-grader, Lawrence King, who was killed on the 12th February by a classmate.

As usual, I picked up a t-shirt and armband to wear, along with a few print-outs to hand out to people to explain why I won't be talking today. The funny thing is, the atmosphere on campus is almost identical to that when National Coming Out Day is approaching. Both of them involve the sale of t-shirts, both are centered around GLBT events, both usually have concerts or lunches attached, and both are specific to America as far as I know.

Being gay is often compared to being black, or belonging to disadvantaged racial group, and yet, shockingly enough, there's no day during which people come out as black or Latina or Asian. But at the same time, I can't think of any day that's specifically designated to combat racial discrimination.

It is Latina month here on campus but at the same time, it's Sexual Assault Awareness Month. I know that Wellesley campus isn't unaware of the latter because we have all the Take Back The Night ribbons strung up everywhere, so we're apparently hosting both months at the same time.

While I am all in favor of promoting cultural events, and definitely in favor of working against sexual assault, I think it's just a bit much to have both of them at the same time, especially when one is about pride and the other is about survival.

Does anyone else think that America might have too many 'months'? I don't remember Austria having so many specific holidays. We have our version of Halloween, we had Mother's Day, random Christian holidays, but that's about it. Sri Lankans celebrate their own culturally specific events such as New Year's in April, but again, we don't have a Buddhist Month or a Soldiers Killed In The Civil War Day.

I'm supporting National Day of Silence, obviously. Same for Sexual Assault Awareness Month. And if I knew what to do for Latina Month, I'd support that as well.

However, I am having difficulty remembering all the months and holidays. Unless I see flyers for them or are reminded online, it's too easy to have these dates slip my mind. And I know that some people on my flist feel the same, since I'm the one reminding them of National Coming Out Day and other such events.

Which holidays (apart from the obvious ones like Christmas, Easter, Halloween, your birthday, etc) do you remember? Apart from the months I've named, can you think of any? And for those of you who live outside America -- do you get special months allocated to causes, or is it just an American thing?
fickle: (asian fairy tale)
Last night, I was talking with an friend of mine about what her definition of rape is versus harassment is, and one of the things she brought up is how much she hates it when girls don’t say no or don’t protest clearly but then claim it was rape the next day.

So I thought that since it’s Sexual Assault Awareness Month, I’d write about a case in my life when I wanted to say no, didn’t manage to, but I really wish I had.


This was going to be an entry about how when I was seventeen, I once failed to say no/clearly show that I didn't want a guy sexually touching me. Then I reread the journal entries that I'd written at the time and realized that I hadn't ever said the actual word 'no', but I had signified discomfort in a lot of ways and tried to get away from him.

Here's an excerpt from one of the journal entries in question. Cut for possible triggers. Typoes left in for the sake of accuracy. )

Originally, I had remembered this as him touching my breast and me backing away from him. I hadn't remembered that I had fought back. I didn't remember that I kicked him, and I didn't remember that he continued with his advances afterwards.

That's not what's important here. The question is, why didn't I just say no instead of trying to physically get away from him and discourage him without having to actually talk about what was happening?

The answer's in the question itself. I didn't want to talk about what was happening.

Part of the Asian culture that I was raised in involves victim-blaming. If I had told him to stop it, I would've had to admit that he was doing something wrong, and then I would've had to examine my own behavior to see how I had caused it. If I kick him, leave the room, and then quit art class? I'm still not actually addressing the fact that hey, he's touching me, he's doing things to my body that I don't want, he is behaving like a jerk.

The next day, I had my boyfriend come into the classroom with me and sit with me. While my boyfriend was in the room, the 'friend' slid his hand onto my thigh (I was wearing shorts) and tried to feel me up.

I didn't tell my boyfriend what was happening. I just stood up.

And then I quit art.

I couldn't tell my parents why because they would've blamed me. I was the one who had chosen to take special after-school lessons, and my mother honestly believes that short skirts cause rape. My mother was rubbed up against by a guy on a bus for the entire ride home when she was a teenager, and she remained absolutely quiet and made no fuss until she got home, and then she started crying.

The Sri Lankan culture does not hold with 'making scenes'. I couldn't tell him no, because then I'd have to acknowledge what was happening. I'd have to make a scene. And that's simply not done. Even though I grew up in Europe, I still grew up inside a Sri Lankan household where if a man is taking liberties with you, it's because you've somehow signified you're open to them.

Who knows? Maybe I didn't kick him hard enough. Maybe I should've kicked him in the balls to show that I meant no.

Or maybe I should've just swallowed down a lifetime of being told to be a good, quiet little Asian who doesn't make waves and called him on it.

I was too scared to. Apart from my indoctrination into silence, I didn't know what would happen next. What if he denied anything was happening? What if he told everyone else that I'd accused him of molesting me and then laughed at the idea that he'd do anything like that with me? What if my parents found out about it?

So I kicked him, I pushed him away, I brought my boyfriend to show him that I was taken and not interested, and finally, when none of that worked, I quit art class.

But I never actually voiced the word 'no', or faced up to what was happening to me.

Strange as it may seem to some of the Western readers on my flist, I'm using this post to promote Sexual Assault Awareness concerning yourself.

It is YOUR body. You have a right to decide what other people do with it. If someone is making you uncomfortable, tell them 'Stop'. They are the ones in the wrong, not you. Facing that something bad is happening to you is infinitely preferable to trying to dodge around it, because as long as you can't stand your ground, they're going to keep pushing until they've backed you into a corner.

The last time someone groped me, I yelled at them to 'FUCK OFF OR I'LL BREAK YOUR HAND'. The man in question quickly sloped away.

No matter how shy you might be, how uncertain and scared, or how tied to a culture that keeps you very firmly passive, your body is still yours. And you are never the bad guy for telling someone that what they're doing to you is wrong. Never.
fickle: (smallville: pure luthor)
Heard of the Open Source Boobie Project?

If you haven't, you should probably know straight off the bat that the name's a misnomer. Open Source has nothing to do with this because breasts are not publicly shareable bits of property. Breasts belong to the person they are attached to. They do not belong to anyone else -- not the doctor, not the plastic surgeon, not the boyfriend/girlfriend/significant other of the moment and not the hungry baby. My breasts, my uterus, my vagina, my body.

And if you try to act otherwise, I will most likely oppose your viewpoint either firmly or violently depending on your level of stupidity.

That said, what exactly am I so snarly about this? Multiple reasons.


  1. For a moment, everything that was awkward about high school would fade away and you could just say what was on your mind. It was as though parts of me were being healed whenever I did it, and I touched at least fifteen sets of boobs at Penguicon. It never got old, surprisingly. Women are not responsible for your sexual healing. If you had a hard time picking up girls in high school or getting to touch their breasts, dressing up wanting to touch a lot of breasts at a con as 'sexual healing' does not make it look less sleazy. Like someone else said, my breasts do not have magical healing powers.

  2. Like [livejournal.com profile] brown_betty said, "apparently there is a deeply felt conviction among some subset of men that the problem with today's society is that they do not have enough access to women's bodies."

    Of all the things that are wrong with society, I really don't think that's one of them.

    Four more reasons under the cut. )

    More reactions, many much more articulate, can be found here.
fickle: (asian pride)
It's storming here beautifully. I was sleeping and the crash of thunder woke up me, dragged me out of bed to press my nose against the window mesh. I've got both windows thrown open to their utmost and I'm waiting, waiting, waiting for night to fall so that I can see the lightning crash against a dark sky instead of the pale yellow-grey that the sky is now.

It makes me miss Sri Lanka. No country has storms like Sri Lanka does, especially during the monsoon season.

It's cold here in Wellesley, but the storm makes me want to put on a reddha (basically a piece of cloth wrapped around your body, kind of like a tube dress but casual and made of cotton) and dance under the rain.

You can do that in Sri Lanka. I did that at my grandmother's house for the first time. My mother and I both wore reddhas -- it wouldn't have been as much fun in a t-shirt and shorts -- and went out into the garden. The dirt is red in Sri Lanka. It's not brown like Vienna or Wellesley but red, like cinnamon powdered into the earth itself. When the rain came, it made the mud terracotta red-brown as well and I stomped my feet against the ground and watched it splash up and cling to my ankles.

I whirled in circles under the rain. Again and again and again and I remember how the rain felt. I was only seven, but I remember the sheer joy of being out there in a storm and being warm and drenched and laughing. My mother danced with me and my grandmother watched.

Then the jugguru-jugguru driver came and my mother ran shrieking inside the house, embarrassed to be seen in a garment that clung to her so. I stayed outside and talked to the driver because I love riding in jugguru-jugguru's. My mother hates them but every trip to Sri Lanka, I insist on being allowed to ride in them at least once. There's no air conditioning, the roadside dirt can hit you so easily, the drivers take crazy risks and my mother once saw one get hit by a van and bowled completely over but... They're part of what makes Sri Lanka Sri Lanka to me. That, and the way that the air smells different to Boston and Vienna.

Boston and Vienna both smell the same unless you head down to the seaside in Boston. Sri Lanka's different. It's hot, it's humid and people burn fires in their backyards. Or front yards. The smoke fills the air and the cows and cats and dogs wander the streets freely. Whenever I step out of the airport, one of the first things that hits me about Sri Lanka -- after the heat -- is the smell. My nose adjusts quickly and I forget it within a few hours but the first physical shock of the air being different is one of those things that makes me know I'm in Sri Lanka now.

There are a lot of things that drive me crazy about Sri Lanka but the air smells different, the dirt is red and you can dance in the rain.
fickle: (disney: esmeralda whee)
Taken from [livejournal.com profile] a_white_rain.

Originated by [livejournal.com profile] dsudis.

So I was adding some new interests to my LJ profile (because I, uh... have some new interests. Yes.) and found myself feeling defensive every time I typed a female name, thinking, basically, FUCK YOU, SHE'S AWESOME, because I felt as if someone somewhere was going to be criticizing my love for them.

So, anyway, then I made a list of women who make me want to say FUCK YOU, SHE'S AWESOME. They are far from the only women who are awesome, or the only women people need to be told to step off of, but they are the top ten I feel that way about, right now, off the top of my head.

If you want to argue with me about the awesomeness of any of these women, I am afraid I will simply be referring you to the subject line. THAT IS ALL.


1) Rachel from Animorphs
2) War from Good Omens
3) Granny Weatherwax, Discworld
4) Shirley Schmidt from Boston Legal
5) Mai Kujaku, Yuugiou
6) Hayley from Stick It
7) Mulan from Mulan
8) Stephanie Brown from Batman comics
9) Lilly Rush from Cold Case
10) Dr. Cuddy from Houses

I've actually ordered them in the order that I'd like to be them. Rachel is my top pick. I know how she died, I know what she had to do before she died but gods, I love her. She had so much fierceness in her; passion and anger and courage, all wrapped up tightly inside her skin. And when she died, she was missed.

Of all the women on that list, Rachel's skin is the one that I want to wear the most.

Life and death and love and all, I want to be her.

wtf, Yahoo?

Apr. 6th, 2008 02:43 am
fickle: (smallville: pure luthor)
I just accidentally checked my Bulk mail which I NEVER do and saw that all 7 messages there were lj comments!

If you guys have been replying to my comments/posts recently and not getting responses, now you know why. Link me to anything you desperately need an answer on! *going through her own posts for the last two months to check on them*

Apart from that, anyone got songs or stuff they associate with Reid or Garcia from Criminal Minds? I'm trying to make icons and keep getting stuck for lack of fandom-y knowledge and inability to dig up interesting stuff from wiki.

Also, I'm going to be writing a paper on self-harm for my Medical Ethics class. Might have questions up about it later for you guys but promise to lj-cut them if I do so as not to trigger anyone. I just thought you deserved a heads-up.

Link of the Day: The Bunnyocalpyse! Bunny Peeps die in a variety of disturbing ways. My personal favorite? The assassin.
fickle: (disney: esmeralda whee)
Today, I have to give a speech on cannibalism for my Medieval Food & Drink class.

I'm bringing them little gingerbread men to eat as a snack.
fickle: (disney: esmeralda whee)
In Domino, there's a shade of blue known as Kaiba blue. It's popular for bedrooms and the trim on hats for schoolgirls. Soon, it turns into the blue of the uniform skirts and jackets.

They call it Kaiba blue even when nobody remembers who the Kaibas were; like Prussia, they are a thing of the past and history books.

Their name is remembered for the wrong reasons. There is no longer any awe attached to it.


Now that I've got THAT out of my system, sorry for everyone who's been wondering why I've been MIA lately. Willow aka [livejournal.com profile] witchwillow and Zoe aka [livejournal.com profile] tes_aiden came over to crash with me and I was busy having SO MUCH FUN with them that I totally stayed offline!

More details. )

Also, PHOTOS will later be up. Both photos from the con, and photos of the combined coolness that is the FWZ triad.
fickle: (smallville: pure luthor)
Why?

Basic accounts can no longer be created.

In other words, you either have to face ads or you get a Paid account. Want to know what makes this worse?

They didn't announce it publicly. The only hint of it is in a comment to the news post.

Basically, that means that I am OUT of el-jay RPing unless I recycle an old journal because I sure as hell refuse to create a Plus account when it fucks over everything so much and when they PROMISED it would never happen.

iJay's got ads, yeah, but at least they're honest about it. This was x-posted from my iJay (fickle), which is a Permanent Account. I don't usually x-post but in this case, I definitely consider it worth it.
fickle: (disney: esmeralda whee)
Seb ([livejournal.com profile] ryuutchi) came over last, last Sunday night after Intercon to hang out with me! Below the cut are photos of my room, which [livejournal.com profile] ohsnikt has been asking for for a while, my Green Lantern ring that she gave me, the evil things we did to the fridge in the common room, my standard 3-times-a-day meal, a seal cookie originally bought for [livejournal.com profile] pikachumaniac and assorted stuff.

And, of course, the obligatory pool shot.

Place your bets which way the head will roll. )

I've got [livejournal.com profile] witchwillow and [livejournal.com profile] tes_aidan's vists to look forwards to as well, so expect more photos later!
fickle: (disney: esmeralda whee)
Happy birthday, [livejournal.com profile] abrandnewboom. I don't know HOW long you've had that new journal but I still started to type in your old journal name when I wrote that. XD May the new year be utterly awesome and filled with joy. And gay musicians.

In other equally-awesome news:

HAPPY INTERATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY!


To celebrate, I'm writing drabbles for upto three female chars you pick. Any fandom that I usually write! Feel free to repost and share the squeeing over girl chars, if you want, but don't feel obligated to do so.

If you can't think of any fandoms I heart, try Animorphs, Archie Comics, Batman/DC*, Batman Beyond, Big Wolf on Campus, Boston Legal, Bruno and Boots, Chrestomanci, Cold Case, Discworld, Fables, Good Omens, Gravitation, Greek Mythology, Gundam Wing, Harry Potter, Hercules (Disney), Legally Blonde, Mighty Ducks, Mulan (Disney), Othello (the manga), Petshop of Horrors, Pokemon, Sailor Moon season R, Smallville, Spiderman, Stick It, Sweet Valley, The Authority, Utena Revolutionary Girl, Yu-Gi-Oh.

Femmeslash pairings are TOTALLY okay to request. So's het, but be warned that the focus will be on the female character, not on their relationship. ♥ If you want a fandom I haven't listed there but you know I like, go for it!
fickle: (disney: esmeralda whee)
[livejournal.com profile] a_white_rain: Pointless fandom memes!

I'm going to start with the one that I just took from her. XD

Name a character I write and I'll tell you how s/he lost her/his virginity.
fickle: (disney: esmeralda whee)
[livejournal.com profile] shantih: I'd like to hear about novels you're reading that you really enjoy. Some of the things I've read recently that I enjoyed most I would never have known existed if not for random recs from my f-list.

Whenever college gets tough, my reading habits change. I stop reading novels and instead pick up collections of short stories because it's easier to get through single stories while having dinner or waiting in line than a full novel. So this list of the latest 5 books I've read is weighed towards the short and amusing.

Weddings, Cyberspace, Shiny Love, Fantasy & Sci-fi. )
fickle: (smallville: pure luthor)
About two years ago, I ended up friends with [livejournal.com profile] greyhawk. It was a strange friendship, entered into a little warily because we're at opposite sides of the political spectrum on practically every issue. He's a small-c conservative and I'm a liberal, fairly far to the left but we managed to have a reasonable conversation about politics, and became lj-friends.

Why am I bringing it up now?

I've noticed that this election isn't affecting my circle of friends and myself by polarizing us against Republicans. Instead, we're being polarized against each other.

If you're for Obama, you're for Obama. Hook, line and sinker. You can't take any criticism of him, and you defend every mistake he makes.

If you're for Hillary, you're for Hillary. Hook, line and sinker. You can't take any criticism of her, and you defend every mistake she makes.

I have friends whom agree with me on pretty much every political point. We're all pro-choice, anti-death penalty, pro-gay marriage. But when it comes to the Obama versus Hillary split, it's shut-up-and-don't-talk-about-it.

I have friends who will toss me links to YouTube videos of Obama's ads, but shut me down if I bring up the fact that I support Hillary.

So my question is, how did this happen? When did it get to the point that it's easier to talk politics calmly with conservatives than with people who actually support my stances?

I'm not a fan of Obama because personally, I think his foreign policies suck. He tried to act tough when he said that he'd be willing to order strikes against Pakistan, and he's made no mention of working with the UN. That doesn't mean that I'm not pleased with his record on abortion rights, to take one example. It just means that I don't want to vote for him, and that I don't think he'd make a good President.

It doesn't mean that I'm incapable of having a calm, rational discussion about the candidates and their relative merits/flaws.

On The Issues is THE best source I know for researching the stances of the candidates on different issues. Go check it out.
fickle: (disney: esmeralda whee)
Everyone has things they blog about. Everyone has things they don't blog about. Challenge me out of my comfort zone by telling me something I don't blog about, but you'd like to hear about, and I'll write a post about it. Ask for anything: latest movie watched, last book read, political leanings, thoughts on yaoi, favorite type of underwear, graphic techniques, etc. Repost in your own journal so that we can all learn more about each other!

You guys can skip the last bit if you don't want to repost. I'm mostly trying to get this journal to a point where I'm back to talking to about things other than my sister being dead. If you're having problems thinking up things I don't talk about, look at your journals and compare them to mine and tell me to write about something you write about that I don't.

2 months.

Feb. 10th, 2008 05:53 am
fickle: (a pure square of cornflower blue)
My sister's been dead two months.

I've been waiting for this day. Counting to it. It's been worse this week, the one that was just over. Everything sharp and pointing towards Sunday.

After last month, it was 'my sister's been dead one month and something days'. Somewhere in there, it switched to 'my sister will have been dead for two months three weeks from now. Two weeks and five days from now.'

The last few days dragged out. The hours stretched so much that I couldn't understand it. Everything in me was so focused on today. Four days left. Three. Two. One.

Midnight.

I know that's not how it works. My sister died in Austria. Different timezone. Not sure when the exact time of death is. Not sure I should know, because having rearranged my calender that everything revolves around the tenth of each month is unhealthy enough already.

My boyfriend (ex-boyfriend now, I suppose) broke up with me on the 1st, which was our one-year anniversary. Because he said the last straw was me forgetting our one-year anniversary. I didn't forget it. I just didn't care.

In my head, it was 'in nine days, my sister will have been dead two months'.

Now it's two months.

Breathing is a little difficult right now. It's in my head, I know. This is not all that easy an entry to write.

I've been told that I haven't been talking much about myself. Or updating livejournal. I've done a lot, though. Switched my class schedule around three times. Signed up for Sweet Charity, am now doing icons and cookies. Voted for Hillary. Started watching Dexter. Helped an old woman up off the ice and took care of her. Built a snow throne with snow footstool. Taught Lily to make snow angels. Saw hail for the first time. Co-hosted a dinner party. Learned how to make chili Bolognese sauce. Talked to the Dean. Agreed to sign a one-year contract for the Nuclear Power Engineering Section of the IAEA/UN when I graduate. Got my CPR/First Aid certificate. Developed the habit of wearing leggings under sweatpants to stay warm. Bought padded envelopes to send off Xmas gifts that I'd purchased before I went --

I typed home, then backspaced and typed 'back to Vienna', then backspaced and typed home. Backspaced is accepted as a verb by Mozilla Firefox's spellchecker. Spellchecker, however, gets underlined in red.

None of it seems important, though.

My sister's been dead two months.

Nothing that I do, or will do, can change that.

None of it feels important enough to talk about, and I can't talk about my sister.

Not really. Except in controlled doses. Like now.

Two months.

I still don't have an appropriate icon.

Counting.

Jan. 10th, 2008 09:19 pm
fickle: (a pure square of cornflower blue)
My sister's been dead a day.

A year.

A month.

The first two are mistakes. It's only been a month. But I didn't want to backspace 'day', so I started a new line for 'month'. And then it turned into 'year'.

This icon used to be black with a white dashed border. Then I made it into a pure square of cornflower blue as part of an injoke. I could have just uploaded this one in addition to the black one, but I wanted to replace the black one with this block of color instead. It's still an icon of sorrow and pain and grief and loss and the sort of empty blackness that seems so final.

But it's cornflower blue now.

My mourning for my sister is cornflower blue now.

I'd been thinking of doing some big memorial entry with photos of her and anecdotes, an explanation of how we found out she was disabled and what it felt like to watch her deteriorate during the last few years of her life. But I don't think I can. Not yet (but I will, because she needs to have been seen by more than just the people that visited our home and I need catharsis).

It's been a month.

10th.

Jan. 8th, 2008 11:29 pm
fickle: (a pure square of cornflower blue)
My sister died on the 10th December.

My birthday is on the 10th July. That means my birthday is the eight-month anniversary of her death. Kathy's birthday is the 10 month anniversary of her death.

Neko's sister has a birthday on the 10th as well. The irony kills me, for lack of a better phrase.

I am possibly not doing all that well. It doesn't hurt, most of the time. It feels unreal.

My sister is dead

My, the possessive. Sister, the relationship to me. Is, a statement of fact. Dead, a state of being.

My sister is dead.

Saying that leaves me numb. Typing it is difficult to do within conversations to other people, easy to do within journal entries. I never use her real name in my head. I never say "Ranila is dead". I never even say "Nangi is dead", Nangi being what I called her.

Nangi means little sister in Sinhala. The first time that week she went into cardiac arrest, the female doctor noticed everyone was calling her Nangi (everyone always called her Nangi, even though she was my little sister, everyone called her that or "Baby") and asked if that was my sister's name and how old she was. My mother said no, and explained what it meant, and said my sister was only 18. That was barely two years younger than the doctor.

The next time she went into cardiac arrest and the ambulance team arrived, the same female doctor was with them. My mother says that while she worked on my sister, she called her "Nangi" over and over again.

My sister was admitted to the hospital with her hair in messy braids. In the morning, when my parents were allowed into the room where she was, her braids were tidy again. The nurse on duty was my age, and had tidied up my sister's hair.

It's little moments of grace like that which make me tear up and try not to cry. Thinking 'my sister is dead' does nothing. Actually picturing her face, picturing her smile and the way she used to start to smile even before I finished singing a certain song because she knew I'd always kiss her at the end -- that makes me hold my breath without knowing it. I always hold my breath when I know something is going to hurt; it's a reflex by now.

I can't look at photos of her. Seeing all her possessions packed up to give to the orphans made me run up the stairs and into my temporary room and slam the door shut.

Nangi. Nangi Nangi Nangi Nangi.

There's a running joke in Discworld that people always think that the heart is more to the left than it really is. Thinking of her makes my heart hurt so badly that I know exactly where to stab.

Nangi.

I breathe, I live, I continue. On Thursday, it will be the one month anniversary of her death.

Breathing hurts.

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