Misc.

A Group of Moots’ Top 30 Kpop Summer Songs!

liz

Hey, guys – welcome back to Letters From Liz!

I’ve been doing a lot of talking about what’s it’s been like being in the trading community for the past month and how many amazing people I’ve met during this process!

My first-ever moot in this community has been a friend of mine, Ella. She lives in Europe and we became friends over our love of Kpop and she was the one that encouraged me to make the trading account in the first place! I will forever be grateful that I listened to hear because wow, it’s such a great community to be when you’ve found the right group of moots (or mutuals) to communicate with!

With that being said, I wanted to share this project that Ella has been doing with her friends for quite sometime! Her and her friends have been ranking their Top 30 favorites every month and for the month of July, she had asked me if I wanted to be a part of it. Of course I said yes, and this month’s theme was summer songs! Being able to see other peoples picks for this has been interesting because it gives me a chance to actually listen to these songs and potentially love the group or soloist in general, so yeah! Also, I’ve realized that I’m the only one in this project that is more of a 3rd and 4th generation Kpop listener, like Ella and her friends are OG Kpop listeners; they’ve been through it all!

So yeah, here is our lists of Top 30 Summer songs! Do you see any of your favorite bops?

Let me know what are some of your favorite summer songs, pop, Kpop, whatever you consider a summer song, I would love to know!

Overexposed: A Self-Love Project.

Overexposed: My Progress.

liz

My progress means the world to me.

I was once in a place were every time I made progress to getting better, I fell backwards and hit the ground harder than I did before. My highs were definitely some of the greatest moments and memories of my life, but my lows were even more dangerous and vicious, and whenever I was at rock bottom, I found myself not being able to get out of them for long periods of time.

Hi, my name is Liz and this past year I’ve made tremendous progress in my mental health and self-discovery, and I will not let anyone mess it up.

The other day, I nearly had an anxiety attack because a part of my past resurfaced into my present and it nearly scared me. It wasn’t anything serious or anything alarming, but it mentally took me back to the place I once was; the very sad, confused and depressed person that nearly wanted to hurt yourself just so that someone would understand the mental health issues I was dealing with. I was in this weird space that I was trying to take care of everything and everyone else before I took care of myself, yet I was self-aware of the destructive behavior I was tolerating from both myself and those around me and my soul simply was growing tired of how I kept treating myself.

At the end of the day, I needed to learn how to be alone, learn who I was after being tied to someone else for a decade, and discover the things that bring me unconditional happiness.

When I discovered those things like having coworkers who were now my friends or communicating with new people I found interesting, I realized just how lonely I was before this chapter of my life and how much of my happiness strives from being social. I was able to build friendships that allowed me to be completely myself; I was able to share my demiromanticism with my coworkers and moots, I was able to show parts of my humor to them without feeling judged; too long didn’t read, I just felt like people are actually liking me for me, even when my anxiety sometimes tells me they don’t.

So as I was battling the past resurfacing into my present, I instantly started to cry because it was overwhelming. I was angry, I was upset, I was heartbroken, but I also felt so proud of my progress. Talking to my sibling and mother about my progress during this time, all I kept on blurring out in tears was “I am so much more happy now like I have friends now and I have people I can turn to for support like I’m doing so much better.”

And I think anyone who’s still in my life and that was around for the past version of myself can say they see the progress I’ve made.

I have three different Instagram accounts for the various sides of my creativity; I have my personal, my collection account where I make fancy edits of my collection, and a trading account where I sell and trade Kpop photocards in hopes I am able to finish my collection. In this community that I’ve been a part of for a little over a month, I’ve never felt more accepted and felt like I fit into a community as much as I do there. At first, I was anxious of allowing myself to communicate with these people just because I felt like no one would get me or understand me or whatever, but now the moots I have in that community are some of the sweetest and most endearing people I’ve ever got the pleasure in meeting online.

On the day I had this major anxiety attack, my moots in the trading community kept reaching out to me for support with their endearing words, and tons of Seungsik photos to cheer me up. After even talking to one of them about what was happening, they said that in the couple of times we’ve spoken, they learned how much of an angel I was and how I was the nicest person and that I deserved to be happy. I cried my eyes out because of the overwhelming love this community has brought me, and like even me being able to run to my friend, Anthony, and just vent everything out and just to have him listen without judgement was just incredibly refreshing.

This is the progress I don’t want to jeopardize. This is the version of myself I dreamed of being when I was younger. This is the version of me that I always wanted to perfect, even if this version of me is far from being perfect. This is the progress towards my depression and SAD that I hoped for when I started to seek therapy back in May 2018. This is the journey I’ve wanted to be on, but was too afraid to ever go on. This is my progress, and I am doing what’s right for me in this moment and in this moment it’s for me focusing on my present and my future.

Of course, I’ll always have set backs and become nostalgic and sadness will get to me. I will have moments when I’ll still cry and get overwhelmed and parts of my past will resurfaced. It’s happening as we speak since the summer has always been the roughest time for me and it has been for the last three summers. I still get very triggered like it was just yesterday, but that’s just a part of the healing process; that’s just part of the trauma I internalized for decades of my life.

But even then, I will not allow my progress to not be progress anymore. I refuse to make major setbacks to the point where my progress is overshadowed by chaos. I will not allow anything, anyone, or any part of my past, present, and potentially future fuck up the progress I am making at this exact moment. I don’t tell myself often how proud I am for just being able to do what I’m doing, but I guess I do when I admire the progress as much I as do.

I am a prime example of the saying “things do get better.”

Creative Pieces

Too Little, Too Late (Pt. III): A Scene.

liz

A 23-year-old man, Micah, is running down the block past people walking calmly beside him. His dreadlocks are bouncing with every step he takes. Two people trailing behind him, Tanner & Daniella, are running in the direction Micah is. They are getting tired with each step they take.

The automatic doors open in front of the hospital and Micah looks both ways to find a reception desk. He runs to the right when he seems a woman walking behind a desk area. Moments later, Tanner & Daniella catch up to him.

Micah slows down once he reaches the desk. He catches his breath before saying anything.

Micah: Hi, can you tell me where Rosie Delgado is? I got a call from a nurse saying she was here.

Tanner and Daniella stop a couple of feet away from Micah, just watching him from afar.

Receptionist: *searching the computer* Yes, there’s a Rosie Delgado in the emergency department. *looks behind Micah* Are all three of you here for Ms. Delgado?

Micah turns around to see Tanner and Daniella standing there.

Daniella: No, no, we’re just here with him.

Receptionist: *nods and looks back at Micah* Are you a family member, sir? We can only allow family members to see Ms. Delgado at the moment.

Micah panics; his eyes are racing and looking at everything around him. Tanner & Daniellalook at each other, just as worried for Micah. Micah gathers his thoughts and looks back at the receptionist.

Micah: She’s pregnant, and I’m the father of the baby, ma’am.

The receptionist raises her eyebrows and looks at the computer. She looks back at Micah.

Receptionist: Are you Ms. Delgado’s emergency contact?

Micah: Yes, I am.

Receptionist: Can I get a form of identification please?

Micah digs into his pocket and takes out his wallet; he hands the receptionist the ID card.

Receptionist: *reading the card* Salem Micah Kamalani?

Tanner widens his eyes; he’s shocked at Micah’s official government name. 

Micah: Yes. I might be down as just Micah though.

Receptionist: Ahh, I see. Well, the emergency department is on the third floor. You can enter the room when the doctor calls you, but your two friends have to stay in the waiting room.

Micah: Thank you.

Micah races up the stairs while Tanner & Daniella follow behind him.

Once Micah reaches the third floor, he runs to the desk up there and repeats the information he told the receptionist downstairs. This time, Tanner & Daniella hang back and immediately sit down in the waiting area. 

The woman at the desk points to the door on the right, and Micah rushes to the door while thanking the woman at the desk. He walks to the hallway and scans the halls. A doctor comes out of a room and spots Micah.

Doctor: Hi, are you Ms. Delgado’s emergency contact?

Micah: *turns around* Hi, Uhm, yes I am, I’m- I’m Micah Kamalani is- is Rosie okay? Is the baby okay?

Doctor: Both girls are doing okay.

Micah’s thoughts instantly stop. Rosie’s having a girl. Another Rosie. Possibly Rosie’s twin. He smiles in awe but instantly gets sad. He could’ve lost both of them tonight.

Micah: What happened?

Doctor: A woman named Natalie Cleminstein called. She said she found her unconscious on the floor with multiple bruises on her body. Those weren’t self-inflicted though. She self-harmed in some vital areas but thankfully we were able to stop the bleeding before any major damage was done. She did lose a large amount of blood to the point where it did start causing some stress to the baby, but we were able to get everything leveled out and under control.

Micah takes in the information. His eyebrows scrunch together; he’s in deep thought. He remembers Rosie calling Natalia one of her best friends from college. 

Micah: Did Nat- I mean, Natalie say anything else? How she found her? Anything?

Doctor: From what I recall, Ms. Delgado was at a man’s house that Ms. Cleminstein was visiting. Ms. Delgado was distraught and ran off. Ms. Cleminstein tried going after her, but Ms. Delgado had already left.

Micah: *anxiously* Did she say who the guy was?!

Doctor: I’m sorry, sir, I don’t have that information. If you excuse me, I’m just going to get a couple of Ms. Delgado’s test results ready when she wakes up. You are more than welcome to sit in her room for the time being and visit her.

Micah: *sighs* Thank you, Doctor.

The doctor walks away and Micah is now standing in front of a hospital room door. He takes a deep breath and enters the room. His eyes are instantly stuck on Rosie. She has multiple black and bruises on her arms, and her lip is busted up and swollen. Her eyes are dark and bruised and there are multiple areas on her body covered in bandages. His eyes get watery and he looks away. He takes a deep breath and sits next to Rosie. She doesn’t budge.

Micah: I’m so sorry, Roe. I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight. I should’ve had said the things I said. They weren’t true, Roe. You’re not those horribles things. You’re so fucking amazing and I wish you were able to see that. You deserve the fucking world. You deserve every good thing this world has to offer, Roe.

He intently looks at Rosie.

Micah: I fucking love you, Rosie. I’m not just saying that now either, I- I really mean it. Always have, always will. You’re a fucking gem, Roe. You and your snarky responses and your loud, gut laugh you do when something’s really funny. You’re head-banging music you’d play on Saturday mornings just so I don’t sleep in too late. You yelling at the TV at every woman on those reality shows you binge-watched…

He looks at Rosie’s stomach.

Micah: But my favorite thing you do is whenever I find you talking to it- *deep breath* when you talk to her. It’s a girl, Roe. It’s a fucking girl! I’m totally outnumbered now. I already know she’s going to be your mini-me. She’s going to have wild curly hair and the brightest pale brown eyes. Oh man, she’s going to be sarcastic as fuck. *laughs* I’m going to have to come up with some dad comebacks because the month on her is going to send me straight to the grave… oh and the boys? Roe, you know she’s not going to date until I’m dead, right? Any boy she crushes on or hits on her is wishing for early death. God, am I already being too dad-like? Heh, she’s not even here yet and I feel like I’m the overprotective dad type already.

Micah’s smile vanishes when his mind comes back to reality.

Micah: Roe… I could’ve lost you both tonight. I- I don’t know what I would’ve done if I did. I-

Micah looks up at the ceiling to stop his eyes from watering. He takes in a deep breath and looks back down at Rosie.

Micah: I’m so fucking thankful for you both.

Micah takes Rosie’s hand and kisses it. He gets up from the chair beside Rosie and walks out to let Tanner & Daniella know what’s going on. 

Returning to the waiting room, he sees a man yelling at the woman at the desk. He’s demanding to see someone and the woman is refusing to let him in. He bangs on the desk and walks away. He rubs his mouth while turning around and he’s Micah standing there.

The man was Prescott fucking Jones. Micah is fuming, and Tanner notices. He tries to get Micah before he causes a scene, but it’s just a little too late.

Micah: *angrily* What the fuck are you doing here?

Prescott: Ahh, Kamalani! Long time no see! Too bad it had to be under these circumstances, am I right?

Micah: *furious* Get the fuck out of here.

Prescott: Can’t do that, buddy! I gotta make sure Rosie is okay, y’ know? Gotta see if she’s learned her lesson after getting herself in some deep trouble.

Micah: You fucking left those bruises on her, didn’t you?

Prescott: That bitch was asking for it. She pretty much blackmailed me for her to crash in my place with that baby of hers. *sucks teeth* I should’ve thought twice about hitting it that one drunken night…

Micah: *defensive* She isn’t fucking yours, she’s mine!

Prescott: Wow, it’s a girl? Bummer. She’ll probably grow up to be a fuck up like Rosie. Like mother like daughter, am I right? *laughs* Hey, you think that baby is gonna be a slut like Rosie?

Micah swings at Prescott and gets him on the ground. Push after push; he can’t seem to stop. Prescott throws a couple of punches at Micah, fighting back. Tanner jumps in and tries to pull Micah away from Prescott, while a security guard that was called into the waiting room tries to pull Prescott. Bloody mouthes, bruises, and bloody noses later, the fight breaks and Micah tries to get out of Tanner’s grip.

Micah: Don’t you ever fucking talk about them like that, you dickhead! What man fucking beat the shit outta woman, you prick!

Prescott is forcefully getting taken out of the waiting room. He smiles at Micah,

Prescott: Big mistake, man! You’ll be hearing from my lawyer, Kamalani!

Micah is now seen sitting in a doctor’s office. He’s holding up ice to his mouth and has bandages on his face. He winces in pain when the ice hits the cuts on his lip.

An older doctor, a woman named Gabby, walks into the office and looks straight at Micah. She takes a deep breath and sits at her desk chair, facing Micah. 

Gabby: So… anything you wanna tell me before I call Jennifer, your mom?

Micah takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes in pain.

Micah: Please, anyone but my mom.

— The End —

hand endnote

Topic Tuesdays: Random

How I’m Coping with my Summer Depression.

liz

Hey, guys – welcome back to Letters From Liz!

As I’m writing this, it’s been a while since I got to sit down and actually write something for the blog; not because I’m disinterested or anything, but because I have this weird thing where I can only focus and write when I sit in my kitchen, and lately it’s been waaay too hot to sit in there and sweat while I write some content for the blog.

Although I try to be consistent and even do Blogust every year, I do tend to write less in the summer because summer is the season that my seasonal depression kicks in. I physically get sick from the heat, I sweat a lot and it’s sometimes hard to make it stop, and I feel very restricted to what I can or cannot do during the summer because I just don’t do the “normal summer things” that people do with their friends. If anything, the summer makes we want to stay in even more, in my bed, and just rest.

It is times like this when I wish my job was still open because I feel like if the pandemic didn’t hit us, a lot of the depression I usually feel in the summer wouldn’t be as intense because I’d be busy being productive and being around people that I really like. But, I do work at a college bookstore and we just don’t know what is going to happen with the colleges in the Fall.

Prior to my last therapy session, I had started to get myself into a community that I was secretly an outsider looking in: the world of Kpop trading and selling. For months, I quietly collected photo cards here and there and as my collection started to build up, I so desperately wanted to be a part of the community and hope to trade for cards that I couldn’t find anywhere and that I was missing. I made my own trading account on Instagram, and honestly the rest was history. I got to meet a couple of other fans who liked Victon and connected through that, and I got to trade and buy some cards that I thought I never knew I needed! Seungsik is my ultimate bias in Victon and I pretty much completed his entire album photo card collection because of this community. It’s really insane, to be honest.

Even though I’ve been happy, I still struggled to feel as if I belonged in the Kpop community; being a 26-year-old collector felt childish to me, but it’s a collection and people collect things all the time. I don’t know why I can’t accept myself in the community when everyone else has, but it’s a constant struggle for me to openly embrace that I collect Kpop photo cards.

In a conversation with my therapist at our last session, I opened up to her about the fact that this has become a hobby of mine within the last couple of weeks and that I really enjoyed it. It was the first time physically speaking about this to anyone before; sure, my family knew what my time was being spent on, but not to my therapist for anyone outside of my household. It felt weird, and it felt embarrassing, but she said something that made me change my perspective on it.

She told me that she was happy that I found ways to keep myself busy during these crucial months of my depression and that I shouldn’t feel ashamed for having this hobby because hobbies are a healthier anti-depressant behavior. It keeps me busy, it keeps me engaged in social activity during a time where it’s so easy to isolate yourself for a long period of time, and it’s something that makes me happy. I didn’t see my collecting as an anti-depressant behavior, to be honest but I have to be real, talking to people like Ella, Amy, Laelonie, and the rest of the beautiful people I met through trading have been keeping my mind off of my depression and in a positive space! It has helped me really go through the days and weeks as smooth as possible, and although my summer depression comes every now and then, for most of my days it hasn’t been as intense as it has been in the last couple of summers.

So, yeah – that’s how I’m coping with my depression! I found a really great hobby that I’m interested in and I’m learning how to embrace it as much as I would embrace the fact that I write blog posts as a hobby! I know many of my readers are not Kpop fans, but I hope that my love and passion for the genre influences you to give it a listen or if you are Kpop fans I hope that I introduce some new music for you to listen to!

Take care if yourself by engaging yourself in something you enjoy in life.

Overexposed: A Self-Love Project.

Overexposed: My Trichotillomania.

liz

I remember reading a book for hours on end in the sixth grade at home when I first started mindlessly plucking my eyebrows. I was only 12-years-old.

2002 Liz.

I grew up with pretty much a unibrow. I was always teased for it, and without even knowing I guess I just started plucking it with my fingernails whenever I needed to keep my hands busy. The more I plucked, the more bald patches i had with my eyebrows and the thinner they became. I even remember one of my good friends in middle school looking at me and saying “you shouldn’t pluck your eyebrows, Liz, you need to pluck the hairs that makes that unibrow.” At first, I guess that stemmed from a place of feeling like over-tweezing your eyebrows was what pretty girls did. But as I got older and thicker eyebrows were now the trend, I still found it hard to stop plucking my eyebrows. At 26, it’s at it’s worst.

Hi, my name is Liz & because of my need to control everything in my life, I pluck my hair as a defensive mechanism for my anxiety. It’s called Trichotillomania.

Trichotillomania is what people call the “hair-pulling disorder”, it’s when people pull hair off of their bodies with creates bald patches on the places where there should be hair. This hair-pulling can happen on places like your scalp, eyebrows, private area, and even your eyelashes. While there’s no concrete tracing to mental illness, Trichotillomania can coexist with many anxiety disorders.

2007 Liz.

This was something I was very ashamed of talking about when I realized it’s become more than just a problem of “over-plucking my eyebrows”. It then transferred to plucking more than my eyebrows; it was now my hair from my scalp, body hair, even eyelashes.

After speaking to my therapist about it for the first time in late 2018, I realized that it was stemming from a place of anxiety and the lack of control I had over the situations going on around that time. I tried a stress ball for some time, anything to keep my hands busy and away from my face when my anxiety was at its peak. Unfortunately, it’s a habit that never really died out, and it has its moments when it’s not that bad and when it’s at its worst.

Last month it was at its worst.

I hate having to constantly cover up the bald patches with some type of makeup powder because it’s a reminder that I have this issue. I know that this issue only resurfaces whenever I feel like I don’t have control over my life or when I’m extremely worried about something that I’m shameful for doing or not doing. Last month it was at it’s worst because leading up to my first in-person visit with my bariatrics doctor since the pandemic happened, I was incredibly disappointed that I wasn’t able to stick to the whole “diet” during the time I was at home. In hindsight, I was extremely worried that I gained a lot more weight, and I was afraid to get my first weight-in after the pandemic and to see the number raise higher than I expected it to.

So, I take it out on myself, like it’s my judgement’s twisted way of saying “you deserve to feel like this.” Hence, I practically rip hair off my body.

2013 Liz.

I’ve dealt with this internal battle for 14 years now, and it’s tiring. It’s tiring having to feel like I’m only pretty when I cover up those things. It’s tiring to not be able to go a day without applying anything over the spots and just go out the way I’d like to go out. It’s tiring that people classify me as “one of those girls” (a guy has called me that before), the ones where you can’t take to the beach or a swimming pool because you don’t know what she looks like underneath the drawn on eyebrows and eye makeup. I don’t do it because I want to, I literally have to or else my issue becomes a topic of the day.

Also, I’m aware that this hair-pulling disorder is just another way of self-harming yourself that many people don’t talk about because you’re not leaving scars on your body and you’re not trying to kill yourself. No, but you’re punishing yourself for the things that you don’t have complete control over, and isn’t that one of motives of self-harm?

2018 Liz.

I’ve alluded to this for years now on the blog, and the reason I wanted to speak about it on the blog was because I’m tired of the energy it has on me. I’m tired of silently fighting something that will always have some sort of hold on me for as long as I live, or at least as long as I allow my body to feel like I need to have control in every aspect of my life. Maybe it’ll get better as time goes, but I also know that it probably won’t, but as long as I acknowledge it and know why it happens, I could at least try to focus my hands on doing something else.

This is me diffusing the energy behind something I’ve been fighting with since forever. It’s about time we finally spoke about it publicly and speak out its existence to the world.

Blogust 2020: The Series, Creative Pieces

Bookstore Brawl: A Scene.

liz
Textbook prices still crippling students, report says

A girl stands behind a register restocking Test sheet packets and packets of pencils. Her hair is tied up in a bun, with a little loose curly strands around her face. She’s wearing a black denim skirt and a plain black tee; the name on her work tag reads “Rosie”.

The bookstore is quiet during this time of year; many students don’t take summer courses and Rosie does not blame them; the fact she has to spend her 9 to 5 at work instead at a beach frustrates her.

The front door of the store rings and Rosie looks to see who’s come into the store; she smiles and rolls her eyes at who it is – her best friend Micah walks in. He’s wearing a pair of light-washed denim shorts with a Hawaiian floral shirt and his dreadlocks tied up in a bun.

Rosie: What the hell are you doing on campus on this sunny ass day?

Micah leans on the counter.

Micah: I can’t see my best friend in action?

Rosie: Not when school’s out and you’re not taking summer classes.

Micah: And what makes you think that I’m not taking any classes this semester?

Rosie turns back around to face Micah.

Rosie: Because in the same breath you said “fuck summer classes, I’m spending my summer with Kalia…”

Micah rolls his eyes and Rosie’s raises her eyebrows. Kalia is Micah’s girlfriend; she’s back for the summer and stupidly of Micah, he took her back. Rosie tried to tell Micah time and time again that she’s just toying with him while she’s here in the U.S, but Micah just brushed her off, told her she’s just jealous all of his time is now spent with Kalia. Ugh, as if.

Micah: Well, Kalia is working, so I had to find something to do while she does her acting thingymabob.

Rosie: *sarcastically* Gosh, Micah, I’m so honored to be your second and last choice to hang out with!

Micah walks around the store and pretends to not to hear Rosie. She turns back around to continue her work. Micah looks at Rosie for attention. He walks back up to the counter.

Micah: So, what are we doing when you get off from work?

Rosie: *turns around and starts pricing things with the price gun* Sorry, Micah, I already got plans.

Micah: Are you serious? With who?

Rosie: Natalie and her boyfriend, me and Prescott–

Micah makes a gagging noise to the sound of Prescott’s name. Rosie points the price gun to Micah and a sticker flies out towards him.

Micah: I can’t believe you’re still dating that asshole.

Rosie: *defensive* Just how you’re back dating that bitch.

Micah: You don’t even know Kalia like that; at least I know Prescott “fuckboy” Jones.

Rosie rolls her eyes in frustration; she keeps doing her job until she looks at the clock; 5 more minutes until her shift ends.

Rosie: Are you gonna buy something, Kamalani – or can I finally start counting down my drawer?

Micah: No need to get snappy with me Delgado, I’ll get something…

Micah walks towards the fridges of drinks. Meanwhile, the bell on the front door rings again. Micah looks at Rosie, who now has a smirk on her face looking at the person who came in.

Rosie: Hey, babe, I was just–

Prescott: Are you done yet? The fact that I’m on this goddamn campus during the summer break is annoying as it is.

Rosie: You could’ve picked me up at my apartment if you didn’t–

Prescott: I’m here now, so it doesn’t matter.

Rosie doesn’t say anything. Another customer comes into the store and heads straight to the counter. She politely asks the customer how she could help him, and he smiles and asks for a MetroCard for the bus. Keeping a smile on her face, she goes through the transaction smoothly and wishes the guy a nice ride home. The guys laughs and exits, and Prescott is fuming. Micah is still in the back looking for a drink, but more so is listening to what’s happening up front.

Prescott: What the fuck was that?

Rosie: *confused* What are you talking about?

Prescott: Were you just flirting with another guy in front of my face?

Rosie: *frustrated* It’s called customer service, Prescott, y’know it’s only about 98% of what my job is.

Prescott walks towards Rosie and grabs her by the arm. He squeezes it tight and Rosie winces in pain.

Rosie: Prescott, what the fuck–

Prescott: I don’t care, you don’t do that kind of shit in front of me; it’s disrespectful, you got that?

Micah’s fight or flight response kicks in, and he finds himself walking towards the front counter. Rosie rips her arm away from Prescott’s grip and holds the area where his grip was.

Micah: Yo, man you don’t talk to a girl like that, yet alone grab her like that; the hell is wrong with you?

Rosie: *through her teeth* Micah.

Prescott looks at Micah almost immediately after he heard his voice.

Prescott: Look who it is: Kama-fuckin’-lani. How long have you’ve been in here with my girlfriend by yourself? Always want someone else’s piece of ass, huh?

Micah looks at Rosie, not understanding why she’s allowing him to talk about her this way. It wasn’t like Rosie at all to let people disrespect her, so what hold does this asshole have on her?

Micah: She’s my best friend, asshole, and I don’t like the way you treat her like she’s just some useless object. She’s your girlfriend, for God’s sake.

Prescott: How about you stop telling me how to run my relationship, Mr. Phil. Get the hell out of here already, Rosie and I are going out after her shift anyway.

Micah: Why, so you can beat the shit out of her in your car like the last time?

Rosie: *angry* Micah!

Prescott: *at Rosie* You tell this son of a bitch that I beat you up? You like to make up lies about me?

Rosie looks panicked and Micah hates that she looks so vulnerable when she’s never like this. He needs to do something before he ends up doing something inside the bookstore. The fact of the matter is that yes, Rosie came over to Micah’s place bruised up from an altercation with Prescott and told him what happened. Rosie knows what’s going on, yet she doesn’t leave the guy.

Micah: She didn’t tell me, I saw it with my own eyes! You guys were parked outside my damn apartment anyway! What kind of man beats up a woman? A pussy ass guy, that’s what.

Prescott walks towards Micah and is now face-to-face with him.

Prescott: You didn’t see shit, Kamalani. Just how you didn’t see this.

Prescott sucker punches Micah in the face, which instantly knocks him to the floor. Prescott walks over him and out of the store. Rosie runs from behind the counter to help Micah.

Rosie: Micah, are you okay?!

Micah holds his bloody nose while Rosie gets him some tissues.

Rosie: Are you fucking insane? Why would you do such a goddamn stupid thing?

Micah cleans himself up, but is angry at Rosie’s reaction.

Micah: Are you fucking kidding me, Roe? You’re defending that asshole?

Rosie: Micah, you provoked him to do this! You couldn’t have mind your own business in first place?!

Micah can’t believe what he’s hearing. He takes the tissues from Rosie’s hand and gets up on his own. Rosie is looking at him waiting for a response. Micah just laughs in disbelief.

Micah: You’re not a dumb person, Roe. I hope you’re able to make the right decision before the motherfucker kills you.

Micah storms out of the bookstore while Rosie sits on the floor. She doesn’t move.

— The End —

Music From Liz

Music From Liz – Ep. 10: Some Poppin’ Pop Songs!

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Music Featured in this Episode:

Music Mentioned in this Episode:

Overexposed: A Self-Love Project.

Overexposed: Playing the Victim.

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I hate to admit this about myself because it’s such a toxic trait I have, but I have a bad habit of playing the role of victim when things go wrong.

I might’ve alluded to this in the past, but when I was younger (and even throughout my 20’s) I found myself becoming very defensive in confrontations, and even in situations where I was in the wrong I played the victim.

Hi, my name is Liz, and I play(ed) the victim.

Maybe it was embedded in me at a young age; I thought I could never do any wrong or hurt anyone on purpose and therefore I blamed my actions on the people around me. “Well, you made me do that; if you weren’t so mean to me then maybe I wouldn’t have done what I did.” “You’re the reason I self-harmed that night; what you did to me was so hurtful.” My teenage years sound a lot like that, and even though no one else had control of my actions and my decisions, I made them. Sure, people can influence your actions and decisions, but no one put a gun to my head and made me do anything. I did it because I either wanted to at the time and I allowed for it to happen.

But my toxic trait– the one I’m learning to reflect on and resolve– is that when I owe up to something, I seem to link it to an event or a reason from an outcome. As I think back, a lot of my arguments in my last relationship where I tried to explain my reasoning for something seem to be because of something else instead of just openly saying “I did this and I said that because I wanted to and I take responsibility for it.”

Of course, it’s not always so black and white like that. A lot of my bad decisions came from being in a bad place and being hurt by other people’s actions in the past. I’m not a saint; I do things to hurt those who hurt me first, and only because it takes so much to legitimately hurt me to the point where I’m willing to throw everything away and say fuck it, I’m hurting you back. It’s so fucking toxic, I know, but it’s the truth. Will I ever be able to not do that anymore? Maybe, and maybe not. Maybe it’s a defensive mechanism in me too deep-rooted to fix right away. At least I’m aware of it, right?

These days, I don’t try to play the victim anymore because it’s just unrealistic for me to try to obtain this perfect image. I’m only human and I’m bound to do some bad things to myself, to other people; it’s just the cycle of life. Of course, I can’t help but think if the “playing victim” thing is so embedded in me, that I don’t even realize that I do it. I worry that every time I try to tell my story or my truth, I sound like a victim. I sound like I need saving. I sound like people should feel bad for me.

The truth is, I don’t want people’s sympathy for my past anymore. I don’t the validation that my actions were justified because they weren’t. I also don’t need people to read my story and my truth on these posts and go, “well, damn, does she want us to really know all this sad shit? Is there a hidden agenda in the words that she writes on her blog?”

I write it for me. I write it to diffuse the negative energy behind my journey, not for a pity party.

The past version of myself, the one who tried so hard to obtain a certain image and level of perfection, would not tell you that she did things without thinking first. She would brag that she had the upper hand in a situation where she knew she was losing in. Everything was a damn competition to her because she was worried the people she loved would forget her, and even to this day this version of myself is afraid of being forgotten, but that’s another story for another blog post.

But what the past version of myself would tell you is that she felt like her voice and feelings were never heard. She found herself not speaking up for herself and prioritizing her feelings and whenever she tried to, people then threw it in her face that she was self-centered, inconsiderate, and always plays the victim. 

So, it wasn’t a surprise when I began to get those comments again when I was finally practicing prioritization towards my feelings and speaking for myself in situations. And possibly that’s why I still feel like I’m always playing the victim when I spoke up and wrote down my stories.

It’s something I’m always worried about when telling my story to people who I meet and that I trust with my baggage. I have a really good friend, Anthony, that I pretty much get philosophical with every now and then, and sometimes when we discuss things like our past selves and our journeys, I’m always worried if I come off as playing the victim when telling my story. Either or, I just try to be honest with myself as much as possible and learn how to stick up for myself, but take responsibility for my own actions in the scenario.

You don’t gotta hate yourself for your toxic traits, just be aware and accept that you have them.

hand endnote

Creative Pieces

The Night They Dread: A Scene.

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— Winter 2034 —

There is a blizzard going on one night in NYC. Snow is blowing sideways and the windows in the couple’s apartment is completely white. A man named Weston comes out of a room; he slowly closes the door behind him while holding a baby monitor in his hands. He takes a deep breath once he’s in the living room area; he’s exhausted and had a really long day taking care of his and his wife’s first born child, Grace. The dark circles and thinness of his face indicates it’s been days since he had a chance to take care of himself.

He walks over to the couch and looks at the clock on the wall; it’s nearly 4 o’clock in the morning and his wife still isn’t home. He’s exhausted, but he’s too angry to go to sleep. Weston has been trying to get a hold of his wife, Mollie, for the last three days; ever since Grace came down with a pretty bad cold. The first night he was so nervous, he took Grace to the hospital to get her checked out. The next two days, he got the hang of taking care of their 9-month-old baby without her help. Mollie’s inconsiderateness whenever she travels for her job has gotten worse once Grace was born and Weston has been taking note of it. Tonight was the night that Mollie would finally come home, and Weston has a lot to talk about with her when she does.

The sounds of keys hitting the front door is heard by Weston; he immediately looks up to the door. Mollie walks through the door with three bags covered in snow; Weston gets up to help her out. Once she’s settled in, Weston goes to sit back on the sofa.

Mollie: The snow is brutal out there, Wes! Thank god I was able to get a cab home before it got bad.

Weston: *indifferent* Yeah, you are.

Mollie doesn’t catch the hint, and continues to get herself out of the wet clothes from the snow. Once she comes out in a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, she goes straight into the kitchen.

Mollie: *shouts from Kitchen* I’m glad you waited up for me to come home, babe!

Weston walks to the kitchen.

Weston: Our daughter is sleeping, Mollie.

Mollie: *puts a hand over her mouth* Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be so loud.

Weston: *snarky* Yeah, it’s not like it’s just us anymore.

Mollie looks at Weston with a mouthful of chips in her mouth. She doesn’t say anything to him.

Weston: Well, now that you’re here, I’m going to bed. See you in the morning, Mol.

Mollie: Wait, I just got home! Don’t you wanna stay up with me for awhile, ask how my trip was?

Weston looks back at Mollie.

Weston: I’ve been up for 24 hours straight taking care of our sick baby, so no. I don’t.

He turns back and walks into the bedroom. Mollie is dumbfounded and offended. She storms herself into their bedroom.

Mollie: What the hell is your problem, Weston?

Weston: *snappy* My problem is that I’m fucking exhausted and I want to get some sleep!

Mollie: I wasn’t born yesterday, I know you’re mad at me or something.

Weston turns around to face Mollie.

Weston: Oh, so you know that I’ve tried calling you for the last couple of days and still didn’t bother calling me back?

Mollie: I was working, Weston. I was busy.

Weston: Too busy to even check up on your family, goddammit!

Mollie is taken back by Weston’s aggression. She seen him angry before, but not this level of angry.

Mollie: Look, I’m sorry. I told myself I would call you back when I had free time. I just simply forgot to.

Weston: Of course you did, you’re Mollie Sue friggin’ Ashmore.

Weston begins to pull back the comforter from the bed until Mollie puts her hand on it to stop him.

Mollie: *angry* What the hell is that supposed to mean?

Weston: It means that you don’t think of anyone else besides yourself and your damn dancing career.

Mollie: That’s not true!

Weston: Oh tell someone who cares, Mol! How many times have you’ve been home since Grace was born? You’ll pick up every phone call that has to do with your career but God forbid I try calling you to tell you that our daughter is fucking sick and needed to go to the hospital.

Mollie: *yells* What the fuck was I supposed to do across the fucking world, Weston? Huh?

Weston walks around the bed towards Mollie. He’s now face-to-face with her, angry as ever.

Weston: I told you that our daughter is fucking sleeping, Mollie. If she wakes up, you’ll be going in there to put her back to sleep.

Weston turns around and walks away.

Weston: *to himself* That would be the most motherly thing you’ve done thus far if you did.

Mollie hears the comment and is fuming.

Mollie: How dare you, you son of a bitch.

Weston: Mollie, just face the facts! You didn’t want this life. You never wanted Grace and it shows. You found every excuse in the book to go back to work once Grace was born.

Mollie: I’m her mother goddammit, of course I want her!

Weston: *yells* Then fucking act like it!

Mollie flinches. Weston takes a deep breath in.

Weston: I’m sorry for yelling at you, but we have a serious issue on our hands, Mol.

Mollie: I’m sorry for not calling, Wes–

Weston: It’s not about the phone call. It’s about… this. Us. Our family.

Mollie stares at Weston, wondering where he’s going with this.

Weston: Mollie… Things haven’t been the same with you for awhile now. You seem like you’re lost half the time or unhappy being home. It’s like your body is here, but your mind isn’t.

Mollie: *deep breath* Weston… I-

Weston: And what makes it worse is that you act like Grace isn’t here. I get it, you’re still young and you wanna live out your 20’s like a 20-something-year-old, but we have responsibilities now. We are parents, Mol. It’s not just about us anymore.

Mollie: Weston, you don’t understand…

Weston: I do, Mol, I do. You don’t think I wanna be young and carefree too?

Mollie: If you think this is about me wanting to savor my youth, then that proves my point that you don’t fucking understand.

Weston: Then make me understand. Make sense how you were able to carry our daughter for nine months and act like a complete stranger around her.

Mollie: I wasn’t ready to be a mother yet, Weston! I’m still not ready to be one and she knows it! She already hates me, she does nothing but cry for you and love you and she just wants nothing to do with me and I understand why.

Weston: She’s a baby, Mol, she doesn’t hate you or know anything that you may be feeling…

Mollie: That doesn’t mean anything, she can still sense how much of a shitty mother I am and she’s right. I am a shitty mother because I wasn’t ready to be a mother!

Weston: And you think I was ready to be a father?! Mol, I had to put my career on hold for a bit in order to be there for Grace; you think I wanted to do that? No, but I needed to because I am her fucking father. She comes first now, everything I do is because of her!

Mollie grabs her head in frustration, she paces in a circle on one side of the bed. She can’t take it anymore.

Mollie: Just shut up already! Shut up!

A cry is heard on the baby monitor on the nightstand. Both parents look at it. Weston looks up at Mollie, then proceeds to leave the bedroom to assist to his daughter. Mollie sits on the edge of the bed for a bit, until she walks towards the doorframe of their bedroom and looks out. She sees Weston holding Grace while shhing her, bouncing her a little bit and whispering to her. She smirks at the sight; Weston is a natural and he’s going to be an amazing father for their daughter; anything more than she could be. The smile fades and she walks into the bedroom again.

Moments later, Weston walks into the bedroom. Mollie sits at the edge of the bed; her eyes trace Weston’s every step. Silence fills the room for the first time that night.

Mollie: You’re an amazing father, Weston.

Weston: *looks at Mollie* Thanks. She’s an amazing kid.

Silence. Mollie is speechless.

Weston: Listen, Mollie… we can’t be fighting like this and we can’t keep continue living the way we’re living. Grace is growing up, and sooner or later she’s gonna sense your absence. She’s gonna believe she’s the problem and I refuse for her to ever believe she was the reason you never were around.

Mollie: I’ll still be here, Wes, it’s just my job, my career–

Weston: Y’know, even after this whole conversation, you’re still worried about your damn career. I get it, you worked hard for it. I worked hard for mine too. But I know when to turn that off. You and this dance career… there’s no getting through you.

Mollie doesn’t say anything. Weston goes and sit’s next to Mollie. He takes a deep breath in.

Weston: Mollie, I’m tired. I’m tired of being the only one here taking care of Grace. She has two parents, not just one. I know you may just need some help getting into the swing of things, but it seems like you don’t even want to try, and that speaks volumes. I want what’s best for Grace and you should too, and that requires some sacrifices.

Mollie looks at Weston, and he looks at her.

Weston: Mol, you have to choose what your priorities are right now.

Mollie: I know, I know-

Weston: No. You don’t.

Mollie stares at Weston has he gets up from the bed and takes a deep breath while he’s in thought. He turns around and faces Mollie.

Weston: It’s either your family or your career. Pick one.

Mollie: *shocked* What? Are you out of your mind?!

Weston: No, Mol, I’m not. I’m not saying give up everything you worked for, I’m saying no matter what, your family comes first.

Mollie: That’s not fair, Weston! You can’t just expect me to choose one or the other on the spot, I–

Weston: *stern* It’s your family, or your career. Pick one.

Weston picks up his pillow from the bed and walks towards the bedroom door.

Mollie: Where are you going?

Weston: To the couch. Giving you your space for the night… Love you, Mol.

He walks out of the bedroom door and closes it behind him. Mollie doesn’t move.

Weston wakes up from the sound of Grace crying in her room. He quickly gets up and gets for from her crib.

Weston: Hey princess, you’re up earlier than usual *feels her forehead* no fever, that’s good!

He smiles at Grace and she smiles back. Weston is utterly in love with his daughter.

He takes her to the living room and places her in the playpen. He takes a deep breath and remembers he needs to talk things out with Mollie now that they both would be more calm after sleeping. Weston walks to the bedroom to check on Mollie.

Weston: *knocks* Mollie? Hey, you’re up yet?

He walks into the bedroom and sees that no one is in the room.

Weston: *panics* Mollie?!

Weston rushes out of the room and searches the apartment for Mollie. He checks the bathroom, the living room again, the kitchen; nothing. He picks Grace up from the playpen once she starts crying out for him; he walks to Grace’s room with her in his arms.

He sits down in the chair adjacent from her crib. His thoughts are everywhere: where did Mollie go? Did she go for a walk? To her mom’s house to think? Jennifer’s? Milo & Sophie’s? He had no idea where to look first.

When he looks around the room, he notices a big, fuchsia box with paisley design is under the crib. He gets up from the chair and places Grace back in the crib for a moment. Weston pulls the box from under the crib; there is an envelope on the top labeled, “Weston”.

He opens up the letter and begins to read it:

Weston,

This letter is possibly one of the hardest thing I had to do, but I promise myself and to you that I would always be honest with you because you deserve it. I’m not on the right mindset. I feel lost and I feel like I’ve been nothing but a burden to you and Grace. She loves you, Weston, and as long as you love her unconditionally and give her the absolute world, that’s all that she needs in this life.

I will never regret having Grace, and I will always hold a special place in my heart for her. The way she makes you smile and makes you laugh and the connection you guys have is honestly something I envy for myself. I wish my own father loved me the way you love her. I’m grateful she gets to call you her dad, because you’re absolutely amazing at it.

I am not ready for the responsibilities of parenthood. I tried so hard to show Grace my love and caring nature and for me it did not feel genuine. It didn’t feel like I was her mother. I blame it on myself. I blame it on the fact that I will never feel like I’m a good person for the people in my life. To me, the best version of myself is when I’m dancing. The last time I’ve felt like myself was at the showcase where you brought Grace along with you. The sparkle in her eyes and her curiosity is something I’ll never forget.

You asked me to choose the life that I wanted to live. I chose the life that was right for me and for everyone else.

Weston, I only ask for two things: first, you hand this box to Grace on her 18th birthday. Not any later and not any sooner. This box is just everything I ever wanted to give her; the things that made me smile about her, my favorite memories with her within the past year, and the picture of Grace and I from the showcase. There’s a letter in there for her for when she turns 18.

Secondly, I want you to give her the best life she possibly can. She deserves the whole world. She deserves all the love she can possibly get because she’s a fucking gem in this world. She’s funny, she’s sweet, she’s already so independent and you two love each other to the moon and back. If anyone could love Grace the way she deserves to be loved, it’s you.

I’m so sorry, Weston. This decision isn’t the easiest to make, but I know I would not be the person you fell in love with if we continued to live the way we’re living. You and Grace will always hold a special place in my heart, and I will forever love you both, but I can’t be the person you want me to be.

I wish you both the best in life.

-Mollie

Weston puts the letter down and is shocked. He looks back into the envelope and sees another folded piece of paper. Divorce papers. Weston scrunches his eyebrows in anger; how long has she had these goddamn papers? He can’t move from the spot on the floor he’s sitting in. He looks through the crib bars and sees Grace playing with a toy without a care in the world. He instantly calms down and takes a deep breath.

Weston: It’s just you and me, babe.

Weston continues to sit there and watch grace play in her crib. Nothing moves, nothing is in a panic, he just sits there, looking at his daughter.

— The End —

Voiceless Rant: The Series

A Voiceless Rant: July 2020 Edition.

liz

Dear, guys – welcome back to Letters From Liz.

In the time I’m writing this, I’m going though some type of insecurity that I haven’t felt ever in my life. In some way, it’s a new insecurity of mine; it’s something that I couldn’t do in my past due to my circumstances and quite frankly this post alone contradicts the whole damn point of this month’s installment of:

I say this because as I’m about to write how much I want to hide myself from the world, here I am exposing myself to it and here I am writing my feeling about me not wanting to be an open book anymore.

June was a really weird month for me. I found myself going through a new wave of depression that usually comes around this time of year naturally. I get bad seasonal depression, and that season is the summer for me. It started to creep up on me once June hit and the hot weather was constant throughout the weeks, and for still being out of work during out due to the pandemic (I work at a college), I didn’t have that distraction that usually helps me focus on other things besides the things that I overthink about.

The constant thing that kept me happy was Kpop, specifically building my album and photocard collection. During this time to myself, I decided that I wanted to collect photocards (mainly Victon’s) and open my trading account to connect with other traders and sellers in this community. As I’m writing this, it’s been a week since I opened up the account and I’ve made more connections with people than I’ve done in last couple of months. It’s refreshing to talk to people about things that you like and that they also like and just building a connection off of that (of course, with selling and trading in the mix!) At first, I felt embarrassed wanting to be so involved in collecting; I was constantly being judged by those around me for “having a teenage hobby” and liking Kpop music, and I just began to feel that shame I felt about something that makes me happy all over again, like it was 2019 all over again.

And because of that, I more than ever want to stop sharing myself on here and on the internet because I’m tired of thinking what other people think of me and my interests and quite frankly, I was a lot happier just being on my corner of the internet, by myself, secretly liking the things I liked and that made me happy.

But, I run a blog off of my experiences and my thoughts and quite frankly this post is doing the exact thing I don’t want to do. I’m a writer, and I identity being a write before than being a woman.

Like, let’s cut to the bullshit and get straight to the point: I’m tired of the little comments and looks and questions about my interests from friends, family, and possibly those who follow me on any social media platform I’m active on. I’m tired of the eye rolls every time something with my name comes in the mail, I’m tired of the anxiety I feel whenever I talk about my interest and current hobbies with a smile on my face, and I’m quite frankly just tired of constantly playing the judgments again and again in my head because deep down inside I also think those same things about myself and feel them as well.

I’m tired of other people amplifying them for me.

It sounds so stupid and childish, sure; like it’s totally an issue that shouldn’t be called an issue. It’s the fact that my anxiety disorder is making it feel like it’s a huge problem. My anxiety loves to feed off of the judgments and comments from people, and although I wish I knew how to stop seeking approval or validation that I’m not these things that I think of myself, I still do, and my anxiety eats up anything negative towards the things that makes me happy, whether it’s people, my personality, my interest in Kpop music and collecting; whatever it is.

That anxiety turns into self-loathe; it constantly tells myself I should be a certain way because I’m a certain age, and it makes me regret wanting to ever like certain things, for instance: Kpop. I’m so close to making a rational decision like sell my collection and album and make my side of my room appear more like a 26-year-old rather than a 16-year-old’s because I’m so tired of the internal I keep having with myself about whether it’s age-appropriate to like and be involved in something like this.

But like, it’s fucking music, there’s no age-restriction on music, so why do other people (myself included) feel like I don’t belong within this specific genre of music? I swear it’s such a stupid fucking argument with myself, but it’s been bothering me for months.

It started to bother me when I started to really get into Victon at the beginning of this year. I started to buy their previous discography to start off an album collection because I was really getting into them and their music, and whatever goodies came with the albums I just mindlessly left in the albums because I wasn’t collecting the photocards or anything.

Fast forward to April, and I got extremely into buying photocards to start off a collection. By the time it was June, I started trading with other people around the country for the cards I’d wanted and vice versa. I will admit I spent a shit ton of money on this collection, but it makes me so fucking happy and every time I get a card in the mail, it feels like Christmas morning.

But when it started to become noticeable that I was into collecting, I started to get judged for liking and doing this. “Liz, you’re 26-years-old.” “This is something I would’ve expect you to do when you were a teenager.” “Liz is living her 12-year-old dream.” “What’s up with you listening to those *Asian* boys?” (And let’s just say the word used wasn’t Asian, I just don’t want to repeat the racist comment) While the comments are meant to just push my buttons, I don’t find them funny because those comments and jokes are internal judgments I tell myself all the time, and it’s just so discouraging.

Perhaps I’m just not used to sharing myself like this. Prior to 2020, was very anxious showing or being myself publicly because of the situation I was in, but now that I started to embrace my identity and who I am more and more, I feel all the negative things that come being me.

Anyway, if you read this far into this very true rant, thank you. Also, if this even makes it to the blog, then I guess I decided to just publish the scheduled posts I had on here for July. I can’t say where I’ll be during this time that this publishes; maybe I’ll feel better and maybe this was just a short funk of mine! But as of right now, I just don’t want to be on the internet for a bit. I just feel like hiding for a short period of time and keep to myself until I feel better about whatever this is.

Thanks for bearing with me.