tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29275168659929433092023-10-16T03:44:36.417-06:00Timely Told ThoughtsArlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-44209717834438046632015-06-01T17:30:00.000-06:002015-06-08T11:31:08.664-06:00Tales of a Hopeless Romantic in Transit<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin-right: 6px;">
<span style="color: #fff4dc; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">There was something about the way we made eye contact. In those brief seconds, I felt myself become akin to this man, a man I didn't know. No longer were we strangers, as those seconds filled the distance and years that lead up to this moment. </span></div>
<div style="color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin-right: 6px;">
<div class="p1" style="color: #fff4dc; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
There wasn't anything particularly striking about him. His white skin and male privilege dressed him easily, and occasionally I would catch him cracking a smile as toddlers waddled by like penguins, barely able to keep themselves from tripping over their own two feet. Stubble sat on his chin, a deep brown like his smooth hair; that smooth hair that you just knew he ran a hand full of hairgel through after his morning shower. </div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #fff4dc; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
As I dosed off, I'd catch him peering over his shoulder in my direction. My mind told me it could be a number of things: he either didn't think I was pretty, or he though me to be incredbily so; I was drooling and he might have been entertaining himself by it, or he just couldn't take his eyes off my piercings, like most people. </div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #fff4dc; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
Speculation got me nowhere, so I didn't find out what it was about me that beckoned him to glance over every chance he got. But as I sat there, making a marvel of his porcelain face, I realized that this romanticized reality need not end, as it was the whipping of my own mind and with it I might run and play a fun game called happiness. I might imagine love and romance coming with me to the beach, holding one hand as the other held on to a melting cone of gelato while the Portuguese sun beat down on us. </div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #fff4dc; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
For a moment, a stranger gave me promise of a reality that, in some alternate universe, could have been the most beautiful romance of my life... But I watched him step off that plane without uttering a word. Sometimes our fantasies do exist only for our dreams, and like many others, I had to let this one go. </div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #fff4dc; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #fff4dc; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1" style="color: #fff4dc; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-12087293050999009882015-05-13T05:13:00.001-06:002015-05-13T05:13:17.373-06:00<div class="p1">
Something strange happens when you're about to leave a place, </div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Something about all the things that meant the world changes. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It’s like being in the finale of your own grand scheme, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">For once feeling like you're on the winning team, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Because you'll be going away and gone for a long while, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Death as a destination could only make you smile, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Something strange happens when you're about to leave a place. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">None of the love can save you anymore,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But you say all the words to save all your loves, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Because you need them to know that it wasn't them, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and that when you're gone you're never really gone. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Something strange happens when you're about to leave a place</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And all I can do is share fleeting moments with friends whose eyes hold tears as they try not to cry, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Share the potions that clear my pain with them, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and put on a brave face for them, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">because inside I'm really hurting and scared, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But goddamnit I love the people here. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And it makes me sad to go, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But I know there’s not enough left for me.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Something strange happens when you're about to leave a place, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Arlana Shikongo</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">November 16, 2014, 4:21pm</span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-41320194147550812892015-05-13T05:05:00.001-06:002015-05-13T05:05:29.709-06:00<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">White lines, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">In line, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">With white lies. </span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-6291429656994267392015-05-02T10:31:00.000-06:002015-05-13T03:06:25.445-06:00To Redeem Ourselves<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We are people who run too fast, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Run fast into the arms of strangers, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And leap before we know we'll be caught. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We put our hearts in fragile hands, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Trembling,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The brittle earth shaking beneath their feet. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But we run and we jump and we throw,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As though it's the last redemption. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Redemption, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Redemption from what though? </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Redemption for enjoying the throws of passion, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">For craving the texture of moist, cracked lips</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">On bare skin, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">In and out of where my crevices begin. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Redemption for being inlove with making love, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">So that even when we're fucking, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We're making love. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Because people like us need redemption. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Redemption for loving too much. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Redemption for making love, and making life </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Especially when the intention is neither. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">So we run too fast, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Run, jump and throw</span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">To redeem ourselves. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Arlana Shikongo</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">May 2, 2015, 10:31am</span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-89632635274250825942015-04-07T10:31:00.000-06:002015-05-13T03:27:11.340-06:00Day Break<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I drown in your eyes, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Those galaxies that consume me. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">So dark, so rich. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Encompassing the whole night,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But giving me none of it; </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Because auburn begins to fill, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">My stomach begins to warm, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And as the sun colours the horizon, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">As if the line is where daffodils and sunflowers grow, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Day breaks and the blue exudes, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Washing over me, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And me, washing into you. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And it is fresh, and brisk, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">This day break of love, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Bursting through, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Birthed anew, </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Day breaks as I break into you. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Arlana Shikongo</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">April 7, 2015, 10:31am</span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-40885123398644152562015-04-05T21:43:00.000-06:002015-05-13T03:24:07.392-06:00Boundless<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Pressure. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Palms suffocating my mouth, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Hands pushing down on my chest, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Ribs, popping out at the seams. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Hearing, my lungs </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Breathing, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">On their own, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">They've outgrown me. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I'm sorry I couldn't stop</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Black ashes from crowding your floors, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Dusted core, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Unhinged, a slightly fringed door</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">To a black hole, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">In which we sink, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Quick, quickly, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Quickening. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Before I realize that you see me, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">You've seen me. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Vulnerable; </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Discretion is lost. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It is lost on me, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But let me hold and, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Host your body, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Cradle me. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Cradle me. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Let me go. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We were never here together. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We were never here. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Arlana Shikongo</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">April 5, 2015, 9:43pm</span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-6219898831894915782015-04-05T11:56:00.000-06:002015-05-13T03:46:32.378-06:00Underground Hip Hop in Amsterdam<div class="p1">
The air that greeted me was thick with smoke; both nicotine and marijuana. Everyone was vibing to the tunes and the atmosphere was filled with genuine enjoyment. Sticky checked floors licked my soles, billiard balls clattered on a nearby pool table, and illuminated graffiti bouncing off the walls on the far right beckoned me to a corner where DJs, rappers and a rather solemn audience bobbed their heads to some seemingly complex verses. </div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The underground Dutch Hip Hop scene was exactly as I imagined it would be. New school mixed with old skool, a rainbow of diversity embracing the spirit of music and liquor and marijuana flowing as loosely as the drug policy that allows the phenomenon to occur. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The staring up to the slightly elevated stage, I push my way through the crowd and make it right up to the front. I swayed with the audience, memorizing then regurgitating words I didn't know just sing along to the choruses of some of these songs. </span> Once in awhile one of the free verses would be in English. I was very impressed by the Dutch people's ability to code switch between the two languages so fluidly. </div>
<div class="p1">
By the end of the night I was soaring. The company I'd come along with and the company I'd met offered my a new experience of hip hop and Amsterdam. </div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Takeaway: attend an underground hip hop event in Amsterdam, because going underground is where hip hop is found. </span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-90345876544909585622015-04-04T02:25:00.000-06:002015-05-13T03:55:14.780-06:00Poetry Circle Nowhere - Amsterdam<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Tonight I attended my first poetry event in Amsterdam. It was hosted by Poetry Circle Nowhere, an "ever growing group of young, passionate, writing performers that has its heart in Amsterdam, chapters in Eindhoven, Groningen, Rotterdam and Tilburg, but has the whole world as a playground", as they describe themselves. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">In a desperate attempt to find some sort of creative, open and spoken-word community, I went on to google 'Poetry in Amsterdam' to find this organization’s page and a few of their public events. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I was nervous because of the obvious language barrier that might exist. Although I knew I could understand dutch, I anticipated that the language they used would be out of my range of understanding and I’d be stuck sitting like a headless chicken, lost in a haze of confusion. Instead, it was an amazing night with a beautiful mix of English, Dutch, singing, dancing and all around positive energy. Everyone was willing to share and open their arms to those of us that were new to their event or new to the world of spoken word. It was a quality I’d come to learn existed very much in these creative souls, which is why I found myself seeking them out and growing so fond of them.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I shared a poem tonight and the praises I got from these strangers played my heart like a Spanish guitar. I was impressed by their work as well, and gave credit where credit was due. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It was a night of entertainment and inspiration. I have found my church again, and my soul is peaking.</span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-61383414601501812622015-04-03T15:45:00.000-06:002015-05-13T03:11:40.181-06:00You and...<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Your hands on my skin, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Wet nose on my chin. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Reflections of your grin;</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">In glassy lakes we drive by,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Grass beneath your head as we gaze at the sky. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Your tongue lapping up my tears as I cry, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And I know the reasons,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The reasons why. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Like a newborn, I'm a fetus of your soul, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Connected to you by our umbilical cord.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Beyond who we are,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">To be read in our stars.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I trust astronomy; </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Unconventionally we'll be, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">A fairy tale story.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">What is, </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">To shoot, and hit a par. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Arlana Shikongo</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">April 3, 2015, 3:45pm</span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-23938698400880793582015-04-02T13:44:00.000-06:002015-05-13T02:47:14.352-06:00CascadesThe Stars cascade<br />
<br />
Tides pulling us in and out.<br />
<br />
Licking the shore, <br />
<br />
Then lapping it up again, <br />
<br />
Toes buried in the sand. <br />
<br />
The sky cascades,<br />
<br />
Dark mass enveloping itself, <br />
<br />
Me, myself. <br />
<br />
Breathing it all in,<br />
<br />
Cool and brisk. <br />
<br />
Air. <br />
<br />Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-80834406008774395082015-04-01T08:57:00.000-06:002015-04-01T08:57:18.981-06:00What is not....LifeIt is not a sequence of days,<br />
Building up one by one to be called a living.<br />
Nor is it feeling the sun on your skin,<br />
When the skies are grey and crying.<br />
It isn't capturing moments on an iPhone,<br />
Making the ordinary surreal,<br />
So that to some body else it might seem,<br />
Like you've got it all together.<br />
It is not the moments in which you realize the little things,<br />
And transcend your knowledge,<br />
Your ideas of the meaning of being.<br />
It is short,<br />
It is simple,<br />
It is sweet.<br />
It is not a sequence of days,<br />
Building up one by one to be called a living.<br />
It is life;<br />
It's a real thing,<br />
...and it's happening to you as we speak.<br />
<br />
Arlana Shikongo<br />
April 1, 2015 4:57pmArlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-17098248430336644632015-03-03T15:00:00.000-06:002015-05-27T04:32:27.224-06:00Rainy Afternoon Epiphanies<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It was a rainy afternoon and I was hungry, so I walked into this dingy little place I saw from across the road as I cycled home along a canal. It was called "DeWerf" and the first thing you'd notice looking into it was the bar and its shelves of liquor. None the less, the little board outside read "DeWerf Eatery". I was already parked and standing in front of the door, so I decided to head inside. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It smelled musky, much like you'd associate with the antique-y pieces that furnished it. There were 3 men sitting at the bar and an older women serving. She looked like someone who had a good time in her day. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I sat down, ordered a Heineken and went with the soup of the door for my lunch. It was a lobster soup, which I could only hope would be fresh and sanitarily prepared. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Rainy days in Amsterdam were never dull. I've had low moments during them, but overall, they were a pleasantry that nudged me into random little spots on random streets to experience random things. Who would have thought I would find myself in a dimly lit, orange ambiance little restaurant listening to what I could only imagine my dad might listen to every now and again, while drinking a Heineken on my own. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It occurred to me right there and then that we never quite know the experiences we can have or are going to have; and I think that's the only real driving force of life. We need to keep living in the hope of seeing what is to come. Perhaps things will get better, perhaps I will prosper, perhaps I will matter. It is all about that great perhaps. Possibility. Those things drive hope, and thus hope drives life. That aids in explaining why faith is something people kneel to the ground for. Faith keeps hope alive. Faith re pumps the fuel that lets hope run rampant. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">....and for the sake of hope, I will walk into random bars, cafes and restaurant time and time again hoping to run into the awe that inspire and awakens the most dormant corners of my soul.</span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-74624080473376654042015-02-28T15:28:00.000-06:002015-05-13T04:20:19.494-06:00How do you say "Belgian Waffles" in French? <div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We got off a bus and took a right, and around that corner we were greeted by an outstanding, enormous cathedral; we were in Brussels. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The air was cool, but warmer than it had been in Amsterdam. With my backpack hanging heavily behind me and a small luggage bag in my grips we marched to Brussels' tourist square. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The first order of business was food. Of Belgium, we knew a couple of things were imperative: Belgian fries, Belgian waffles and Belgian chocolate. I ordered a burger that was much bigger than my fist, and hence, my stomach. I ate half of it, accompanied by fries drenched in a Hollandase sauce. For breakfast I indulged in a waffle overflowing with chocolate sauce and strawberries. One thing was for sure, Belgians loved their sweet things. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">A sweet scent filled the air. My nose was being greeted by sweet aromas from dusk till dawn, and my tastebuds knew they too, would soon experience the pleasure of Belgian delicatessen. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Not only that but they'd also be entertained by a variety of brews. Europeans are famous for their beer thirst and Belgium did not lack in living up to that identity. I remember asking the concierge for directions to the nearest liquor store once we got to our hostel, to which he responded, "There's a grocery store across the road. Here, there aren't specific liquor stores. They all just kind of sell all alcohol," and that was the essence of the Belgian lifestyle. </span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-51137092061050172572015-02-14T09:57:00.000-06:002015-05-13T04:25:00.857-06:00Seeing Old Faces in New Places<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The air hit my face as I waited. Orange lights lit up the info signs and "IJburg 4min" was reading on this platform. I waited, taking in the air that smelled lightly like cigarette smoke. One train came and another left, but I sat tight, waiting for my friend to arrive. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">When she did I was sitting at the top of the stairs with the Lloyd Hotel shining brightly at me in red.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">She ascended the stairs as I began to light a cigarette. Momentarily, my heart stopped and heat rushed into my ears. We yelled and hugged. I was finally seeing one of the best human being I knew once more, after an excruciating stretched out year and a half of having oceans between us. </span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-8777468538600538102015-02-08T23:36:00.000-06:002015-05-27T04:37:17.618-06:00Another day in Amsterdam<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We cycled 20 minutes to get to Centraal Station. Today, we were taking a ferry to the biggest flea market that existed in Europe: the 'IJ Hallen', and boy was it huge.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The city was windy today, but that isn't rare. I've experienced four seasons of weather on repeat in one day. That means to say it went from hailing to rain, to terrible wind to sunshine and then back to windy in a span of 20 minutes, repeatedly. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Today wasn't that extreme, but the wind does make it hard to cycle up little hills when it's pushing against you, and with my knees, that's sort of painful. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">None the less, I tried to take it all in. It seemed to be a newer part of the city seeing as the architecture was very modern.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Despite my eyes watering and as a result making it appear as though I was crying, I was enjoying the sway of the water as we drove over in the ferry. The sun would peek out from between the clouds every now and again and blanket my face so comfortably. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I spent about 17euros during this day, including paying a 5 dollar entrance fee for the flea market and a sandwich lunch right after. I acquired a new brown leather book bag, brown booties, a few scarves, a coat, a down vest and gloves. I was amazed. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Much else than that the day was uneventful. The sandwich I ate was mouthwatering, granted I was also on a cloud. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">More than anything I wanted to talk to friends and family and feel less alone despite constantly being around all these people. But, time does not work like that. Some how we've complicated it even further. </span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span>
<span class="s1">Read more on the Ij Hallen here: </span><br />
<span class="s1">http://ijhallen.nl/</span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-22189133110268583012015-02-07T17:03:00.000-06:002015-05-27T04:39:22.703-06:00Missing Opportunities on Train Tracks<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The white blanket that covered the earth was swooshing by. Trains moving past each other ricochet wind in a manner that made you know two trains were passing each other, even when your eyes couldn't quite grasp it. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">"Do you read?" he asked me, handing me a Time Magazine. He was an older man and I just happened to sit next to him on a train from Rotterdam to Amsterdam. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">"Née, dankje," I responded. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">For some reason, even this small gesture surprised me. He was a Caucasian man, drenched in all his privilege, if I were to judge the book by its cover. He wore dark jeans that seemed to be suit pants at first glance, but in fact not, on further inspection. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">He wore a button down shirt dressed in a blue sweater that I assumed he layered with a down coat given the weather. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I did not get much more than that. Eyes, hair, facial construction; it swept past me or rather, I failed to observe it. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">...and there in lies the trouble of assumptions. The opportunity resulted in missing out on getting to know someone that my destiny had brought me elbow distance with. One could say that every human encounter is not always one that necessitates exploring, but with the amount of people that remain to be met and learned from, I cannot continue to sleep on the opportunity. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I have had the opportunity to meet strangers that have changed my life, altered my perspective and completely hurdled me to places that might otherwise never have been reached, and such is the beauty of strangers and my encounters with them. More valuable than any possession or any materialist experience, is the experience granted to you from befriending a stranger. </span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-20728109479487810472015-02-01T18:29:00.000-06:002015-05-13T04:42:49.855-06:00Ready, Set ... Bike!<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The Dutch are cyclists, so as per the travelers traditional, I had to cycle around the old city in a similar way. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I rented a bike for the semester, which meant I'd have to get acquainted with everything around me sooner rather than later. Cycling back from the store was a mission to figure out in its own right. A route that was supposed to take 10-15 minutes took closer to an hour and a half. It was cold but I wasn't complaining. I just wanted to get home with my bike, limbs and bones in tact. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Here and there a cyclist had to scuffle me out of their way, and although the bike bells scared me momentarily, soon their frantic ring was no longer something that caused me to jump aside in alarm. </span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-51819953128453854012015-01-31T23:31:00.000-06:002015-05-13T04:50:32.084-06:00Utrecht<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We entered Utrecht pacing in quickly with the Saturday bustle. Cities closed down early here, just like home. So, similarly to home, Saturday was a big shopping day. Well, that's what I took from today. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I ate a ham pancake to start off, and with a tickled tummy I was ready to go exploring this little city. We were in the heart of the shopping district and everyone was moving quickly to catch the sales. The air was filled with aromas because the open air market was also held that day, right in the heart of the town. There was fresh fish, 1 euro coffee, affordable clothes and right next to it: a mall and the central station. Utrecht was quaint and it pleased me in that manner. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We walked, cyclists shuffling us out of their way. Although bustling, it was quite obviously evident that we were not in a big, crowded city. Cyclists seemed more patient and the amount of tourists were fewer. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">It was a slow day, which was necessary with the hurried pace this journey seemed to be taking on. By the end of it, I was able to enjoy a local beer in a small bar while watching people stroll by. </span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-5399852025752621542015-01-31T22:41:00.000-06:002015-05-13T04:54:05.654-06:00The Air Under My Feet<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The air dripped out of my feet</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I was lifted with it,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">as it filled my lungs,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">then emptied it</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">In gray, heavy swirls</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">That heaved up and kissed my lips,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">A body calling out</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">For the chemicals I faltered to.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The city with it all was no help,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Green herbs kissing my tongue</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Often,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Canal waters washing the guilt</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And cyclists echoing the call for health.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But the neon lights called to me</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Blinking rhythmically</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">So I could not believe,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">What my eyes had just seen.</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I walk in for a coffee,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Order creative names instead;</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And by the gram I measure my poison,</span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I want the earth to be swept from under me.</span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-49528636101125867472015-01-30T23:37:00.000-06:002015-05-27T04:47:19.419-06:00First Impressions<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">They say they give you the stars when you're in Amsterdam. Well, atleast I wish that's what they said. I came to realize it was true. All of the good things came in abundances and sometimes I guilted myself with thoughts of how selfish I am for being able to be here. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">My eyes stung, and I was either always in a food coma, amnesia haze or some orientation program. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The air in central Amsterdam is blanketed in a light stench of cannabis. Tourists walk and take over old Amsterdam overwhelmingly; standing out like sore thumbs, and quite unapologetically so. The annoyance was obvious in the face of the locals, but understandably so. The driving and navigation was miserable and traffic didn't seem fun at that point. But we walked, our feet scuttling on the bumping sidewalks. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I observed the amount of cheese houses, coffeeshops and souvenir shops that littered these allies, and the figured overwhelmed me. I watched tourists swarm between the three, experimenting excitedly with what their own countries' call and an illicit drug, and then savouring the beautiful flavours of skunky cheese to alleviate "the munchies", followed by souvenir shopping to fully encapsulate the entire experience. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
I smiled thinking of the few days they probably had to spend in Amsterdam. I smiled because I knew that this was simply the beginning of a 4 month journey in a city with more to offer than I could fathom. I smiled because I stumbled onto a playground I thought perfectly suitable for myself. I smiled, because a 5 month journey, in which I would be brimming in all these pleasantries and more, was about to begin. </div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-24098297447073790322015-01-29T04:57:00.000-06:002015-05-13T02:49:07.473-06:00Welkom Bij AmsterdamThere was a bustle, but it tickled the air subtly. The nippy air bit at my skin as the winter coat I had brought across waters attempted to do its job. I was unfazed. Having earlier been bathed in the Dutch rains as I attempted to find the building I was to call home for the next few months, the cold had already given me a rude welcoming to the Dutch lands. <br /><br />I was in the bicycle capital of the world, yet somehow I was still surprised by how many bicycles littered the streets. Families were transported in these things. Children were diligently following their parents on them, or sometimes they'd be loosely left in a crate type of basket attached to the front…and as a result, few cars dressed the roads. It was very unlike the American way of life; definitely healthier for your body and your pocket. <br /><br />Having flown in that day and then bombarded with information regarding banks and city councils, the obvious choice was to go home and get ready for bed once the orientation dinner was over. It was a pizza party. European pizza, though smaller, trumps American pizza by yards. None the less, I decided to go on a little adventure with a girl I had just met. Given that our cellphones were not yet set up as we might have liked, we had no GPS to aid with the navigation so we figured we’d do it ourselves. We were looking for a coffeeshop so it couldn't be all that difficult. We ought to have known better. <br /><br />Before long, we found ourselves in an illuminated part of the city, where lights dressed trees and bridges; and before I knew it, the lavender that kissed my lips left me in a haze which amounted to excitement and paranoia. You can imagine the adrenaline rush.<br /><br />What does Amsterdam have to offer so far? Sights for sore eyes: not limited to but including beautiful Graffiti, beautiful men and beautiful coffee shops. <br />Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0Amsterdam, Netherlands52.3702157 4.895167899999933152.2151142 4.5724443999999327 52.5253172 5.2178913999999335tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-40321300239837237912015-01-01T02:23:00.001-06:002015-01-01T02:23:22.778-06:00In RetrospectOne of my first memories of 2014 entails having a gun pointed at my face while being patted down for money, a phone, or really, whatever they could find. That cold day in Memphis, TN I was seated next to an individual who I had come to learn would be a lifelong friend. I knew this because our friendship had evolved and strengthened rather than faltered after months of fighting and then moving to different places for college. <div>
Next, a young girl in the little know-one-know-all community we'd created back home in Windhoek committed suicide. I didn't know her well, but I knew that that occurrence shook the earth under the feet of the teenagers who were close to her. I liked to call them the "BB's of our little community" because they were about two to three years younger than me. I guess we're never too young to experience the tragedies of death and sadness.</div>
<div>
A couple of weeks followed and then I got the news that my aunt had died. She was ill. No one had told me. I cried, and then I moved on. </div>
<div>
The year opened up as a mecca of misfortune and pain, and in all honesty, it is likely to end that way too. None the less, this is not a post about my sadness and the things that make me cry at night, it is an avenue for me to explore the positive experiences and greatest moments of my year. </div>
<div>
This year saw the majority of my growth, it saw me come into my maturity, and it encaptured the process of me becoming fully and unapologetically myself. </div>
<div>
2k14 blessed me with friends who loved me enough to entertain the idea of making a whole week out of my birthday. It introduced me to individuals I did not initially approach because of my bad habit of casting a judgement on a book based on its cover. I can only thank them for being the part of my life that entertained and joined in on my craziness. They have been my rock, helped save me from myself; and helped me understand what it means to live, to persevere and to know that a good outcome is always in the distance. </div>
<div>
The year blessed me with the courage and self-assurance to put myself forth to people rather than coup myself up in my own shell. It allowed for a spontaneous Facebook post about Spring break, that resulted in a spontaneous trip to Chicago; the city that I've come to adore and intend on spending a good portion of my life in. That led to a relationship developing between individuals who I know are my soul sisters and a "Tribe" I will forever belong to. These people helped me learn to be comfortable with myself, see the beauty in myself and keep my head up. Thank you for letting me know that when it comes to my feelings and emotions, it's ok to dive into the deep end and perhaps have abit of a hard time keeping my head above the water. The most important thing is that I keep trying to keep my head above the water, and with friends like you, swimming out to the shore for Corona's on the beach becomes easy to do. That Chicago trip taught me a lesson about putting myself out there, approaching people and capitalizing on my spontaneity. It taught me that there are people on the same wavelength as myself, and it brought me to them. </div>
<div>
<div>
The individuals I've met have taught me lessons on being a strong, independent and persevering woman and every day that I was surrounded by them was a new learning curve. They've opened my eyes up to the reality of what I am and what I experience and they've helped me learn how to harness my strength, despite how little it might be sometimes, and turn that into dynamite; a force to be reckoned with. </div>
</div>
<div>
A huge part of that dynamite also includes being able to let go of people's judgement of me or the ideas they conjure when they judge my cover before they've read my pages. This group of people have helped me learn to go forth as I am, and that those who matter will be around when they need to be. I never knew that I could be so certain that my one call from jail will never go unanswered despite where in the world I'm calling from, if that call is made to them.</div>
<div>
It took me nineteen years to find a tribe of people that have undoubtedly made me feel like I was part of a truly loving, judgement free and supportive group of friends. So much so that each and every one of them have become family and interacted quite personally with my nuclear family despite meeting them via a computer screen while sitting in a dorm room 7 270 miles away. </div>
<div>
Between Illinois and Wisconsin for spring break; lake house shenanigans and Jewish frat party mishaps, and a 9mm gun pointed at my face in Tennessee, so many extraordinary memories have been made during this year. From high times in California to low times in New York; I wouldn't change a day in the face of 2k14. </div>
<div>
All I can do now is let go and let love. The next year will be one continued to be filled with growth, adventure and new journeys. I want to enter it with an open heart and the courage to realize that the inevitability of change is a matter that should no longer make me cry. I move forth, letting go of those whose paths have gone completely perpendicular of mine, and keeping close to my heart those who are on their paths and their journeys parallel to mine, separated only by a brief amount of distance. With energy being everything, I can only hope that mine is granted positivity and strength to carry me threw the tides of the new journey I am about to embark on, </div>
<div>
....and for you, I hope positivity, prosperity and genuine joy; even if it comes momentarily, even if it comes fleeting. Live your life to be entertained by even the smallest, most insignificant moments of joy as those are seemingly becoming more and more rare. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-39919324066115025692014-11-29T21:17:00.003-06:002014-11-29T21:17:25.346-06:00UNTITLED<div class="p1">
by Arlana S</div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Nov 4, 6:52am</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I like you, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I like him. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">He likes me </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And wants me, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">In the same way I want you. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">So I have to tell him, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The same way you told me</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">That there wasn't room for us to be. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But see; that'd be sacrificing myself whole, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Cutting off a limb in hopes of a transplant, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But when will I know? </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">You're making me wait, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But, waiting gets boring and it gets me late, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">When I could be getting laid, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">With someone who wants to lay me down gently and caress my spine, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Rather than "FUCK ME" on a counter in what I'm calling "record time" </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">For you, not me. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Because unlike you; he thinks of me, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Whether HE got ME off;</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">and he never leaves me until I come undone and we've both experienced different worlds,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">So we can lay, wrapped up in sweet sweat and skin. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">He never leaves the plate anything but spotless, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And licks every speck of it till it shines. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But you; you leave an assortment of condiments messily spread, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Uncaring of how you've left me. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And that's the trouble. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I seem to care because you're not carrying me in your arms and telling me how precious I am to you. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But he is..</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And somehow that pushes me closer to you. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I need to let go, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Because I've grown</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">And these games aren't ones I can play anymore </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Like hopscotch, I had to stop because I didn't want to sprain ankles anymore. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">...so I need you to get out of my mind, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">So I an go find what I'm looking for,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But in a better place. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Because I can't hold your hand forever, </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Let you rest on my chest, as I stroke your hair and try to ease your distress. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Different roles, one girl. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Not too sure how I feel about it. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">But I do know,</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The man that wants to love and make love to me, rather than FUCK </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Is where I should be! </span></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">....but somehow, I can't convince myself of it completely. </span></div>
Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-88453313604531321242014-04-19T06:49:00.000-06:002014-04-19T06:49:05.396-06:00Chapped LipsChapped lips like hers,<br />
They tasted like whiskey and tears,<br />
Lemon and pain.<br />
Chapped lips like hers,<br />
Often smiled a luscious pink,<br />
While speaking sunshine things<br />
As they burned from the sun's persistent heat.<br />
Chapped lips like hers,<br />
Concealed by sticks and;<br />
Stones could never break her bones.<br />
But they nicked at them,<br />
Leaving cuts and bruises the surface was adapt to hide.<br />
Chapped lips like hers<br />
Could only smile so much before the acid rain of her eyes burned away at them.<br />
Those chapped lips and lipstick,<br />
You didn't know,<br />
Did you?Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2927516865992943309.post-64480877386240945572014-03-24T08:46:00.001-06:002014-03-24T08:46:24.133-06:00My Cheek Piercings and I: We Won't Work for YouThere is one thing that you're most likely going to notice about me when first meeting me. Yes, I have two silver balls sticking out from both sides of my face. Some people question why I would ruin my dimples (which were never there before the piercings, btw) with piercings and others admire how "classy" I make them look. Either way, my piercings are very personal and the journey I've been on over the past two years since getting them has been just as personal and significant.<br />
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During the course of my time with these piercings I've received many curious questions: Did you have dimples before? How do you eat? Can you take them out and squirt liquid out of them? Is it one bar? How much did it hurt? What did your parents say?<br />
Jup, those are all questions I'm familiar with and despite how original you might think your questions are, things can become pretty redundant over the course of two years. There is, however, one question I get asked often and that I feel is worth answering. I'm not answering this question because I have anything to prove to anyone or want to put anything to rest. I'm answering it because it allows me the time and space to think about what I'm being asked, the importance of it and it's relevance to my life.<br />
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Many times I'll answer some of the sillier questions I get with the same amount of bullshit I measure from the question. "Is it one bar that goes from one side of your mouth to the other?" Yes Sherlock, because it would make plenty of sense to do something like that. The entire purpose of these piercings is to limit how easily I can speak, eat or suck a dick.......because I'd intentionally like to make all three of those things significantly difficult for myself (Sorry, I'm aware that was a little crude).<br />
....but unlike these, the question of what I'm going to do about my piercings once I need to get a job is a very valid one and definitely worth thinking about.<br />
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When I got my cheeks pierced I was a teenager dealing with teenager stuff and quite frankly, I did not think I was going to live past 20, so employment wasn't at the top of my list of "Things to consider before getting a facial piercing". However, now that I am well-aware of my (hopefully) lengthy lifespan, I realize that there are a lot of reasonable things to consider and think about before getting a facial piercings, and employment is definitely at the top of that list.<br />
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I know for a fact that I probably won't keep these piercings in till I'm 30. Heck, I'll probably have them out by the time I'm 23 or even sooner. However, that has nothing to do with the fact that I hope to get a job someday. If anyone asks me whether I recommend cheek piercings I tell them that I can, quite honestly, not make a recommendation. This is not to say that I hate my piercings or that I regret getting them. If that were the case, I'd have them out and closing up by now. But it is important to realize that we are different people going on different journeys so I could not make a genuine recommendation with your best intentions at heart. Yes, cheek piercings are a fun conversation starter, I find them aesthetically appealing and despite being an iffy and stressful kind of piercing, they are still fun to have. However, I also know that I have no intent on working some job in which I'm required to wear a dress suit everyday like I'm Jessica Pearson (this is a Suits reference, just by the way). I am not opposed to piercings and tattoos in the work place, but I also know that every career path has somewhat of a uniform and cheek piercings do not fit in well with most of them. However, as an individual and someone who knows that she's going to be the captain of her own ship someday, be it at a self-made, independent magazine or wherever else I might find myself, I know that I would not want to work for or with anyone that is bothered by my cheek piercings.<br />
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Quite frankly put, if I were to get an interview with my favorite print press I would NOT take out my piercings. Apart from them being a large part of who I am, I would also not want to work in a place that strictly dictates how I'm supposed to look or that overlooks my abilities and capabilities because of something temporary. Don't get me wrong, I think it's important to make a good first impression when interviewing anywhere for an internship or job you really want and if you prepare yourself well enough and come to find out that the kind of piercing you have would not sit well with your potential boss and that is the kind of environment you want to work in, then by all means remove your symbols of rebellion and be an adult about it. But I am comfortable and prepared enough in what I want to do to know that I would not even apply for a job in a place that would force me to conform to a standard of appearance. I, for one, know that my piercings do not look outrageous and in my experience, I seem to wear them well. No cockiness intended there, but "whatchagonnadoaboutit"? Right?<br />
I've worked with and around people that do not see any less significance in the things I do, make or say simply because they have a preconception of what people with piercings are like. I have worked in spaces where I am treated as any other person would be treated, where my intelligence has not been questioned and my aesthetic has not been ridiculed. I know places like this exist and that is an ideal working environment for me, which is why I am to pursue a career in something that would be just as accepting.<br />
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When push comes to shove, how you present yourself is an important part of being hired. However, when choosing a place of employment keep that in mind too. If at this stage in your life you feel like you want the entirety of your torso and face to be covered in ink, go for it, but also be aware that you're not likely to become a lawyer or a doctor. I mean, you could try. I am most definitely not going to stop you and hey, you might just make revolutionary advances in the field when it comes to dress code and individuality. But be aware of the constraints of the society we live in. Regardless of how much you want to break down the confines that it places us in, also be aware that you might not have the opportunity to do that.<br />
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My point is this, I know what these two unusual little things mean to me and at this stage of my life I am not willing to compromise that for a paycheck. This line of thinking is likely to change in the next few years as I evolve as a person and that is completely fine... But for now, I know myself well enough to say that I'd only want to work in an environment that is understanding and accepting enough for my face to not be weird. If that can't happen, I probably can't and do not want to work for you.Arlana Pshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17522077933734077100noreply@blogger.com0