it’s not that there is a lack
of men willing to
give you
the shirt from their back
but rather an abundance of women
ready to wear them
you are not some dark knight
riding in on the moonlight
to save me
you are a cockroach
and i will ignite you
with aerosol and flame
before you get to my pantry
– you’re not ‘friendzoned’, i’m married
Everyone at the zoo thinks that they are a photographer. I don’t mean the ‘casual selfie next to a giraffe’ type of photography, I mean- ‘You just stepped in front of a single mom pushing her stroller so that you could get the best angle of a monkey shitting into its hand’ type of photography. I have 3 good reasons why this is fucking idiotic and you people need to stop.
- You look ridiculous. We live in a world where vanity takes precedence over humility. No one is humble anymore. I say hello to people every single day, only to have them avert their eyes and continue walking. They would rather listen to the words of a song through a set of headphones than ever engage in friendly conversation with a stranger. No, you’re not an introvert, you’re an asshole.
- You are fucking rude. If you have ever taken a course in photography in your pathetic fucking life, you would know that you cannot just obstruct public areas so that you can get a shot. You can certainly use public areas but you must realize that, just because you decided to pull your camera out, does not require anybody to respect you.
- You are not experiencing the moment. That picture is forever documenting a moment that you missed. It’s not a memory of your family enjoying the zoo. It’s not a memory of anything. Nobody cares about personal photographs except for the people who take them or the people in the photograph. You can wallpaper your house in photos of animals but everyone who visits is going to think you’re ridiculous.
I watched an 8-year-old child nearly push over an elderly woman today and her family was so distracted by the fact that she was trying to jump out of the photo that they did not even scold her. They didn’t even acknowledge that their child physically assaulted an elderly woman with a cane. I got to silently watch the entire scene as I impatiently waited for the child to listen to her shitty parents. I’m sure in 5 or 6 years that young girl will be a little piece of shit trying to fill public spaces with her vanity too. I think back on that moment and wish I would have done something. Like, apologize for the young girl who obviously didn’t realize that she wasn’t the center of attention. It’s not her fault that her parents are idiots. But one day it will be.
I don’t care how you correct their behavior- if you correct it. If you cannot stand to point out your child’s flaws, how are they ever going to know that they have any? You’re raising your kids to pose for pictures. You’re not raising them to apologize, show empathy, or even conduct themselves with respect for others. Take a step back, really think about the individual that your child is becoming. It’s a hard journey, becoming a parent. No one is perfect. But you cannot walk through life pretending that no one else is there. Put your camera down and be present.
A.
There is not enough time in the day. Every morning I wake up with the assumption that I alone, will be able to carve apart the mountains that I have built of my challenges. I’ve meticulously planned every day of my life so that I wonder who owns my time. Truly I must, but the mountains that tower over me are so hard to climb. Today I realized that I have planned my own disappointment. In the lists, I have calculated exactly what needs to be done so that I, the creator of my own obstacles, can feel pride. In these lists, I orchestrated my own failure.
But have you ever climbed a mountain? Or even stood at the base of one? Standing at the bottom of a mountain that is over 1000 feet in elevation will realign even the most troubled of priorities. It’s not every day that I can drag myself to the base of a mountain, but on the days that my challenges paralyze me, I find it to be most important. I cannot just flutter through life, half completing my goals every day. Although it is sometimes difficult to imagine, challenges are only pebbles next to mountains.
I’m not a godly woman. I am one of those people who passes through a church parking lot only to collect the pokeballs and any rare pokemon that might be lurking around. I can assume that in 200 years, this type of activity will be written into every holy book as a sin. I wonder if there will be coupons for first-class seats in hell at the end of each holy scripture.
–
While I busied my mind with the idea of burning in hell for eternity, far in the distance I saw a tree- dead on the top of the mountain. For a moment, I pitied the tree. Having to live through the harsh heat of southern California must be far more challenging than any hurdle I’ve jumped. Then I realized, this tree has no concept of difficulty or pain. This tree managed to grow from rock and clay to fulfill its exact destiny on this planet. The tree is dead- but it died at the summit of a mountain.
I have triumphed through every challenge I have ever faced in my life. I might stumble and fall, but can’t turn back until I’ve reached the peak. All mountain climbers must have a similar philosophy: Make it to the top, or die trying.
A.
where does the hurt go
when i bury it
below the surface
why doesn’t it die
when it is deprived
of energy
how can i still feel it
and recall it?
i dig it up
covered in rot
decaying and putrid, it hurts
I want to be a writer. Every time I open up the blank document and start typing, my mind is flooded with voices that scream, “you’re not a writer, what are you doing”.
So I close my laptop.
Sometimes I think that I might be a bad person. One moment, I’m full of optimism; dreams of success saturate my brain.. Then it reaches capacity and, like some twisted fucking destiny, I’m flooded with lack luster emotions of emptiness. I scream at myself all day that I am nothing.
Nothing.
Maybe that’s the real problem with my generation. We’ve been told our entire lives that we were something special- then we grew up and realized that we were just another curbside performance. All eyes are on us but we have no money in our pockets and no instrument worth playing.
My name is Amber and I’m not a curbside performance. I’m a real. fucking. person. And I care about everything. I care about people. I care about how they feel after politically charged controversies and I care about alternative medicine. I care about the economy and the way that advertising companies are allowed to market to our youth. All it takes is one comment- one negative reaction, to turn it all off. Then I care about nothing.
Nothing.
I’m not a big person. My actions feel so unwavering but the second I feel hurt, I shut down. I might be nothing, but I’m not a bad person. My heart is strong and my opinions; untiring. I cannot be broken by anyone but myself. I am a writer.
Memoirs of a Millennial 