check the UV index on my watch

in the end, it's a botch

white skin, sunburned, no matter what

not used to being the odd one out

don't know what it's all about

do others spend this much time

thinking about race while they bide their time

the streets echo: you don't belong

even if it's not strong

in glances and confused stares

saying, what are you doing here

then the Karen gets on the bus

making some unhinged fuss

"it's not el bus"

thinking, she'll find friends with us

leaning forward, with clandestine care

feeling fear, not just rare

I'm not sure who is looking back in the mirror at me

staring, so blankly, right in front of me

listen, you can hear her breath

so close, looking a mess

the freckles on her nose are faint

angle kisses, they call them, but she ain't no saint

powerful, this feeling of powerlessness

like the cards were dealt and you're left with hopelessness

the knot in my chest, pulling tighter

really, I thought I was a fighter

disappointing, that's what you are

thought you were gonna go so far

depression? no. depressing? yes.

all of the tears, I repress

a song, a movie, a spot of wine

completely appropriate to cry

anything else? it's not ok

for that's a sign you're not ok

want to scream want to shout

but inside, the throat's a drought

it's not a dream

it's the self-esteem

it's all ego

hard to let it go

look again, in the reflection

all I see is what lacks affection

all those dreams and none of them pipe

now, like the reflection is a daguerreotype

nothing but the image

nothing but the shape

all form no matter

and so, what is the matter?

what is hard in this present moment

and what is so difficult of this bestowment

this gift of divine charity

not so divine, even in memory

for this bestowment can only be granted

if these thoughts go unplanted

surrender the mind, surrender the thoughts

let go of all that is fraught

battle the fret with love and care

even if there's not much flare

listen inside, the solutions are there

every time you lack some air

Everything had gone sideways since the big move. And not in the cliché-- I couldn't make any friends and this new town sucked-- way. I mean what did my parents expect, that life would be different, perfect even, once we got out of our ugly, strip mall haven? Well some heaven this was. Let me tell you, the grass isn't always greener-- an alien invasion would make sure of that.

*Enter news montage of the chaotic coverage since the invasion*

No, but seriously, it was everywhere. It was the only thing people talked about... obviously. Scientists thought it was an asteroid at first and promptly tried to send a rocket to knock it off its' path towards Earth. Safe to say, that didn't go too well.

Now, I'd like to say I'm a what does it matter, we are all just a speck of dust on a speck of dust like in Horton Hears a Who kinda girl. But you know how nihilism goes, at the end of the day, you still have to face the reality you are living in. And at the end of a very terrible Tuesday, the Tuesday we moved to a new home, we had a whole slew of mundane issues-- our moving trucks getting in a crash because of an idiot that didn't know how to use a blinker, my iced coffee making me feel like I needed to take a shit on the side of the highway, aliens coming to Earth to destroy us all and wipe our planet of all its' resources, that sort of thing. Facing the reality that nothing was normal anymore was difficult.

What is the lore of all of those zombie apocalypse movies? Marie could never wrap her head around it. An evil that is so inhuman and with a singular motive is no test for a protagonist. Besides, she thought, isn't the thought of basic survival something that is more horrific than entertaining? Putting those thoughts out of her mind as she put down the Dawn of the Dead DVD Blue-Ray copy, she raised her weapon to an unfriendly visitor and shot the gangly, foaming monster in the head. She set her sights on the comedy aisle instead.

"Hey, will you hold this for a sec?" the fear in his eyes was palpable, yet something inside of me moved my hand to reach for the sleek, inky box. Call it trust, call it naïveté, the promise of "a sec" lingered in the air as the man disappeared from where he stood, the only trace of him, the slight scent of amber wood. Welp, guess I finally developed full-on schizophrenia, I thought to myself.

I stood there, dumbfounded, in the middle of a busy sidewalk, holding this mysterious, surprisingly heavy, thing with both hands as I tried to make eye contact with anyone who passed by to confirm that I had, in fact, not gone crazy; that someone else, too, had seen a man pop in and out of our visual reality as if it were a video game.

Now, what to do with the box?

I couldn't stand here forever, I had to get to class. But, I also had sorta kinda promised that dude, in the act of taking the box, that I would hold onto it for a bit. Ah-ha! He told me to hold the box, but what he didn't tell me was whether I had to stay in the same place... At least, that would be my argument if he showed up, angry at my having left the place of our first meeting.

Ok, going to class with a mysterious, possibly explosive box-- totally not gonna blow up in my face. I chucked to myself at my accidental pun, then suddenly remembered the look on that guy's face. He was afraid. Running from something? Afraid he was gonna get caught with the box? Ah shit! I looked down at my watch, which glowed the numbers 12:55-- I was gonna be late.

When our electricity went out for the third time this month, we simply took out the extra candles we had stashed under our kitchen sink and continued our routine the best we could. The myriad of leftover scents, from pumpkin spice to ylang ylang to candy apple, were a necessary evil as the sun fell under the horizon.

As it got colder, we took out our wool ski clothes and layered up. They smelled of our cedar chest and were incredibly itchy, but it was better than waking up in the middle of the night, chilled to the bone, reaching for a blanket that wasn’t there. We also brought our fur blankets to the living room and sat there together, as to conserve heat and light.

“Phone’s out of battery,” my little brother declared, tossing his phone haphazardly to the other side of the couch, “and I had finally just gotten through Hugo’s architectural tangent, too.”

“You’ll be able to finish it soon,” our dad lowered the New York Times he had saved just for this occasion and the candles casted a haunting shadow across his sullen, tired eyes.

“We should just go to bed then...” my mom started.

“I’m not even tired. Why do you get to decide when we go to sleep? It’s probably not even 9. Let's talk about the trilateral negotiations of...” Evan started to complain.

My mom knew that if she didn't nip this in the bud, Evan would be up all night, debating with whoever would listen. “Y’all have a long day tomorrow at school and you’ve been complaining all week about not getting enough sleep,” she countered, blowing out the few candles we had left sitting on the coffee table.

It was decided.

The moonlight saved us from sudden darkness-- in it you could see what was left of the smoke, curling into the air. With it, our sense of normalcy seemed to drift away as well.

—

Bang, bang, bang, our door bounced on its hinges, sending our dogs into madness.

I rolled over and threw my covers off. “Ugh who is that?” I complained, “doggies, it’s okay, c’mere,” I patted the couch, but the person at the door was persistent.

“Will you please get it?” my mom grumbled.

We had a sleepless night, being awoken by the screams and fireworks that usually accompany a blackout in Texas. When it got cold enough, people would tie their sleds to the back of their pick-ups and glide around the neighborhood. It got old after a while, and my dad thought that those people “disregarded the gravity of the situation," but I think it helped people stay sane, despite their childishness. As I walked to the door, I was prepared to tell our neighbor, Brian, that Evan and I did not want to join him in the fun.

I knew that some kind of “But the ice is so slick this morning!” argument would be in my future, followed by a very short (I would make sure of it) moment of banter before I could snuggle back under the covers and finish my dream.

Not that it had been a nice dream, it was more of a reoccurring nightmare actually— I was late for class again and I didn’t know where the classroom was. That’s so ridiculous, I thought to myself, I would never be late for class.

I opened the door to see a not-so-excited Brian Williams.

"We are leaving for Mexico right now and I wanted to say goodbye," he reached out for a hug that I did not return.

Shocked, I said, "what, like right now? What do you mean? Why?"

He looked at me like I was a crazy person, "the power-- it's completely down."

Oh that's what this was about. I guess that the Williams finally had their last straw. They had been meaning to get out for a while, but I didn't think it would come this soon. I had to keep them from leaving.

"Yeah, the power-grid's been out before, remember when we..."

"Julia, wait. Did you not hear the gunshots last night?" he looked very concerned, not like himself at all, "it's not just our power that's out, it's everyones. Anyone without a backup generator, one that hasn't been run dry by the latest outages I mean, doesn't have power."

in-fighting-- so many movements are slowed down because we create guidelines for who can talk, who can support, etc. you can't just be an advocate, you have to devote your life to the cause to have credibility.

there is no such thing as a true version of history, everyone will have a different perspective to contribute to the story. there will always be details left out.

Helen of Troy was blamed for causing a war because she was kidnapped?? make it make sense

the irony of gratitude: it's hard to feel grateful when you feel like those things are just going to be taken away... but that is exactly why we should feel grateful

we judge a dog's smartness on how loyal they are to us

To put other's needs and desires before your own is, in fact, a desire in and of itself. Selflessness, although often held up as the ultimate virtue, is impossible.

Selfishness is pervasive-- it soils the soil of life. A seed cannot sprout without the nutrients the soil bears and as so we cannot function without the motivation that selfishness provides. This is the unthinking, unavoidable, unwelcome truth of humanity.

Those who claim to be selfless create an unatainable ambition for others, and their hypocrisy festers what is left of the moral mind, making it beleive that it will never be good enough, and so, it shouldn't even try.

Every action, good or bad, is motivated, and therefore, is grounded in one's own perspective, desires, and values. A sacrifice, although on the surface, a selfless act, is simply a selfish one. Despite this, sacrifice can still stand tall as an act of love, of hope, and of communal betterment.

This truth, as all things of the world, carries an inherit intricacy that engenders frustration and uncomfortability. As the world is rarely explained by clear answers to clear questions.

To that point, to be selfless requires and embodies empathy, detachment from the material world, and deep connection. And so, though not fully attainable, selflessless, in its myriad of forms, is an essential quality that must be strived for more often.

accept yourself, the world-- the good, the bad.

it's hard to accept it when you are sad.

listen to your heart, aching for peace.

just let go and be relieved.