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Rapunzel (a poem)

     My life unfolds in a small room: 1 desk and chair by the door 1 window 1 cot-like bed 1 bookshelf 1 fan 1 closet This room is my prison. It makes me  a lethargic  caged  animal,  like the lion at the zoo who just sleeps  stretched out in the sun. It stifles  my desire to scream  and knock down  one of the walls.  It turns my rage to despondent tears. It turns my snark  to soft meekness  that wraps itself in sleep for self-preservation till soon I stop using all my room’s small space and just curl up on my bed. And soon this cell becomes a haven  against the scary sprawling world too big for a tired mind like mine  to navigate. It gives me rest when I am weary. It hides my tears from prying eyes. It lets me think my thoughts uninterrupted. I’m the queen  of this place.  It’s mine to use  as I see fit. Nothing can be lost, and I cannot be lost in space so small. In my prison, I am free. But I know it’s not real freedom. It’s a mockery of
Recent posts

Why I Love Dungeons and Dragons

     I mentioned in my first post that one of my hobbies is dungeons and dragons. Since my last post was more on the serious and introspective side, I’ve decided to dedicate this week’s post to that beloved hobby of mine. In all honesty, playing d&d has been one of the things I’ve done the most consistently since March. It’s the first time in two years that I’ve had a consistent group to play with, and it feels great. How the Game Works Let me give you just a basic overview of how the game works so I can share why I love it and my gushing will make at least some amount of sense to you. At its most fundamental level, I think of dungeons and dragons as collaborative storytelling where the story is told partly by the people making decisions for their characters, and partly by dice, which determine how successful characters’ actions are. Dice can also determine other events and effects in the world—e.g., if the guard sees your character trying to sneak into a castle, whether an atta

The Problem of Productivity

This is the first end of summer since seventh grade that I will not be starting school. As I write this, Davidson’s first day of classes started last Thursday. The day before that, my brothers and sister woke up early to start their first day back. All that day I felt strange and a little melancholic. I feel like I should be starting school too. The summer’s over. It’s time to wake up early and get ready for long days of work. It’s time to have a fixed schedule and a plan and be stressed out and counting down the next days till break. It’s time for classes or Zoom meetings or something. But none of those normal things that I’ve gotten so used to are happening right now.  I spent the month of June agonizing over my decision, but finally decided to take a leave of absence from school this fall. It’s not just that I won’t be on campus. I’m not enrolled in classes at all. I never thought I would be pressing the pause button halfway through college, but here we are.  Why did I decide no

Talk to Me Like a Human, Please

This week’s post covers a topic I touched on in the last post. I already discussed how that gentleman on the porch picked the most awkward phrase possible—“that problem”—to refer to my blindness. But worse than that was how he asked my teacher about my blindness instead of asking me. He referred to me in the third person as if I were not there at all. I’ve had so many of these types of interactions with strangers that by now most of them have just faded into one frustrating blur.  But one of these incidents was so egregious that I’m pretty sure it will live on forever in my memory. I’m going to retell it here and then deconstruct it. Then by analyzing that incident, I will be able to explain what not to do when interacting with a blind person, why not to do it, and what to do instead.  I was walking around the mall with a friend. It was just a chill hangout sesh. We were chatting as we meandered through, not really looking for any stores in particular,, though we did stop for tea a

The Start of the Journey

The Pain of Writing Maybe I should just start by saying it’s taken me weeks to write this blog post. Before I could make myself sit down and write, I had to shove aside all the clutter in my mind and tune out the chaos of my house. That proved and is proving to be an ongoing struggle. I’ve been experiencing an incredible lack of focus these past few months, and I don’t think I’m the only one. That’s part of the reason for this blog. I need to write instead of letting thoughts tumble endlessly in my head until they rob me of sleep and make me feel sad and stuck. But I also need accountability and direction. I don’t create when I don’t feel a sense of urgency. This is partly because I’m lazy and partly because I have a gift for stopping literary endeavors before I even get started.  This is what happens. I sit down with my open laptop, excited to start writing. Then I pause. I could write about literally anything. What should I pick? Then my