Humanity
A Nun Barred Me from Interviewing Abuse Victims
ONE of the few frustrations I had as a writer was when I tried to get access to a shelter for victims of abuse and unwed pregnant girls. This shelter, although sanctioned by the government, was run by a religious organization. This was in the Philippines.
By Josephine Crispin4 years ago in Confessions
Never Healed
When I was 15 and my sister - 12, my step-father, a kindest man with a huge heart but exhausted will to fight his alcoholism addiction, hung himself in our bathtub. Two days before my mom’s birthday, one day after his own. My mother was working that day, and thought he was just sleeping off his hangover after celebrating with his buddies. She started to worry when he did not answer the phone or knocks on the door and left the key in the lock turned from the inside so that no one could open it from the outside. One of our male neighbors found him by climbing a tree to our 2nd floor apartment’s balcony. My step-father used my sister's jumping rope, hindging it on a clothesline hook. Neither me nor my sister were allowed to see him in all the commotion of removing the body when we came home from the infamous Soviet subbotniks (Saturday community clean-up days). That’s how I’ll always remember it happened on a Saturday. My mom did not allow us to go to his funeral either.
By Lana V Lynx4 years ago in Confessions
Don't be a part of the problem
I sat back and looked at my computer screen in disbelief. What the fuck is going on. 32 applicants. No, not for some scholarship or job opening. 32 applicants to take over my lease. That's a great number, right? Except, all of them have ghosted or have been rejected.
By v4 years ago in Confessions
Taking off the masks
Earlier this year, I got divorced. I chose the divorce and walked out of a 10 year marriage and an 11 year relationship. It was one of the hardest choices I've ever made and it was the start of a journey that's involved me rediscovering the real me.
By Taylor Ellwood4 years ago in Confessions
Mead & Chicken Legs
How could they be out of chicken legs? One of the biggest events in Pennsylvania that spans several weekends in the fall, and they run out of chicken legs?? Regardless if it was my first time at this event, I felt robbed of the experience because they ran out of chicken legs! I had to settle for mac-&-cheese and a ham and cheese baguette sandwich instead, which both were still delicious and satisfying enough. But, I suppose when you have hundreds to thousands of people attending this event over the course of the several weekends it takes place, you're going to run out of things.
By Nicole Fenn4 years ago in Confessions
Am I alone
I feel so alone at this very moment. I do not even know how to express myself to others. All I want to do is scream and cry. Make everyone feel the pain I feel. But its not everyone’s pain to feel. So maybe that is why I am having so much trouble with expression.
By Amanda Ames4 years ago in Confessions
I've Realized That However Hard You try — You Can Never Fully Satisfy a Woman.
“You will never be satisfied, will you?”, my father used to ask my mum. Whatever he tried to do for her, she always wanted more. Before I was born, my mother was a lawyer and supposedly she didn’t want that career path anymore, instead, she wished to focus more time on her children — my older sisters.
By Oberon Von Phillipsdorf4 years ago in Confessions
How Living in England, Made Me Proud To Be A Serbian Girl
I lived in Northern England for two years and I noticed some striking cultural differences about women from the Yorkshire area. I’ve encountered Yorkshire women who drink too much, whine about the slightest discomforts, underdress (show too much skin when it's just inappropriate) and rarely express what’s truly on their minds.
By Oberon Von Phillipsdorf4 years ago in Confessions
Introduction
I love feeling the sand between my toes, the water splashing against my legs and watching the tide roll in and out. I still remember my first trip to the beach, even though it happened nearly fifty years ago. Our extended family caravanned to a relative's house for a wedding; they lived less than a mile away from the beach. Afterwards, our family made an impromptu stop before returning home. My little brother and I ran around in the sand, splashed around in the water, noticing its brackish flavor. We collected seashells and built a sandcastle. The beach escapade capped off a beautiful, perfect day. I knew then I wanted to live in a beach house. To finance my salt-life endeavor I would become a writer freelancing for Rolling Stone, Vanity Fair, wherever. Furthermore, I planned to write the next great American novel. I had no clue what it would be about, but my book would be a bestseller and required reading on high school summer reading lists. I would be a celebrated and in demand writer.
By Kim Brewer4 years ago in Confessions
