humanity
For better or for worse, relationships reveal the core of the human condition.
Dear White People: (Please) Mind Your Business. We’re Just Living While Black!
A few weeks ago a girlfriend of mine asked me to volunteer some of my time to help her out with a women’s retreat. She is a health and wellness coach and was facilitating a paint session in a beautiful park in Toronto on a sunny but breezy Sunday afternoon. We got there and started setting up the materials, laying out the canvases, paint brushes and other supplies the ladies would need. The women on the retreat were a local church group and were comprised of predominantly black women. They had had a wonderful weekend filled with different activities that helped them focus on their spiritual and personal growth and commitment to their faith. On this Sunday, they had gone for a group hike in the park as it had a hiking trail, and were to finish off their day with a group paint session facilitated by my friend.
By Whitney Smart5 years ago in Humans
It Matters
I did a lengthy butoh practice this morning, the first one I've been able to do since I burned the skin off my stomach two weeks ago. An accidental spill of boiling water had made it impossible to do some of the contorting or flailing movements I don't even sometimes realize my body is pulling itself into until they're happening. Afterwards I cleaned myself off with a towel dampened with Florida Water and plain old faucet water, put on my street clothes, and headed out for the day.
By J. Gonzalez-Blitz5 years ago in Humans
Edgar O'Mahoney's
I think sometimes about how I want to die if I could pick. But to be honest, my attention is always stolen from the act itself, to the immediate aftermath. I don't really care how I die. I imagine it's mostly unpleasant, or not. Mostly frightening, or not. I don't care. But thinking about afterward is always a source of panic for me.
By Evelyn Waits5 years ago in Humans
Checked.
“Granny, why is it there’s always loud noises, like a banging sound, coming from next door at night?” “Well, sweetie, most people around here struggle to... keep their homes, you see”,Grandma Oletta replies while having difficulty looking for her work apron.“You just ignore those noises as much as you can and pray everything is alrig-- there you are”, she finds her uniform and rushes over to her granddaughter, Sōlace, then plants a kiss on her forehead. Out of breath, she says, “Just pray everything is alright with our neighbors, okay sweetie? Mama will be home soon.”
By Justin Matthew5 years ago in Humans
Breakdown BK
The daylight flickered onto my car windows. I stayed calm amid rush hour. Some passerby’s are in protest. People are on every corner- even at the bus stop requesting to sign a petition. I understand the commotion. I am careful not to rushby pedestrians. Their eyes are very watchful while automobiles became careful at every turn signal. I am patient although human. However, a few autos keep going circling around them.
By Pearl Thomas5 years ago in Humans
Twelve hours in a diner
10:45am I walk into the twenty-four hour diner located on the corner of Holly Close and Moonwell Crescent. I’ve been coming here for months, and it’s my favourite place to be. The décor is very 1950’s American, with shiny chrome and red pretend-leather seats. The booths are my personal favourite. Sunlight fills every corner, reflecting on the shiny tiled surfaces. I take a seat. I watch everyone.
By Karen Cave5 years ago in Humans
The Risk of Being Known
Prudence Mitchell had played with this harp since she was 4. This four-foot-tall silver masterpiece had been her first best friend. Now, her freshmen year in high school would begin after being home-schooled. She played many times for the Home school Association functions and for her family, but now the opportunity came to play for these new peers she wanted to know and be known by at the Star of the Hour Talent Presentation.
By Brigida Levonna5 years ago in Humans
Some Joe
Some Joe By J. Scott Wade “The coffee’s cold!” sounded like cawfees co-ode, Joe barked. His declaration directed from the 24/7 diner counter to the server in his Charleston, south of Broad, drawl. The server, a young woman, maybe twenty years old said, “I’m sorry Joe, ” as she refilled the old man’s mug. Joe said, “Hell to Betsy girl. Whatcha doing? I want a fresh mug. Geez, are you stupid. Where’s Jake? And it’s Mr. Joe, to you!” The servers eyes welled with tears and she scurried away.
By J. S. Wade5 years ago in Humans
