Humanity
Wet n wild
Sitting in my whirlpool, i’ve never felt it drag me down too much. It doesn’t have an aggressiveness to it. It’s comfortable, alleviating from anything else i’ve ever known, not that i’ve known much else. It’s calming. From a distance I can see everyone else’s whirlpool. Some people’s whirlpool are heavy and agonizing. It doesn’t allow for other people to find comfort in it. It’s aggressive, it’s harsh. You can’t get in unless you were in it when it started. It pushes people out who try and calm it down. I see people who share their whirlpool’s with other people. It can be soft sometimes but most often it’s ugly, humiliating, and showcasing of the people in it. They never really mix well together. I feel bad for people who share their whirlpool. There’s hardly ever a time when two people share their whirlpool that either of them are happy. It’s depressing. It’s harsher than the one of the person’s who’s whirlpool is so aggressive. But even with all of this so many people do it. The idea of sharing a whirlpool is tempting I can admit but the action is never what anybody expects. They poison one another’s whirlpool and then leave. Those who can’t leave have kids in their mixed, poisonous, miserable, unsatisfied, deadly whirlpool. The kids are born into their own whirlpool, so similar to that of their parents. The children are born into chaos. Who will the kid have to rely on when it gets too aggressive for them to handle? It’s getting deeper. The kids are reaching their hand out begging for help. Where is their help? It’s getting deeper. Why does no one notice? It’s getting deeper. I don’t see them anymore. They’re drowning. They’ve drowned.
By Marie 4 years ago in Confessions
Hello, Hello, Hello
A little while ago - as in, probably too long ago to still be thinking about it - I read a postmodernist novel called Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert. The point of mentioning this book here is not to discuss the plot, but there is a concept that is impressed upon the readers of the book that has stayed with me since I read it and this is the concept of a mediocre life.
By Jaimie4 years ago in Confessions
Sweet Addiction
It has been a week now since I cannot write a whole sentence without being blocked. It is not because I have no ideas. I have plenty of them. The real problem is that they are mixed in my head, like strips of spaghetti twisted altogether in a tiny bowl. Under this circumstance, it is almost impossible to take one without messing up the other strips.
By Marie Cadette Pierre-Louis4 years ago in Confessions
Tiktok is starting to make me think I have undiagnosed ADHD
I, like everyone my (undisclosed) age, downloaded Tiktok as a bit of a joke. It was something that people younger than me were into and the general concensus was that it was a little weird dancing to pop songs and posting the videos unsolicited on the clock app. Now, like a lot of people (I assume), I have a mild addiction to watching the quirky 30 second videos that I can scroll through on my phone. Sure, the dancing videos can be a little cringey, but it's all in good fun. I don't make any content, so I'm not here to judge anyone else.
By Jaimie4 years ago in Confessions
No Longer an Addict!
“Your weight is a lagging measure of your eating habits. […] You get what you repeat.” ― James Clear This article is inspired by an interesting book written by James Clear, in which the author explains the power of habits in a genuine and creative way.
By Marie Cadette Pierre-Louis4 years ago in Confessions
Why I Risked My Life to Drive Burning Tanker off the Road - Hero Ejiro Otarigho
Everyday I scour through a ton of news stories to bring you fresh stories especially in entertainment that nobody has brought you yet, stories that touch, and stories that spark conversation. Today's story is especially about the latter two. It is a story of a real life hero and the amazing deed he did to protect the members of the Agbarho community in Delta State.
By Jide Okonjo4 years ago in Confessions
My Backstory
Devourer of books, that was my title. I read every book which interested me in our small-town public library. From third grade onward, I read everything from classic novels to fantasy and anything in between. Finally, when I felt I had read every book I wanted to read, I decided to write one myself. It was 2005, while I was in High School, and I wrote just as voraciously as I read. Much to the chagrin of my poor mother.
By S.N. Evans4 years ago in Confessions
