“Are we living to live? Or, are we living to clock out?” – Tedx Talks, Laurence Lewars
Fight for Human Rights Revisited
“We now put more value into man-made belongings, than we do in God-made human beings.”
It baffles me that a person can be illegal. A human being, so consummately innocent and pure in creation, denied from the law. This is a fight for human rights and for human existence, because people with different skin color, different religion, and different race are denied from the law. People who are born into poverty are denied refuge. There is this backward idea that it is logical to legalize guns and not human beings. Guns, which are used to ¨inflict bodily harm or physical damage,¨ are legal in all 50 states. Yet, a five-year old child was detained at an airport because, “To assume that just because of someone’s age and gender that they don’t pose a threat would be misguided and wrong.” Because guns have an amendment fighting for their legal rights, but immigrants do not. It is a fight for human rights because marijuana, which was found to ” reduce thinking, memory, and learning functions and affect how the brain builds connections between the areas necessary for these functions,” was legalized in seven states, including: Nevada, Colorado, Alaska, Massachusetts, Maine, and Washington D.C.- however, immigrants have yet to see these rights. Because tobacco, initially designed to deteriorate the human body, burning lungs and destroying human skin, has more rights than immigrants do. Because it is morally safer to legalize a gun and to legalize a cigarette, but it is morally dangerous to legalize a human… That idea is in and of itself morally stupid.
Chains of Oppression
We have taught ourselves that women have designed a life for themselves in your name. We have taught ourselves that women have ¨withered away in silence for the unbearable love that a man cannot not contain.¨ We have taught ourselves that women are slaves to society. We preach a world where we want women to string themselves to a higher form of self reliance- yet, we remind them of the truth that ¨all women must concile their schedules for society.¨All the while we beg for women to let go of the ropes that chain them to society. Untangle these strings from your ankles and release yourself from this higher form of power. Be free from oppression, but know your truth. Oppression is your owner, and you are itś slave. Free yourself from oppression, but remain captive inside of the gates of oppression.
Society does not want to see you unconfined to oppression. Society wants to forever know that oppression holds a bondage over you. Because, whether you are enslaved to oppression, or fighting to escape it, you are always linked to it. Because, when you fight it, you are still holding on to itś chains. It is a part of you. The difference is that you are no longer accepting it.
It interests me how a person can be illegal. A human being, so consummately innocent, denied from the law. Because the people of different race, religion, and skin color are objectified by the law. The idea that people, born into poverty, are denied from refuge. Because guns, used to ¨inflict bodily harm or physical damage¨ are legal in all 50 states- but, a five year old was not allowed to enter the U.S. Because guns have an amendment fighting for their legal rights- but, immigrants do not. Because marijuana was legalized in seven states- California, Nevada, Colorado, Alaska, Massachusetts, and Maine- but, immigrants have yet to see a fight for their legal rights. Because cigarettes, initially designed to deteriorate the human lungs, have more rights than immigrants. Because it is morally safer to legalize a gun and to legalize a cigarette- but, it is morally dangerous to legalize a human… That idea is in and of itself morally stupid.
Does the painter not work on his art to reach perfection? Every detail in abstract, watercolor, and pencil- is it not all considered to itś fullest? The painter does not paint a painting once; but rather, many, many times. The painter runs his hands on his work, counting every marking, every stroke. Making every single moment more beautiful than before. An artist does not aim at perfection and strike every time. And, when the painter has reached the point that has made it all inevitably beautiful, would the painter not be offended when you saw itś imperfections? Counting every incorrection, naming every failure, every mishap- would the painter not be saddened?
Now, when she sees herself in her reflection, and pinpoints every detail; naming every wronging on her skin, her pores, her worth- is the Lord not hurt? To see His child consider every failure, every imperfection. When all the Lord has aimed to do is make you as beautiful as you can be- does He not hurt when you count all your mistakes. The Lord is a painter, working endlessly on your beauty; inside and out. And, it saddens Him to watch you discerning His masterpiece.
A Christmas Story
Since the holidays are near, there are plenty of things to be thankful for; especially mom’s homemade tamales and family gathering ´round once again! Itś time for holiday jingles and Christmas stories! Enjoy!
Once upon a Christmas...
The winter snow filled the streets. Everyone was covered about in winter jackets and winter boots; trying hard to steer clear of snow mountains; though, some of us failed, shaking off the insides of our boots. Mom had us change our soggy socks before we entered anything past the dining room. My brother, Julio, and I, who had run across the street for some drinks, changed our socks quickly, and made our way to the dining table. Christmas was around the corner, and everyone was very, very excited! Mom passed around some Mexican, holiday ponche. I served the first cup of the warm fruit punch as we discussed where we’d head for Christmas this year. We concluded, then, that we would go to our auntś house; who only lived five minutes away. Last minute Christmas shopping was being made and the rest of the presents were being transported to her house.
On Christmas Eve, everyone slept in while the rest of us helped mom make her traditional tamales and ponche. Zizou, our dog, was about as excited as we were. He sat by the Christmas tree, trying hard to get our attention; which he did. That year was his first Christmas with the family; and, he sure did have a great time. His presents included a big bone, and a new outfit for the snow; which, by the way, did not fit him.
Mom and I worked in the kitchen for hours; picking at the dough of the tamales. Zizou sniffed around; waiting for us to drop something on the floor for him to eat. By the time everyone was awake, the food was made and the house was decorated. The Christmas tree was lit up; the outside lights were on and on the verge of falling down. Holiday music played behind us as we gathered ’round to leave.
The winter snow drowned the garage door. Dad grabbed a shovel to move as much snow out of the way as possible. But, it seemed to come right back. The tires didn’t help much either. They screeched and screeched, and dad kept shoveling. Finally, with much, much effort, we were able to pull out of the garage and onto the street. By 6 o’clock, it was dark and the streets were lonely. Mom drove slowly as everyone pointed and picked which houses looked the most beautiful. One house had a Santa Claus and a snowman. Another had Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus and two shepherds watching the hollow neighborhood. The rooftop had blue lights. That house won.
Once we made it, Christmas music echoed distantly from the doorbell. We were shaking off the cold; waiting for someone to open the door. Everyone greeted everyone. We sat around the dinner table waiting for the last person to come back with a plate of food. It went on until everyone had one. Our moms served the ponche, Diet Pepsi, and regular Coca Cola. We talked about the talent show that would take place after dinner. Everyone had something planned. Nothing too serious. Just a skit, ballroom dancing, and singing. We complemented the cooks and continued eating.
We caught up after dinner; sharing work stories, school gossip, and new year resolutions. I, like always, took vow to never eating another bag of Hot Cheetos so long as I lived. Which, of course, backfired on January 2. While preparing for the talent show, dad, and anyone who had to, used the restroom. The living room was decorated with the traditional Christmas tree; hovered by presents and stockings. Kehni, the youngest in our family, and Elsa, our cousin, danced a slow dance. Kehni and I performed a skit. Something to do with a cop and a banana; which we had imitated from “Good Luck Charlie”. We ate pumpkin rolls while we watched the clock strike twelve. The holiday smell was setting in, and we were all together.
At midnight, we gathered our presents. We separated them according to person. We finished our discussions and prepared ourselves with excitement. Aunt T. opened herself a vest, perfume, and cozy socks. Dad opened a twinning vest with Aunt T. and a pajama set. Mom opened herself an entire perfume kit and some kitchen utensils. The rest of the family opened their secret Santa gifts.
While our parents looked and discussed each other’s gifts, we played a game of “Cards Against Humanity”. Which, by the way, was not at all appropriate; still, we had a few laughs and called it a night.
Once again, we were stuck in the snow out in the driveway; which made it difficult for the car to pull out onto the street. We pushed the vehicle until we were able to get it moving on its own. By the time we were in, our sister pointed to a button that read, “4 X 4” and clicked it. Mom and everyone began to laugh because it would have saved us the trouble of pushing & shoveling snow!
Donald Trump has proven to be sexist. In a video recently released, Trump bragged about
grabbing her “by the pussy.” Then, in the second debate going against democratic candidate, Hillary Clinton, he said it was just “locker room talk.” To some, it was just locker room talk; but, what about women who have been sexually harassed? Or raped? Women across the world are blamed constantly for causing or “inviting” the harasser or rapist. Although some see this as a sensitive subject, not due to the number of raped or harassed women; moreso, the simple idea of women being overly sensitive. Sexism is a real thing. Whether Trump was joking or not, this is too sensitive a subject to joke around. Especially for a 60+ year old president. Some still don’t see this as sexism.
If “grabbing her by the pussy” isn’t unfair treatment of women then I don’t know what is. If making a remark, a “locker room” remark about “grabbing her by the pussy” isn’t sexist, then I do not know what is.
Harassing is and has always been a major issue. When a woman is harassed, or treated less than that of a male figure, that is ignorance amongst all women. All women. He also claimed he would never rape a woman because she isn’t “pretty enough.” This too is seen as overly sensitive, but it’s not! Women are not ugly. And no woman is worthy of rape. Beautiful or not, whatever you assume, a woman is not worthy of rape. It is not a category that women should be placed into in which they could, should, or would ever be raped, harassed or not.
- excessive or erotic interest in oneself and one’s physical appearance.
extreme selfishness, with a grandiose view of one’s own talents and a craving for admiration, as characterizing a personality type.
Trump is a narcissist. Trump legitimately believes he carries the “smart gene.” A gene passed from both parents onto the offspring. The clip says it all. He constantly reminds America of his millions; admires himself, and believes he is genetically superior to others.
- person who believes that a particular race is superior to another.
the belief that all members of each race possess characteristics or abilities specific to that race, especially so as to distinguish it as inferior or superior to another race or races.Trump has proven, time and again, that he is racist. He has pointed the Islamic state as a terrorist state, hopes to generalize all muslims as a single terrorist group, hopes to build a wall to keep immigrants out of the country, kicked a black-skinned American female from one of his speeches, told a hispanic-latino to sit down because he doesn’t belong in this country, called hispanics rapists who are stealing American jobs, and has said that America, with it’s huge diversity of religions, skin colors, races, and languages, is an English speaking country, not spanish. First and foremost, you cannot steal a job that is available. Second, this is America; our first amendment clearly states: “The First Amendment (Amendment I) to the United States Constitution prohibits the making of any law respecting an establishment of religion, ensuring that there is no prohibition on the free exercise of religion, abridging the freedom of speech, infringing on the freedom of the press…” The female was kicked out for being black… Trump wants to categorize all muslims as terrorists. What was the definition of racist again? The belief that all members of each race possess characteristics or abilities specific to that race
Discrimination: The unjust or prejudicial treatment of different categories of people or things, especially on the grounds of race, age, or sex.
He discriminated against disabilities, hispanics, muslims, African-American, etc. Trump mocked a disabled reporter. He offensively took to mock, literally imitate a person’s disabilities. Now that is unjust treatment of a human being.
September, 10, 2016
Myrrh, Aloes, and Cassia
Church had just begun when my foot began to shake under the rhythm of the Pastor’s singing words. He sang grace; praising his beliefs. In light of the offerings of the Lord, I felt I was only dependable to myself. I could not count on the Lord, yet I knew even I could not save me. It was the third sunday entering summer, and I was sitting next to the family of a girl I’d only known a few weeks.
I’d met this girl at her family coffee shop, and I knew she had something better to offer than gossip. Here and there, maybe. I liked gossip; hearing it more than sharing. The thing about gossip is, if I know people are doing it, there’s a chance it could be about me. I would like to believe people didn’t know I existed.
I sat at the church, third row, foot still tapping, and overwhelmed. What would Jesus do if not, erase me from the world. Not to take me, but erase me completely. As though I had never existed. Everyone stood to shake hands; the Pastor looked almost too happy. What about?
So it went, and I listened, my eyes hearing, not my ears. I liked it. I liked the excitement and praise- yet, I wasn’t sure how. How their faith could be so real in such a sad and lonely world. How?
The service started off a gentle prayer to the Lord. It went: God, I thank You for bringing such wonderful people to praise You in Your name. I thank you for…and for…Thank. You. Crying entered distantly. Some hallelujahs and Amen’s and Thank You’s. For what? I thought. I could say it in my heart, I believed in God. But, I wasn’t sure I’d be the one to praise a God who allowed me to be turned away from happiness. I could say that in my years, I’d never been more afraid of God.
Sunday service was over and a sudden rush fall over me. Not loneliness. It was a sweet, but bitter breeze. The gentle breeze felt like life had entered me, and then escaped. I pulled myself together in time for lunch.
Psalm 45:8 : ¨All thy garments smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia.¨
To Be Continued…