Humans of New York - Refugees (Greece)

Humans of New York - Refugees (Greece)

“My husband and I sold everything we had to afford the journey. We worked 15 hours a day in Turkey until we had enough money to leave. The smuggler put 152 of us on a boat. Once we saw the boat, many of us wanted to go back, but he told us that anyone who turned back would not get a refund. We had no choice. Both the lower compartment and the deck were filled with people. Waves began to come into the boat so the captain told everyone to throw their baggage into the sea. In the ocean we hit a rock, but the captain told us not to worry. Water began to come into the boat, but again he told us not to worry. We were in the lower compartment and it began to fill with water. It was too tight to move. Everyone began to scream. We were the last ones to get out alive. My husband pulled me out of the window. In the ocean, he took off his life jacket and gave it to a woman. We swam for as long as possible. After several hours he told me he that he was too tired to swim and that he was going to float on his back and rest. It was so dark we could not see. The waves were high. I could hear him calling me but he got further and further away. Eventually a boat found me. They never found my husband.” (Kos, Greece)

Life - Mediocre

Life - Mediocre

When did it all become so...plain?

Poetry - He/She

Poetry - He/She

Poetry in a Diamente Format. It was a writing challenge this week.

I might do more later

She

Tall, pretty

Reading, Dreaming, Thinking

Her gaze unblinking on his, his lips to hers

Smiling, Singing, Dying

Confident, detached

He

Humans of New York - Care

Humans of New York - Care

“Shortly after we were married, I got tuberculosis and rashes broke out all over my body. They smelled so bad that I had to be cleaned three times a day. She always made me fresh food and made sure I had clean clothes every time I bathed. One morning, during this time, she asked me: ‘Would you do the same if I got sick?’ I promised her: ‘I’ll do even more.’ She died a few years ago from a brain tumor. She was in bed for the last three years of her life. Toward the end, she couldn’t identify people. Water from her brain would drain from her eyes. I ran home from the shop three times a day to help her go to the bathroom. I was always sure to turn her. She never had a single bedsore. In the end, the doctor told me: ‘It would not have been possible to take better care of her.’”

Writing Circle - Character Sketches

Writing Circle - Character Sketches

The challenge: Write character sketches, the challenge, do it without describing their appearance, sketch them only through action.

Endless Horizons: Flatline - Space Oreos

Endless Horizons: Flatline - Space Oreos

A desk of components, a still smoldering soldering iron, circuits and wires everywhere. He closed his eyes and code flew past the holo-projections along the walls, he opened them and knew which parts of the telemetry were messed up. Sensors adorned the workstation at various heights, scanning perpetually for changes in temperature, electrical charge and chemical imbalances, impossibly quickly they routed directly into his mind to tell him what and where needed more attention.

There was a soft knock at his cabin door.

Life - Attention Must Be Paid

Life - Attention Must Be Paid

Wes and I were walking before dinner tonight. We beheld a strange situation. On a busy sidewalk with many people, a young man, shirtless and sardonic did something to a woman pushing a stroller. She was distracted, phone braced against her shoulder and clearly distracted, he darted down and did something with either the child in the stroller or in the basket beneath the seat and then straightened immediately. He ran, a smirk on his face towards us and almost past.

It couldn't have been more than a few seconds.

Something compelled me, or maybe it was just a reflex. Or maybe it was something internal, indescribeable.

My leg lanced out, catching him right in the leg. He stumbles, almost falls, trips sideways and goes down. He's up very quickly, he glares.

I turn. I look him square, and set my shoulders. I'm ready to brawl.

I think he realizes then that we saw. That we paid attention. That we knew, even though we were not sure what exactly had happened. I marked him, saw his face, and most importantly, attention was paid. There is a tense moment, I can almost feel Wes over my shoulder not sure what to do, but I don't look away.

I am ready, for whatever this young man decides he is going to do.

He backs up, he runs. His smirk is gone.

We catch up with the woman with the stroller, ask her if everything is alright. She seems a little shaken but otherwise fine. She didn't know the man either. Another elderly man comes along and asks us what happened. We try to piece it all together. We think he must have either tried to steal her purse down under the stroller, or maybe he thought it would be funny to put a cigarette down there or something, but we find nothing, and she still has her purse.

Ultimately we separate on the street, unable to resolve it, and the young man long gone, run off down and away.

I think about that moment while Wes and I continue to walk. It's important then I realize. Attention must be paid. It's not the nature of the quote that Arthur Miller coined, but when we see injustice, or question the veracity of the human condition, I think it's important to stand up with back's straight and say:

I noticed. I saw. You have, my attention.