humanity
The real lives of businessmen, professionals, the everyday man, stay at home parent, healthy lifestyle influencers, and general feel good human stories.
Unnamed's Untold Story
I knew a kid that lived in their head. For the purpose of this story and to avoid redundancy, we’re going to call this kid Unnamed. To Unnamed, the world outside wasn’t kind or very fun, so they hung out with the characters they created and stayed in their head their entire life, twenty three years to be exact. This kid, well, they struggled with loneliness, which made sense because they never liked to cross the threshold of their mind’s front door. Whenever they did, they often were made to feel weird or different so it became easier and easier to never leave their mind. As Unnamed got older they started doodling in class. Well actually, they started writing in class, specifically dialogue. Their notebook margins were filled with characters and their conversations that Unnamed thought of as their Spanish teacher taught them how to conjugate verbs. On two separate occasions Unnamed pulled all nighters to write screenplays in improper script writing format because the story in their head demanded to be told at the early hours of a weekday. Instead of blood, Unnamed had stories flowing through their veins. Instead of nerves, there were brand new pieces of paper just begging to be marked with ink. Taking advantage of this medical phenomenon, Unnamed embarked on a journey to make a career out of living in their head.
By Jos Hewlett5 years ago in Journal
Writing About Writing
When I think of what I do that I want people to support, there are just so many things that I'm not really sure where to even begin with. When I was streaming regularly I could point people towards my various channels and hope they would click the "subscribe" or "follow" buttons. I'd like to think that in the future I can point someone in the direction of the page for whatever my next project that manifests in reality is. As for the present, I can only ask people to read what I'm writing, and doing that might be the most important thing in the world.
By John Dodge5 years ago in Journal
Purpose
Purpose - a word filled with so much pressure. Pressure to find exactly what it is within ourselves that will change the world. What is this one thing I'm supposed to do? Why am I here? All of these questions are beyond our control of ever getting a straight answer to - unless we live our lives to slowly unravel the revelation until it hits us square in the heart one random Tuesday morning.
By Mary Strause5 years ago in Journal
I Was a Teenage Alien
Form III-S, Poole Grammar School, Dorset. 1969 (Motto: "We Are Better Than You.") There is a huge difference in academic curricula between British and American schools. At around age fourteen, American students are still struggling with English, while British students have already moved on to Latin and French. Since I was to spend the equivalent of the 8th grade in a British all-boys prep school, I had to be tutored in French and Latin before going over. That was how I spent my entire 7th grade summer vacation; amo, amas, amat – il porte un rouge cravat.
By Frank Oden5 years ago in Journal
Oreo, More Than a Cookie
Oreo, More Than a Cookie Black on the outside, White on the inside. Oreo is a term that plagues the Black community. A double-sided coin either used as an insult to accuse its victim of not being “Black enough,” or a backhanded compliment (also an insult) to suggest someone’s Black, but not “too Black.”
By Gaybrielle Michelle5 years ago in Journal
Waking Up
Saturday morning rolled around sooner than I’d wish it would have; the sunlight that poured into the bedroom felt blinding. I rolled over and swung my legs from the side of the bed, something felt off but I disregarded it as morning grog. My eyes were barely open as I stumbled across the room to the door. Upon stepping into the hallway I realized to my horror that something was very wrong, the walls felt like they were folding in and as I looked out into the house I felt a chill run up my spine. I didn’t recognize the living room before me. The table and the assortment of letters and dishes scattered across it were foreign to me, I didn’t recognize anything. I turned, feeling deeply sick to my stomach, and poured myself into the bathroom and over the side of the toilet bowl. My stomach renched for a minute but finally my breathing slowed and I gathered myself. There were plenty of reasonable, albeit still uncomfortable, situations where one might wake up in an unfamiliar setting. I could handle this, I just needed to get myself together, perhaps just wash my face and then move from there. I rose slowly from the tile and with a heavy sigh turned to the sink. A flick of the wrist produced a cool stream of water that burbled against the quartz. I tried to ignore the urge to absorb the room around me but I was growing increasingly curious about my surroundings.
By Thaer Fama5 years ago in Journal
Stuck in the Mud
“Well, you do have a lot of extra-curricular – charity, course-related, music. Even Student Governor.” I was sitting, upright waiting for the inevitable impressive, very impressive. I was being interviewed for the receptionist job at my student union, and in my mind, I ticked all the boxes. “No sport though?”
By S. Hawkins5 years ago in Journal
