Young Minds of Medium

I am sharing this here too. If any young ones here are active users on Medium or want to be, this could be the challenge for you:

Young Minds of Medium

What Do You Miss Most During This Pandemic?

Photo by Alec Favale via Unsplash

Your theme: “What Do You Miss Most During This Pandemic?

What am I asking?

I am certain we all miss being able to meet and greet our friends and family members — to hug them, kiss them, and simply lay hands on them. Maybe you miss going to the movies? The bookstore? Having a fun-filled day in the park complete with a picnic or a game of basketball. Or, suppose you’d like to write about the loss of a loved one due to the virus or during this pandemic & your struggles with grieving because of it. What do you miss most? How has this pandemic changed you?

I am looking for:

Fiction (no more than 850 words)
Non-fiction (no more than 850 words)
And, your heart. ❤

And now, music from Mr. Billy Joel: We Didn’t Start The Fire

ACG Guidelines

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.


Damage Control

NaPoWriMo #28


Featured Prose of the Week

Lita Tiara joined A Cornered Gurl recently and is now apart of our Young Minds of Medium community. At only nineteen years of age, Lita strips down to bare bones and shows us what it feels like to grow from the pain of past events. She also shows us what it is to love in the time of heartache. This week’s feature is a prose piece by the young one entitled: To Those Whose Are No Longer Near. Please, encourage her heart, beautiful people.

To Those Who Are No Longer Near

A love letter to those who left. We deserve a proper goodbye.

Photo by Yuvraj Singh on Unsplash

It was 2:47 am in the blatant morning when despondency knocked on my door, intruding my weariness. I couldn’t say that it was what I expected to keep me company, yet somehow it has taken control over my state. I am now, restless.

For some unknown reason, the gleaming cold of the lonely night hugged me from behind and harrowed my aching back. I crave to delete every thought of you as fast as how your feelings swiftly evaded from my course.

I feel a constant pressure to remove myself from every known possible equation which would resolve in me and you.

A few seconds after, my head was swarmed with the scrumptious smell of the self-made brunch that you made me many months ago. How thoughtful of you back then for remembering how I like my eggs: scrambled and salty. My mind was succumbed with joy from every bite, knowing that they were made with pure intentions to relieve someone’s hunger.

Silly me for thinking that we would last until our hair shows no other color than ivory, the color of your favorite sheets that your younger self said this would suit best the childish projection of yours — how your future home would look like when you’re older.

Dews of my reasoning wanders off to God knows where when things could no longer possibly be. It yearns to wander to innumerable possibilities of a much more euphoric version of us, yet it wouldn’t bow to any boundaries which would remove me from your suffocating grip — removing every self-pleasing notion your words have projected, “I’m setting you free”.

The minutes refuse to stop rolling into hours, hours which approach the definite dawn yet, I’m sitting in the corner of my room filled with traces of where you used to be.

Crouching, I was, with my face buried between my knees — trying to let go of your soothing comfort from my body as fast as how you threw myself out from every known possible corner of your world.

I hoard each word you spat out that day:

I don’t think things can go back to the way it used to be between me and you.

They’ve consumed me raw fearlessly, without the slightest care. I could feel how frozen your heart was at the time, as I came face-to-face with the gnashing teeth of what I reckon those words would look like in the flesh. I lost the battle.

I don’t want to deal with you anymore.

The familiarity of what best describe who I am was nowhere to be found. They are not in the places where I would expect them to be — believe me I’ve looked. I’ve grown numb to the things that are holy.

It has now been weeks and I’m not weak.

I don’t want to ease myself into the pain anymore. Was I a better person when I was with you or vice versa, we might never know.

Yet it has come to my realization that we are now both in the place where we should be: where we won’t cry anymore.

This is the goodbye that I didn’t have the chance to say—

the light I never let out.

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.

new determination

NaPoWriMo #7


Non-fiction Saturdays

It Won’t Always Be Like This

And I Take Comfort In That

Photo by Engin Akyurt via Pexels

“It Won’t Always Be Like This.”

I take comfort in that phrase because I have to. There are many changes being implemented at my job. We are not urgent care or an emergency facility and most of our imaging services are elective procedures. However, the great powers that be over our organization will have the facility open to help with the overflow of patients who need certain scans done, who wish not to go to any PUI (Patient Under Investigation for the COVID-19 virus) facilities. As long as we have some volume and patients on the schedule, we will remain open. The moment that volume drops to a number they do not want to see, we will close imaging operations until further notice.

We will close imaging operations until further notice.

That has a pulsating ring to it, doesn’t it? Try saying that phrase five times fast. Trust me, it is not easy to do. I have tried it. I have broken down, fought an invisible enemy with my fists, combatted a wave of depression shortly after, and am doing all of this without the direct aid of my therapist. I cannot see her at this time but have been notified that virtual and email options are available. I will have the time to take advantage of those options during the coming weeks.

Quickly going from a 40-hour per week employee to a “whatever-we-have-available-hour” per week employee is a blow to the gut that will linger. This week, I was on the schedule for 24 hours only. Next week, I am on the schedule for 16 hours only — subject to change at any given time. I will have to use PTO (paid time off) to assist me in gaining my full-time status each week until my PTO dwindles. That will not take long. When my PTO is depleted, the company will allow me to go into a negative PTO bank, but up to 80 hours only. And when that negative 80-hour bank has been depleted and there are no patients on the schedule, I will not get paid.

I have broken down, fought an invisible enemy with my fists, combatted a wave of depression shortly after, and am doing all of this without the direct aid of my therapist.

Knowing all of this, living alone, being alone, and having to rely on myself only for income, has been overwhelming. I am positive, though. I am also grateful to still say that I am working, even if my change in hours is significant. Many are not in my shoes — the hammer came down on them and it came down hard — switching them from gainfully employed to unemployed in a matter of days.

On my days off, I am also given the opportunity to fully participate in the Stay-At-Home order implemented by our Governor so as to flatten the curve for the spread of the virus. I would rather continue to do my part in combatting this thing rather than be a part of contracting it and spreading it to others. This news — the reduction of my hours, is also happy news for The Powerhouse, my mom, and many of my family members and friends. They have been worried about me since the virus touched down in the United States.

I have direct contact with our patients on a daily basis and although, I now wear a mask and gloves too, the percentage of me contracting the virus while at work is higher versus if I were to simply stay at home. I see this as two things: a welcome break that I have needed for years and the opportunity to finish up many of my projects while taking on a few collaborative ventures as well. I am open to every potential lead to being more creative that is thrown my way. I am ready and I am willing.

Many are not in my shoes — the hammer came down on them and it came down hard — switching them from gainfully employed to unemployed in a matter of days.

Far too tired at work, masked photo. “You wear the mask well.” — Aura Wilming

A patient, one whom I delight in greatly, brought a gift to my job for me. He and his wife are patients I register regularly and she thought to give me a little something that would provide us with luck. She sanitized the item and placed it in a tiny plastic bag and ordered her husband to give it to me when he had his next appointment with us. I was at lunch while he was registering with one of my co-workers, however, I came out of our breakroom to get something from my desk, and immediately lit up when I saw him and waved.

He called me to my co-worker’s desk and said with joy, “Tre, get over here! You gotta get this. My wife said I gotta give this to you!” I walked over to him and he was careful in taking the item out of his pocket and handing it over to me. He said sweetly to both my co-worker and I, “It’s for good luck! We need y’all here. We just do. Thank you, girls, for what you are doing. God bless y’all.”

I nearly teared up right then and there, but I smiled. I told him had we not been moved to practice social-distancing, I would come out to the waiting area and give him a hug. I asked him to please thank his wife for me and to let her know that I am most appreciative. I thanked him too before heading back to the breakroom. I am blessed to be able to do what I do. I love the connections I have made and the connections that are probably awaiting me in the future. But, it is deep in my spirit that when this is all said and done, that I may not continue at my facility for the rest of the year.

I am playing things by ear and being mindful of “taking life fifteen minutes at a time,” but my heart wants to move. My mind wants to move. My body aches and everything within me says, “Get out of this field.” That is now. Who knows what my mind may drum up two weeks from today or a month from today.

“It Won’t Always Be Like This.”

No. No, it truly won’t.

Originally published in A Cornered Gurl via Medium.


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