Humanity
Anonymous I am not
I wish I was anonymous on Vocal. Hold your breath, I already know what you are thinking. My name can be changed at any time but we all know the truth. Once, something is attached to your government name, there is no turning back. When something is attached to your name, something holds you back. You have to be more cautious about the pieces of yourself you leave in your writing. I wanted to free myself by writing about the worst night of my life but someone close to me felt that information shouldn’t be tied to my name and suggested I submit it anonymously. There isn’t an anonymous feature. Every word I say is tied to my name.
By Britt Blomster 4 years ago in Confessions
Remembering the Riots
11th August 2011 is a day I will never forget. It started as any would at that time in my life. I woke from a depressive daze in the latter portions of the morning just before afternoon arrived. I met up with JD, and while our friendship did not stand the test of time this memory certainly does. We met at Piccadilly Gardens in Manchester, and soon made our way on foot through Deansgate to the Great Northern Warehouse. Back then the Odeon was an AMC, a strange American hangover of a large conglomerate in what was a mostly abandoned post-industrial wasteland. Hipsters hadn’t quite had their way with Manchester back then.
By Ushiku Crisafulli4 years ago in Confessions
One Saturday afternoon...
This is a true story, and it is most recent. I have rarely encountered what occurs, but when it happens it stresses me out. So I have to write about it. No direct names will be mentioned, and I summarize more than I give detail because when you have this kind of experience it’s more moment by moment recall. And I am not going to analyze the ‘what ifs’. I am going to just tell the story like it is.
By Rachael J. Davis4 years ago in Confessions
My Feelings On Dreams
*This piece could trigger some people* PTSD/Rape Flashbacks How other people dream has always fascinated me. Ever since I had children, I found my dreams to be few and far in between. I remember most of them important to me. Even as a small child, my dreams used to mean something to me. I don't really have good dreams. I can't really begin to say that I have ever awakened from a dream, knowing that it was a good dream. I feel like that is a crazy thing, but most of my dreams are just utterly strange.
By Chloe Rose Violet 🌹4 years ago in Confessions
My Struggle around Mental Health
Managing your life, time and energy can be difficult at times. I would argue that now in the era of Remote Working for many of us, it has become even more difficult to balance your work and personal life when everything happens in one place.
By Matthew Kennedy4 years ago in Confessions
What Makes Life Worth Living?
A confession before I begin: I am a fan of Woody Allen’s “Manhattan”. Yes, I know that Mr. Allen is probably not the most acceptable figure in the American film industry now - and maybe I should have second thoughts about including him here as an influence in this piece - but you cannot ignore that body of work or the influence he has had on other comic talents. I first saw the film as a kid of the '80s and I really felt that it spoke to me as I got older, had relationships that did not always work out, and finally saw Manhattan (only five years after the film’s release).
By Kendall Defoe 4 years ago in Confessions
Is Faking it Till You Make it True?
I always like to believe that I am the bigger person in every situation in my life. I also have a terrible habit of never admitting I’m wrong (because I never am). This can sometimes cause a conflict in my male-female relationships but hey ho. Who needs a man?
By Terri Allen4 years ago in Confessions
The very emotional trip to Belize
Last year my first girlfriend, Tania Thakur, died in Kanpur, India. When I found out the news I was very shocked. I went to visit her family a few months ago. Her parents wanted me to take some of her ashes and put them in the Mopan river in Belize. In our religion some ashes are put in a river as a homage to the passing of the soul.
By Anshuman Kumar4 years ago in Confessions
Truth Bomb
Hello. My name is not Atlas Thunderbaux and I have started these posts like this so I can link people to the original post explaining why my name is not Atlas Thunderbaux. Oops. Two links, I have now guaranteed I will get double the number of views on that post than I did on the previous one.
By Atlas Thunderbaux4 years ago in Confessions
The Common Framework of Reference
When I was a young boy a DIY project around the house was not an uncommon practice. So common was it that at the weekend we’d be fixing shelves to the walls or installing a new sink that I was shocked to learn upon visiting friends’ houses that their homes were not in a similar disarrayed and homemade fashion as our own.
By Mickey Moylan 4 years ago in Confessions
what we endure, of lines of light and lifted sorrow
To start writing was to cease to be a curious listener, an addressee, and to become instead the horizon point of the family line, the destination for the many-eyed, many-decked ship of family history.”—Maria Stepanova, In Memory of Memory”
By Robert A Black4 years ago in Confessions
