The Modern Vee

Be alive.

Mon, 13 Aug 2012 23:39:05 -0400

Living isn’t standard, it’s abnormal.

wroooong gurl

Tue, 26 Jun 2012 16:54:38 -0400

I discuss way too much about what Diane said on NPR and question the motives of fictional literary characters. I believe in God and Science. I am more well versed in the Scientific American than this Fall’s fashion trend. My peace of mind is combusting every inch of myself in fires people can barely put out. Passion is secondary to me, I am not bewitched by soft grazes of your lips against mine. I am your mirrored complexity shy of every element that you want in love. I do not wear enough slouchy hats, or look for myself in the stranger’s dizzying kisses, tantalizing my lips. I do not need you all the time and I find you good enough for everything, but in every way I am the wrong girl.

I love it.

They say the people that love you the most, hurt you the most. They ain’t never lie.

Sun, 24 Jun 2012 00:12:48 -0400

They say the people that love you the most, hurt you the most. They ain’t never lie.

The not-so-awesome perks of running into old high school buddies

Fri, 22 Jun 2012 18:45:00 -0400

I love my crazy high school friends, they helped mold all this insanity that I am but sometimes I just sit and wonder why reminicisng is important. I was social pariah awkward in high school and wore XXL t-shirts with skater pants, thinking I was redefining tom-boy chic (chic, cause my hair was always in this girlie pony tail). So this has how things have been:

“Oh my gosh girlie! You have changed, you know you never even used to let me apply lipstick. You were such a boyish girl, but you got us girlie girls. Do you have a boyfriend?”

I looked at my friend, like boyfriend? My organic chemistry text-book is the closest thing to a boyfriend (they are both carbon-based right, well for the most part), so I dismissed her and was like “I am the friend” (after warding off the possibility that I could be gay, talk about stereotyping).

She then proceeded to tell me that I should be the girl, not the friend. Honestly, being the friend has perks, it does not combust into nothingness after several mistakes (‘Cause God knows I make a WHOLE LOT of mistakes).

She then asked me if I was stuck on X and if that was the reason why I did not have aforementioned boyfriend (clearly, she does not know American college boys where for the most part the only thing they want is the ill na na). You see, X and I were something people expected. I mean I did too, and he did have that weird confession thing where we admitted our like for each other. But it stopped there. So she thought that I had my heart broken by him. I did. A BIT AGO. He sort of went under the radar for a year (like MIA from the world) post confessional and trying to figure it out. I met other guys, granted I only saw friend zone or came up with silliest excuses to validate that I was only a friend. I don’t know, it just got me so mad that she thought that I would base so much of me on this one boy (who was amazing, like his soul was rare) but I am more than him. Besides, it is not like anyone really did understand what on too much because for the most part I am hush hush on the reality of my emotions (well, until I watch the most unrealistic love flicks). So here, this V is going to straighten it out:

It’s funny how everybody thought that you and I would become this one entity. That we would have that high school love that never really burnt out, and we would be talking about forever after. They really did not understand, and I do not think I did either, that it was never love. It was convenient, we were both misfits with hearts no one else could unravel, with thoughts no one else could understand in fear they might say the wrong thing. We were the same in their eyes. But who were we kidding? We were both very different. And I am not sure if I want to jeopardize a flurry of silly mistakes for you just yet.

Peace,

Darling, beautiful people do not just happen.

Sat, 09 Jun 2012 14:24:56 -0400

Screaming is silence. It’s unknown and it hurts, not because you weren’t heard. But...

Fri, 08 Jun 2012 15:45:54 -0400

Screaming is silence. It’s unknown and it hurts, not because you weren’t heard. But because you never knew you could feel.

I’ve tried to write my bodily post for way to long but when you detest yourself things like...

Fri, 08 Jun 2012 15:43:14 -0400

I’ve tried to write my bodily post for way to long but when you detest yourself things like such make you crumble in fear. First writing this post I finished each point with a contradiction and with technical difficulties it still didn’t work. It was all apart of the master plan of life. How can you state things you don’t feel and put them up. I could hold false statements on this tumblr but as you can see we are raw as the title to our blog. This is real stuff. Real harsh. Real gruesome. Real disheartening. But oh Lord it’s real. There’s no stopping the authenticity of such a thing. So I’m postponing this post for another day when I speak either happy or horrible things about my body. Because today like every other day I wish I wasn’t me.

Once I overcome this hurdle I can be the best me.

Fri, 08 Jun 2012 15:37:51 -0400

Once I overcome this hurdle I can be the best me.

The Body Challenge

Sat, 02 Jun 2012 01:21:00 -0400

The challenge this time around is to write eight facts of our body, to establish this admittance of who we are, to gain this acceptance we tend to refuse to let in. As trying as this is, this is a key to the dusty room of acceptance.

So here are eight facts about my body (er, this is going to be awkward)

1. I have this huge dark scar under my chin (that nobody can see) because of something stupid I did. So I was in my mother’s village visiting my grandmother and I saw my uncle shave, I thought to myself that’s awesome maybe I need one to. So I stupidly tip toed to the bathroom (thanks to Pink Panther’s stealth influences), closed the door and gave it a gander. Alas, blood everywhere. I still cannot believe I went up to my mother with a bloody chin saying, ‘Mummy, I tried to shave but there was no hair.’ (So Badass).

2. I have never shaved my legs. Because I don’t have any hair on my legs. Knowing how clumsy I am there would be more scars than hair on my legs if I had hair on my legs, fact one is evidence.

3. I have always been larger than average, with exception of when I was extremely sick as a child and had a much smaller frame. Its perhaps the hardest thing I have to endure, being constantly prompted by family members to give up certain things (such as classes and internships) so I can have an exercise regime despite the fact I walk everywhere including to work which is 5 miles away from the station. I would pencil it in but I am applying to medical school hence my busy schedule, in attempt to make my application competitive. It’s hard. I am in perfect health and rarely on my butt unless its to sleep or unwind from a crazy week. Accepting myself has been, by far, the hardest thing I have had to do. It’s painful being reminded (ALL THE TIME) you are lesser than they expect (who makes fucking comments that they wish I was sick again so I could be skinny). This is who I am, they have to accept that.

4. I am anemic because of a sob story. I switched to vegetarianism 4 years ago due to my passion for animals and because of the limited options available for vegetarians in Kenya, giving me leeway to starve myself. It was scary how I could go without eating for days and nobody would notice. It did nothing though, but destroy me.

5. I am double jointed in eight of my fingers (thumbs ain’t up for the creepy bending).

6. My second toes are larger than my first which means, in my culture anyway, that I will be the head of my house not my husband. DOWN WITH PATRIACHY.

7. I have strong calves, due to years of Tae Kwon Do training I never told anyone about (so, fear my kicks).

8. The reason why my eyesight went downhill when I was seven was because I read too much to the point the muscles in my eyes began to weaken (On average I would read five 400 paged books per week).

Those are facts about my body which are quite discomforting to admit but hey, this might make me a strong cookie.

-Timmie

I spent hours on a humid Saturday studying the wishes of people...

Fri, 01 Jun 2012 22:59:00 -0400

I spent hours on a humid Saturday studying the wishes of people I did not know. It reminded me how friggin’ mortal we are.

-Timmie

Don't forget the mighty tiny speedos Chichi, it's that season too.

Thu, 31 May 2012 13:56:26 -0400

BEWARE, COMING TO A THEATRE NEAR YOU!

Thu, 31 May 2012 09:41:54 -0400

Bikini Season, yikes!

awpearson: James Vincent McMorrow - Higher Love

Thu, 31 May 2012 01:42:35 -0400

awpearson:

James Vincent McMorrow - Higher Love

love /ləv/

Thu, 31 May 2012 01:40:00 -0400

Music has always been this temple wedged into the depths of my soul. I use songs like people use pictures. They are memory tools. It’s not like I sort the songs and allocate them to a moment or a face, more like it just happens. Recently, I thought I was done with love. I take way too many hiatuses in regards to letting men in. I declared war against love rather than the Benedict Arnolds that seemed to shoot at my heart. In retrospect, it was stupid.

So, I was listening to good ol’ Pandora when this song (Steve Winwood’s Higher Love rendition by James Vincent McMorrow) came on (on Etta James radio, which is amazing by the way) and it was like my melancholy sprung a leak. They were cathartic tears, the words echoing in my loud sobs. Who was I kidding, it all boiled down to him. Yes, him. That fool with the uncontrollably curly hair and pensive, light brown eyes and the promises he made. I told myself, he was no longer significant. Even fell for this other guy (perhaps the most intellectually stimulating guy I ever met), but it was like his shadow lingered in my thoughts. Those fresh feelings of love never rot into nothingness or hatred as I desired it would.

I found it incapacitating to admit that I loved and that frightened me, so I began trying to rummage through all this distrust I had for men in order to gain a pious perception on love.

I could light the night up with my soul on fire
I could make the sun shine from pure desire

Let me feel the love come over me

Let me feel how strong it can be

Those words are what I want to see in love. I want to be in love with love. To grab it and caress it, as I watch my fears evaporate in thin air.

-Timmie

Starships-Nicki Minaj

Wed, 30 May 2012 23:59:59 -0400

Starships-Nicki Minaj

three. two. one. blastoff

Wed, 30 May 2012 23:52:00 -0400

Well if you didn’t realize I am the girly explosion that’s hidden inside a somewhat tomboy. I will wear wide leg Tracie Ellis Ross “esque” boyfriend trousers and drool over Ikea magazines on the NJ Transit Bus. That’s me in a nutshell. My girly tendencies tingle at random times and when they sparkle they make everyone want to bask in a bowl of glitter. But to better understand me or grasp an idea of where I’m going especially in the terms of music , I will introduce our first challenge.

It’s music related. It’s your favorite song out right now, because I change my favorite song every ten seconds. Personally when it comes to music it’s all about movement, beats, and how it makes me feel. When it comes to summer I imagine myself strolling in a barbie pink cadillac, with long luxurious locks, and my neat little Ken doll in the passenger seat being extra clutch. But fortunately enough (*sarcasm included) that’s not the case. But a girl can dream. And the perfect summer song for the dreamer girl like me is ” Starships” by Nicki Minaj.

Summer time allows me to take a break from the intuitive intellectual student that I am usually for nine months out of the year and creates my summer persona.With Nicki’s upbeat beats, and nonsensical lyrrics I found my middle man. The line I find the most inspirational and just tear jerking.

Starships are meant to fly
Hands up, and touch the sky

This truly embodies how I feel about life. I want to fufill all my dreams and keep fighting for those cartoon dreams in my sketchpads. With the creation of this blog, we are reaching tons of “Starships” like us, the firecrackers of life who are soaring through life with a backpack full of dreams. We hear your rocket blasting off and we’d like to beat that drum along with you.

Color me Pink,
Chichi

20 year old Virgin

Wed, 30 May 2012 22:49:00 -0400

The big V word. Ah, run away! Who could possibly be a virgin at twenty, those don’t exist! Well I am, and proudly too. Not that I have any problem with sex. Sex is good, particularly in the biological aspect whereby humans are inclined to live, eat, excrete and procreate. It’s not like I am a robot or anything, I don’t want to engage in coitus just yet due to several reasons.

You see I am that girl who seeks a mental magnetism that not even physicality could satiate. That ill na na…but for your brain. Like do you have any idea how sublime it is to hear a guy revel about augmented reality and existentialism with you?
I am not emotionally ready. Yeah, if I could in no possible way be emotionally intimate with a guy, I doubt I could physically do so.
Before anything else, I have to love me. I don’t think I am ready to salvage myself in the inner thighs of some stranger, hoping that I could be more than a mere sexual orifice.
I like being a virgin. This is sort of where I think I should be right now, especially as I embark on this journey of healing.

I do know what sex is, I know cooties do not exist (although sexually transmitted infections do) and a whole bunch of other stuff. I also had a very explicitly revealing sixth grade science class, which gave me the lowdown of it all (on account that my teacher was drunk during said class). Plus, I am in college and the bed on the floor above me constantly rickets in some short-lived rhythm on Saturday afternoons. So I know a little something something, but I am still a happy virgin in her 20s.

With awkward turtles,

Timmie

There comes a time when a young girl blossoms into a beautiful young woman. I mean that’s what...

Wed, 30 May 2012 16:01:00 -0400

There comes a time when a young girl blossoms into a beautiful young woman. I mean that’s what is supposed to happen but sometimes it just doesn’t turn the exact way society wants it to go. Some girls just don’t have the genes or the same switch that says turn on and care what society thinks. Unfortunately we weren’t cut the same way and chipped nails, crazy frantic stories in dingy 9th floor study rooms, and a serious urge to do classic Thriller dances on the coffee table are the disposable things we like to do. It’s the Nutella diaries, a different take to your forgetful love of hazelnuts and a smooth entry into the world of some awkward ass girls. But like they say you are what you eat, oh darn then it’s over.