I’m so sorry I didn’t post today. I slept for a long time!
https://www.instagram.com/p/CtLAdydM-yP/?igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==
I’m still currently in pain now and sleepy (even though I’ve been awake) so I linked what I posted on IG.
(WP is giving me a hard time rn and I will fix the embed tomorrow when I’m not sleepy. Thank you for your patience.)
It’s no holiday or anything; I just wanted to make a post about the main characters of my stories’ siblings! ☺️
Some of these characters are pretty interesting to me with how different or similar they are to their family or each other.
The lists of each character will get long, and they will have their separate posts in the future, but I want to make a post about them now!
Some of these characters have very outdated pictures of them or very flatly rendered pictures, as I didn’t completely integrate them into the story yet, or they were rushed onto the scene but weren’t fully drawn, and I’m still trying to get their facial features done.
Most of these are drawn as busts, which is embarrassing…but I like drawing faces and struggle with drawing bodies and faces together. Please bear with me. It’s an insecurity of mine.
When I make their official posts, you’ll see precisely how they look. It’s hard to draw each character and not make them look the same.
Adelewe has a sister named Adexe, who is four years older than them. She came out much darker than Adelewe and looked closer to their father than the mother.
Adexe is very clumsy like Adelewe, and since she has a very odd gait and how she holds herself, if she runs, she will fall. She has lumbar lordosis and frequently is in pain and has to get physical therapy.
She has dark brown hair but bleaches it to dye her hair wacky colors with flowers and other natural dyes.
When she was younger, she went to look for Adelewe after the boating incident (I will discuss later) when they went missing and struggled to find them but stayed around Bamygdala to find them.
The rest of Adelewe’s biological siblings died at a young age or childbirth.
Of course, Feyondo is Adelewe’s sibling, and they have a horrible but close relationship with each other, but he has a separate post you can find on this blog (it’s poorly written, so I have to update it!)
Savini is the older brother of Adelewe but is not biologically related to Adelewe. They are the biological son of Lupida (he doesn’t have a Nini-based name). Savini is closer to Adelewe than anyone else in the family. He is tall and not as skinny as his father. He’s ten years older than Alma.
I’m sorrryyy, I don’t have a picture of him!😣
Noje has two siblings: one named Nemene and the other named None.
None and Noje are fraternal twins. Noje looks more like her female grandparent Naahale, and None looks more like her paternal grandfather, Nahande.
None is the same height as Noje, but they have different frames. Noje is shaped like a traditional Ane and is very voluptuous and pear-shaped. None is thin and has a less exaggerated pear shape and is shaped like a Ne. Her body doesn’t change even after she gets pregnant.
They both have eccentric chosen names that differ vastly from their names at birth. Noje is a male version of the name Nojele which is a type of flower in Ne. None means “it” and doesn’t refer to animate creatures.
Nemene is technically a half-sister of None and Noje. They’re considered blessings, but Nemene is regarded as a shortcut. Noje’s parents struggled to produce a child (here’s where the sci-fi part comes in), so the father, Nedale, goes to an underwater cave where Newe is—a semi-alive cloning machine with a semi-alive, ancient Najigi in it—and cloned himself.
Technically, Newe and Nedale are her parents instead of Nedale and Nidile. Four years later, Noje and None spawned with the blessing of “magic.” (I will not explain this further).
Nemene isn’t shunned for being a clone. She’s also considered beautiful to many people around Ne and is the standard of beauty in Ne, having big, long, curly hair, a lovely singing voice, a cute face, and quite athletic. She’s also quite sociable and has many of the qualities of her father that people like. The bad part is that she gets people sick around her, and she may or may not be able to reproduce (it doesn’t matter anyway because she doesn’t bear children.)
None is the opposite of Noje and is nonverbal mainly and communicates primarily in sign language. When speaking with others, Noje frequently talks over her and doesn’t always say the right thing. She’s unathletic, a loner, fails at conversations, and has a bad relationship with Naahale, who thinks she’s a failure compared to her father. She also has a terrible relationship with Noje and feels like she’s her shadow.
This is too long of a post for me to continue with the rest of the characters because some of them have a lot (like Feyondo and Noshili), or I posted them before.
Y’all, I wrote my first post of today and fell asleep. Here’s my second post with the palette I mentioned. I’m still too exhausted to mention more, but if I don’t post this now, I never will.
My palette decision looks like a professional artist palette, but it feels kind of weird to me because I don’t like the vibrancy and it feels limiting to me. I don’t understand how, but I’m a complex individual and I have to accept that.
Anyway, have a nice day.
I’m sure you’ve seen some changes about my website, but, I’m going to constantly be updating things and adding.
Since this website is more for blogs, instead of…say…a casual website, if you get aggressive notifications of blog posts you read or new notifications from me. I am so sorry.
I’ve noticed my format was a mess, but a viewer and friend, Tanmay (tell me if it’s okay to keep your name here), gave some very great suggestions and it made a bit more sense how to fix the problem.
I’m a very hard-headed individual (this isn’t me saying this in a degrading way—bear with me) and I will try to make this work even if it’s nearly impossible.
With that in mind, I really hope you enjoy the blog aspect still.☺️ I will post my actual new post again today, everything else updates.
Also, my IG is back up, however, lovelies, IG isn’t a priority. I need to practice on my digital art skills and characters and even though digital art feels like getting a gun to the head, it looks pretty and I want to see some.
It may get embedded here, but, digital art always looks strange (and hilarious on this site.)
One more topic:
I am aware it’s Pride Month (US), as I was aware it was Black History Month in February and Women’s History Month on Match….but, I would prefer not to write content of these months because issues are issues and they happen daily, but also, other people can write better than me.
I constantly write about political issues that correspond with all of these and to sit around write extra posts like: “protect [insert marginalized identity here]“ would be jarring and very cringy.
If you can feel for my characters, maybe you should look into how you treat real people with similar identities that go through the same thing or worse.
I’m not going to preach to you. I don’t feel like it. The only job I signed up to do was make blog posts, share stories, and art.
However, there are plenty of activists that talk about marginalized identities and some of them leave comments on my blog occasionally.
However, if you want to support someone LGBTI+ for activism reasons, you can show your friends my content or just keep looking at my crap. I’m nonbinary transgender and asexual.
I know I’ve put this down on my blog multiple times, but I want to give a point. Some of my characters, while not having the same sex as me always, have very similar identities. Please be sensitive with me. It’s hard to go through it and to even talk about identity with all these aggressive people denying feelings and stuff that requires health. Do not leave gross comments or I will delete them.
Anyway, thank you for your patience and kindly, please take care.
Heyya, sorry for the late post.
Recently, I’ve bought new watrcolors. To see what it felt like, I specifically ordered 15ml-37ml tubes. I bought a limited set not to waste money I don’t have, and focus on the colors I just bought.
Keeping that in mind, I will be making a palette. If you are new here, you probably wouldn’t know that I struggle keeping up with palettes. If you aren’t–I’m sorry, I wanted something new.
Using up all the paint on that palette will be my goal for June.
At the moment, I haven’t thought of an idea to what the palete is for. All colors and their mixtures have a certain meaning; it can be obsecure to others. Where some people can comfortably use any colors to paint anything, I do not. If I don’t like it for depicting my characters, I will not use it.
I need to waste some other paint too so that’s that. You’ll see another palette come up–potentially. I wish y’all could see my process in action. Please be patient with me. 🙏
I want to be focused, but I write in fragments and in time jumps. If you can understand that, it’d make me so happy. Sadorno is much older here.
There’s a lot to unpack here and probably is whiplash from reading the other story, but I’ll tell you this for context—in the future, Damijo and Madenna separate. You can get the gist of how their relationship was by how the letter is written. I do urge you to reread the other story if you have time.
Previously, Nashali wrote a letter for therapy homework, she left it on her dresser.
Letter to Mama
I forget sometimes that if someone looks stupid, it doesn’t mean that they are.
I stayed over at my daughter and her wife’s home.
Due to differences in personality, my daughter cut me off after she divorced her husband and lost custody of her kids. I know nothing about her other than what I assume and it’s hard for me to make assumptions.
I didn’t know she had a wife until recently, but I was proud of her.
I just tried so hard to get to know her that I looked through her room. Most of her objects were average, some of her dresses were scandalous, but I didn’t really find much on her. I did, however, find a letter.
A letter to me, but it wasn’t sent to me. A depressing letter—I wasn’t expecting it to absorb me and ring me out.
I never would write this to my mom, in fact, if I did, she’d beat my ass and tell me I was ungrateful. It didn’t matter anyway. She beat my ass over silly things regardless if it made sense or not.
I despise my daughter sometimes. She’s so similar to her papa. I can’t wrap my head around how Nashali ever could be like Neloni when he was absent in her formative years.
Nashali never was testy with me; she sometimes would voice she was upset. She, however, was a loud, boisterous speaker and would exaggerate everything—she’s an avid liar. She never listened to me, in fact, she’d just talk over me, echo me, and finish my words. It’d piss me off to no end. I abhor that—People should each have time to speak. One person speaking isn’t a conversation, that’s a speech; everyone seemed to forget that with me.
If I yelled or fussed, Nashali would look at me with those soulless eyes, slight smile on her face, and tilt her head like her damn father. I never wanted to smack the shit out of someone more. I swear that look is condescending, they just want to talk and I’m bothering them.
That doesn’t seem, right, Sadorno…maybe we got this all wrong.
Just pondering increasingly, Neloni’s dumb letter made me angry too…and frustrated…it wasn’t his body, right? I can’t tell. I don’t know what it is. I don’t know why he claims he loves me. Is that even possible? How can someone like him love me? I doubt it.
I could feel tears coming down my eyes. I couldn’t tell if I was mad at Nashali.
Maybe mad at my predicament with her, maybe mad at Neloni for leaving, maybe mad at myself.
I never thought my actions would lead to my own daughter leaving me, but I never thought of my actions. It’s not possible. My mind tells me that it’s wrong that people scream at their kids, it’s wrong for people to beat their spouse…yet, seeing that I did that myself, I don’t understand what it is. It is no way I thought of my actions; I felt my pain at overload.
I held onto that pain as if it would make me omniscient. Sometimes it made me really think I could read the minds of people and predict what they did. I’m not so sure anymore.
My therapist told me to let go of the past. My wife told me to let go, yet…who could let go ten years of abandonment? Ten years of hiding, shaming, blaming, and lying so my kids could live a decent life. Well, they at least weren’t shamed, and my reputation was okay…so I did okay…
I was so caught up with the letter and my emotions, I didn’t hear Nashali come in.
My wife told me to apologize to my daughter. Nashali didn’t seem to really receive it and brushed it off earlier. Now she is just staring at me at the door frame until I really looked at her.
She seemed usually confident, but not this time. Her shoulders were close to her ears, her arms were crossed. Nashali’s nose curled and her lip corners raised as if she was wincing, they quivered. Her eyes darted away when I looked at them. She rocked wider than usual, and her legs were close together. She’d fall if she isn’t too careful.
I felt guilty.
I remember when Neloni came home with some officers, his dad managed to meddle with the police, so he only had house arrest. Neloni couldn’t look at me, he couldn’t talk to me. I wanted to give him a hug because I missed him and he looked so pitiful, but he flinched and nearly fell trying to reject me.
Neloni is a tall man, I don’t know why didn’t defend himself…I defended myself and I’m a bit smaller than him and fragile. I’ve never met someone so sweet and generous yet could become that aggressive and loud in seconds. He never beat me.
Baring teeth, covered in sweet, chasing me down the house just to yell. Why didn’t he fight back?
Focus, Sadorno.
Nashali started tearing up a little. She looked as if she was going to pass out. She didn’t say a word to me. She didn’t move. Her wife came in to check on her and turned to me quickly. She stepped in front of Nashali to protect her just like my second oldest used to. He always protected Nashali…I wonder how he’s doing after his divorce.
Nilili crossed her arms, setting up to yell. She’s scary.
Mama,
I know you were upset with papa. I was always afraid of you. You seemed to want it that way. I went through his room and saw the vows he gave to you. They were sweet. They also were crumbled, covered in tears and blood. It is an item he wanted and loved, but later something he resented to abandon them. Let me guess, this is his blood and not yours. There was a note there; I’m not papa so I can’t write like him. I clipped it.
I don’t know what is wrong with me,
But there’s no way she loves me.
I don’t know what I did. I love her.
I love my husband, and she was mad,
when I left him, she was mad.
When he died, she was furious.
Maybe that’s because she loves me?
Her love is weird.
I know she loves beautiful women.
She commented on my mom.
I wish I was like my mom.
We wouldn’t legally be married,
but she’d love me.
I’d love myself.
That’s not possible.
I was born in this body, in this world,
She was born in hers.
I just wish I was like hers.
I wonder if my husband would still be alive if I was born like my wife.
Did you not like him? I’ve read your comments and your writings are you wrote the same thing in reverse. I know you didn’t want him, but why did you have to take it out on your kids—on me? I’ve tried so hard to understand you. I’ve asked my therapist for help—she told me to write this letter to you. Of course I’d never give this to you. I’m scared of you. Even as a woman in my forties, I’m afraid of you. You’re not violent like you used to be, but I’m still afraid. You apologized, but my fear has not dissipated.
You get so mad at papa abandoning you…but you abandoned me. You weren’t there emotionally, physically, or mentally. He isn’t the only person that did wrong. You made me marry a man that subjected me to pain because you didn’t deal with your own.
You left me with my uncle; you didn’t know him other than the fact my papa is deadly afraid of him and one mention of said uncle’s name drives him to a panic attack. You claim Atedayo is your little baby boy but he received the same punishment from our uncle—because our papa disappeared and you didn’t want us either. You didn’t want us and I don’t know if papa should’ve even had kids. Abandonment from both sides.
Who cares if papa didn’t love you? He doesn’t love himself. He drank instead of dealing with us or himself. You don’t even love yourself. Was he even the actual problem or did he remind you too much of yourself?
Love,
Nashali,
your daughter too alike her papa
Post Script: I really wish we had a bigger connection. I’m still lost in this world. At least you try now in your poor health and so does papa, but I don’t really believe you. There’s no way you love me. My kids don’t even love me. They feel sorry they’re even born and it makes me feel like a bad mama. Do you even feel any guilt?
Your freedom was written by a person you don’t know.
The world is out to get you, but not that person on the internet.
Your community is the only people who value you, everyone else is evil and just don’t get it.
Those have spawned you, those who pretended to love you.
evil.
Your freedom was written down on an article.
One you looked for in tears; you want to hear someone.
Hear sympathy written hopefully by a human.
How could this happen to an angel like you?
Everyone is evil. There’s no grace, no kindness, only evil.
It’s so sad because the defenseless who live in society—some who want others to protect them—will face evil.
Your freedom is posted on a Tiktok.
Your community is full of the only innocent people in the world.
Your community believes the only people that deserve to be alive are good people.
Bad people are people that hurt people. There’s only one way, only one type of person and there’s no escape.
One day, you will kill the witches for good.
If anyone wants to give any suggestions on content (that isn’t long winded stories—those take longer than a month to write and I’m not gonna have you sitting here for a month waiting) they’d like to see, it would be helpful. Do y’all like my shorter stories and writings? Do you want more art? What’s up? (I’m trying to write character profiles now but they’re so long it’s difficult to put into a small post.)
There aren’t any known aliens with humanistic qualities we look for,
but there are aliens.
Except, I’m not a cool funky green guy.
I think you’d like me better if I was.
I like being around you.
I appreciate you letting me in, but it’s hard because it’s your world and I have to understand your beliefs, but you don’t have to understand mine.
I’ve learned and I’ve tried really hard.
Nevertheless, it’s always nice to talk to you!
I will try to do some color mixes before going in raw like this again. The thing about watercolors is that starting dark is a bit frustrating, but starting thick will always have problems. This painting is done. If I touch it, it will reactivate and create a blossoming effect…which isn’t terrible but it’s hard to control. As well, this watercolor flocculates badly and it’s opaque and dark. I didn’t want to thin it out because I didn’t realize that it wasn’t one of those. Anywho, I’ll try again. You’ll see the mixes I’ll do.
Have a nice one.
Post writing: It’s very hard to write short and sweet. Please tell me if I wrote too much.
I decided to split my content up and post in pages to make things optional to read!
Hey y’all, I decided to work on my art style a bit more. I decided to make the eyes smaller to see how it affects the characters. I don’t like it, but that’s because it’s new. I’m sure I’ll get into it later.
Have a nice day, stay hydrated, safe, and healthy.
For the next page, trigger and content warning: rant, complaining, negative.
Do not read ahead if you cannot handle that. I understand deeply that some things on the internet ruin my day and make me infuriated and that’s completely fine. Skip over it. I personally don’t mind having a discussion but if you slight me, you will be deleted.
Free speech is about as real as free will.
I’m taking an actual break. I’ll see you again. Thank you for following me, but I will be back.
I excitedly put on my outfit and layers. I love weddings! I just…kind of didn’t want to get married this early in my life.
I took a big sip of my drink. I needed it to hold me off all night.
I heard a knock. I went to the door and opened it. It was my ex. I kind of really still loved him. He looked irritated with me.
“Wow, Loni,” he said softly. “You look so handsome…ugh, I wish this were us. We could’ve ran away together and got married.”
I felt guilty, but I wasn’t really interested in running away from home. Maybe Madenna is a nice woman and will like me. I want to chat with her. I wish she would’ve shown up to talk the day before. Hm?
Celesi sighed loudly.
“Neloni, can you focus?” Celesi said. “I just complimented you.”
He looked good, especially his body. I giggled.
“I heard you; I just can’t respond to that without getting frustrated,” I replied. “I want to get married. Maybe it won’t be that bad.”
Celesi looked irritable.
“Do I mean nothing to you?” He asked. “You don’t know this girl, you know me.”
He rubbed my cheek and held my waist. I gulped. Don’t cheat on your cugale, that’s not right. It doesn’t matter how much you love him. You’re getting married.
“Lesi, stop,” I said softly and giggling. “I don’t want to cheat. I just want a normal marriage.”
He still wanted to kiss me but then pulled away and frowned.
“A Nini, Loni…” he said. “Have you been drinking? You smell strong! What the fuck? You have to stop. What if—”
I could hear someone coming in. I pulled Celesi away.
It was my dad. He saw Celesi. Fuck! He doesn’t know I dated a guy like this! Oh no!
“Damijo, why is your coworker, Sr. Paqeda, here?” He asked. “And your cugale is taking insanely long. Are you being unfaithful with this _____ degenerate? Keep your legs closed.”
Paqeda frowned and grumbled.
“I can’t talk to your son?” He asked. “We are just friends.”
My dad looked up at him, he was shorter than Paqeda.
“Get your ____ ass out of my son’s room, you mangy freak!” He fussed. “Get out! Don’t touch Damijo and don’t ruin this for him. If you touch my son, I’ll kill you. Why do y’all people always do so damn much?!”
I cleared my throat. He’d never talk to my mom like that, I don’t know why he’s talking like that to Lesi. He’s always acting weird, maybe he’s on drugs.
“I’m not in a mood to talk to you, tato*,” I said. “I’m going on a walk.”
“Fine, whatever,” my dad said.
Celesi glared at me.
“I’m going to sit in the main hall with Kintin,” he said. “I’ll talk you later.”
Kintin? Why is he hanging out with Kintin?! That’s my ex! Why is he hanging out with her??? Are they dating???
I took a deep breath and masked my anger. I didn’t want to be mad at my wedding.
I walked in the hallway and saw a room. My curiosity got the best of me.
I walked in the room to a young woman who was fortunately clothed and was murmuring angrily to herself. She must be my cugale*, Madenna, because I didn’t know her, yet she was murmuring about me and her looks. She was very pretty from what I saw of her, but she looked a bit stressed and angry.
*tato= father, cugale=fiancée
It might seem obvious to some, but I will still add a translation. Tato means father. It is an Indo-European like word made from baby banter–This is a word from the conlang I made but I’m sure it exists in real life because it is again, just Indo-European looking.
Babe or babai (it’s babe usually how I write it down, I don’t want it confused with the flirtatious diminutive “babe” so I) means mother. Child is guai (and is neutral)
These words look like mami and papi (which I got the words from. I switched the voices to something different. Papi to dadi/daddy to tato. I wanted the voiced sounds to be the same for mom and dad, so I switched it to babi then added the suffix grammatical gender (grammatical gender in language like Spanish are easier to replicate.) Look at this IPA chart and under pulmonic consonants and you’ll see what I did.
Cugalo and cugale translate more to domestic partners but are used by wealthier people to discuss who is engaged and who are future marriage partners. It’s related to the past Nini culture (that developed the culture ____ that states that cugale are the most important and highest form of personal relationships. It is simply just dating.
I will get back onto more history later.
I feel intense,
When I can’t run my life.
When I can’t run anything.
I’m sinking in my bed,
only for the picture videos in my head,
to bully and stress me out and I have school.
I wanted to catch a break,
but I woke up tired.
As per caption, I really like chickens and if I post my art, you can see them randomly show up at times. I do not take the time to draw animals like I should.
I am exhausted and time marches fast. I just want to make art, but it’s hard when I’m depressed. I write these to talk to y’all I am still taking a break. (I don’t want to take one but I need one)
I took my shoes off to touch the grass,
I hate the bubble,
I felt nature in its own form
that we live in.
Was it supposed to wash my pain and memories?
It’s not surprising how we contribute such a neutral force to be good.
We really can’t stand each other.
When it’s in fact neutral.
We can’t live with each other without fighting.
You go here to ignore me, I go here to understand you.
Yet, you still want to make more of us without a single conscious thought.
Nature is as brutal as any of us, but it’s natural so it’s okay.
What’s your motivation? What’s your goal?
Do you feel less lonely?
Can you provide love to any of the beings you cursed here?
Did sitting outside wash you away of your sins that plague your head?
Are you happy, father? Are you happy?
Cause, I don’t understand why I’m out here on your advice.
I’m so insecure about my art. I’ve been across all walks of social media and I want to improve my writing and my art skills so I can have amazing art for you guys but I’m so stressed on what to do and how to do it or how to manage content on this blog.
Unlike wix.com and YouTube, there are currently no polls here…but I want y’all to respond with y’all’s answers on here.
Should I post shorter parts of bigger stories and work on my art?
Or should I spend time writing the stories only here and place the art on Instagram?
Should I finish these stories (they’re fragments of a whole and not a true point A to B. That’s kinda how I write and focus.) and if I want a different story, post it on IG?
For my Instagram, would y’all prefer WIPs, videos/shorts, studies, and overall practice shots or only finished pieces? (I don’t have enough followers to ask on IG. Sorry.)
A lot of this stuff is hard to manage but it’s okay! I just hope you respond and stick around.😌
Currently I am in a moment where I feel like my art looks bad (this whole year tbh) and been feeling resentful….I know it means I need to work harder and work on it but mentally I am not in the correct state to do so.
Depression makes things like that extremely hard to do things consistently with the energy of a person my age. All these old masters either were on all types of drugs or had mania to help them produce art but I got the bad end of the mental illness stick (not that those are good, they’re awful) and I’m dysphoric and dysfunctional.
Anyway, I’ll see you. Thanks for talking to me.💕
I’m extremely burnt out mentally and physically right now and I will not be posting and will be taking a break. I’m sorry, it’s just too much right now.
Hey y’all,
I believe I missed out on some of y’all’s posts so I need to read them on my free time! Thank you so much for y’all’s patience!
I looked at myself in the mirror after feeling guilty about throwing a shoe at Damijo. I was starting to break out in sweat. I’m an adult now and I have to get married to this loser? Officially???
I put on my full outfit. I felt queasy and dizzy. I don’t know why but the fact my dad married me off makes me feel sick. My mother came in.
She spoke in Soli.
“Hurry the fuck up, you little bitch,” she said. “You’re going soooo slooooow!”
I looked at myself. My face was slightly breaking out more and I looked sweaty. I lost my beauty for this man.
I didn’t want to speak in Soli.
“I don’t feel good, babai,” I said in Kwadi. “Can I cancel?”
She passed me some juice in a box and crackers. She gripped my arm.
“You are entering your rite of passage, Sadorno!” She said in Soli through her teeth. “Soon you’ll have beautiful children with this gorgeous man, and you’ll love each other forever! Eat the snack, you are famished!”
“I don’t want him…” I replied in Soli. “He’s…too much.”
“I didn’t want to marry your dad, but I needed citizenship for us,” she said in Soli. “They’re offering their cute, Jinhi-looking son. Would you rather have the ugly Bamy man that is his brother? Just keep bothering him, it’ll wear him down.”
My dad isn’t necessarily subservient, but he can easily be guilt tripped into doing what my mom says. He’s a disgusting asshole and my mother controls me so she lets him do shit to me to stay here. I will not break Damijo, he isn’t a pet.
I ate the crackers and drank the juice. The juice bit back, but I did feel a bit better after eating it. I am a natural performer like my cugalo. I think we could pull this off. My mom walked out first. I walked after her.
I saw my cugalo with a darker skinned man near in the act—is he a citizen??? What the fuck? I felt embarrassed and guilty. Does he love him? Is that why he talked around loving me? I had to leave my ex for this? Nobody noticed since they were well hidden. The man noticed me while Damijo was all over him, but I didn’t want to confront them. He pulled away from Damijo looking nervous and, but I couldn’t see the rest in time because everyone started circling me and complimenting me.
Oh! If I were getting married, I’d want to look like you! You’re so lucky! I want to be you! O Pelado! You’re so pretty?! I love you. Made, if I were a man, I’d marry you.
The women who said it were beautiful and could’ve easily married him instead.
One of them was insanely beautiful like my daydream but real, she didn’t compliment me. She seemed like a singer, based on the way she was dressed. She had powerful, cool dark skin tone, big, low-hanging lips, and a short nose. Her eyes were dark and mysterious.
“And who are you?” I asked flirtatiously.
My heart jumped waiting for her response. She’s so beautiful. I took a deep breath—I was scared.
She smiled uncomfortably.
“I’m Kidiri,” she said softly. “I’m going to sing for your wedding.”
“You look so beautiful in that dress,” I said smiling hard and observing her clothing assuming her body underneath her layers. “Are you famous? I can’t say I’m into singers, but you certainly look like a star.”
She cackled similarly to Damijo, but it was actually cute.
“Err no, this is my first gig after university,” she replied smiling nervously. “I went with your cugalo.”
“Oh!” I said. “Very nice! Were you friends with my cugalo?”
I smiled. She’s so beautiful.
She rubbed her neck.
“Yes, he’s a good man…I assume…but I don’t know if he’s good for you,” she said murmuring. “You don’t seem…never mind.”
She giggled uncomfortably. I readjusted my crown and blushed.
“Well, at least one of us looks happy and beautiful tonight,” How good are you at fingering that lute?”
She smiled friendly at me and chuckled; I giggled. My mom looked annoyed and hissed.
“Madenna! Why are you not focusing on getting married?!” She fussed. “You are about to go on stage! Do not ruin this trying to make new friends!”
She gripped my arm and spoke through her teeth.
“Don’t ruin our family with this bullshit,” she said aggressively.
I took a deep breath and looked at Kidiri. She was stunning, she stood up tall and confidently. My heart raced faster. Kidiri, Kidiri. You are a breath of fresh air.
I had to walk to my cugalo and hop into spiritual waters to cleanse myself of my sins and issues. I couldn’t stop thinking of everything that burdened me.
I did as planned. I jumped into the water and let myself sink in and held my breath. Fortunately, my makeup still looked intact when I rose. Damijo was to do the same thing. He didn’t seem to like the water much. In fact, he seemed irritable afterwards.
I had to recant the things I said about to him and he said it towards me. Then we had to recite our vows and expectations for each other. He applied effort to write his vows, but I gave generic vows and expectations because I just knew he couldn’t fulfill them. I could tell he didn’t like that; his grin fell after my vows. His face scrunched and looked upset for a split second. It was close to over anyway. The music started playing and we put on rings. I didn’t want to kiss him on the lips—heh—so I kissed him on the cheek which made him red with embarrassment and he frowned again, but I kept my composure and my “docile lady” acting skills up.
We finally got to get some food. We sat over at a table. We had catering—disgusting looking food. Damijo looked really upset and embarrassed in his posture, but he smiled anyway. He didn’t really talk to me. Everyone thought I kissed him a particular way because I was the virgin type. Kidiri started playing her lute on the stage, she started singing. She had a beautiful voice. My mom was recording her singing. Kidiri’s voice was like a soft bird that was flying freely in the wind. Oh, to be free and fly with the sweet Kidiri. Her body motions were soft, and her playing brought me to tears and shook my core and my…lower regions…
I had to keep acting. I held onto Damijo. He wrapped his hands around me and grinned which made people take pictures. I saw the man he was with earlier from afar and felt guilt. Extreme guilt.
I turned to Damijo and whispered.
I whispered, “You seem to have some friends. Who are they?”
The food came as we spoke, including the cake.
“My new coworkers, Paqeda and Kintin.” He replied softly. “My good childhood friends are here too, Roi and Meto…one of them is not here…he didn’t agree with the marriage…”
That darker skinned man was sitting near a lighter skinned woman, feeding her food, and posing for pictures, smiling. The guy was handsome to me even though he’s a home wrecker and a jerk and the woman was very gorgeous, and I’d totally flirt with her. Damijo rubbed his neck while watching—he looked slightly irritated and jealous.
I whispered again.
“Is that Paqeda and Kintin?” I asked.
“Yes. They’re neat,” he replied.
“Say, who picked Kidiri for the wedding?” I asked.
He picked over his food and didn’t eat a crumb. I noticed he drank–I don’t get him. I can’t drink on an empty stomach. I ate. People were taking pictures of us and standing close. We still whispered.
“Me,” he said. “She’s really nice and I thought she’d be interesting to hear because she is a way better singer than me and she is well spoken enough to talk about Nenneh issues in this state.”
He smiled. Whatever…
“You’re a whole citizen,” I replied. “I can’t see why you’d put yourself in non-citizen affairs that do not affect you. Mind your business.”
Why am I acting like I’m born in Bamygdala culture anyway? He glared at me and bit the skin off his lips.
“I’m a grown man, I can care about what I want,” he retorted. “If I want to talk about politics then I can.”
I scoffed and talked quieter.
“What? Is she Jinhi?” I asked.
“Yes, why?” He replied.
My face felt hot. I felt gross for liking her. Do I just care about her or was I fetishizing her? O my dear Pelado. Save my soul from Amal.
He noticed my face and looked annoyed.
“Do you not like Jinhi?” he asked, raising a brow.
“Again, you are a citizen,” I replied defensively. “Why do you even care?! It’s not any of our business and it’s surely not yours.”
His face went red, and he looked like he was going to hit and scream at me. He gripped the table. He rubbed his face and calmed down.
“You have to care,” he said. “People are facing deportation and literal bombings for being from the state they live in. How do you not care?”
I don’t think I can take him seriously with that stupid accent.
“Because I mind my business,” I replied
“What if you fall in love with one or have to marry one?” he asked looking nervously and fearful.
“I’d be upset,” I replied. “Just like I’d be upset if I got with a man who already cheated on me on my wedding night.”
He smacked me in the face. It left a mark and it burned. I tried to keep my composure, so maybe people would blame him, but it didn’t work. My mom ran over, screaming.
“Made! You dumbass!” She screamed. “Why did you let him hit you? You’re supposed to be nice and sweet. Or be so vague he doesn’t understand so you can trap him.”
Damijo looked frustrated with all the cameras taking pictures. He got up and turned away.
“I’ll go,” he said looking embarrassed.
I stood up, screamed a random number for the number of children I wanted—six, grabbed some cake, shoved it in his mouth, used his hand to shove cake into my mouth. Kissed him on the cheek and ran off.
SIX?! Am I dumb?
I got to the carriage for the honeymoon and went to lock myself in the bathroom. I didn’t understand the situation, but I knew the slap hurt badly. I choked a bit on the cake, so I threw it back up. I felt cursed. Doro, you’re an idiot. This is all you’re doing. You’re already ruining the marriage before it started.
I really didn’t want to cry because crying is so embarrassing and weak, but I hated my predicament. I guess Damijo is right, Nenneh people do have it worse here…I peeked out the bathroom. My family was getting in the carriage.
“Madenna is such a disappointment, Chamana,” she said. “Everyone else is so well behaved and married people who were good and just as great as Damijo and they’re happy and her stupid ass makes him hit her! He’s a good guy!”
I thought my dad would have a change in opinions, but he couldn’t give a shit about me either.
“No, you’re right, Bimisi.” He said sounding not that convinced. “But I’m sure she’ll get over it.”
I could hear Damijo walk in. Still clunking in those damn heels.
“Hello sir and ma’am!” He said loudly and enthusiastically. “Did Made come in here?”
My mom responded like she was talking to a child.
“No, sweetie,” my mom replied. “She went off somewhere.”
I heard Damijo respond.
“Well, I just wanted to tell the little dearie that I’m sorry,” he said. “She also barely touched her plate, so I tried to bring her at least some cake.”
I frowned. Was it my fault he hit me? Is he just nice and I was being a bitch? I feel like I’m losing my mind.
I sniffed in the bathroom. I was crying like I was weak. Damn. I washed my mouth.
I heard him walk to the door. I didn’t close it. He looked at me. I was hardly shorter than him, but he still managed to look down at me. He didn’t look angry, he looked like he was observing me. His eyes are creepy, I don’t like how big and light they are.
“Sugar…” he said softly with a calm face. “I’m sorry I hit you. You didn’t deserve that. I am still trying to control my temper. I brought you some food.”
“I don’t want that shit,” I said aggressively. “My family knows I don’t eat meat, animal products, animal’s milk, or flavorless food…you can have it, Damijo.”
“Well…no,” he replied. “I don’t really eat food like that either…usually I eat other kinds of food. Similar to yours…”
I sighed.
“Maybe our parents should’ve picked foods for our diets,” I said. “My mom raised me to not eat animals.”
I glared at my parents. Damijo chuckled.
The carriage started moving. We sat down close to each other.
He didn’t really smile when he looked at me like he did earlier, he seemed exhausted and frustrated.
“So, are you excited for the honeymoon portion?” he asked sounding tired.
“What?” I asked. “Is that sex?”
I felt repulsed. He sighed.
“I don’t know,” he said slightly murmuring. “I believe it is a requirement. Is that what you actually want?”
I felt really repulsed.
“Ummm…yessss. I would love to.” I responded chuckling nervously. “This should be fun. However, I’m not ready for kids and I’m sure you want to keep your career.”
“I’d give up my career for you and a family,” he said looking serious. “I said that in my vows. We all gotta make sacrifices.”
“You shouldn’t!” I replied sweating. “I think you are fine where you are now.”
He looked like he caught on to my game.
“Whatever,” he said sitting back frowning and seeming insecure.
“Yes, of course,” I said nervously and about to gulp.
We started whispering to each other. My parents were getting nosy.
“Made, are you only into women?” he asked whispering while tilting his head.
He moved a lot and postured himself strangely now that I noticed, but this one was interesting. How does his back not hurt?
I was thrown off by his awfully specific question.
“That’s not the specific question you should ask now,” I replied. “Why do you ask?”
“You are partnered up with me for a reason,” he said. “My dad is embarrassed with me because I had sex with men and women in my life. They don’t want me to ruin their reputation. You probably are the same way or only like women.”
I squeaked. Why are you asking NOW?
“Why are you instigating?” I asked. “Why are you getting in my business?”
He frowned.
“Wow. I was expecting some kind of honesty,” he said. “You seem like you like that.”
I grumbled.
“Don’t instigate!” I replied. “Even if it was like that, you’d treat me the same because I’m your hudale.”
He looked at me with pure anger.
“You’re still a human,” he replied getting aggressive. “But you asked me earlier, so I get to ask you. You are my hudale, you can be honest, and I will as well. Communicate.”
“You just talk like that because I’m ugly, don’t you?” I asked. “What’s wrong with you? Is it because I’m not Paqeda?”
His eyebrows furrowed and he curled his lips like I was a disgusting freak in his presence.
“Why do you do that?” He asked.
“Do what?” I asked.
He looked annoyed but patient.
“Say something like that,” he said staring into my eyes. Ominous. “I’m sure there’s things about how you are and how you talk that are odd or strange but I’m not going to track that. Besides, I don’t like you instigating. It makes me feel insecure.”
“Why should I care how you feel?” I replied. “You insinuated that I like women out of nowhere because I may not find you attractive!”
He bit his lip. I felt guilty but he made me feel ugly staring like that. He looked down nervously and fidgeted with his necklace.
“You’re being a bitch,” he said. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to answer yourself.”
I smacked his torso.
“Why don’t you look up and say that shit with your chest, you dumb ass freak,” I fussed. “Shifty ass, weird ass bitch. Say it again with your fucking chest!”
My parents looked horrified at what I had said but Damijo cackled–I still annoyed him.
“Hopefully you’re as feisty in bed as you are here,” he said. “You are ridiculous.”
We finally got to the house we were supposed to live in, and my parents helped us get everything unpacked earlier. I hated that house so much. Everything was picked out for us from the wedding to the house we’d stay in forever. We had to move to a different state and Damijo didn’t know the language and it was obvious. I was so upset about moving away from my ex.
Damijo seemed easily distracted, clumsy, and awkward, but people seemed to enjoy him.
We had one more thing to complete.
We had to consummate.
All we had to do is have some people observe us doing vaginal, whether it was good or not.
We went upstairs. I broke into a sweat.
Damijo looked really stressed out too. I took off my layers. He looked disappointed at how skinny I was, and I was just upset in general. He had long hair in a bun. It was very awkward for me but I also thought that it was pretty, maybe the best thing about him.
He gave me a kiss on the lips. I felt so grossed out, I gagged. He looked insecure.
So, I posted the rest but didn’t want to put the awkward sex scene (as it, it is awkward) that was there.
Anywho, I heard y’all in the last post say that you wanted to know about Damijo. Would you like me to write the same situation in his perspective? While this is ongoing, it’s gonna take me a while to do everything. These are practically the notes (they’re not really notes, more like the skeleton). This story is written out by Sadorno based on the night.
A beautiful woman appeared whilst I daydreamed—amazingly plump, dark, and lovely. She was unnaturally and inhumanly beautiful.
It was a wedding, a wedding I wanted to be in. She was graceful in her movements as she came up to me in a beautiful _____.
Sadorno, my love, I love you with all my soul and will love you to the end of time. Run away with me, love me. Let’s go back home. Kiss me!
I smacked my head against the mirror trying to kiss her and opened my eyes to my ugly, ashy ass. I looked like a fool and my hair was a straightened rat’s nest. My curls would never come back unless I cut my hair. I couldn’t do it now or mama would kill me! My hair was damaged from years of straightening, pulling, straightening, bleaching, and pulling, that shit is never going to revert.
Would cugalo care if I cut that shit off?
I straightened it anyway.
My cugalo was looking for me so we could go to our wedding. I couldn’t let him see my hair, so I put a wrap on. I heard the dumbass clunking in his heels.
“Made, are you ready for our wedding?” Damijo called out. Stupid, irritating dragging ass voice! Can’t stand you! We only met once by accident, and I was hoping I was going to die before meeting you again! A Nene!
I turned to him and tried to look friendly, but I know I glared at his brainless looking ass.
“No, I need to get my headdress and coat on!” I replied. “You are going to curse our wedding being impatient!”
I turned back around but I could see him in the mirror. He straight up rolled his eyes at me and scoffed.
“What do you mean?” He replied aggressively. “It’s not serious. It’s not like you actually love me or want to get married to me. Our dads put us together.”
He was a well-built man from dancing and had nice characteristics on his body from decent genes, but I was straight up grossed out knowing I had to be with him. I didn’t like how my mom was more into him than he was into me.
I ignored him and put lipstick on, but then I felt anxious because he didn’t seem to care for me either and sounded just as irritated with me as I was with him. It gave me doubts about our relationship. I winced.
“Damijo, are you even attracted to me?” I asked. “Do you even love me?”
He audibly gulped and rubbed his neck. His face turned red.
“Do I love you?” He replied. “Well, I’m a bit nervous. I don’t want to mess up anything…you know, it’s really nerve-wrecking to be in a wedding and also officially meeting the person…I don’t even know what you’re thinking…um, yeah, I’m very nervous.”
He sounded very…lowly to me and had a slow draw and a very southern accent. He sounded stupider than Mal to me, not because of his accent because his dad has a similar accent and sounds intelligent and very well spoken, but Damijo sounds like a straight fool on top of his irritating rocking and his irritating voice. Nails on a chalkboard.
And, oh, of course I got put with him, he talks so politically, dodging my question.
“I see,” I said. “Might as well ask, how do you feel about fatherhood?”
He smiled, his eyes looked uncomfortable, but his facial features and body language came off as happy and smug.
“Wouldn’t we have to have sex for that?” He replied smirking.
He did a loud, ugly cackle. Must I hear that every day?! Why me???
“Yes,” I replied sighing. Ugh, I can’t believe I have to do this with him!!!!
He rubbed his chin and tapped his foot, which was the least irritating thing he did. He looked back at me and smiled. He tilted his head to the right as he observed me.
“Are you a virgin?” He asked.
I gasped. I- wha- damn…maybe he’ll call off the wedding if I say the truth.
“No,” I replied, feigning anxiety. “You?”
He rolled his eyes but this time it was smug, he put his hands on his hips.
“If I was, I wouldn’t have been put with you,” he replied. “It should be okay, though. I have experience with women.”
I could see mild fear in his eyes after he said that. Aha!
What?” I replied, “What do you mean ‘I have experience with women?’ Do you have sex with men also?”
He cleared his throat and his eyes widened and laughed uncomfortably. He looked as if he was going to cry.
“I…didn’t say that,” he said nervously and looking around. “I said I had experience.”
I felt my eyes roll and roll so hard that they were rolling back.
“Can’t you just leave?” I fussed. “I’ll deal with you later.”
He responded with a gasp at my response. He turned quickly, but walked slowly to the door, clonking in the damn heels again.
“And Damijo?” I said.
He turned around nervously; I should’ve let him leave, but I’m too petty and childish for that shit.
“Don’t think so hard to respond next time,” I said aggressively and mildly like I was yelling. I did feel bad. “I don’t like your parents, but I really don’t like you. We aren’t friends and we aren’t cool. We just are getting married.”
He seemed to be bewildered and amazed. I could tell I stressed him out because his eyes looked hurt, and his lips quivered. He seriously didn’t do anything wrong and I’m being rude to him. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I just can’t stand him!
“That’s fine by me!” He replied just as aggressively—getting to point of screaming.
I picked up my shoe and threw it at his head. It seemed like I may have hurt him. I really need to stop being angry and violent. He rubbed his head and tossed the shoe back and walked out. I heard him cuss underneath his breath.
Hihi, I’ve posted a while back with the comic I was making with these characters. This time I’m showing the written part.
Tell me how you feel about the writing! I think I did a decent job on that scene! When I stop being a lazy bone and when the break is finally over, I will be trying to draw this out.
I’ve been trying to learn Spanish for the past five years and my skills have greatly suffered due to lack of speaking and lack of writing. I made a side blog for it, but it’s hard to jump into things like that and find content. There are things I can write and I can use a dictionary, but I do not have the confidence to know I’m using correct words. I hate getting things wrong—which is stupid because why hinder progress because you’re afraid of failure?😂
I keep packing on other languages but don’t do anything to keep up with it.
I will write a small poem (or more) on here, it should be my only poem (s) on here not in English, as I would prefer this blog to not be in anything but my first language.
En español
Es difícil pensar de nuevas maneras,
Cuando las palabras son desconocidos,
Cuando las palabras no hace venir,
Como lo harían con unos hablantes nativos.
Siento un dolor en mi estómago
Cuando no puedo pensar en una idioma,
Mi idioma yo practiqué durante años
Siento que un idiota.
Soy un principiante…o solo intermedio.
Ojalá hubiera aprendido de niño.
No puedo expresarme.
No puedo pensar en mi lengua de destino.
Quiero aprender,
Deseo hablar con el corazón.
Quiero entender,
Me estoy perdiendo la comprensión.
Deseo decir lo que pienso.
Me estoy perdiendo historias…
Quiero escribir historias intenso.
Quiero mis historias ser glorias.
What I want to say:
It’s difficult to talk in a new way
When words are unknown
when the words don’t come as they would with a native speaker.
I feel an ache in my stomach
when I don’t understand a language I practiced for years.
I feel dumb.
I am a beginner or maybe intermediate,
I wish I learned as a kid.
I can’t express myself.
I can’t think in my target language!
I want to learn.
I wish to speak with my heart,
I want to understand,
I’m missing out on comprehending things.
I wish I could say what I think
I’m missing out on stories.
I want to write intense stories that are glorious.
En français
Je suis limité à quelques mots,
Quand je veux te parler.
Je parle par fragments
D’un dictionnaire.
D’un traducteur.
Je suis un menteur
Si nous avons parlé
Je ne comprendrais pas un mot !
Je suis un imposteur.
Pourquoi ?
Je parle avec un traducteur,
Je parle avec un dictionnaire.
Je ne peux pas penser en français,
Je ne peux pas parler en français.
J’ai besoin d'apprendre.
Je veux te parler.
Je veux mon français soit…français,
Je veux partager mes pensées comme un humain.
Un jour…
Translation (more like what I want to say)
My words have a limit
When I want to talk to you,
I can only speak in fragments
from dictionaries and translators.
I’m a liar,
if we spoke, I wouldn’t understand a word…
I’m a fraud.
how so?
I can communicate only with a translator,
with only a dictionary,
I cannot think in French,
My words don’t process in French because I don’t know French.
I need to learn,
I want to speak with you.
I want my French to be translated with French in mind instead of English and Spanish,
I want to verbalize my humanity!
Maybe one day…
There’s a link in my homepage with a just as weird titled blog where I write random stuff (and want to write random stuff) in—typically—Spanish. I haven’t posted much into it because writing in different languages make me exhausted. Maybe one day my skills will improve and I can write in other languages like Italian, Portuguese, and Hindi—and also write like myself in my other languages previously mentioned. Maybe someday. Maybe someday I’ll have a conlang to write in. (😭 I don’t understand how some people can make those so fast…)
Anywho, please take care and stay hydrated and healthy.
What did you bring to the potluck? 